Tempting a Gentleman Page 2

  He placed a booted foot on the first step, and the wide door of the townhouse flung open, revealing the petite form of a cloaked woman. Her hood fluttered, concealing her features as she scanned the street and the path before her. Before Christopher’s foot landed upon the second step, the woman fled down the stairs and past him in such a frenzied blur he hadn’t managed to ascertain her identity.

  The hairs on his arms stood on end, and his heart fluttered as if an electric current had run through him. The jolt froze him in place as the woman’s vehicle disappeared down the road. With a shake of his head, Christopher turned and mounted the steps to the front door. On the landing, he glanced back down the road. The bizarre thought that he had let something—no, someone—important slip away had him stomping through the foyer. Preoccupied with sorting his rioting thoughts, Christopher handed over his coat and hat to the butler and meandered towards the family drawing room. The floral scent lingered in the air, tickling his nose. His body tingled as if he was experiencing an aftershock. How was that possible? He hadn’t caught a clear glimpse of her features, yet every cell from head to toe seemed to come alive as she breezed by him. No one of his acquaintance in all his nine and twenty years on this earth had ever evoked this strange physical reaction within him.

  With his hand poised on the door latch, Bronwyn’s gleeful laughter filtered through the wood door. He swung the drawing room door open, only to find his sister-in-law tangled up in his brother’s arms yet again. Even after six weeks of marital bliss, the couple was still intolerable.

  Clearing his throat, Christopher said, “Pray tell me the name of the young lady that nearly barreled me over in her haste to leave your residence?”

  Bronwyn said, “Oh, that would have been Emma. Did you introduce yourself?”

  “Hardly. She ran right past me as if the devil was on her heels and launched herself into a hack that was out front….” Christopher frowned. “A hack, not your coach.”

  Landon chuckled. “Emma refuses to the use of our coach, so I purchased a vehicle that resembled a hack. Not to worry, she will be safely delivered home.”

  There was a lot of information to be gleaned from his brother's reply. However, it didn’t explain the extraordinary burst of energy he experienced as the woman passed him. Christopher wasn’t versed in the paranormal, but having a friend who could see and speak to the dead broadened one's mind. Perhaps he was overthinking the woman’s effect upon him. No, the sparks of interest the mystery woman evoked within him were the first feelings he’d experienced other than ennui since Lady Arabelle’s rejection over six months ago.

  Lady Arabelle—the lady he had hoped would be the solution to his marriage dilemma. She was musically inclined and they shared many of the same interests. For a short period, he’d managed to convince himself he was in love with the woman. Even persuaded himself to offer for her hand, only to find out she had given her heart to another.

  Bronwyn’s smile faltered as her gaze settled upon him. “Why have you come to visit?” His sister-in-law’s voice was filled with worry.

  “Mama sent me over to find out why the two of you missed church this morn.” He refrained from admitting he’d stopped by the offices along the way, intending to see to a few minor matters, only to have stayed for most of the day. He really did need to hire a new legal secretary.

  “Bronwyn wasn’t feeling well.” Landon smiled, revealing the irritating dimple that meant his wife was hale, and there was naught to worry about.

  “More likely the two of you simply didn’t care to leave your bed. You’ll have to plead your own forgiveness from Mama then.” Unable to banish his curiosity, Christopher asked, “Why was your friend leaving in such haste?”

  Bronwyn’s eyes lit up, love for her friend clear as day. “Landon has ordered her to attend dance lessons. She’s agreed to attend my very first ball.”

  Landon’s hand fell upon Christopher’s shoulder. “Emma requires an instructor who I can trust to be discreet.”

  “You can’t be serious. I’ve got a full case workload, and without the assistance of a full-time assistant, I’m buried in research.”

  “Emma will be a quick learner. An hour or two twice a week should suffice. She is expecting you to arrive after her shop closes tomorrow eve.”

  His brother was fully aware he’d not deny any request. “Why are you asking this of me?”

  Landon ticked the reasons off on three fingers:. “Because you are an adept dancer. You need the exercise. And I know of no one else whose charm can set Emma at ease. We are asking her to be subjected to a night with the piranhas, and I want the woman to be prepared.”

