Tempting a Gentleman Read online

  “If ye aren’t gonna be honest with me, ye better tell yer brother in the morn that there will be no more lessons.”

  By god, this woman was fearless and direct. “For a moment, I lost my mind.”

  “How?”

  Honesty was the best policy. “I was confused.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her right forefinger.

  “I briefly thought you were someone else.”

  “Who?”

  “Lady Arabelle, Lord Hereford’s little sister.”

  Her finger stopped, and she hugged herself tight. “Do ye fancy Lady Arabelle?”

  “No.”

  She marched over to his discarded greatcoat and hat, picked them up, and shoved them into his chest. “But ye did once?

  “Aye.”

  She walked over to the door and swiftly unlocked the latches. “There’s nothing the matter with yer mind.” She swung the door open, letting the frigid night air in. She nodded for him to exit, and he stepped through the threshold. On the stoop, he turned. Emma’s sad eyes stunned him.

  Using the door as a barrier, she peeked her head around. “Lady Arabelle’s grandfather is me sire. There ye have it. I’m a bastard, so I’ll not be expectin’ ye to return.”

  The door slid into its frame. The rusty lock clicked into place, followed by two more.

  Mute and confused, he stared at the faint firelight that peeked through the weathered wood panel and door frame until it disappeared.

  A Hereford sired Emma. It stood to reason she would share some physical similarities to Lady Arabelle, but it didn’t explain the undeniable effect Emma had on his mind and body.

  Swiveling to face the road, he fought the urge to bang on the door and demand Emma let him in. Spying the whites of two sets of eyes across the way, he stuffed his hands in his coat and began to trudge through the unfamiliar streets on the east end of town. Three blocks from Emma’s shop, he still was debating the soundness of his decision to leave.

  A hack rolled to a stop next to him. “Me lord, ye look lost. Can I offer ye me assistance?”

  “Neale & Sons on the upper west end.” He hopped in and huddled in the corner as his mind raced. The coachman was right. He was lost. Emma had him discombobulated, but for the first time in months, he felt alive.

  Chapter Five

  Emma glanced down the cobbled alley, ensuring no one was about. Wiping her hands over her skirts, she inhaled deeply and scratched at the back door of the offices of Neale & Sons. As the door swooshed open, Emma straightened her spine and walked in without waiting to be invited in. The staff was accustomed to her appearing at irregular times to visit with Bronwyn and no longer escorted Emma to her friend’s office. She swiftly marched down the hall to avoid detection by the man who had kept her awake most of the night, briskly opened the door, and sank back against the solid wood as the latch fell into place.

  Bronwyn’s quill stilled, and she looked up from the parchment. “I wasn’t expecting you today.”

  “Me mum sent me.” Emma pushed away from the door. Her heart pounded as if she had been chased despite having evaded Mr. Neale in his own offices. What could explain her ridiculous behavior? For years she’d entered the establishment without having run into him. Why would today be any different? Blast the man for introducing devilish thoughts of sinful kisses and rekindling hopes of love. Egad—she was losing her mind. Love, indeed.

  Giving herself a good shake, she firmly planted both hands on Bronwyn’s desk and glared at her best friend. “Ye should have told me yerself. But oh no, ye let me spend an entire afternoon sitting on yer posh settee, and ye didn’t utter a word about bein’ with child.”

  Emma straightened at her dearest friend’s dark stare and crossed her arms—protecting her from any more stabs to the heart Bronwyn might inflict. Her bleedin’ best friend hadn’t shared the news with her directly. Instead, she’d heard it from her mum, who had learned of Bronwyn’s condition through the Network servant channels. The Elders' Council orders were for Emma to persuade Bronwyn to slow down and not overdo in her condition.

  “I was advised that nothing was certain until I was further along. And you can share with the Elders that unless the midwife advises that my sitting behind a desk is hazardous to the health of the babe, I shall continue to assist Christopher until he finds a suitable replacement.”

