Page 16 of Tempting a Gentleman
“Do you not find my son desirable?”
Oh, she found Christopher to be alluring…captivating, and extremely attractive. Clear images of Christopher dressed only in his lawn shirt and trousers increased her body temperature and brought a pink tinge to her cheeks. She could only hope her bodily reactions were masked in the dimly lit coach.
“My lady, ye birthed two incredibly handsome men, one with a dimple that hazes the mind and the other with a smile that blinds a woman. But I’m not one to dally about with a man, and I’m quite certain Christopher would not want to marry a woman like me, sired out of wedlock and all.”
“You don’t think much of Christopher then.” Disappointment settled into the fine lines around Aunt Henri’s eyes, making her appear older than she usually did.
How was she to explain? While her sire had unexplainably fathered an honorable heir, who sired one also, she was conceived from a horrific experience. Bad blood flowed through her veins. She never wanted to taint her family or any other. Emma tried her best to live without reproach at all times. Had even distanced herself from her loving family, for she had sinful thoughts all the time. Especially when she danced in the arms of the charming Christopher Neale—barrister, gentleman, and future PORF. She experienced a wicked longing to have Christopher’s lips upon hers when he melted her heart with his intense gazes. Even knowing he was picturing another lady, she didn’t care. She wanted to pretend she was the one he undressed with his eyes.
The coach came to a halt. Emma admitted, “I didn’t think much of him before I met him.” Crisply folding the blanket and placing it on the rear-facing seat, Emma continued, “But after spending a few hours with him, it’s clear he needs a smart, talented woman to wed.” A woman who could read books and debate with him in the evenings. Not someone like her who fancied evenings filled with kisses and the pleasure of his glorious taut body next to hers. No. Christopher Neale should marry a woman of equal breeding and intelligence.
The coach door swung open. Aunt Henri said, “We are not done conversing.” The footman nodded and closed the door. Capturing Emma’s hand, Aunt Henri continued, “What my son deserves is a woman who will love him for his rather confounding and complex personality. As his mother, I assure you it will take an extraordinary woman to tempt my dear son into matrimony.”
“He’s young. He has time yet.”
Aunt Henri let out an unladylike snort. “Not according to Landon. He’s advised his brother to find a wife by the end of the season, or he will choose one for him.”
Tugging her hand free, Emma asked, “How is it that the Network doesn’t know of this edict?”
“Ha. Such a bold question. You would have to become a PORF in order for me to answer. I trust I’ve not misjudged in confiding in you. You won’t share this information, will you?”
“Aunt Henri, yer a sly fox.”
The woman winked at her. Continuing her bold actions, Aunt Henri did the unthinkable—she pushed open the door and then Emma out of the carriage.
Emma whirled around before the coach door closed. “Will I see ye later?”
“I don’t think so, child. I believe I’ve given you enough to ponder. I’ll leave you in Theo’s capable hands.”
Chapter Eight
Bleary-eyed, Emma ran a finger over the row of stitches that she somehow managed to sew. After another night of restless sleep, she rose and, by candlelight, began to sew, whittling down the mound of work that had amassed due to her lack of concentration over the past two days.
The first streaks of light began to filter through her clean shop windows, followed by the tinkle of the overhead bell. Theo had finally arrived.
Theo was one of the stealthiest of the PORFs. Only her husband rivaled her skill in entering a room undetected. “Good gracious, I’ve never seen so many gowns in their various states.” Theo’s sweet authoritative voice just beyond the curtain gave away the woman’s position in the room.
Bronwyn’s soft footsteps meant she too was close by. “No doubt Emma will say it’s my fault.”
Emma pushed back the curtain, separating the receiving room from the back. “Itisyer bloomin’ fault. Ye invited too many guests, and I’ve even had to turn away some clients, for the first time, and I’m not at all happy about it.”
“Denying a client or two will only make your dresses more desirable.” Theo twirled to face Emma and rushed to her side. “Whatever is the matter? You look dreadful.”
“Nothing is the matter. I’ve not slept much, is all.”
Bronwyn came over and felt her forehead. “No fever. Do you want me to summon more help for you?”
Emma huffed. “I don’t need ye meddling in my business. It’s the silly dance lessons that are taking up too much of me time.”
Bronwyn, wide-eyed, replied, “But Christopher said last night’s lesson went splendid.”
“According to my sources, you have concerns regarding the ball that you wish to discuss with me.” Theo stepped up onto the platform and rubbed her rounded belly. “What do you wish to ask?”
“Christopher prompted me to consider the possibility of others noticing and making mention of my lineage. Perhaps my attendance will harm the success of Bronwyn’s first ball.”
“He has a point. It might be rather awkward for you.”
“I don’t care about me. I’m worried about Bronwyn.”