  All reasonable and valid arguments but superfluous. His sister-in-law’s pleading eyes were asking, not demanding. From the day Bronwyn entered Neale & Sons and insisted on the opportunity to apply for the position of legal secretary, Christopher knew she’d become family one day. Except it took his damn brother eight years to come to his senses and offer for her. It was a prime example of how their lives worked. Matters simply fell into place for Landon, while Christopher’s existence was a game of chess, requiring him to continually readjust his strategy to achieve his goal: a life beyond the shadows of his big brother and the traditions of the Neale family.

  Christopher narrowed his gaze upon his sister-in-law, who had uncharacteristically remained quiet. “Please tell me this is not a matchmaking scheme.”

  Squaring her shoulders, Bronwyn donned a look of seriousness, but the sparkle in her eyes was pure mischief. “Emma is extremely wary of outsiders. She trusts no one but those who have been fully investigated by the Network. We need your help.”

  Landon grinned again, revealing his darn dimple. “Love, a wonderful retort.” He asked Christopher, “Will you be joining us for supper?”

  Ignoring his brother, Christopher rephrased his concern. “Dear sister, do you deny this is an attempt to see me happily wed?”

  “Not everything is about you, dear brother. This is about Emma and my wish for her.”

  Bronwyn had obviously been honing her skill at the art of word manipulation, having married Landon. Christopher couldn’t deny that Landon and Bronwyn standing together were a formidable force. The intimate looks and subtle nonverbal cues between the couple were a reminder of the type of relationship Christopher should be seeking. He had been a fool to think a union with Lady Arabelle would have sufficed. A wavy, pinkish blur appeared around the pair as if they were radiating some type of shield. Emma’s cloaked form came to mind. He’d not experienced a jolt of energy from another as acute as when Emma had passed him by out front. It was as if his body was tuned, like a pianoforte, to hers. If he danced with Emma, would they glow like his brother and sister-in-law? There was only one way to find out—he’d have to play dance master.

  The arch of Landon’s brow brought Christopher’s thoughts in line. If he were to acquiesce to his brother’s request, he might as well bargain for his sister-in-law’s time. “Very well, I shall provide dance lessons, but in return, I’ll need Bronwyn’s assistance in the office. Not merely to search for her replacement but to actually perform case summaries.”

  Bronwyn’s lips curved into a smug smile as if she had anticipated his demand for her help.

  Landon nodded and turned to his wife. “So long as you work reasonable hours and promise not to overdo.”

  “I promise. But you might want to clarify for Christopher what you deem reasonable—for I believe his sense of time is skewed.”

  “No earlier than nine and no later than four in the afternoon.”

  “That is but half a day.” Christopher let the words slip before he caught sight of Landon’s scowl. “You used to have her working from the crack of dawn until well past the supper hour.”

  “My wife needs her rest. And need I remind you that if she is at the offices too late in the day, it will mean you will have to contend also with Mama and Theo. For they shall want to consult with Bronwyn on the details for the ball.”

&
nbsp; “I don’t need them meddling in my affairs. Nine to three shall do.” With Bronwyn’s help, perhaps he might gain an hour or two of sleep.

  Linking her arm into the crook of Christopher’s, Bronwyn ushered him to stroll about the room. “Emma’s last fittings are scheduled for four, which means her clients should be gone by seven-thirty, eight at the latest. You will want to leave the office early to make the jaunt across town.”

  All hopes of extra rest were dashed. Dance lessons plus travel time would negate the hours gained from Bronwyn’s assistance. His only solace was Landon’s assessment that Emma was a quick study. Perhaps she would only require an evening or two of instruction.

  Bronwyn stopped and squeezed his arm. “You are working too much and not eating enough. Please stay for supper.”

  “Emma’s day ends rather late. What time does it begin?” What an asinine question. Why did he care?

  She released her hold on him. “Five in the morn.” Bronwyn padded back to the settee, where she gracefully sank to sit next to Landon, who observed with interest. “She’s not normally abed until ten in the eve, so if you arrive at eight, there should be little disruption to her schedule.”

