Revealing a Rogue

by Rachel Ann Smith

  The crease between Bronwyn’s eyebrows deepened. His ability to formulate highly persuasive arguments had failed, for the woman clearly remained unconvinced.

  Landon squared his shoulders and added, “It’s not a titled lady I’m seeking. I can assure you there is no other woman of my acquaintance who will fulfill the position as adeptly as you. I choose you to be the next Countess of Hadfield. Do you accept?” When she remained silent, Landon added, “It’s a query, not a demand.”

  “Then you will allow me a day to consider.” Her lips twitched as if she was resisting a smile. It was enough to convince Landon she would ultimately agree to marry him.

  He rolled to his full height. “I’ll return tomorrow for your answer.” The alarm bells had yet to cease in his mind, and he would be a fool to ignore his intuition, which had proven to be his savior since inheriting the Hadfield title.

  He turned to leave, but curiosity about what the woman would feel like in his arms got the better of him. Landon swiveled and came face to face with a bewildered Bronwyn. His arm wrapped about her waist as she swayed. Although she wasn’t the swooning type, her faltering meant she wasn’t entirely unaffected by his closeness.

  Leaning in, Landon whispered into her ear, “Until tomorrow.”

  Reluctantly he released his hold as she twisted to return to her seat behind what once was his papa’s desk. She grabbed a file from the top of a stack and opened it with a flourish.

  With a slight hop in his step, he left her to work. Yes, Bronwyn was exactly the woman he needed as a wife.

  Chapter Two

  The black marks on the parchment before Bronwyn blurred. Her mind was a mass of confusion. Landon Neale, Lord Hadfield, Head PORF and the man who crept into her dreams nightly, had proposed—to her! He claimed she had invaded his daily thoughts, exactly as he occupied hers. How was that possible? His admission set her heart to racing, but from panic or joy, she wasn’t sure which.

  Snapping the file in front of her closed, she placed the folder upon a pile and then moved it a second time to its original stack. Mr. Neale had requested full summaries by the morn, but after Lord Hadfield’s proposal, how was she to focus?

  During the six years she’d been in the man’s employ, he never once inquired about her family. She questioned whether or not he was even aware of her position within the Network. Even when she had disclosed her surname, he hadn’t seemed to make the connection.

  Eight years ago, Bronwyn had vied for the position of Landon’s secretary to keep her true purpose—protecting him—secret. That was when he remained unmarked and unaware of his family's ties to the Crown. Her dad and Lady Theo’s papa, the Earl of Hadfield at the time, had argued it was too dangerous for her. The likelihood of her obtaining the position of personal secretary was slim, given it was a position typically reserved for men. But after a few persuasive arguments, they relented and allowed her to apply for the post. Thankfully, Landon was due in court on the day of the interviews, and Mr. Christopher Neale had conducted them and hired for the position. Mr. Neale was two years Landon’s junior and, while an extremely talented debater, was no match for Bronwyn. Never had an hour gone by with such speed, and every week since, her meetings with Mr. Neale provided Bronwyn with an opportunity to exercise her mind and broaden her knowledge.

  Mr. Neale barreled into her office with his usual flare of exuberance. “Right, Miss Bronwyn, I’ve prepared an excellent critique of the Coleman case. You won’t be able to…” He stopped short and turned to look behind him. “Whatever is the matter?”

  The two brothers couldn’t be more opposite in disposition despite their strong physical resemblance. Landon was a fiercely independent leader and thrived on hard work, while Mr. Neale tended to rule by consensus and employed a laissez-faire attitude to life.

  Mr. Neale advanced a step. “Are you well?”

  “Have you spoken to Lord Hadfield?”

  “I didn’t cheat by seeking out Landon’s help. I formulated my arguments all on my own, thank you very much.”

  “That’s not what I meant. Your brother was here earlier; did he not seek you out?”

  “Landon was here?” Mr. Neale chuckled. “I imagine he was quite surprised to find his office reassigned.”

  “Your brother did seem rather nonplussed by the fact.”

