Tempting a Gentleman by Smith, Ann (bearly read books .txt) 📕

Never had he had a partner so in tune with his own body. Staring into her teal eyes, he spun her around for another two bars of the melody. His body vibrated in response to her closeness. Drawn by a magnetic pull, he lowered his head. Her lips were slightly parted, beckoning to him closer until their lips met. Her eyes closed at the soft pressure, and warmth blanketed his heart. For a split second, her features blurred with those of Arabelle’s, and he stumbled.

He righted himself. “Beg pardon, did I tread upon your toes?”

“Nay. But wot startled ye?”

He had been a fool to believe himself in love withi Arabelle. It wasn’t Arabelle’s sweet, innocent features that had his heart stuttering; it was this beautiful, enigmatic woman in his arms. At Emma’s tired but piercing look, he stepped back and released her. “It’s late.” He rushed to pick up his waistcoat and donned it like a shield to protect his heart that was pounding in the middle of his chest.

“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