  “Glad we are all worried about Emma’s commitments.”

  “She is my dearest friend. No. Emma is like a sister to me. I only want the best for her.”

  Bronwyn’s choice of words was rather peculiar. Christopher linked his hands together behind his back. “And that is why you insisted she attend your debut ball.”

  “You think me selfish,” Bronwyn countered. She rose and mimicked his posture, her hands clasped behind her back. Preparing to debate like they used to in order to ready Christopher for a case at court.

  “I don’t wish to argue, sister.” He caught sight of the light shadows beneath her eyes. “Are you well? You look rather…tired.” He faced Landon, “Did you call the doctor?” Landon didn’t appear remotely concerned.

  “Aye. He said Bronwyn will be right as rain in another nine months, maybe ten.”

  “Huzzah. I’m to be an uncle.” Christopher beamed. He’d always wanted to be an uncle. Unlike his brother, he wanted children. It was the wife that Christopher was wary about.

  Although Lady Arabelle Risley had granted him a kiss or two and claimed his working station did not matter to her, she had made it clear that she wasn’t interested in marriage—at least not to him. The woman had a terrible crush on the renowned rake Lord Markinson. It had been Christopher’s suggestion to make Markinson jealous with well-timed kisses. While the kisses hadn’t been heart pounding nor soul shattering, he’d still been disappointed when Arabelle rejected any talk of his suit. But if his sources were correct, Markinson planned to reform and court Arabelle properly. He loved being right and when a plan worked, but in this instance, it only served as a reminder that being in the right was rather lonely. Watching his brother’s and sister-in-law’s fawning smiles as they shared the news of the babe reinforced the emptiness that he sought to fill.

  Bronwyn leaned up against Landon as she addressed Christopher. “I’m in the early stages yet, and we had not intended to share the news until I’m a little further along. This will not impact my commitment to assist you. It is vital Emma learn how to dance, and…perhaps you could assist her in refining her speech as you did with me?”

  Yes, Emma had been wise to run. If he stayed any longer, he dreaded to consider what other tasks would be assigned to him.

  “I’ll see what I can do.” He pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. “I need to be off; otherwise, I shall be late.”

  Landon and Bronwyn simultaneously rose, but it was Landon who spoke. “Where are you off to? Join us for supper.”

  “Sorry; I can’t. I’m to meet Lord Thornton at Brooks’s. He’s yet again managed to render his wife enceinte, which will make for child number five, and the man insists on having his will redrafted with every addition to the family. Which reminds me—we will have to have your papers redrawn up. Bronwyn, will you add it to the list of tasks for tomorrow?”

  His sister-in-law nodded with a side glance to her husband.

  Landon flashed his dastardly dimple and said, “Perhaps I’ll draft the revisions myself. No need to add to your load, little brother.”

  “Do you remember how to handle such menial tasks, old man?” Christopher pinned Landon with a sardonic glare.

  He loved sparring with Landon. They hadn’t had much chance lately. Not with Landon having to deal with more important issues like running an ever-increasing estate, and of course, oversight of the PORFs.

  Landon bristled. “I’m not that old.”

  Bronwyn gave a slight shake of her head and smiled up at her husband. “Let’s not delay Christopher any longer, my love.”

  The intervention soothed his brother’s wounded feelings. After a curt bow, Christopher bid the couple good day and turned to make a hasty departure.

  Landon, of course, had to have the last word. “Don’t forget about Emma.”

  Christopher closed the door behind him. He had nothing but admiration for his big brother in how he handled matters, but to demand Christopher play dance master was really pushing the bounds of familial duty.

  Accepting Morris’s help in donning his great coat, Christopher stood and pondered his predicament. Releasing a sigh, Christopher admitted Landon’s ask paled in comparison to the enormous task of dealing with an absent PORF. The unusual decision by the current Lord Burke to move abroad placed significantly more pressure upon the remaining two PORF families. Christopher wanted to assist Landon. But his stubborn brother had not yet granted his approval for Christopher to receive the mark of a PORF. Landon remained steadfast in his declaration: in order for Christopher to become an official PORF, he must wed. Which meant he’d have to redouble his efforts to figure out how one went about searching for love.

