The Duke Heist (The Wild Wynchesters #1) - Erica Ridley Page 0,100
horse’s arse! Chloe Wynchester, of all pitiable creatures. He might as well have brought ices to a stick of wood. Bound to have more personality, and a better chance of being allowed into Almack’s. Ha ha, what a fool!
The toes of her boots stopped inches from the toes of his.
His eyes met hers. “They—”
“I already saw it.” The words felt like pebbles in her throat. “By now, all of London has seen it. It’ll be reprinted in the scandal columns by morning.”
Her face flamed at the thought of her brother Graham turning to that page as he ate his toast.
Chloe swallowed hard. “I suppose you lost your voucher.”
The anger in his blue eyes made him look like he wanted to crumple all of London into a ball and toss it into the fire.
“I don’t give a damn about my Almack’s voucher.”
But of course he did. He had to. Almack’s Assembly Rooms was more than stale bread and weak ratafia. It was status. It was acceptance. It was power.
Anyone would resent her for snatching opportunities from his fingertips.
“Today it’s Almack’s,” she said. “Tomorrow it’s a political ally, and the day after that—”
He tensed when she said “political ally,” and she remembered Philippa and her father.
“Ah,” Chloe said. “I’ve already cost you a political ally. You claim you don’t care about Almack’s, but Westminster is your life. You would put nothing above Parliament. Where does that leave us?”
He didn’t meet her gaze. “I realize that recent actions may have implied—”
That they had a future.
“There was never going to be an ‘us,’ was there?” she said, her voice hollow. “I’m fine enough to invite into bed—even well enough to share ices with—but nothing more. A passing fancy until you find a woman you would marry. Someone even more perfect than Philippa.”
Someone completely unlike Chloe Wynchester.
“Yes,” he burst out. “That’s exactly what I intend to do, because it’s the only thing I can do. I’ve a duty to uphold. Responsibilities. I must wed an heiress. My father left the dukedom destitute. With the loss of a year’s crops, I’ve no income and nothing left to sell. I could never marry you.”
Lawrence had not changed his mind about her. The duke simply wasn’t ready to stop playing with his toy.
“I’m trying to think of a discreet arrangement,” he said. “Public appearances may invite ridicule, but if we’re out of sight, we’ll be out of mind. If no one sees us together—”
She stumbled backward. This was his happy ever after?
“Never let the people who matter learn you cavort with a Wynchester, you mean?” Her voice shook, but she pressed on. “You will be out in society. Routs, dinner parties, Westminster. I would be your secret? Some chit you won’t acknowledge in front of witnesses, lest caricaturists mock you again? A clandestine mistress tucked in a trunk with the bonnets until it’s time to play? Or kept up in the attic, peering down from a peephole?”
A tendon flexed in his neck. “I didn’t say ‘mistress.’”
“Too much of a commitment?” she said hollowly. “I notice you didn’t deny the rest.”
Had she thought nothing could hurt her as much as that silly caricature? Being laughed at by all of England was not nearly as mortifying as realizing the most romantic moments in her life had filled Lawrence with shame.
“When I stole your carriage, you were terrified that passionless ‘compromise’ would lead to marriage. But it wasn’t compromise that scared you at all. It was the thought of being caught with a Wynchester. You even lamented, ‘Why couldn’t it have been Honoria?’”
Because Lawrence believed Bean’s legitimate daughter Honoria existed…and was an heiress. Even then, it had not been about the person but the money. Lawrence would have lowered himself to marry Honoria Wynchester for the right price. Chloe would not sell herself so cheaply.
Her hands and legs trembled with hurt and mortification. “Over the past two months, you and I have been in dozens of increasingly compromising positions. You’ve considered marriage at none of them, because you’ve managed to keep your dirty secret. No one knows, so you needn’t treat me like a respectable lady.”
He desired her but wished he didn’t. He was only biding his time until he found a debutante with duchess potential and a large dowry. He expected Chloe to understand.
Now she did.
She gave a mirthless laugh. “To you, Wynchesters are like writing plumes. We’re to be used and discarded.”
He shifted his weight. “I wasn’t going to discard you.”