The Duke Heist (The Wild Wynchesters #1) - Erica Ridley Page 0,81

the House of Lords.”

“You already have,” Elizabeth replied in her normal voice.

He gaped at her. “I…what?”

“I told you I visit Westminster,” Chloe explained.

“Usually she drags me along,” Tommy murmured. “Although I won’t stuff myself into dusty attics.”

“Last week I went with her,” Elizabeth said. “Chloe wanted me to witness how well you performed after the night you’d practiced together—”

He shot Chloe a startled look. “You told her about that?”

“You ought to be grateful for it,” Elizabeth said. “When your peers veered from the topic, that’s how we brought the chaos back to the script. Chloe would tell me what to say or what to ask—”

“And Elizabeth would do it in whatever voice I asked of her—”

“You should have seen the look on Rosbotham’s face when his disembodied voice inquired about St. Marylebone Rectory—”

By now Lawrence was laughing right along with them. “Can I employ you?”

“Sorry, I’m busy that night.” Elizabeth stifled a yawn. “Perhaps you should have been nicer.”

“I’ll rent you a parrot,” Jacob offered. “Thirty quid an hour. Sixty if it talks.”

“At those prices, you ought to rent me a python and throw in the Highland tiger for free.”

Chloe gazed at the Duke of Faircliffe exchanging silly banter with her siblings in bemusement.

If he had truly felt a crime had taken place, he could have sent the Runners or made a claim to a magistrate. Instead, he’d piled into a carriage and come here hoping for an audience, and now he was at her dinner table, elbow to elbow with her siblings.

Arguing the merits of releasing ill-tempered hedgehogs inside Westminster.

Chloe knew better than to think this meant her family would receive invitations to his gala, but it felt bigger than a simple truce.

Perhaps Lawrence had muscled in to burn things down, but he had dropped the haughty armor once he realized her family was not the enemy. He was talking and laughing with her siblings as though they were…friends.

Despite his initial reaction, Lawrence now appeared to accept her siblings as they were. He might still say the wrong things, but that wasn’t a new quirk. He’d had a long history of awkwardness before meeting any Wynchesters. In fact, they’d designed their ruse to exploit his naïve earnestness.

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Now that he knew, would Lawrence still want her in his life?

26

Hidden behind Lawrence’s laughter was visceral, burning embarrassment.

Contrary to his imagination, the “poor, pitiable orphans” lived in obvious luxury. The old baron may have failed to provide dowries for his adoptive daughters, but—regardless of individual poverty—the Wynchester clan was far from shabby-genteel.

Had he felt sorry for them for not living in fashionable Mayfair, scrunched in with titled, important neighbors? The Vanderbean property’s lush garden was larger than Grosvenor Square. Their marvelous three-story home was as spacious as an entire terrace row of town houses like his.

Despite its ample size, their home’s classic architecture was ordinary on the outside…and full of splendor inside. White plaster ceilings with gilded floral friezes. Marble fireplaces carved in neoclassical patterns that matched the fanciful trim around doorways and the decorative lunettes on the ceilings.

Great-Aunt Wynchester was right to criticize Lawrence’s woeful carpets. Every detail of the Wynchester home was well thought-out and gorgeous.

The walls were hung with silk: this room the soothing green-blue of the sea; that room a deep and sumptuous rose; others ornamented with dazzling stucco. Intricate gilded candlestands rested on elegant marble pillars. Tempting Chippendale settees and armchairs abounded with plush silk-upholstered cushions. Lawrence trembled with mortification.

Good God, had he really explained the concept of spoons to Chloe?

His palms went clammy. He wanted to sink through the tasteful emerald-and-gold Kidderminster carpet that had been woven specifically to echo and complement the ceiling pattern overhead. His stomach twisted harder.

He had been trying to save her from embarrassment, and in return she had shamed him to his very bones.

He hurt. He was angry at himself that he let himself be hurt.

Lawrence had wanted their connection to be more than physical. It was true for him, and he had needed it to be true for her, too.

But what right did he have to feel betrayed in matters of love? He was the one who had been planning to propose to someone else. He had thought so little of Chloe and so much of himself that he had accepted farcical assertions of ignorance as obvious fact.

Of course she needed his help, he’d told himself. Didn’t everyone?

No, Chloe did not.

He might have known the truth sooner if he had not compounded his father’s