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.
“Well, as you can see, I’m still breathing.” Christopher clenched his jaw. After his disastrous evening with Emma, even the act of filling his lungs was a task. He’d never experienced such acute pain in his chest as he had leaving Emma’s store. He had no desire to ever endure such agony again. Yet the flashes of his future continued to feature Emma.
“Then who died?”
Not who but what had died within him. Hope. Desire. Dreams of a different future. Love. The hollow feeling inside him wasn’t due to the death of any one of those things, but perhaps all of them.
Landon unfolded and leaned forward. “Brother?”
He blinked, and his brother came into focus. “Beg pardon?”
“You only ever skip a meal when someone you know has passed. So who was it? Must have been someone you deeply cared for you to forgo food for three days.” Landon’s gaze, filled with concern, tracked his movements as Christopher rested his elbows upon the desk and rubbed his aching temples.
Christopher sighed. “No one has died.” He was exhausted, and there was no point in continuing the conversation that would merely result in more hours of brooding over Emma.
“Then what is the matter?”
This wasn’t something his big brother could assist him with, and telling Landon as much would only agitate the man more. “Nothing. Don’t you have more pressing duties than harp on about my eating habits?”
Straightening and crossing his arms in front of his chest, Landon said, “Mama threatened to come down here and feed you like a babe if I didn’t resolve whatever it was that was causing your lack of self-care. Shall I inform her to proceed with her visit?”
The shiver that ran down his spine was fierce. Christopher wouldn’t put it past his mama to do such a ghastly thing. “It’s a woman.”
“It always is. Who is this woman?” Landon drummed his fingers against his upper arm. “I’m not leaving until I have a name.”
It wasn’t a threat, it was a statement, and Landon was never easily dissuaded.
“Emma.”
“My wife’s best friend. The woman you claimed was merely a friend.” Landon’s voice deepened to a bone-chilling tone. “A woman who is a key Network member under my protection.”
“Yes. Emma Lennox.”
A lesser man might have flinched at his brother's stern bark. “What happened?”
Christopher raised his head and snapped, “Nothing happened. That’s the problem. Emma wants naught to do with me.” He had been fooled by the woman’s responsive kisses. His plan to court her out of the sight of prying eyes and meddling members of family and Network had failed. But under his big brother's disconcerting gaze, he finally admitted to the heart of the matter. “All I want is to be in the same room as her.”
“Interesting. A woman who isn’t tempted by your handsome features or your charm and wit.” The corner of Landon’s mouth quirked up, revealing his blasted dimple. “Hmm…I don’t believe it. Emma is a fine judge of character. Are you sure she doesn’t return your regard?”
“How can one mistake silence? She didn’t deny that the only reason she agreed to see me was because of her blasted oath.”
Landon’s features relaxed and his eyes softened with what Christopher guessed was sympathy. “Why did you arrange the meetings with Emma?”
“Obviously to court her.”
“Why? As a means to obtain the mark?”
Christopher stared at his brother. Granted, they hadn’t been in each other’s company much these past two years, but Landon couldn’t seriously believe he would
consider marrying someone he didn’t care for. Love. He stood and meandered over to the window. Since Landon brought up the topic of the mark, Christopher asked, “Do you not think me worthy to receive the mark?”
“What a preposterous statement. Of course, you are worthy. It’s just that once you receive it, your life will be forever changed.”
“No. Our lives were altered the day our cousin Baldwin died.” Christopher peered out the window. Men assigned to Landon’s protection patrolled the perimeter. He turned back to find Landon pacing. Christopher waited until his brother turned toward him before saying, “Do you ever wish…”
“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 ye care to explain the dire emergency ye claimed to be experiencin’ in yer note, I’ll jus’ be on me way.”
He stopped and turned to face Emma. His eyes filled with worry, and another emotion Emma had never seen before. Fear. No. Pride. No. She couldn’t place it, but whatever had caused him to send a carriage to her shop to fetch her was indeed a matter of import.
Clearing his throat, Lord Hereford finally found his voice. “I wish to ask you to refrain from assisting my sister in her devilish schemes.”
Ah. Arabelle. Emma should have known the lady was the center of her brother’s concerns. Orphaned an early age, with only the servants left to raise them, the siblings were extremely close.
The man was being run ragged by his sister. Emma took pity on Lord Hereford and got straight to the point. “Are ye talkin’ about the dress she requested for Lady Hadfield’s ball?”
“Yes, I am. I bloody well had to sequester my dear sister’s maid for an hour before the chit finally confessed. God only knows what the staff was thinking with me having the girl in here all that time.”
Confirmation Emma had guessed correctly at the purpose of the room had her grinning. But the distress in Lord Hereford’s last sentence quickly prompted a quick response. “Ye are nothin’ like yer grandfather, and yer staff knows it.”
Wrinkles about the man’s eyes appeared, aging him beyond his eight and twenty years. Hands clenched firmly behind his back, he said, “Sounds absurd, but knowing his blood runs through my veins, I’m ever vigilant against developing his wicked ways.”
Lord Hereford
’s statement struck her heart. Hearing that they shared the same fear placed a large hole in the wall she had built to keep her distance from Lord Hereford—Sebastian. Fustian. Both Hereford siblings were whittling away her resistance to their company.
Guilt at having agreed to design a dress for devilish intentions shot through Emma. Back straight, she said, “Yer sister is stubborn. No changin’ her mind once she has a plan. Best be involved rather than not know.”
“If you won’t desist, then I shall have to cease paying her modiste bill.”
Sebastian’s reply was quick and decisive. Lord Hadfield had chosen wisely in installing Sebastian as privy council to the King and Prinny. At the time of his appointment, Emma had her doubts, but there was no denying the man pacing in front of her was intelligent and possessed great honor. Emma waited for Sebastian to complete a circuit about the room. She lifted her chin and said, “I don’t charge ye.”
Standing with perfect posture, he paused directly before Emma. “Is that so?” He stroked his chin and added, “Arabelle has much to explain. I’ve been much too lenient with her since my return from the Continent.”
Emma laughed and wondered what Arabelle was doing with the extra funds she’d been commandeering from her brother. Meeting Sebastian’s eyes, which were so similar to his sister’s and her own, Emma felt all her defenses crumble. She’d not be denying Sebastian the connection he and his sister had persisted in forming with her.
Brows knitted together, Sebastian asked, “Do you know the identity of this man my sister is intent on marrying?” The flicker of the firelight in his eyes highlighted the man’s anxiety.
With a shake of her head, Emma replied, “Don’t ye?”
Releasing a defeated sigh, he said, “She won’t share the blasted man’s name. But I know her too well—Arabelle will not give up.”
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