An Unexpected Earl (Lords of the Armory #2) - Anna Harrington Page 0,98

man in red held out his arms. “Brothers, you are welcome to the Temple of Bacchus.”

“Thanks be to Bacchus,” the crowd of men answered in unison.

“This is nonsense,” Pearce half growled beneath his breath as the group recited a pledge of allegiance to their club and its pagan gods. “I’m here to meet the other trustees, not to play at fancy dress.”

“The ceremony will be over soon,” Howard assured him as the brothers continued their call and answer, led by the abbot. “Then we’ll have dinner, and I’ll introduce you to the others.”

“Are you sure they’re here?” Pearce could barely make out any faces in the dim shadows and smoke cast up by the lamps, cigars, and incense. Seeing was made harder by the sea of matching white hoods covering so low over everyone’s faces that all he could see was a series of chins and a scattering of beards.

“Oh, Bacchus,” the abbot called out, “accept our sacrifice!”

As a shout went up from the group, the abbot pushed down his hood.

Pearce’s heart skipped. Arthur Varnham. Sir Charles Varnham’s younger brother.

“Now let us take our feast!”

Another cheer went up, so loud that it echoed deafeningly off the stone walls. Arthur Varnham jumped from the dais and charged through the group as they parted around him, and the brothers all followed after into the connecting banqueting hall, where tables had already been laid out for a grand dinner. Two tables laden heavily with platters of food flanked a center table that was covered with a sheet. Varnham approached the table and passed his hands over it in a mock blessing.

“Enjoy this most holy of holy days, this Feast of Venus!”

He whisked the sheet away.

A blond woman lay across the table, naked except for the bunches of fruit covering her large breasts and spilling down between her thighs. A cherry rested provocatively in her navel.

Varnham folded his hands behind his back and leaned down to pick up the cherry with his teeth.

Beside Pearce, Howard stiffened, his jaw tightening as he watched Varnham eat the cherry, then lean down again to swirl his tongue into her navel to lick up the drops of juice left behind.

“Come now, brothers!” Varnham gestured at the feast laid out before them and the woman spread out like an erotic buffet, and Howard’s narrowed gaze bore into the man. “Partake of the feast and satiate all of your hungers.”

The men rushed forward to fill their plates. But Howard remained where he was, still staring at Varnham as the man plucked a grape from the bunch covering the woman’s left breast, put it between his lips, and leaned down to decadently feed her, helping himself to a devouring, openmouthed kiss. She laughed.

Recognition snapped into Pearce’s head. He knew that woman. He’d seen her at Le Château Noir. The brothers share the nuns… He knew then how the blackmailer had gained information against Howard.

Amelia had been chasing after the wrong Varnham.

Twenty-three

Amelia stood at her bedroom window and watched the midmorning sunlight play across the street below. She smiled to herself as she lifted the teacup to her lips. The long case clock in the entry hall had long ago struck ten. Normally by now she’d be dressed, at the shop, and up to her elbows in problems and merchandise. But not today. Today, lazily, she still wore her dressing gown, her hair hanging freely down her back, and not one remnant of breakfast remaining on the tray she’d asked Cook to send up for her. She’d been famished.

All because of Pearce.

She laughed, the happiness inside her bubbling over. How was it possible that a man could make her feel this feminine and alive, this special? It had been over twelve hours since they made love, yet her skin still tingled from his touch. And would again, now that there was no longer any reason to deny herself the joys of being with him. In every way.

Below on the street, a hackney drawn by an old horse pulled bone-shakingly slowly to a stop in front of the house. The door opened, and a man dragged himself stiffly out of the carriage and down to the ground, as if every move pained him, no matter how small.

Amelia rolled her eyes. Freddie. Of course.

He was still in the white finery that he’d donned last night—as he did every time he headed out to those peculiar club meetings of his that he refused to tell her anything about—but his appearance was far from fresh. The