Page 25 of Tempting a Gentleman
He didn’t hesitate. He circled the soft, delicate skin with his tongue and then pressed his lips to the spot. “Aye, no one tempts me like you do.”
A soft moan from the back of her throat had him suckling the tender skin. If he didn’t stop, he would leave a mark. Straightening, he gazed down at Emma. She lowered her arms and reached behind her back for his hand once more. Reluctantly, he released his hold about her waist and threaded his fingers with hers. Her eyes darted to the stairs that led up to her private lodging. It was an invitation that he was sorely tempted to accept. But he wanted more than just her body. Lowering them both to the settee, Christopher said, “Tell me, what plans did you have for us this eve?”
“Me plans?” Emma shook her head. A flare of desire flashed in her eyes but was quickly blanketed as she shifted away. He didn’t like the additional inch of space she had placed between them, but it was probably for the best. It would ensure he avoided the temptation to divest her of her dress and make his earlier imaginings become a reality. While waiting for her to speak, he attempted to clear his mind by reciting the Latin alphabet.
Emma ran her palms over her thighs before meeting his gaze. “Me dad paid me a visit earlier.”
“As he does every eve, does he not?”
“Aye.” Emma lowered her eyes to her tightly clasped hands. “Why did ye push to spend more time with me?”
“Why did you agree if you didn’t wish the same?”
She shrugged. Emma wouldn’t meet his gaze.
His stomach clenched at the sickening thought that she had agreed out of obligation and duty and not out of a desire for his company. He reached out to lift her chin until their eyes met. “Please tell me you didn’t consent to our meetings because you took an oath to serve PORFs.”
He couldn’t read her thoughts behind her shuttered eyes. Gone was the woman seeking out his kisses, replaced by a woman he didn’t recognize. Had all their interactions been merely her sense of duty to see to his needs? He waited, wanting her to deny it. Hoping she’d tell him she was as spellbound as he was. Wishing her days had been filled with thoughts of him as his days were with her.
Emma remained silent.
Christopher released a sigh of resignation. Emma wasn’t interested in his company. She didn’t care for him the same way he’d come to cherish her.
“I release you from our agreement.” He donned his coat, hat, and gloves. Speaking to the top of her bent head, he continued, “I won’t subject you to any more lessons or attempt to further court you.” Christopher trudged to the door and let himself out. With the door ajar facing the empty street, he said, “I shan’t forget you, Emma Lennox, but I’ll not bother you anymore.”
* * *
Sittingon the floor in the middle of her store, Emma finished hemming Lady Arabelle’s gown. The tears that had blurred her vision finally rolled down her cheek as she tied a knot and cut the thread away from the gown. Recalling the events of Christopher’s visit was torture. None of it made sense. First, he had arrived early, catching her off guard. Armed with only a half-concocted scheme to determine Christopher’s true intentions, Emma had relied upon her instincts. Caught up in his charming spell, she sought out his kisses. Knowing Christopher was a gentleman and wouldn’t take her innocence unless he intended to marry her, she had dared to invite him up to her bed. Her pride was punctured when he rejected her offer, choosing to remain on the shop floor.
Not one for games, Emma changed tactics and blurted the question she needed to be answered. Except she forgot she was dealing with a barrister who skillfully countered her inquires with questions of his own. Questions she wasn’t ready to answer. She should have answered him. She should have told him the truth—she hadn’t agreed to meet with him out of a sense of duty. Confessed that he had transformed her routine days into adventures. Admitted when he was near, she dared to wish for more.
But when he had uttered the word courtship, she thought her hearing faulty. A series of images had flashed before her. Christopher standing before Reverend Rivers at her church. The PORF mark upon her ankle. Her parents waving from afar. All leaving her mute as Christopher left her shop.
Emma wiped the tears away from the edge of her jaw with the back of her hand. Rolling to her feet, she walked over to the far wall. She ran her hand over the cabinets and drawers designed and crafted by her dad. Her parents’ support had never once wavered in all the years she’d pursued her dreams. Wandering through the bolts of material, ribbon, and lace, Emma mumbled, “Could I really give all this up for a life with Christopher?”
Argh. Bronwyn had once accused Emma of having a terrible habit of taking actions that prevented her from gaining what she most desired. Is that what she had done this eve?
Halfway up the steps to her sanctuary, she turned back to scan the shop floor once more. And for the first time ever, instead of pride flowing through her veins, a cloak of emptiness enveloped about her. Her gaze landed on the settee that she and Christopher had occupied earlier. Tears welled and spilled onto her cheeks. Should she risk the life she had built for herself for an uncertain future?
A future that had the potential to force her to emerge from the shadows of the Network and be thrust into his world alongside the ton, which she had carefully avoided for most of her youth. Until the fateful day she decided to offer her services to the secretive Lady Lucy, the first female Agent of the Home Office. Lady Lucy had been young and in need of the Network’s help. Emma felt a kinship for the woman she couldn’t ignore. Similarly, Emma couldn’t deny the young, grieving Lord Hereford an audience when he appeared on her doorstep, extending her the same offer his papa had years before—for Emma to live under the protection of the Hereford title. She had declined the offer of residence and the generous dowry bequeathed to her. Instead, she extracted a promise from Lord Hereford to never reveal her inheritance and requested the funds be donated to an orphanage run by the Network. Like her mum, she had declined all of Lord Hereford and his papa’s attempts to atone for the trespasses of the past and would continue to do so.
With a heavy heart, she placed a hand on the railing and mounted each step, ready to rest her weary head. Feet firmly planted on the landing, her eyes watered again gazing at the space she had experienced her first real kiss…with Christopher. Emma clutched her stomach. Not even a day had passed, and already she missed him. Crossing the empty space, Emma shuffled behind the screen and crawled into bed. Thankful no one was about, she buried her face in her pillow and wept.
Chapter Twelve
The ink bled into the paper as the nib of Christopher’s quill stilled. Landon’s thunderous booted footsteps echoed through the hall. Damnation, he was in no mood to deal with the Earl of Hadfield or the Head PORF, or whatever role his brother was fulfilling today. Long gone were the days where their brotherly talks consisted of which clients they should accept and who was to dine with their lonely mama. The only positive to come of Landon inheriting the Hadfield title was their mama’s reentrance to society and her reunion with friends of old. Their mama’s days were again filled with activity. Aside from conducting subtle inquires for either Theo or Landon, their mama was busy planning for the arrival of the newest member of the Neale family that Bronwyn carried. A vision of Emma round with child flashed before him. He dropped the quill to rub his temples. The glimpses into his future were rare occurrences past his eighteenth birthday, but he had learned not to ignore them. How could this be—Emma wasn’t interested in his pursuit.
Heavy footsteps came to a stop at his door. Expecting Landon to barge his way in, Christopher scanned his desk. Damnation. He crumpled the ruined case summary and skillfully launched it at the bin by the door before gathering the incomplete drawings of Emma. Sketches that had distracted him from his ever-growing pile of work. He stuffed them beneath a stack of files mere moments before the door swung open.
Focused upon the case file before him, Christopher barked, “I’m busy.”
“For the past three days, I hear. Apart from returning to your residence to change, you’ve been holed up here.”
His brother’s tone bristled Christopher’s ire. He didn’t need Landon meddling in his affairs. “Don’t you ever tire of hearing reports on how others are living their lives?”
Not bothering to remove his coat, Landon sat in the chair opposite him. “No one’s seen you eat or sleep.”
Mayhap his brother intended for this to be one of his quicker visits. Landon placed his hat and gloves upon the table and leisurely crossed his legs. Damnation! Landon clearly had no intention of leaving any time soon.
