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a pleasure to see you again.”

Blushing at the display of overt love and care, she tried not to stare at the man’s charming dimple but failed. Remembering her manners, Emma bent at the knees in what she hoped was a graceful curtsy. “Lord Hadfield, ye’ve no need to hire a…”

He raised a hand, halting the rest of her protest. “I know I’ve already asked, but I’ll ask again. Please refer to me by my given name.”

Emma bobbed her head. “Ye don’t need to waste yer coin on me.”

“If it makes my wife happy, I’ll gladly pay a fortune for dance lessons, but as it happens, this dance master owes me a favor, and he is extremely reliable and discreet.” He wrapped an arm around Bronwyn’s waist as he spoke. Lord Hadfield didn’t even attempt to hide his love and affection for his wife. No. It was blatantly clear he was infatuated with Bronwyn.

Her best friend was known for being intensely private and guarded even among the Network. Yet Bronwyn stood at ease next to Lord Hadfield. Emma had never had to share Bronwyn’s regard with anyone before. Emma glanced about the room once more. Lord Hadfield was Bronwyn’s new family and world.

She didn’t fit in here. Emma blinked away the threat of tears. She needed to leave before Bronwyn detected her upset. Emma grabbed her shawl that lay over the arm of the settee and said, “That is very generous of you both, but with the season in full swing, I’m rather busy.”

As Emma wrapped the material about her shoulders, she caught sight of tears welling in Bronwyn’s eyes. Damn the woman. From the beginning of their friendship, they’d been highly in tune with each other’s feelings as if they connected intangibly. If one felt hurt or happy, so did the other. Blast. If the roles had been reversed, Bronwyn would do anything for Emma.

Emma put her pride aside. “Gah. Stop yer waterworks. I’ll make time for yer bloomin’ dance master.” Crisscrossing the material in front of her, she asked, “How long is it til yer blasted ball?”

Lord Hadfield answered, “Three weeks from today. I believe I can even arrange for the instructor to give you lessons at your shop. After hours, of course. If that would suit you.”

“Hmph. I guess I can move things about to make room at the shop.”

“Splendid.” Bronwyn clapped her hands with glee. “I’ll be by tomorrow for my fitting.”

“Ye’ll have to pay extra if ye want a new gown completed in three weeks.”

Lord Hadfield beamed down at his wife. “I’ll happily pay extra.” Displaying his irresistible dimple, he asked, “Shall I have the instructor come by tomorrow eve?”

It was no wonder the man had been a successful barrister before he had inherited an earldom and assumed the role of Head PORF. Oath or no oath, no one in their right mind would deny the man standing before her.

Emma answered, “Aye.”

Before the PORF couple could issue any other asinine orders, she turned, marched out of the room, and fled.

Chapter Two

The coach ride from Neale & Sons to the Hadfield townhouse was one Christopher Neale had taken many a time over the last two years since his brother Landon inherited the earldom. Today, the trip took twice as long as it should. Overcrowded carriages jostled for space and pedestrians milled about as if they hadn’t a care in the world. It was not long ago he too led an untroubled life. However, recently it seemed he was constantly being summoned or ordered about, no longer the master of his own life.

Melancholy and disbelief over his cousin Baldwin’s death lingered despite the changes to both his and Landon’s lives. He wasn’t supposed to be the one in charge of running the firm. That had been Landon’s destiny, not his. He had basked and excelled at leading the life of a second son. Yes, he had attended Oxford and attended the obligatory classes to obtain his law degree, a family tradition. Still, his passions had always lain in the arts and trade negotiations. He had happily managed civil suits while leaving case law and court appearances to Landon. But the day their uncle passed, Landon had inherited not only a bankrupt estate but also a generations-old duty to protect the royal family. A familial duty neither of them were informed of until their cousin Theo was about to forgo love for duty. Even before assuming the role of Head PORF, Landon had demanded Christopher wed before receiving the mark of a PORF, claiming it was in his best interest. While it irked him, Christopher admired and respected Landon, and so he agreed to delay receiving the mark until he found a suitable wife. For men of the Neale linage, that meant a lady he would love until his last breath. But after two years of searching and one failed courtship, Christopher was no longer willing to wait.

The coach slowed at the driver’s command, “Whoa!”

Before the coach came to a complete stop, Christopher jumped out, ready to extract the information his mama had sent him to obtain.

He placed a booted foot on the first step, and the wide door of the townhouse flung open, revealing the petite form of a cloaked woman. Her hood fluttered, concealing her features as she scanned the street and the path before her. Before Christopher’s foot landed upon the second step, the woman fled down the stairs and past him in such a frenzied blur he hadn’t managed to ascertain her identity.

The hairs on his arms stood on end, and his heart fluttered as if an electric current had run through him. The jolt froze him in place as the woman’s vehicle disappeared down the road. With a shake of his head, Christopher turned and mounted the steps to the front door. On the landing, he glanced back down the road. The bizarre thought that he had let something—no, someone—important slip away had him stomping through the foyer. Preoccupied with sorting his rioting

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