The Duke Heist (The Wild Wynchesters #1) - Erica Ridley Page 0,38

again wearing layers of pale brown—if one was feeling generous, one might go so far as to discern a wheat hue, with accents of…burnt biscuit? This mix of tannish chaff did not lend itself to waxing poetic, yet its very nondescriptness served to make her dark brown eyes stand out all the more.

When he looked in her eyes, the rest of the world fell away. He forgot he was a duke; he forgot she was a Wynchester. They were just a man and a woman, trapped in each other’s gaze, the kiss he had almost taken inevitable rather than narrowly escaped.

Why did he allow himself so close to temptation?

He told himself that if Miss Wynchester ran amok, making a cake of herself at society events, her presence at his gala could cause quite the stir.

Lawrence hated causing stirs. That was true and best kept in the forefront of his mind. The way to deflect future gossip was to avoid complicating the situation he found himself in now.

Starting with not kissing Chloe Wynchester under any circumstances. No matter how soft her skin or how plump and juicy her berry-pink lips. Her mouth was not his to taste, her kisses not his to steal. There was a plan, and she was not part of it.

No matter what his aching loins might think.

“I need to rest my eyes,” Great-Aunt Wynchester announced as she placed her spectacles on her dinner plate and closed her eyes. “But I can still hear you, children.”

“Yes, Aunt,” Miss Wynchester said calmingly.

Lawrence had remembered her dislike of reflective surfaces and selected her seat accordingly, but he doubted she’d fare so well at the Ainsworth party.

Should he attend? He definitely should not. What would his presence accomplish? He’d disrupt the seating, for one thing. Dinner parties were carefully calculated to feature an even number of men and women. If he showed up willy-nilly, he’d cause more problems than he could solve.

Of course, he could send a note over now to let the hostess know. An extra guest at the last moment was not ideal, but a duke at the last moment…well, his title counted for something, did it not? Adding another female to balance the numbers would be effortless.

“Jackson”—he glanced over his shoulder at his footman—“bring pen and paper.”

Miss Wynchester’s eyes widened. “Should I be taking notes?”

“No, dinner parties aren’t that complicated.” Although he supposed for her they might be.

It occurred to him how brave she was being: not just by admitting the obvious failures in her upbringing but by putting herself in situations again and again where she might be ridiculed or rejected outright.

Whatever her faults, Miss Wynchester was willing to try. Willing to be wrong as many times as necessary in order to become right.

“I’ll attend the party with you,” he explained. “Well, not with you, of course. I’ll arrive on my own, and you with your aunt. But if you run into trouble, send a glance in my direction and I will do my best to guide you.”

Her brow creased. “Won’t your rank place you too far down the table for me to see?”

Well, that was surely an exaggeration. True, at such parties one tended to speak to one’s immediate neighbors. And if they found themselves on the same side of the table, facing each other might be difficult. But that was no reason not to—

“Your pen and paper, Your Grace.”

Lawrence accepted the materials from his footman and set about scratching a quick note to Lady Ainsworth, apprising her of his attendance, to give her time to juggle the seating arrangements.

He folded the paper, then added Lady Ainsworth’s name before handing the letter to his footman. “See that this is delivered at once.”

“As you wish, Your Grace.”

Lawrence paused in sudden discomfort. A duke could decide at the last moment to do or attend whatever he pleased, but someone like Chloe Wynchester had to literally abduct him out of desperation to negotiate a handful of trifling invitations.

To her, they were not trivial and insignificant. For Miss Wynchester, an invitation meant the world.

He could help. His attraction to her was foolhardy and dangerous, but he could push that aside and concentrate on objective, concrete tasks like proper comportment and what new things she could expect. He enjoyed helping others. There wasn’t any more to it than that.

“Guests will enter the dining room by rank, in the method I described,” he explained to Miss Wynchester. “At supper parties the hostess will often alternate female guests with males. The intermittent pattern