The Duke Heist (The Wild Wynchesters #1) - Erica Ridley Page 0,17
of flyaway hair no longer felt frumpish but oddly sensual, as though she’d been caught in a state of undress by a lover.
Having completed his assessment, his eyes returned to hers.
“Have you a decent dowry?”
“None at all,” she replied, ignoring his implication that wealth would be the primary thing to recommend her. She injected her voice with false cheer. “But lack of fortune shouldn’t matter. A duke can introduce an acquaintance to anyone he likes, can he not? A ball here, a dinner party there…”
He ground his teeth, his crossed arms tightening.
“You should invite Miss York’s entire reading circle to your party,” she suggested. “Then it won’t be a special favor to me but a romantic gesture to your future bride. In fact, we can both attend her Blankets for Babes charity tea, if you’d like to invite everyone at once.”
A muscle twitched at the duke’s temple. He let out a breath and dropped his arms to his sides. “Very well. And then our slate is clean?”
“I shan’t bother you after the gala,” she promised. It was two months away. Chloe would be done with him long before that.
Everything was going perfectly. She didn’t want Faircliffe to do his task well. She just required a pretext to ensure access to his residence until she uncovered the stolen painting.
“When is Miss York’s charity tea?” The tortured expression on the duke’s face indicated he would rather attend anything else.
Chloe smiled sweetly. “Tomorrow.”
8
Tomorrow?” Lawrence stepped backward, aghast.
She not only wished him to acknowledge her publicly; she expected him to act as her sponsor? The unmitigated impertinence—
No. He clenched his jaw. He was the one in error. One might not expect better of a Wynchester than impertinence—and from the moment she’d pilfered his carriage, on this score Miss Wynchester had certainly delivered—but a lord should conduct himself with dignity in all circumstances.
That he had pursued a brazen thief would raise no eyebrows. Taking pity on a young woman of lesser status: charity. Offering to hire a hack to return her to her home: noble. Following her upstairs to an unchaperoned bedchamber: the absolute height of idiocy. What the devil had got into him?
She had. Miss Chloe Bloody Wynchester.
How did she manage to scatter his thoughts so easily? His veins pulsed. She infiltrated his senses like the fragrant smoke of spiced incense. Jasmine. The barest hint. He didn’t know if the intoxicating scent was in her hair or on her skin or in the secret recesses of his mind, but he could barely think from the consuming desire to breathe her in.
She was not close enough to touch, and yet her presence fluttered against his skin, slipping beneath his clothes to the heat of his flesh like the whisper of a promise.
He wanted to overwhelm her to make it stop. To cover her with his scent, his body, his power. He had faced mightier foes than soft curves and a knowing gaze.
“If I can secure an invitation to the tea,” her Cupid’s-bow mouth was saying now, “we needn’t arrive together as though you were my escort.”
“I would never—” He fought the impulse to rub his hand over his face in frustration. Three decades dealing with his father had taught Lawrence the importance of hiding strong emotion. Such admissions were easy for the duke to use against his son.
Miss Wynchester smiled at him as if not at all discomfited. Yet she held herself unnaturally still, the muscles in her face tight. Lawrence could not help but suspect that she was hiding her emotions, too.
That was what had spurred his damnable burst of forgiveness when she abducted him. He understood desperation. He fought against that drowning current every single day.
And he was so close to breaking free. Perfect-in-almost-every-way Miss Philippa York would replenish the family coffers and restore the fractured Faircliffe reputation. He could allow nothing to impede the plan.
Chloe Wynchester was more than a disruption. She was a whirlpool, dragging him further from his path. But what was his newly restored family name worth if Lawrence did not honor his word?
She was right, blast her. Inviting the entire reading circle to his gala would be a romantic gesture. It might even speed up the courtship.
“After you’ve put in your appearance at my gala, we’re finished,” he reminded her, each word hard and flinty.
She beamed at him. “You needn’t even speak to me. I’ll make a brilliant match and be on my way.”
Lawrence glared down his nose at her warm brown eyes and long dark lashes.