Armory, Merritt had not adapted well to being back in London. Even now, as he did his best to appear relaxed, Pearce knew he was on edge. He’d known Merritt too well for too long not to sense the man’s moods. Of course, Pearce’s suspicion was helped along in no small part by the way Merritt was dressed from head to boots in solid black and most likely armed to the teeth beneath his greatcoat. If Pearce were a betting man, he’d have wagered his newly acquired earldom that Merritt had been out tonight prowling the streets. Again.
Amelia answered quietly to the window, “I’ve told you everything.”
Merritt slid Pearce a sideways glance, asking for permission to continue. They would be arriving at her shop soon, and the opportunity they’d been given to delve deeper into what she knew would end. They might never have this chance again.
Fighting down a hard breath of guilt at interrogating her like this, Pearce nodded.
Merritt leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Have you ever heard your brother mention a group called Scepter?”
“No.” In the black window, her reflection shook its head.
They’d moved beyond the avenues with their gas lamps, now depending upon the lone lamp dangling off the front of the slow-moving hackney to make their way. Around them, Marylebone was asleep. The new rows of terrace houses that lined the streets were all shuttered and dark for the night, the patches of open land between wet from the drizzling rain and uninviting in the thickening fog. She could see nothing beyond the pane of glass, but she insisted on keeping her attention there, rather than on Pearce.
His punishment for daring to love her.
“And you know nothing about them?”
“Only what Pearce has told me. That they’re some kind of criminal organization.”
“To put it mildly,” Merritt acknowledged under his breath. “Have they ever attempted to contact you?”
“No.”
“Are you certain? No messages, no threats to harm you or your shop?”
That snagged her full attention, and she darted her gaze between the two men. “Why would they threaten my charity?”
“To force you into pressuring your brother to make those appointments.”
“You’re mistaken.” She gave a short laugh. “I have no power over Freddie.”
Pearce didn’t doubt that. The Howard men had always treated her as little more than a burden. A doll to control and use as they wished. That her brother had helped her at all after her elopement still surprised him. Frederick Howard was nothing if not mercenary.
“Yet you’re the one who’s keeping the turnpike trust from going forward.”
“Freddie doesn’t know that. He thinks I’m willingly participating because he—” She stopped.
A chill coiled its way up Pearce’s spine. “Because he’s already threatened your charity himself,” Pearce quietly finished for her, “so there isn’t any need for Scepter to do it.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
He tightened his jaw. To threaten his sister to save his own hide—the more Pearce learned about the man her brother had become, the more he hated the bastard.
“You think Freddie is directly involved with them?” she asked.
A grim look from Pearce silently answered for him.
“He couldn’t be. What need would there be to blackmail him if he’s already working with them?”
“We don’t know if your brother is part of Scepter,” Merritt answered. “But we’re certain that the men he’s been appointing are. Home Office intelligence has confirmed it.”
“We also don’t know who wants them there,” Pearce added.
She faintly shook her head, putting together as best she could the new puzzle pieces they were revealing to her. “If what you’re saying is true, then surely Freddie’s not alone. A handful of men in government positions—what good could such a small number do? Perhaps there are other MPs who are being blackmailed, others who haven’t carried out their wishes, others against whom the blackmailers have actually carried out their retaliation and revealed their illegal or unethical activities.” She arched an accusing brow at Merritt. “You’re wasting your time, Mr. Rivers, by taking me the long way around the park just to give yourself more time to interrogate me. You should be questioning Sir Charles Varnham.”
Merritt froze, caught by surprise. Most likely for the first time in his entire legal career while questioning a witness.
“Of course he won’t be able to give you answers outright. He either isn’t aware of the connections and so won’t know what information to provide you, or he’s working with the blackmailers himself and so won’t cooperate. But whoever’s been blackmailing my brother has the man’s trust.” She turned back toward the window. “So I