  Emma wanted to stomp her foot. They’d been friends since they were but five years old and hadn’t kept a secret from one another since they first met. How could Bronwyn calmly sit there and pretend nothing was amiss? They used to talk about everything. Emma infused all the emptiness, hurt, and rage into her voice. “But the midwife did say ye should take it easy. Ye’re carryin’ the blasted future Head PORF, for goodness sake!”

  “Why are you yelling?” Bronwyn put her quill down and stood. “I know you far too well. When you are angry, you torture me with silence. So out with it. What is truly the matter?”

  “I’ve been ordered here to gain yer promise that ye will have yer replacement in place by week’s end.” Bronwyn’s knowing eyes narrowed, but Emma refused to squirm.

  “Did you even attempt to argue my case?”

  “Of course I did. I talked until me face was red. They’re not askin’ ye to lie about. There are three wise women on the council. All have birthed their fair share of bubs, and they know how tirin’ it is at the beginning and the end. All they ask is that ye take it easy for now.”

  Slumping back into the chair, Bronwyn replied, “I don’t have the final decision. Christopher does. I can only present him with the best candidates available, and it is up to him to choose who he will hire.”

  This is how things should be between them. Sorting out their problems together. “Blimey, then I’ll have to hunt down yer husband and ask him to advise his brother that if Mr. Neale doesn’t choose, someone else will on his behalf.”

  Bronwyn jumped out of her seat and rounded the desk to wrap Emma in a bear hug. “Good gracious. Please share with me what is the matter with you?”

  Pushing her friend away for the first time ever, Emma said, “Stop yer fussin’. There nothin’ wrong with me.”

  “Emma Lennox.” Bronwyn grabbed Emma squarely by the upper arms. “You never seek out help from others.” Staring eye to eye, Bronwyn continued, “Something has happened. Did Christopher…”

  At the mention of his name Emma broke down, and a tear escaped. “Christopher kissed me. Me. And then I had to tell him…I told him the truth.” Her mouth soured even now at the thought of speaking of her horrid sire. “I’d rather sip arsenic than have to repeat wot I admitted to Mr. Neale. Ye know that.”

  Bronwyn ushered Emma to the pair of leather chairs separated by a small, round table. Emma sank into one while Bronwyn dragged the other around so that they could sit facing each other.

  “Ye shouldn’t be movin’ the bleedin’ furniture about.” Emma found her hands being squeezed by her best friend.

  “I didn’t become some fragile creature as soon as I conceived. Enough about me, please tell me what happened.”

  “’Tis not much to share. He mistakenly kissed me thinkin’ I was Lady Arabelle. I told him the truth—that I was her grandfather’s bastard. End of story.”

  “What do you mean he mistook you for Arabelle?”

  “I’ve heard breedin’ causes a woman to lose her wits.” Emma raised an eyebrow. “Another fine reason to remain unwed.”

  “I’m serious, Emma. Why did you allow Christopher to kiss you? You never let your guard down.”

  She shrugged. She didn’t know the answer despite having thought about it all night. She needed to make her escape soon before Bronwyn suspected she might actually fancy Christopher. “I came here to extract a promise from you, and I’ve a dozen orders waiting, so let me have it.”

  Bronwyn’s lips thinned into a straight line. “I have a better idea. We will discuss the matter directly with Christopher.”

  Emma clenched her fists. There w
as no way she was going to see Christopher willingly despite the awakening passion he’d exposed. She was no ninny and had her pride. He hadn’t been thinking of her when he bent his head to press his lips to hers. He’d imagined it was Lady Arabelle.

  There were no secrets among the Network. Her mum preyed upon at the tender age of fourteen by the lecherous old geezer, Ulysses Risley, who was Lord Hereford at the time. Ulysses died before Emma was born, succeeded by his son, Harold, who restored honor to the title at war but also gave his life for his country. The current Lord Hereford, Sebastian, who was watched closely by the Network and PORFs, had thankfully inherited none of his grandfather’s terrible traits and continued to honorably uphold the earldom his papa had worked so hard to restore.

