The Duke Heist (The Wild Wynchesters #1) - Erica Ridley Page 0,102

was repellant. No amount of diamonds and curls could ameliorate the unfixable.

She didn’t want any of it anymore.

Why couldn’t she be enough just as she was? Why couldn’t she be seen, and remembered, and wanted as Chloe?

Vision blurring, she yanked open the doors to her wardrobe and flung each treasured item onto a growing pile in the corner. Rubbish, all of it. She’d give it away. It was past time to stop believing in fairy tales.

Her door swung open and Tommy burst in, her eyes wide and her expression stricken.

“Go,” Chloe croaked. “I can’t…”

Tommy rushed to her and wrapped her in her arms.

“Don’t you dare be kind to me.” Chloe stood as still as she was able, every bone brittle. “If I look at you, I’ll cry.”

“Then cry,” Tommy said, and the crack in her voice indicated she was already crying. She might not know the details, but she knew Chloe was in pain, and that was enough to hurt her, too.

Chloe hugged her sister hard, burying her wet face in Tommy’s neck. Maybe she had started crying first. Maybe she’d been crying this whole time and hadn’t realized it.

“I’ll kill him,” Tommy choked out.

“Can’t make a silk purse from a sow’s ear,” Chloe mumbled.

Tommy yanked Chloe out of her arms, her fingers digging into Chloe’s shoulders so she could glare straight into her face.

“You are not a sow’s ear. You are the cleverest, kindest, most compassionate person I know. You were born beautiful, inside and out. The happiest day of my life was when we became sisters. You’re the sun in my sky, Chloe Wynchester. Nothing glitters without you.”

“She’s the sun in my sky,” came Graham’s gruff voice from somewhere behind them.

Elizabeth pushed past him to wrap her arms about Chloe and Tommy both. “No, mine.”

A scrambling of feet indicated Jacob and Marjorie had joined the fray, jostling with Graham to be the next to join the embrace around Chloe.

“You’re perfect just as you are,” Jacob said.

Marjorie found Chloe’s hand and squeezed.

“You’re the reason we’re a family,” Graham said fiercely.

Tommy hugged Chloe harder and whispered, “You make all of us sparkle.”

35

Lawrence sat on the edge of his bed and buried his face in his hands.

Publicly standing up for Chloe had only made things worse. He’d hurt her, not helped her. It was the last thing he’d meant to do. He loved her, even if he couldn’t offer what they both wanted.

It had taken forever to realize she was the lucky one.

He’d been raised to believe everyone shared the same ambitions: an important name, an important title, a heritage, and entailed land. All those things were a privilege. Yet, if he could make any childhood wish come true, it would be to feel that he belonged, not just be another cold link in a dutiful chain of dukes. He’d wanted a large, boisterous, loving family.

A family like the Wynchesters.

He still wanted that, but there was one thing he yearned for even more. He wanted to belong to Chloe. To be worthy of her. He didn’t just want to prove to Chloe that her needs mattered. He wanted her to know she mattered. That he loved her more than words could convey.

But what could he do about it?

His situation hadn’t changed, and he’d only made hers worse.

He thought back to that moment at Gunter’s—the moment that had changed everything. And then he remembered what had happened right before the conversation with the patronesses.

Southerby.

The earl had flabbergasted Lawrence with his easy admission of his flaws and complete lack of embarrassment. Southerby would rather try and fail—even try and fail and become an object of mockery—than never to try at all.

Could Lawrence do any less?

He rose to his feet. If he truly loved Chloe, then nothing else mattered. The best ducal reputation in the world meant nothing without her. She was everything. Come what may, they could face anything as long as they stood together.

But first he needed to talk to his servants. Lawrence’s life would not be the only one impacted by the decision he wanted to make.

He hurried from his bedchamber and called an impromptu meeting in the parlor, next to the hat trunk. He looked around at Hastings, his butler. Peggy and Dinah, the maids. Mrs. Root, his housekeeper. Jackson, his footman. Mrs. Elkins, the cook. Lawrence had come to think of them less like servants and more like family.

“How is your niece’s baby?” Mrs. Elkins asked Mrs. Root.

Mrs. Root’s eyes shone. “Betsy and little Kenneth are hale and hearty.