An Unexpected Earl (Lords of the Armory #2) - Anna Harrington Page 0,69

have you know.” With a grin, he snatched up the sponge and threw it back at her over his head without turning around. “It’s ungentlemanly to attack the enemy when he isn’t looking.”

She laughed. The sound came as soft and warm as the firelight, filling him with a melancholy longing to have back what her father stole from him.

But then, why shouldn’t he have it? Gordon Howard was dead. The old bastard couldn’t come between them any longer. More—all the man’s insults that Pearce wasn’t good enough for her were no longer true. He was an earl now, for God’s sake. That title could at last be good for something. Like turning back time.

If given the chance, though, would she take it?

“You said before that we aren’t enemies,” she reminded him, just as softly as her laugh. “I’m hoping that’s true.”

“It is,” he said quietly, distracted by the thoughts spinning through his mind, the old memories and wounds. So much had happened… How could they ever find their way back?

“Freddie has done some awful things,” she began tentatively, testing the newfound trust between them. “Illegal things. And apparently not just selling his influence in Parliament.”

Realization of what she meant tingled through him.

“I don’t know how it was discovered or who passed along the information, but he’s being blackmailed over it.”

The soft rustle of fabric accompanied her quiet explanation as she dropped the blanket to the floor and removed her shift and stockings. His pulse spiked at the thought that she was standing completely naked only a few feet away.

“The blackmailer threatened to go to Sir Charles with evidence of what Freddie’s done if he didn’t place the men into government positions as ordered.”

The water splashed gently in the basin, and Pearce envisioned Amelia reaching her arms into the air over her head, rubbing the sponge over her bare skin, droplets of water trickling down her body… Sweet Lucifer.

He cleared his suddenly tight throat, yet his voice still emerged as a raw rasp. “That’s why you were looking for him at the masquerade.” That was it—keep her talking, and keep his mind off how desirable she was. “What were you hoping to gain from him?”

“A chance to convince him of Freddie’s innocence, without anyone knowing.”

More soft splashes of water, more rustling movements behind him… He shifted uncomfortably. It wasn’t only his throat that had grown tight. “Good. Because I’d hate to think you were planning something foolish.” Madame Noir’s words rushed back to him. “Like getting involved with the blackmailer yourself.”

The water stilled.

Damnation. Madame hadn’t lied. But he wished to hell she had.

“Only as a last resort,” she admitted. “If everything else failed and Freddie was exposed.”

At least she was being honest with him. Even if the thought of her becoming any more involved terrified the daylights out of him.

“But it didn’t work. I still don’t know Sir Charles’s connection to the blackmailer.” A thoughtful pause in the splashing. “There must be one, though. The man’s in charge of the Committee of Privileges and can bring censure if laws and standards are broken, yet he would never entertain a charge against a fellow MP unless he implicitly trusted whoever made it. He wouldn’t risk being made a fool of.”

“It could be anyone in Parliament,” he countered.

“Or any of Freddie’s cronies,” she added, defeat sounding in her voice. “The list is too long to consider.”

The soft splashing continued then, followed by more rustling of fabric. He imagined how she must have looked, rubbing the towel over her body while she dried herself, and damn his gentleman’s honor that he couldn’t sneak even a single glance over his shoulder.

“Fortunately, Freddie only has three men left to place. But if he doesn’t, he’ll be exposed. He’ll lose his seat in Parliament, perhaps even be sentenced to prison. I can’t let that happen.”

“He’s fortunate to have your kindness.” What Pearce wanted to do was pummel the bastard for putting her life in danger.

“It isn’t kindness,” she admitted with chagrin. “If his life is destroyed, so is mine. So are the lives of the women working at the Boutique.”

More kind than she was willing to admit, based upon her answer. He knew no other society miss who would be willing to go to such lengths to help a handful of war widows.

“I owe Frederick everything.” She came up behind him, close enough that her nearness sparked awareness of her across his back. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll let him destroy all I’ve worked so hard to