  Mr. Neale’s gaze intensified. “Hmm. What did he want?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “I’m not the one practicing to be on the witness stand in this instance. Now, tell me why Landon was here.” He stood and placed his right hand behind his back and the left on his hip. It was the stance he always took when he was about to begin cross-examination.

  Bronwyn stared at Mr. Neale, the sole reason she was allowed by the Network to remain employed at the law offices after Landon’s departure. Abiding by Landon’s orders, her dad had yet to place the mark upon Mr. Neale’s body that would indicate the man was indeed a PORF. Her duty was to ensure no harm came to Mr. Neale. How was she to answer her employer? If Mr. Neale bore the mark, she would have had no choice but to obey and disclose Landon’s purpose. Since Mr. Neale didn’t, and Landon hadn’t sought out his brother’s time, she was at a loss for the appropriate response. Bronwyn rolled back her shoulders and replied, “I’m not at liberty to say.”

  “Was he here to reclaim his office?”

  “No.” Bronwyn’s knee bounced up and down under the desk. She reached out and adjusted each of the piles of files in front of her to keep her hands occupied.

  “Did he inquire as to my whereabouts?”

  “No.” If it had been Landon standing before her, he’d simply demand an answer or stare her down as he had earlier. Instead, Mr. Neale would doggedly ask questions until she relented, or he’d muddle through the facts based on her answers and figure it all out on his own.

  “Did he receive what he came for?”

  Bronwyn hesitated. “No.”

  Blast!

  Mr. Neale’s eyebrows rose at her answer. Pauses of any sort were a telltale sign of weakness or uncertainty. To a barrister, it meant they should further ponder and continue the line of questioning. Her employer turned, placing his back to her and murmured to himself—

  “Not office related.

  “He hinted at having made a decision, yet he’s not shown a preference for any of the ladies on Theo’s list.

  “He was rather prickly this morn.

  “Aha. By Jove, Landon’s finally come to his senses and figured it out.”

  Mr. Neale was too clever by half. When he rounded to face her again, his features had softened, no longer accusatory. “My brother was here to see you and to pose a specific question. Did you say yes?”

  She reached up and withdrew the pencil from her hair, setting her bun askew. “I requested a day to consider his proposal.”

  Christopher came to stand next to her. “You can say no if you want to.” His knees cracked as he crouched down beside her. “I’ll speak to him if you would like.”

  “In my position, No is not an option.”

  “Of course, it is! Landon would never force you to marry him.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “No, it is not I who is mistaken, it is you. I may pretend to be oblivious to the workings of the Network and my family dealings, but I’m fully aware of who and what my brother is. I also know that he would never order or command you to marry him. So, what is your answer to be?”

  “That’s the issue—I don’t know what the right answer is.”

  He gave her his brotherly look. “Very well, let’s reason it out together, shall we?”

  Bronwyn nodded. She had always considered Mr. Neale rather like an older brother. If she married Landon, he would, in fact, be that.

  Mr. Neale rose and paced in front of her desk. “Landon is not one to make decisions rashly. He must have given this much thought.”

  “Yes, but why me? Never once, in the six years we worked together, did he ever act anything but the gent
leman. Why not offer for a young lady of the ton?”

  Mr. Neale lips twisted into a smirk. “Now, you know what I’m about to say. Never make assumptions until you have all the facts. Have you met these young ladies you speak of?”

  “No. However, I am kept rather well informed. Especially of your cousin Lady Theo.”

  “Theo is not young and definitely not representative of the ladies I’ve been subjected to meeting these two years past.”

  “In any case, Lord Hadfield should marry a lady, not someone like me.” Bronwyn stopped herself from declaring that countesses are supposed to be refined, well mannered; not brazen, and outspoken.

  “I don’t follow. Explain your reasoning.”

  “He needs a gently bred wife to host parties and balls, not a shopkeeper’s daughter.”

  “Then your exceptional communication and organizational skills will come in handy.”

  Communication skills, ha! It had taken hours, days, and weeks of practice to eliminate all traces of her cockney accent and colloquialisms from her speech. Bronwyn suspected her abilities with a dagger, and legal knowledge would be of little interest to the ladies of the ton. Those ladies would be unlike the women within the Network, who were always eager to learn self-protection and ways to keep their men out of trouble.

