The Duke Heist (The Wild Wynchesters #1) - Erica Ridley Page 0,40
how it happened!” That was essentially how it happened. “My driver was in his perch only seconds before, until he went to investigate a commotion caused by—”
“When does the dessert course start?” she interrupted. “I’m peckish.”
He took a deep breath. “This isn’t the real party. We’re still acting. You’ll visit the Ainsworth residence once your niece is back from the retiring room.”
“You’ve an ugly carpet.” Great-Aunt Wynchester pulled a face. “A duke should have an Axminster.”
“It is an Axminster. All of the rugs—” Lawrence tilted his gaze heavenward.
What was he doing, arguing with an old woman about whether his grandfather had overpaid for the carpets?
And how “smartened” did Miss Wynchester believe she could get? A taupe underdress with a taupe overlay would blend straight into the Ainsworths’ oak décor.
An odd protectiveness itched beneath his skin. He liked Miss Wynchester and wanted things to go the way she hoped they would. He wouldn’t wish being mocked or mistreated on anyone.
At Eton, Lawrence had been both singled out and left all alone because of his father. Because of her family, Miss Wynchester was in a similar situation—only, in her case, it was much worse. Lawrence was a peer. No one could deny him his rightful place. Whereas Miss Wynchester…
She deserved a fair chance. There had to be a way. Perhaps he could help her find a talented modiste at a price she could afford. It was too late tonight, but if she commissioned a nicer gown, she might catch the eye of—
Miss Wynchester swept back into the room.
Lawrence’s throat went dry and his mind emptied of rational thought.
Gone was the insipid blandness of tan on tan. Although she wore the same underdress, her curves were now draped in an elegant overdress of white-and-pink netting. The dark velvet trim on the light rose bodice matched the velvet Vandyke points decorating the bottom, just above two matching twists of white crepe encircling the hem. The gauzy romantic colors brought out the dark brown of her hair and the deep brown of her long-lashed eyes.
His body tightened, and it was all he could do not to reach for her, pull her against his chest, and claim the kisses that weren’t his to take.
A smile flitted over her lips, as if she sensed the maelstrom she’d unleashed within him. Arm stiff, she held out her hand and dropped her basket to the floor.
Her kitten hadn’t been inside; rather, it was an entirely new identity.
His lungs squeezed, making it difficult to speak. “You look magnificent.”
“She looks like Chloe,” Great-Aunt Wynchester barked.
He barely heard her. Lawrence’s eyes were still drinking in Miss Wynchester, thinking her much too far away for his taste. That bodice would be displayed at its best pillowed against his chest, the perfect distance for a man to embark on a trail of kisses from her rosy lips, down the column of her throat, and into the swell of her bosom.
Tonight he would dream of nothing else.
Why hadn’t she begun the evening dressed like this? If tearing his eyes from her had been next to impossible before, this…this… He couldn’t believe others thought her plain. He had believed she dressed in her dowdy attire because she didn’t own anything better. Yet she now appeared a worthy model for any fashion plate. It was almost as if—
It was almost as if she’d done so on purpose. Dressed not to impress but to be comfortable. To allow her personality, rather than a garnet tiara, to shine. She didn’t want to catch everyone’s eyes, only that of her future husband.
This evening she might well accomplish both.
“You look as marvelous on the outside as you are on the inside,” he tried again.
She sent him a flat look. “You don’t know me. And I’m a Wynchester.”
He opened his mouth to explain that her scandalous family was perhaps not an insurmountable disadvantage, but was it true? All the fine clothing in the world wouldn’t prevent members of the beau monde from lifting their collective noses and muttering Wynchester in disdain as she walked by.
Had she not absconded with him in his carriage, Lawrence would still be just as superior and condescending today. The realization made his stomach turn.
“My apologies,” he said quietly. “Instead of assuming I knew best, I should have come to know you before making a judgment.”
She let out a slow breath. “Perhaps I should say the same.”
He blinked. Had she been appraising him from afar and found him lacking? He smiled grimly. Was the idea so fantastic?