Page 73 of An Unexpected Earl

“I couldn’t agree more.” Happiness—and relief—beamed from the man. “So we’ll talk to—”

“Only one thing’s holding me back.”

His smile vanished, and he snapped out, “For Christ’s sake!” When other members at the tables around them frowned at him, he leaned forward in exasperation and lowered his voice. “What could possibly be holding you backnow?”

“I want to meet the other men you’ve chosen to be trustees.” Pearce tapped his finger against the table to punctuate his point. “I won’t agree until I’ve had the chance to make certain that all of our interests align. I’m an experienced soldier. Character matters to me. So does trust. When the enemy has its guns pointed at you, the last thing you want to question is whether the men behind you have your back.” He smiled coldly. “Or if they’ll tuck tail and run.”

“I assure you that these men possess exemplary character.”

And Pearce was sure that he’d just lied. “Then I look forward to meeting them.”

“I’ll make arrangements.”

“Do so quickly,” he warned, shoving himself away from the table.

With that, Pearce strode from the club, pausing only to pull on his coat and hat in the foyer before stepping into the chilly rain. Howard would lead him to the last men on the blackmailer’s list, and those men would lead him to Scepter. He would stop their threats, and Amelia would be safe. And once Amelia was safe, he could focus all his attention on the next battle.

Making her his wife.

Twenty

“Who’s to say that Pangloss isn’t correct, that this world—for all its capriciousness, violence, and volatility, a world in which we are utterly lost to the buffeting winds of fate—isn’t in fact the best?”

Amelia rolled her eyes. And with that, the London Ladies were back to debating Voltaire. Again.

“The best of allpossibleworlds,” one of the two dozen self-declared bluestockings crammed into the Countess of St James’s drawing room challenged, eliciting softoohsof revelation from the rest of the group. And a long-suffering sigh from Amelia. “Thatwas the phrase. Not the best world—the best of allpossibleworlds, and Candide’s world is clearly not the best possible.”

“Possible,” another repeated, defending the first woman’s position. “Not imaginable. I can imagine a world created from chocolate—and surely that would be the best of all worlds.” Her aside brought nods of agreement. “But imagining it does mean it’s possible. Therefore, the best of all possible worlds might very well be Candide’s.”

That set off a firestorm of voices, all interjecting at once. And a fierce pounding at the back of Amelia’s skull.

Enough!She couldn’t stand one moment more of this. But she also couldn’t bring herself to return home, either, where she’d be alone with reminders of all she’d lost by marrying Aaron. So she mumbled her apologies as she slid from the room, letting everyone believe she was visiting the retiring room.

Instead of turning left in the hall, however, she turned right and slipped into the music room, hoping to find a quiet moment to herself. The side garden was dark, not in use for tonight’s gathering, but she opened the French doors anyway to take a deep breath and let the cool night air clear her head and ease the pain throbbing behind her eyes.

But it did little to soothe the anguish lodged around her heart. How could the foolish thing keep beating, when all she’d ever dreamed of having was now dead?

“Pearce,” she breathed out as she leaned against the open door and somehow found the will to keep the gathering tears from spilling free. She could still feel the strength of his arms around her, the masculine scent of him filling up her senses, and the tender way his body had rocked into hers, bringing her such pleasures as she’d never known. She could still hear his voice…I love you.

Everything she’d ever wanted, all of it simply dropped in front of her like a present with a big bow, ready to be unwrapped.

But also nothing she could ever have.

“Amelia?” a voice called out from the hallway, just beyond the door. “Did you come this way?”

Amelia straightened and swiped a hand at her eyes to hide any traces of telltale tears.

“Ah yes! There you are.”

She had just enough time to force a smile before Lady Agnes Sinclair swept into the room.

In a gold-edged purple gown that could have rivaled any silks found in a Turkish bazaar, capped by an orange turban decorated with a large ruby pin, the woman was simply a force of nature. The unmarried sister of the late Earl of St James and aunt to the current earl, Agnes was well known for her eccentricities and her peculiar take on the latest fashions. Possessing an air of impropriety that society only tolerated because of her age, she was gregarious, flirtatious, and amusingly inappropriate. And as Amelia had come to learn since joining the London Ladies, she also possessed an intellect that was sharp as glass.

Lady Agnes held out one of the two cups and saucers she carried. “Tea.”

The woman’s thoughtfulness warmed Amelia. “You followed after just to bring me tea?”

“I followed you because if I have to sit through one more declaration by Lady Houston that Voltaire possessed the greatest mind since Aristotle, I might very well strangle her.” She insistently held out the tea, and Amelia had no choice but to accept, although she had no taste for the stuff. “Not the kind of catharsis Aristotle had in mind, I daresay, butIwould surely enjoy it.”