The Duke Heist (The Wild Wynchesters #1) - Erica Ridley Page 0,72
you could show me what I’ve missed?”
Lawrence had been hoping to show her an hour or two of passionate kisses and was surprised to discover that this suggestion was just as attractive. Never before had anyone been interested enough in his obsession with unusual art to inquire about it, much less encourage him to share that side of himself openly.
He offered her his arm. “This way, if you please.”
It would be easy to minimize most of the art collection as pieces left over from generations past with no more meaning than that. But with Chloe, he did not want to hide his peculiarities. He suspected she would like him better with every new oddity he revealed.
He led her to a nook no one ever browsed except him. “These are my favorites.”
She tilted her head at the unusual perspectives and provocative portraits. “Why are they your favorites?”
“Because they fill me with questions and spark my imagination.” He gestured at the painting before them. “Why her? Why him? Why this moment? Why this angle? What are they looking at, just off from the canvas? What caused those birds to take flight?”
“Oh, I see.” She stepped forward to take a closer look. “There were many perspectives from which to paint this scene, but the artist chose this one for a reason.”
His relief deepened into joy as they paused before each painting, asking probing questions and providing ever more outlandish possibilities each time.
“This is far more diverting than any visit I’ve paid to a museum.” She peered up at him. “No wonder you adore this collection.”
“I used to wish I didn’t. My father always preferred his obsessions over his home and family, and I feared I was destined to follow in those footsteps.”
“If art is your zany bonnet, then tie it on and wear it with pride.” She gestured expansively. “Why purposely cut yourself off from something you love? If viewing paintings makes you happy, then do what gives you joy.”
“I don’t want to look and imagine.” He cleared his throat. His muscles were rigid, his voice stilted. “I want to do it, to be it, to paint it.”
He held his breath. The back of his neck prickled in trepidation.
Her eyes brightened with interest. “Then why don’t you?”
His body relaxed. If only it were so easy. He reached out to touch her face. She turned at the last second, and his hand fell back to his side without making contact. His skin grew cold. He’d expected her to laugh at the notion of him as an artist, not to recoil from his touch. He shifted to hide his embarrassment.
“I cannot risk losing status. I’ve spent my entire life trying to avoid comparisons to my father. Being the serious and respectable Faircliffe. Avoiding gossip at all costs.” He gave a self-deprecating snort. “I wouldn’t know how to mix paints if I had any, and there’s no money to employ tutors for frivolous hobbies. What if I’m no good at painting?”
Her brow furrowed. “How can there be funds for an end-of-season gala and yet not even a shilling for a moment or two with a tutor?”
“There aren’t any funds for an end-of-season gala.” His jaw hardened. “There would have been, if I’d offered for Miss York, as was my duty, but without her dowry, there’s little chance of continuing a tradition my family has upheld for generations.”
Her mouth fell open. “You didn’t offer for Philippa?”
He cursed himself. Of course Chloe had not melted into his embrace. She had thought him promised to someone else.
“I did not,” he said quickly. “I couldn’t.”
“But why?” she stammered. “I thought she was the answer to your prayers.”
“All but one of them.” Miss York wasn’t Chloe. No one else could compare. “I could not consign us both to misery.”
Her face tilted up toward his. “If not her, what do you hope to find?”
“I don’t know what the future holds.” His voice was husky as he reached for her. “But in this moment I have everything I desire.”
A pleased, secret smile flirted at her rosy lips. “You desire me?”
“More than breath itself.” But he had to be fully honest. He brushed his thumb against her cheek. “I’m yours for the moment, but this freedom is temporary. My intentions are not honorable.”
“Who said mine were?” She glided a finger down his waistcoat. “You’re available for anything I please? At this very moment?”
“Anything at all.” The words rasped from his suddenly dry throat.
The tip of her tongue touched her lower lip. He wanted to