An Unexpected Earl (Lords of the Armory #2) - Anna Harrington Page 0,75

capable of devastating her so completely.

He rested his forehead against her bare shoulder as he struggled to regain his breath. Slowly, he found the strength to place a tender kiss to her hot lips.

“I’ve never…never,” he murmured, unable to put into words the experience they’d just shared. As if just as bewildered as she about the intensity of the passion between them, the overwhelming affection that bound them together. “You have no idea how special you are to me.” He lowered his head to nuzzle his cheek against hers. “I love you, Amelia. I always have.”

Her pulse spiked. This was the moment she wanted to remember for the rest of her life, of being held in his arms when she felt safe and protected. When she could let herself believe that the rest of the world didn’t exist and tomorrow would never come. When there was only Pearce and nothing else mattered but being loved by him.

His eyes shone intensely in the firelight. “Marry me, Amelia.”

With that, her world shattered.

“We belong together… We always have.” He touched his lips to hers, mistaking her shocked silence for nervous uncertainty. “Now more than ever.”

“No.” The single word was barely more than a breath falling lifelessly across her stunned lips. How she managed even that much effort, she had no idea. Because the pain engulfing her was blinding. Starting at the tips of her toes, it worked its way upward until it reached her chest and strangled her heart. “I can’t…I can’t marry you.”

Confusion darkened his face. “You don’t love me?”

“Of course I love you.” Her fingers trembled as they reached for him, to touch his jaw and feel his strength and solidity. She breathed out the confession, “I’ve always loved you.”

“Then why won’t you marry me?”

His handsome face blurred beneath the anguished tears that welled in her eyes. “Because…I’m already married.”

Eighteen

Pearce poured a glass of whiskey. He’d need fortification to get through this conversation. He also needed a few minutes away from Amelia to clear his head and tamp down his shock. And his anger.

To keep a secret like this from him, and when they’d just— Damnation.

Crossing the small room to her, he held out the glass as she stood at the window, looking out at the dimly lit street below. But the sleeping city was still shrouded in fog and darkness and would be for another several hours. Dawn was still a long time away.

She declined the drink.

“I think you’ll need it,” he cajoled. Lord knew how much he did!

“And I don’t think there’s enough whiskey in the world to make this any easier.”

Perhaps not. But whiskey would take the edge off, that was certain. And right now, he was fighting back the urge to punch his fist through the wall.

So he raised the glass to his lips with hard-won calmness. As he took a deep swallow, he studied her over the rim of the glass.

Dear God, she was beautiful, even in that ruined black gown that she’d pulled back on. Her hair had come down again during their lovemaking, and now it fell around her slender shoulders like a golden curtain and made her almost look sixteen again. Except for the womanly curves beneath. And the grief that darkened her face.

“I should have told you before,” she began in a guilty whisper, so soft that it was barely more than a breath.

Yes, you should have.

“But I didn’t know how.” She reached to brush her fingers over the curtain framing the window. “I didn’t want you to realize what an utterly stupid fool I’d been. Or worse—to pity me.” Her fingertips trembled against the lacy material. “I couldn’t have borne that. Not from you of all people.”

“A marriage, Amelia.” Despite his effort to keep his voice low, the frustration rang loud and clear. There was no point in attempting to hide it. “I had no idea that you…” Christ.

“No one does.” Pulling in a deep breath, she faced him. “No one but Frederick and me…and now you.”

“And your husband.”

She flinched. Changing her mind, she took the glass from him and raised it to her lips for a drink. She placed the back of her hand against her mouth as she swallowed down the burning liquid and muttered through her fingers, “I wish to God that I’d never met him.”

With a visible need to keep herself busy, she crossed to the desk and refilled the glass. He silently accepted it from her, although he’d lost his taste for the stuff. What he