An Unexpected Earl (Lords of the Armory #2) - Anna Harrington Page 0,95

“You truly meant it, then?” she pressed breathlessly. “What you said earlier, that you have no intention of letting me go?”

He leaned down, placing his hands on the edge of the settee cushion on both sides of her and bringing his face level with hers. He reached to touch the little locket she wore around her neck. As his fingers caressed it, his eyes locked with hers. “I’ve got you back now, Amelia. Wild horses couldn’t drag you away from me.”

She fought back a smile as she teased, “What about tame ones?”

“Not those either. Or ponies, donkeys, jackasses…” He arched a brow. “Your brother.”

“Pearce,” she scolded, but any ferocity was lost beneath her soft laugh.

“Neither will our past, your husband, or society. Understand?”

“Then…” She inhaled a deep breath and reached to slip her hand behind his neck to tug him closer. “Will you marry me, Brandon Pearce? Do you promise to love and honor me, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health…in law courts or taverns?” He laughed, but the seriousness of the moment made her tremble as she laid her hand against his chest to feel the pulse of his strong heartbeat. “For as long as we both shall live?”

“I do.” He leaned in to kiss her. “I very much do.”

Twenty-two

Pearce glanced out the carriage window at the dark city. “Where exactly are we going?”

“To a special club meeting. That’s all I can tell you for now,” Howard answered, pleased at the idea of mystery.

But Pearce wasn’t pleased at all with the secrecy. The only consolation he had was that Merritt and his men were following behind, unseen in the darkness. In case anything went wrong.

“There are no clubs in this area.” Not here. They’d long ago left those behind in the west, but they hadn’t yet reached the Tower Hamlets, where less exclusive entertainments dominated. They were currently rolling through Walbrook, where the streets were unlit, the old buildings shuttered for the night, and no one was out in the cold drizzle.

“Not the usual clubs, no.” Howard tugged at his white gloves. Just like Pearce, he was dressed in all white beneath his overcoat. “But this one is very private and incredibly exclusive.”

“So is Brooks’s,” Pearce grumbled, “but I don’t have to dress up like a ghost and prowl Cheapside in the dead of night to attend it.”

“Far better than Brooks’s. None of that St James’s Street pretense. At this club, we take our traditions very seriously.”

Hence the white clothes, Pearce was certain.

“But we also do whatever we like.” He chuckled in private amusement. “It’s our motto, you might say. I’ll introduce you to the other men in the trust, of course. But I think you’ll also have a good time tonight, if you let yourself.”

Howard rapped his cane against the ceiling to signal to the jarvey to stop.

“You’ll like our little club, Sandhurst, I’m certain.” He bounded down to the street and tossed up a coin to the driver, leaving Pearce to climb out more cautiously. “You might want to consider joining.”

Oh, he seriously doubted that. Especially when the hackney drove away, leaving them standing in the middle of a deserted street framed by buildings that had seen better days a hundred years ago but now lay derelict, dark, and silent.

“This way.” Howard gestured toward the end of the street, in the direction of an abandoned church. He led Pearce through the rusty gate of the churchyard, down an overgrown path, and to the front door of the old stone building.

Pearce glanced around. No one else was in sight. An uneasy tingle started down his spine. “Where are we?”

“At the entrance to hell.” With a grin, Howard pounded his fist against the door.

The heavy wooden door swung open with a spine-jarring creak, and a wave of cold, musty air engulfed them. A man in a friar’s robe with the hood drawn low over his face stepped into the doorway and silently held up a hand, barring their way.

“The pale breast of Venus,” Howard gave the password quietly, and the monk stepped aside. As they passed into the church, the monk gestured with his hand in mock blessing—an inversion of the sign of the cross.

“What the hell is this place?” Pearce demanded as he followed Howard through the abandoned church, which was lit only by a handful of offering candles at the altar.

“You know of the old Hellfire clubs that were popular fifty years ago?” Howard led him to the entrance of the crypt and down its