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

busy raising six growing children, four of them boys. Without her assistance, her family would have to rely heavily on the Network. Her mum was the proud descendant of a founding member—Emma would rather starve than to seek out help. No. She wouldn’t let her family accept charity, even though her mum preached that wealth comes in a multitude of forms and the Network recognizes that. Not was not the case in the upper classes—Coin was king. And when the coffers of the wealthy dwindled, they married to replenish them.

Drawing the curtains closed, she saw the shadow of a rather tall gentleman approaching. For some odd reason, she had expected the dance master to be slim and of average height. Pressing her back to the door, she waited.

Three quick raps followed by a pause and then one solid knock. It was indeed the dance master. Quickly releasing the locks, she swung open the door. What the blazes! Mr. Christopher Neale, brother to the bloomin’ Head PORF, stood on her doorstep. Oh, she recognized the man; he was cut from the same cloth as his brother. The corner of Mr. Neale’s lips curled into a charming grin, and Emma would be a liar if she didn’t admit to the spark of interest that fluttered in her chest. Brow furrowed, she poked her head out and scanned the area.

Mr. Neale twisted and looked about the stoop, removing his hat and gloves. “Are you going to invite me in?”

Up close, Emma noted Mr. Neale’s warm brown eyes, fine aristocratic nose, and his firm but inviting full lips—he was a handsome devil all right, as reported amongst the Network members. Women were rumored to swoon in his presence, and now she understood why. Attempting to gather her wits, she moved behind the door as Mr. Neale barged in.

Emma sputtered, “What the devil are ye doing here? Lord Hadfield advised I was to expect a dance master, not a gentleman known for dallyin’ about.”

He simply smiled and proceeded further into the shop. Mr. Neale didn’t possess a charming dimple like his brother, but the curve of his lips had a profound effect upon her pulse.

“So you already know who I am. Shall we skip the formalities? You may call me Christopher, and I shall address you by your given name. Emma, correct?”

Her ire burst into flames—the audacity of the man to look and speak to her as if she were a pea goose. Except the twinkle in the man’s eyes blanketed her flash of anger, bringing her rage to a mere simmer. She agreed with a curt nod.

With a lopsided smile, he said, “I assure you I’m quite proficient at dancing and an adept teacher. Landon, in his infinite wisdom, believed discretion would be best in this situation. We wouldn’t want anyone outside of our circle to know, now would we?”

The man was a barrister. Perhaps if she used some of the knowledge she’d learned from Bronwyn, it might help place them on more equal footing. Because that damned smile was turning her insides to mush.

Facing the closed door and taking her time to turn each lock, Emma asked, “If I feign a momentary lapse in sanity, do ye believe I’d be able to avoid attendin’ Bronwyn’s ball?”

When she turned back around, his gaze was trained entirely upon her—assessing. Her cheeks burned under his scrutiny.

Tapping his hat against his leg, Mr. Neale answered, “In this case, such a plea will do you no good.”

The spark of energy she had been lacking reappeared. “Then wot would ye advise?” Something about Mr. Neale provoked her to want to spar with him, both verbally and physically. He would be a fine opponent.

The flare of interest in his eyes was unmistakable. She hadn’t meant to evoke such a response. Emma took in a shallow breath to quiet her nerves that had sparked to life and on alert. He was an honorable gentleman. He was a rake. Being the product of a gentleman’s seduction, she would not fall for the gentleman’s charms.

Bustling past him, she twirled about. It wouldn’t be safe to bring him above stairs. Safe for whom—her or him? She would have to figure out an alternative.

Mr. Neale removed his greatcoat and folded it over the waiting room settee. Emma couldn’t help but stare at his handsome, lithe form as he strode over to stand by the measuring table. “There’s not much room in here.” His gaze roamed the room and then narrowed upon her. “Is something the matter?”

“I had a hectic day, and I’ve not had a chance to rearrange things for the lesson.”

Mr. Neale looked about once more and removed his jacket. The man would be naked before the hour was up if he continued to remove articles of clothing. She imagined he’d be a fine specimen to look upon with those shoulders and narrow waist. She snapped her wayward thoughts back to the matter at hand. She was being ridiculous.

Chuckling, he asked, “Care to share your thoughts?”

His warm, teasing tone sent blood rushing to her cheeks. Emma shook her head in response.

He prowled about the room and then stopped at the foot of the stairs that led up to her private chambers. “Do you sleep here?”

Voice lost to the pounding of her heart, Emma nodded.

“All alone?” Mr. Neale’s relaxed demeanor fled, replaced by a deep frown. “With no one about who would protect you from thieves?”

“I can protect meself.”

“Humph.” He placed a foot on the first step.

“Wait. Where do ye fink yer going?”

“To search for an appropriate space for us to practice, of course.”

“But…”

He didn’t wait. He marched up the stairs and called down, “Come along, Emma. You have the perfect area up here. We don’t have much time, and since this is extremely important to Bronwyn and, in turn, my brother and thus to me…we shall need every minute you can spare.”

Damnation. Were all the men in the Neale family overbearing? She trudged up the stairs and found Mr. Neale dressed merely in his