  Chapter Three

  Emma ran her thumb over the ridges of the stamped symbol of the Network—a harped angel set into the silver button. A heavy sigh escaped her as she attached the button reserved for dresses to be worn by PORFs. Lifting up Bronwyn's new ball gown by the puff sleeves, Emma inspected her work. Both seams and buttons were carefully hidden. But to her eye, the design lacked a certain flair that she’d previously managed to infuse in all of Bronwyn’s creations. Emma’s creativity relied heavily on her mood and her knowledge of the client. Bronwyn had changed, and so had Emma’s designs for the woman. She was a pea goose to have believed that nothing would change between them. She and Bronwyn had been a dynamic pair within the Network, but now Bronwyn was Lord Hadfield's partner and a PORF.

  The prospect of one day sitting on the Elder Council no longer held any appeal. In fact, most days, little to nothing held Emma’s interest. Even negotiating and bartering with Mr. Hains, the cloth merchant, her favorite monthly event, proved unsatisfying. Her business was booming, with word spreading amongst the ton of her personalized designs as opposed to dresses fashioned from boring old fashion plates. Despite her success, which required her to work long, exhausting hours, Emma’s priority remained first and foremost to the Network, providing disguises and uniforms worn by its members. What was her purpose—to serve PORFs and one day be a Network elder or to design and create stunning creations for the ladies of the ton? Or neither, for they both had lost their appeal.

  The grandfather clock in the corner showed nearly eight o’clock. She folded the ball gown and placed it carefully in a box to be delivered to the Hadfield townhouse. Her shoulders sagged as she scanned the shoproom floor that she had worked hard to clear for the evening dance lessons. All her efforts were for naught. Billy had arrived earlier in the afternoon with bolts and bolts of material she had successfully negotiated to purchase from Mr. Hains. With no time to rearrange, the dance lessons would have to take place in the small parlor above stairs, next to her private living quarters. Emma questioned the wisdom in inviting a stranger, and a man at that, into her sanctuary. But she trusted Bronwyn and her husband
to have chosen a dance master who wouldn’t take advantage of the situation. She’d made inquiries, but the Network rumor mill was peculiarly lacking in knowledge as to whom Lord Hadfield had employed to teach her how to dance.

  Like clockwork at a quarter to eight, her dad walked into the shop. “Hallo, Em. Ye alone already?” He came over and gave her a big bear hug. Her dad was a barrel-chested man with a body that resembled a man of thirty, not of his six and fifty years.

  As Emma pulled back, her dad attempted to peer up into the loft. Her mother never spoke of the man who sired her, and Emma never cared to bring up the topic. She considered Mr. Benjamin Lennox her dad, and the man loved Emma as if she were his own. Overprotective and loving, even after her years of solitary living, Emma’s dad still didn’t care for her decision to live alone at the shop.

  “Aye. I kicked the lovely Lady Arabelle out an hour ago.” She stepped around his bulky form and retrieved a parcel wrapped in brown cloth. “I heard Brian and Baxter have outgrown their trousers.” She handed over the clothing for her siblings and slipped him a small satchel filled with coin. “I’m sorry, it’s a little less this week. Bronwyn has ordered me to attend her first ball, and I had to purchase material for me gown.”

  “It’s about time ye spent a little on yerself.” He gave her back the pouch. “We can do without this week; go spend it on shoes or the like.”

  Emma glanced at the clock once more. She needed to be rid of her dad before the dance master arrived. Shoving the money back into her dad’s hands, she said, “If I’m in need of such flipantry, I’ll just take it out of next week’s amount. Now get home before Mum’s dinner gets cold.”

  “Aye, yer mum will be piping mad if I’m late. Are ye sure about the blunt?”

  “Yes. Now git.” She pushed her dad out the door, and he hovered until she swung the sign in the door to closed, and the three latches clicked into place.