  Bronwyn shrugged. “Mr. Neale, you are not helping and are clearly mistaken.”

  “Am I not? In fact, after considering the matter, I fully comprehend Landon’s reasoning for selecting you as the next Countess of Hadfield. Also, you shall have to start addressing me as Christopher and not thinking of me as Mr. Neale.” He grinned, winking at her—her future brother-in-law was a rogue at heart, exactly like his brother.

  “I am curious how you came to such a conclusion,” Bronwyn said. “Care to share your wisdom?”

  “You shall have to figure it out on your own. I’m confident it won’t take you long.” With one hand on the door handle, Christopher turned to say, “Might I suggest you pay a visit to your friend Ms. Lennox.”

  “How do you know of Emma?”

  “While I’ve not had the pleasure of meeting the woman, Theo speaks rather highly of her.”

  “Mr. Neale…” At the man’s scowl, Bronwyn corrected herself. “Christopher, you are a genius. Emma will know exactly how to handle the situation.”

  “And you can advise her on your trousseau.” Christopher left and closed the door before she could respond.

  The mountain of files on her desk would take hours to complete.

  The latch of the door clicked and she jumped as Christopher popped his head back in. “The reports can wait. Landon will not.” Her employer disappeared as quickly as he had reappeared.

  Sliding her chair back to stand, Bronwyn was hit by a thought—life from this day forward will never be the same.

  The wind picked up, sending Emma’s store sign swinging forward and back. Bronwyn peered up at the harped angel, a symbol of seniority amongst those in the Network, and smiled as it glittered against the sunlight. Her best friend’s family had served PORFs for generations, as her own had.

  What would her parents say when she returned home?

  Her dad remained skeptical of Landon’s worth, despite him being the holder of the rondure. Bronwyn grinned as she recalled her dad’s grumblings the night Lord Archbroke had brought Landon to their home to receive the mark.

  A small hand wrapped about Bronwyn’s arm and tugged her toward the door. “Lawd above. Why are ye loiterin’ on me stoop?” Emma asked.

  “I was…”

  Emma shut the door behind them and turned the sign over to indicate her store was closed for the day. “Well, how long do I have?”

  She shouldn’t be surprised Emma had already learned the news. Word traveled at precipitous speed within the Network. “When did you find out?”

  “About an hour ago.” Emma bustled about moving bolts of fabric. “Lady Theo sent over a missive I found intriguin’.”

  “What did it say?”

  “Somethin’ about ye bein’ the reason her nap”—Emma wiggled her brows at Bronwyn—“was cut short or somethin’ or other.”

  “Emma!”

  Her best friend stilled and scowled. “Don’t get all in a huff. Lady Theo said in her note she’d support ye no matter yer decision. I, on the other hand, will only support the bleedin’ correct decision.”

  “And that would be?”

  Emma grabbed her upper arms. “Bronwyn Cadby, stop bein’ a goose.” Releasing Bronwyn, Emma grabbed a swath of silk. “I’m goin’ to create ye the most stunnin’ bridal gown and fill yer trousseau with dresses that all the ladies of the ton will envy.”

  Bronwyn glanced at the divine pink silk held in her best friend’s hand. She wanted to scream Lord Hadfield should be marrying a lady. Instead, she glared at Emma and said, “I’m not a lady. Countesses are ladies.”

  Lifting the fabric up to Bronwyn’s cheek, Emma said, “Ye are a woman worthy of becomin’ Countess Hadfield. Plus, it was his choice to make, and Lord Hadfield chose ye.”

  “Don’t you find that odd?”

  “No. Ye’re beautiful, smart, trustworthy, and loyal.” Emma pulled her arm away and turned to assess the material she had amassed before them. “And, none of those hoytie toytie ladies have any of the skills a wife to the Head PORF needs.”

  “What qualities do you suppose I possess that they do not?”

  Emma placed both hands on her hips as she swirled about. “Well…”

  “See. You can’t.”