  From a young age, Emma knew she was different from her siblings. No one in the Network brought up the topic of her lineage. They cared naught, for Emma had also worked hard to prove she had not inherited her sire’s villainous tendencies. She didn’t fear gossip. The ton’s insults couldn’t hurt her more than she allowed them to. She refused to let them hurt her or her mum further. The ton didn’t scare her. It was her own blasted reactions to Christopher she didn’t comprehend.

  Bronwyn rose and stood in front of Emma, blocking her from leaving. The door to Bronwyn’s office opened moments later, and Mr. Neale’s warm tenor voice filled the room. “I’ve already considered Mr. Brentworth and Mr. Neatherton’s applications. Neither of them…” He paused as he peered around Bronwyn and caught a glimpse of Emma. “Beg pardon. I didn’t know you had company.”

  Bronwyn stepped to the side, and Emma rose. If she didn’t face Christopher as brazenly as her friend would expect, there would be more prying questions from the only other woman who knew her as well as her mum.

  Quickly organizing her thoughts, Emma said, “Mr. Neale, the lack of progress in yer search for Bronwyn’s replacement is concernin’ given her delicate condition.”

  “Exactly why I prioritized the matter and am here.” He looked her over and smirked. “Are you here to apply for the position?”

  “Gor, wot a horrible idea. Absolutely not.”

  “Shame.” Christopher reached into his breast coat pocket and retrieved a letter that he held out for her. “Fortunate that you are here, and I can pass this along to you personally.”

  Instead of accepting the parchment, she stared at it as if it might bite her. “Wot is it?”

  “The instructions for this eve’s lessons.” His eyes twinkled with mischief.

  “I thought I was quite clear last eve. There will be no more lessons.”

  “I’d hoped you would change your mind.”

  “Emma never changes her mind, even when she’s wrong,” Bronwyn chimed in.

  Emma turned back to face Bronwyn. “Me sources say if I decline the first gentleman’s offer to dance, I’m not allowed to dance with another. Is that the rule?”

  Bronwyn sighed. “Aye. You are correct. I hoped you might meet a gentleman who might finally be of interest to you.”

  Christopher’s smile disappeared as his posture stiffened. Ignoring his strange reaction, Emma countered, “Ha. I know ye, Bronwyn Cadby Neale. Ye just want me to join yer misery.”

  Placing the instructions upon the small table next to her, Christopher said, “I require the use of your office—to speak with Emma, alone.”

  Bronwyn slid her gaze to Emma. Attempting to appear undaunted, she nodded.

  “I’ll go order us a pot of tea.” Her best friend backed out of the room, her gaze never leaving Emma.

  Once the door was shut, Emma opened her mouth, but Christopher raised a hand in the air and said, “I have a proposition.”

  Her hackles rose at the word proposition. Christopher was a gentleman; certainly he meant nothing untoward. Emma tilted her head and waited for the man to continue.

  Christopher continued, “I shall promise to decide upon and hire an assistant the day we satisfactorily finish our dance lessons.”

  “I already explained. I don’t plan on dancing at Bronwyn’s ball.” She clasped her hands behind her back and added, “There is no need for the lessons nor for those.” She nodded towards the white parchment.

  “I look forward to your concerned visits when Bronwyn continues to act as my secretary for another few months.” He turned as if he was about to leave.

  Bloomin’ barrister! Emma should have known to tread more carefully in her dealings with him. “Wait.”

  He swiveled slowly with a smirk that impulsively she wanted to kiss away. “Yes?”

  “Five days.”

  Retrieving the instructions, he stepped closer and opened the parchment. After he scanned its contents, he crisply folded it in half. “If you abide by everything outlined, I believe it possible to complete our lessons in five days, but it will require two or more hours of your time each evening.” She reached for the lesson plan, but he held it overhead. “You have to trust me and agree first.”

  “Ye expect me to trust ye?”

  “If you don’t trust me, what use is a promise to make an offer of employment five days henceforth?”

  It was a clever argument. She didn’t trust men. But Mr. Neale made her want to throw caution to the wind, and his smile made her contemplate wicked things she’d heard whispers about and never experienced in real life.

