The Duke Heist (The Wild Wynchesters #1) - Erica Ridley Page 0,19

in the empty place where she had stood.

He stepped into it despite himself, as though he would be able to feel her if he placed his body where hers had been. The long legs beneath her skirt, the swell of her bosom. What would it be like to kiss that fleeting smirk from her lips?

Hastings swept into the parlor. “It is a pleasure to see you entertaining callers, Your Grace. What a unique young lady.”

Lawrence stepped away from Miss Wynchester’s ghost. “She cannot mean to drag that beast all over society, can she? Good God, just imagine it loose here during my gala.”

Hastings arched gray brows. “You adore animals. If I recall correctly, there once was a time when you begged your father for—”

Lawrence cut him off with a frosty glare.

Hastings returned his gaze with faux innocence.

Of course the blasted man “recalled correctly.” Hastings had been butler since before Lawrence’s birth. He could recall any number of memories Lawrence had worked very hard to forget.

Such as the dark days after the funeral, when Lawrence had come to realize the full extent of his father’s debts. After years of being resentful every time another of his ancestors’ treasures vanished from the wall, Lawrence realized he would be forced to do the same…and that the sacrifice would not be enough.

He reduced staff to a minimum in both the London town house and the entailed country seat, then sold any items that held no sentimental value—and several that did. He settled long-overdue accounts with tradesmen before addressing his father’s gambling debts because hatters and cobblers and haberdashers did not have the benefits of titles to protect them.

As a peer, Father could not be sent to debtors’ prison no matter how profligate he became. The working class was not so lucky. Lawrence would not put their lives in jeopardy just because “gentlemen” prioritized debts of honor to their peers.

His lip curled. There was no honor in living lavishly on credit one could not repay and allowing the less fortunate to bear the brunt of one’s selfishness.

By selling heirlooms and being frugal, there was just enough money for one final season. He must wed an heiress before Parliament ended in mid-June or he would not be able to provide for his tenants, repair the failing estate, and pay his loyal staff’s wages.

Destitute, Lawrence would no longer be able to fight for reforms in the House of Lords, because he would not be able to afford a town house or any rooms for rent, much less possess any extra money to make investments that might help him out of this mess.

Miss York’s dowry could not arrive fast enough.

“I’ll be in the library,” he informed Hastings, then strode down the corridor to his sanctuary.

Lawrence unlocked the door, stepped into the large room, and let himself breathe.

He adored the rich scent of books, of old paper and worn leather. The comforting crackle of a cozy fire drew the eye toward a plush sofa and two worn leather chairs, arranged invitingly near the warm blaze.

The walls did not boast nearly the quantity of books they’d once held, but the thin spaces above and between the shelves were now filled with paintings. He had brought them all here to the one remaining place where his heart felt full instead of empty.

As always, he started to the left of the doorway, making his unhurried way canvas by canvas. He knew every brushstroke, every play of light against darkness. It was here that Lawrence could let himself think, and be, and feel.

He liked to imagine himself in the shoes of the artists who had lived before him. Would he have chosen this color, this canvas, this style, this subject? Might he have added a flying horse for whimsy? Or painted the trees purple instead of green? Would his imagination mirror the real world at all?

His peers believed Lawrence spent every spare moment in his library out of an overabundance of studiousness. It would shock them to know how much time he spent daydreaming about learning to paint so he could add a creation of his own to these walls.

Many gentlemen had hobbies. Once his pockets were flush again, there would be an opportunity to hire an art tutor when Parliament was not in session.

An opportunity he would not take.

Money was not enough. The perfect wife was not enough. Lawrence also had to be perfect. If he were to make the attempt and discover all the tutors in the world weren’t enough to