Page 29 of Tempting a Gentleman
He turned to face her. “We definitely share a bloodline.”
“No need to remind me,” Emma mumbled. She rolled to her feet and crossed the plush carpet to stand before the fire. Holding her hands out, Emma soaked up the warmth. The room’s atmosphere transformed from intimidating to one she could become accustomed to—with time.
Sebastian handed her a tumbler with a splash of amber liquid. She needed more than the half-finger offered, but she accepted the glass and rolled it between her palms. Faced with the prospect of becoming a frequent visitor of the Hereford residence, Emma downed the entire contents of her glass. While it no longer sent tendrils of fear down her spine, it also didn’t hold any appeal.
Taking the empty tumbler from her hand, Sebastian said, “I did as you requested. I gave the funds bequeathed to you to the orphanage anonymously. However, I will have you know that I’ve recently had my own final will and testament redrafted. It provides for a small cottage by the sea, unencumbered to the Hereford title of course, and a modest amount of funds to be bestowed upon you, should I come to an untimely demise.”
Emma followed her nephew to the sideboard. “Why would ye do such a foolish thing?”
“I assure you, I am no fool.” He pulled the stopper from the decanter that housed the tasty malt whiskey that had gone down her gullet with ease. Both glasses received a finger and a half this time. “My lawyer assures me there shall be no gifting to another on your behalf this time.”
Bloomin’ stubborn Hereford blood. Emma took her tumbler and sipped the whiskey that doubtless cost as much as a gown or two. She didn’t want handouts or charity. Peering into the amber liquid, the same color as Christopher’s eyes, Emma was struck with an idea. “I shall have to consult me own legal counsel on the matter.”
With a nod, Sebastian said, “As you wish.” His all too quick agreement gave Emma pause. She replayed the last few moments over in her head. All of it seemed genuine, yet the skin on the back of her neck prickled.
Sebastian placed a hand on her elbow and guided her to the wing-backed chair she had occupied earlier. “Shall we begin discussing our scheme to deal with dear Arabelle?”
Settling back into the seat cushion that had molded to her, Emma replied, “Why do I suspect you already have a plan?”
“Because I do. All I need you to do is—”
Emma emptied her glass. It was going to be a long night of negotiations.
Chapter Fourteen
Weary, Christopher silently trod through the empty building. The idea of breaking his word for the first time ever didn’t bode well. He had told Emma he would leave her be, but that wasn’t going to be possible. He had to see her. A flicker of a flame seeped beneath the door frame of Bronwyn’s office. Landon would have his head if Bronwyn was still at it well past their agreed hours.
Christopher poked his head in. “Weathersbee. What the devil are you doing here?” He entered the office and confronted the older lord, whose spectacles were perched on the tip of his nose.
“Ah. Mr. Neale.” Weathersbee rose and gestured to the vacant seat, ignoring Christopher’s question.
Damnation, this was his office. His papa’s voice boomed—Always respect your elders.
As soon as Christopher was seated, the old man continued, “I met with Countess Hadfield this afternoon and believed it would behoove me to stay to review a few summaries.”
Christopher peered at the two stacks of files upon the desk. “A few, you say.”
Weathersbee removed his spectacles, letting them swing indolently between his forefinger and thumb. “Fascinating that case facts from decades ago are still relevant to current day matters, is it not?”
“Mayhap relevant but not at all practical.” Christopher’s wish for legal reform meant his papa had encouraged him to focus on the finer points of civil and business law. Christopher’s success had seen to it that Neale & Sons was considered the absolute best in drafting the complicated foreign trade agreements that led to many successful joint ventures by investors. Some of which had led to the restocking of the Hadfield coffers.
Folding his eyewear and placing them neatly on top of the short pile, Weathersbee said, “There are some other rather interesting matters the firm assists with. In particular, rather intricate agreements with foreign parties—Americans?”
Weathersbee was clearly no indolent titled gentleman. The old man kept current on world affairs and was extremely astute in reading his opponent's body language.
Christopher considered avoiding the tenuous topic of his aid to Lord Burke. But if Weathersbee was to be in charge of Neale & Sons while he was abroad, Christopher needed to trust the old man. “I assume you are referring to Lord Burke’s dealings with Mr. Suttingham. Americans are notoriously difficult, but to date, I’ve managed to keep matters in hand.”
Weathersbee picked up his spectacles and replaced them upon his nose. “It will be rather difficult to fill the shoes of Countess Hadfield. She is a remarkable woman.”
Christopher inwardly sighed, relieved to have avoided discussing in detail Lord Burke’s association with the American merchant. Christopher grinned. “Aye. But I believe you are up for the task; otherwise, I’d not have hired you.”
The old man chuckled. “I do not wish to give you cause to question your decision, but now that I’ve paused, I believe it is time I seek out my bed.”
Weathersbee rolled his shoulders and arched his back. The old man didn’t possess the body of an overindulgent lord. His solid chest and muscled arms bespoke of someone who regularly partook in physical exercise. Like his papa and Landon, before he inherited, Christopher avoided the sporting clubs the lords typically held memberships to. Fencing and bare-fisted sparring were of no interest. Christopher preferred activities that involved more than two participants—cricket had been a favorite pastime at Cambridge. His recent correspondence with the mercenary but wealthy tobacco merchant, Mr. Suttingham, included a rather interesting passage on a game that was fast developing into a favorite pastime across the pond—baseball. Communications from Christopher’s ever-increasing number of associates from the New World continually piqued his curiosity. The idea that a man was judged by his character and efforts and not his heritage was alluring. Before Landon inherited, Christopher had seriously contemplated emigrating to the New World. A chance to establish a life for himself out of the shadows of his successful older brother. Those dreams were dashed when the responsibilities of the firm his papa had worked hard to establish fell upon him.
Weathersbee stood next to Christopher, hat, gloves, and coat already donned, ready to leave. “Care to join me for a late supper?”
“That sounds like a grand idea.” It would be nice to share a meal with another for a change.