  His lips twitched, but he didn’t reveal the smile that she couldn’t resist. Instead, he smirked and said, “If you fail to complete the lessons, then I…”

  “I won’t.” She jutted out her chin and stared into his eyes.

  Clear, intelligent eyes that begged the question as to why a perceptive man like Christopher would agree to remain unmarked. Now was her chance to find out the answer. “If I agree, ye need to hire Bronwyn’s replacement, but ye also agree to receive the mark within the week.”

  Christopher’s eyes narrowed and pinned her with a look that would intimidate most but instead sent a hum of energy through her. “Hmm. Do you know the stipulations my brother has made in regards to the PORF mark being placed upon my body?”

  “Aye.” Everyone in the Network was aware—he must marry first.

  His gaze didn’t waver. “Then you must know your demand is unreasonable. Banns would need to be read…And who would you suggest I marry?”

  “Ye seem rather fond of Lady Arabelle. Why not procure a special license and propose?” A pang of hurt stabbed at her heart.

  He blinked slowly and released a deep sigh. “She is in love with another.”

  “Blimey, wot does love have anythin’ to do with marriage?”

  “I want to marry for love like family has before me—my papa, my brother, and even my dear cousin Theo. I will not break the family tradition.”

  She shifted her weight slightly forward, close enough to poke him in the chest, but she didn’t dare touch him. “So ye choose love over duty.”

  “My wish is that I shall accomplish both, just as both Landon and Theo have.”

  She stared at him mutely. His answer made no sense, yet he was correct. Both his brother and cousin had successfully managed to find love and fulfill their duties to the Crown. Unable to formulate a witty response, she said, “It is important to both PORFs and the Network that Bronwyn and the babe are hale and safe. I’ll settle for your terms. Five days of dance lessons, and ye will no longer require Bronwyn’s assistance.” She stuck out her hand, expecting him to give her the list of instructions.

  Ignoring her hand, he leaned in close and said, “Shall we seal the agreement with a kiss?”

  His eyes blazed with interest and settled upon her lips. He wanted to kiss her. It made no sense. She wanted him to want to kiss her, but she suspected he was merely attracted to her looks, so similar to the woman he really wanted. Did she dare take advantage and allow a kiss, knowing it wasn’t real?

  Her throat tightened, and she croaked, “Do ye kiss men when ye enter deals with them?”

  “No.” He chuckled, and his lips barely brushed over the tops of
her cheeks as he leaned in to whisper in her ear, “I look forward to our lesson later this eve.” He straightened, placed the parchment between her fingers, and left her looking at the door like a pea goose.

  Bronwyn returned with a maid laden with a tea tray. Emma tucked the parchment into a hidden pocket within her skirts.

  Bronwyn resumed her seat and waited for the young maid to leave her office. The second they were alone again, she asked, “Did he try to kiss you again?”

  “Aye.” Exhausted both mentally and physically, Emma fell back into her own seat.

  “And did you let him a second time?”

  “Nay.” She fidgeted with her skirts before meeting Bronwyn’s questioning gaze. “How is Christopher to receive the mark if he won’t marry but for love?”

  “Hmm. You didn’t grant him a kiss, but you have taken to referring to him by his Christian name. Emma, what are you not telling me?”

  “I’m not the one keeping secrets from their best friend.”

  “I should never have taught you the art of counter-arguments. You are far too good at them.” Bronwyn poured the tea and handed Emma her cup.

  Accepting the warm drink, Emma pondered Christopher’s reasons for continuing the dance lessons. Likely he was afraid of informing Lord Hadfield he’d failed as a dance master. Emma snorted at the thought he simply wished to see her again. To kiss her once more.

  “Emma Lennox, whatever it is you are thinking, I caution you to act with care.”

  Bronwyn was right. She’d have to keep her fanciful thoughts in line and keep her head out of the clouds. Christopher Neale’s lessons were for one purpose only—to ensure Emma wouldn’t make a fool of herself at Bronwyn’s debut ball.

  Chapter Six