An Unexpected Earl (Lords of the Armory #2) - Anna Harrington Page 0,49

box at the theatre and Vauxhall…”

“…renting a boat down to Greenwich or up to Hampton Court…”

“Yes! With a picnic…”

Amelia didn’t hear the two women, so focused was she on her brother as he gestured toward the door. An invitation to Pearce to converse somewhere more private, and Freddie’s opportunity to corner him about the trust.

Pearce nodded his agreement and stepped aside to let Freddie lead the way. Giving his apologies over his shoulder to his friends—and sliding one last parting look at her—Pearce followed after.

“Oh no,” Amelia mumbled in dread. Everything was going to be ruined!

The duchess stiffened. “If you don’t like the idea of a picnic, then perhaps just dinner at our town house.”

Her attention snapped back to the two women, who were both staring at her as if she’d just sprouted a second head. God only knew what she’d agreed to during the conversation, while they’d been plotting out her courtship and she’d been focused on her brother.

“No, that’s not—I mean, I enjoy dinners—and picnics—” she stammered, her eyes trailing after the two men. They were leaving, and she needed to know what they were going to discuss, what decisions they would come to about the trust. And somehow find a way to stop them. “It’s just—I can’t…”

Her Grace’s eyes narrowed on Amelia with concern, and she reached a gloved hand toward her arm. “Are you unwell?”

“Yes!” Amelia seized upon the excuse and waved her fan like mad. “I’m feeling unwell. Too much champagne, I’m afraid. If you’ll both excuse me—” As she dipped a curtsy, she threw a glance after the two men. “I need to find the retiring room.” They disappeared from the ballroom. “Now.”

Mumbling a string of apologies, she hurried away, leaving the two women staring curiously after her.

Twelve

“You don’t seem to be excited about the turnpike,” Howard commented as the man helped himself to a glass of cognac in the small room where they’d gone to speak privately. The space had once been the Duke of Devonshire’s private closet where he could escape when he was forced to be in London rather than in his country gardens. Pearce didn’t blame him. He certainly wanted to be anywhere else at that moment.

“I wouldn’t say that.” What Pearce would have said was that had Howard been any other man, he would have given him the setdown he deserved for interrupting his conversation with the general and Merritt Rivers.

But since both men knew why Howard had approached him, Pearce had willingly gone off for a private conversation.

“Then why haven’t you fully committed?” Howard eyed Pearce over the rim of his glass as he took a sip, the liquid golden in the lamplight.

“I haven’t yet come to a decision.”

“Why not?”

Because any decision would destroy your sister… Because I still care about her… Because the look on her face when she told me how much my leaving had devastated her twelve years ago cut me like a knife… Because I never want to see a look of fear, sadness, or betrayal in her eyes ever again…

He shrugged. “It might not be the right investment for my property.”

Howard nearly choked on the brandy. He sputtered, “Not the right investment? Are you joking?” He gestured wildly with his glass. “Do you not realize how much money can be made from a turnpike?”

“I’ve got more than enough money now. I’m not concerned with making more.”

Howard’s mouth fell open, flabbergasted. He had no idea how to respond to that.

“What I am concerned about, however, is your sister.” Pearce darted his eyes toward the door and the flash of movement there. “I won’t press Amelia into agreeing to the turnpike if she doesn’t want it.”

“Of course she wants it!” Howard laughed stiltedly, as if that were the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “That land is her only property. Why would she not want to capitalize on it?”

“She has other plans for it.”

“That silly idea of hers to build a trade school?” Howard scoffed. “Once she sees how much money a turnpike can generate—money she can then spend on her worthless war widows—she’ll be all for it.”

His soldier’s blood turned to ice. He repeated in a menacingly low voice, “Worthless war widows?”

Howard paled instantly, realizing his mistake. Pearce wouldn’t have been surprised to see a puddle form at the man’s crotch, given the terrified expression that gripped his face. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

Pearce crossed his arms and pinned his gaze on him, every bit of the brigadier inside him rising