  “Give me a moment! Not everyone can rattle off arguments as fast as ye.”

  “He doesn’t even know I’m part of the Network!”

  “Blimey! All these years and ye never let it slip. Ye’re the bloomin’ master of disguise. See, ye proved it. There is not another woman better suited than ye to be his wife.” Emma giggled then added, “Ye know I’m right.”

  Bronwyn released a sigh and flopped down upon the chaise. “If I accept, I’d be placing my family and closest friends in grave danger.”

  “All right.” Emma threw her hands up and then slapped them against her thighs. “Ye’re right. Ye should say no. Happy now?”

  “Hmm…” Bronwyn draped her arm over her eyes.

  “Wot is wrong with ye? I thought ye’d seize the bleedin’ opportunity to rule over me.”

  “That would be one advantage. But…”

  Bronwyn abruptly sat up, hitting Emma’s forehead. Simultaneously, they said, “Oww.”

  Emma reached for Bronwyn’s hand. “Is it Lord Hadfield?”

  “Not exactly. Besides being aware of how Landon takes his tea and coffee, and that he is a brilliant barrister, what do I really know of him?”

  “Lor! Wot do ye need to know?” Dreamy-eyed, Emma tilted her head. “He’s kind, a bleedin’ excellent leader, and oh, those dimples!”

  “Why don’t you marry him then?”

  “I would’ve if he had asked me. But marriage ain’t for me.” Emma released Bronwyn’s hand and stood by the table of buttons and ribbons.

  “That is utter rubbish. You simply haven’t met a man worthy of your love.” She walked over and gave her best friend a brief hug. Emma was the eldest child and had always placed her family’s welfare before her own. Opening up the modiste shop had meant working many hours and left little time for courting.

  Emma grabbed a handful of buttons and let them filter through her fingers. “I don’t understand yer hesitation.”

  “He’s titled. There will be social engagements, balls, dinners, and such.” Bronwyn ran a finger over a wide emerald green ribbon.

  “Lady Theo will not let ye fail.”

  Bronwyn added, “We know nothing of each other.”

  “Ye worked for the man for years, and not once did ye ever utter a complaint about him. Ye will have the rest of yer lives to learn each other’s preferences and habits.”

  “When did you master the art of counter-arguments?”

  “I learned from
the bloomin’ best.” Emma wrapped Bronwyn in a hug. “I need at least another week.”

  Bronwyn returned the hug. “A week? You have two days.”

  Emma groaned and said, “Oh, ye’re goin’ be a tyrant.”

  Chapter Three

  The tinkle of the bell above her head announced Bronwyn’s arrival at her dad’s store. Her nose crinkled at the scent of dried, slightly moldy tobacco leaves. Working in the Neales’ law offices, where snuff and cigars were frowned upon, had given her a respite from the pungent smell.

  Harold, her brother, glanced up from a perfectly balanced scale. “Watcha doin’ walking in through the front?”

  Bronwyn turned to face the door. Blimey, what was she thinking? Lost in practicing the speech she was to deliver to her parents, she had waltzed right into the store through the street entrance instead of the back door used by Network members and family.

  Anxious to be done with the deed of informing her parents of Landon’s preposterous idea to marry, she ignored her brother and walked through the store to the back. She raised a hand to push back the curtain to enter the small room where her dad kept the store's records, when Harold yelled, “He’s upstairs.”

  Bronwyn froze. Upstairs held her dad’s private office, where he conducted official Network affairs. Blood drained from her face. Had her dad already heard? With a fortifying breath, she marched around crates and boxes to the staircase that led up to her dad’s office.

  Skipping over the fifth step that creaked, Bronwyn crept her way up. On the landing, she paused and took inventory. Chin up. Straight back. Shoulders squared. Ready. Confronting her dad with the news was far worse than facing the guillotine.

  As she neared the door, a familiar male voice boomed through the walls. “It’s been near on six months since his return from the Continent. He can’t continue to dally. He needs a bloody heir.” Mr. Rutherford, a Network elder, was clearly agitated. She had no illusions about which he Rutherford was referring to—Landon. She crept closer to the door.