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

“Yes, every damn day. I wish he had survived and inherited the title and the role of Head PORF. With every decision or order I make, I instantly question what Baldwin would have done. Would our cousin have retained and claimed the blasted rondure that made me head of this whole mess, or would he have managed somehow to bury it and hide it from all once again?”

The material of Landon’s greatcoat fell to the side as he placed a fisted hand upon his hip, revealing the bandage about his ribs.

Striding to come face-to-face with his brother, Christopher grabbed Landon by the shoulders. “Good lord, what happened to you?”

Landon shrugged him off and resumed pacing. His brother was never one to stay still. It was why he was more suited to the courtroom than sitting in mediation. “Nothing to fuss over. I merely had a coughing spell. The doctor believes I might have fractured a rib or two.”

Damn his brother’s lung condition. But it wouldn’t do to harp on it. Landon already harbored enough fear of an early demise. Christopher asked, “Are you trying to send our mama to an early grave?”

“I could ask the same of you. You have her extremely worried. Whereas she has no clue about my injury.”

Urgh. Landon hadn’t lost his abilities as a barrister, swiftly turning the focus of the conversation back to him. Christopher smiled and said, “Ah, but it won’t be long before Mama finds out. She always does.”

They both chuckled, but Landon winced as they shared the moment of levity.

“You know, without an heir, should something happen to you, I will inherit the title but not the rondure as long as I remain unmarked.”

Landon arched a brow and said, “If you wish to receive the mark, then marry.”

“Dammit, Landon. As a Neale, it is my familial right to serve the Crown as you do.” Christopher ran a hand through his hair and rested it on the back of his neck. “Who would you have me marry?”

“Brother, you have had women at your beck and call since…well, since you hit puberty. Honestly, when I made the blasted proclamation, I seriously hadn’t considered it would take you this long to find love.” Landon ceased his pacing. “We digress. What needs to be done for you to resume your normal, carefree disposition everyone is so fond of?”

“There is naught for you to do.” Christopher didn’t want his brother involved. “Promise not to share a word about Emma to any of the Hadfield women.” He wanted Emma to come to him willingly, not out of duty.

“You know I can’t make that promise.” Landon grabbed his hat and gloves. “But I have faith you shall have matters in hand soon enough. As always, I’m at your disposal should you find yourself in need of assistance.”

“Speaking of assistance, I’ve hired Weathersbee to be my secretary.”

Tugging on his gloves, Landon asked, “You can’t be referring to Lord Weathersbee? The man is nearly old enough to be our father.”

“I am. The man is not quite that old. He’s five years younger than Mama. His lordship humbly stated in his application that despite his middling years, his mind was sharp, and it was time he utilized his Oxford education.” In fact, it had been Weathersbee’s maturity that had swayed Christopher to hire him.

“Weathersbee. Third son of a Marquess. A fair businessman. Wealthy in his own right. Hmm. Begs the question—why would he seek employment?”

“I’ve no idea as to what prompted his interest in the position. However, he has the education and the maturity I’m seeking, and so I hired him.” Once marked, Christopher’s duties and priorities would change. The protection of the Crown would be his priority. He needed a man he could trust to assist with the running of the offices should Christopher find himself off on a mission.

Landon remained rooted next to the door, a pensive look upon his face.

Christopher said, “Not everyone has nefarious intentions.”

“Mayhap, but nonetheless, I shall be making inquiries. My thanks—Bronwyn will be relieved to know you have found her replacement.”

“No one can replace my dear sister-in-law, but I shall settle for Weathersbee.”

At the mention of his wife, Landon’s eyes lit up. His brother left without another word, no doubt to hunt down Bronwyn.

Returning to his desk, Christopher sat down and pulled out a clean sheet of parchment. Intending to draft a proposal Emma might consider, he picked up his quill. Bold, independent Emma. He searched for the words to express the intangible pull he felt towards her, but his vast legal vocabulary fell short. Instead, all that came to mind were two words: Marry me. But Emma deserved a proper courtship or at least one explicitly designed with her preferences in mind. Emma’s aversion to the ton ruled out an invitation for a carriage ride in Hyde Park or an evening at the theater. He needed more information on the woman. It would be a challenge, but if he was to become a Hadfield PORF, responsible for investigating and gathering intel, this would be excellent practice.

Chapter Thirteen

Emma refrained from rolling her eyes as Lord Hereford paced in front of her. The furniture in the Hereford townhouse appeared inviting, but the oversized winged back chair that dwarfed Emma was far from comfortable. The cushion was firm and hardly worn, as if no one had ever sat in the bloomin’ thing before. In fact, none of the pieces were aged with wear. Perhaps Lady Arabelle did not care to entertain, or this drawing room was reserved for her brother’s interrogations. After all, the man was a former Foreign Office agent.

Emma’s stomach rumbled, having skipped the nooning meal. “Why ’ave ye summoned me?”

Lord Hereford stopped, looked at her, and then shook his head.

He repeated the action two more times before Emma sighed and stood ready to leave if the man couldn’t summon the gumption to speak his mind. “I’ve got me a mountain of sewing to do, me lord, so unless