The Duke Heist (The Wild Wynchesters #1) - Erica Ridley Page 0,91

well as he did. Both he and Chloe longed to be recognized and appreciated for who they were, not for what they portrayed themselves to be.

“Things are always less complicated for Jane Brown than they are for Chloe Wynchester,” she continued. “If it all goes horribly awry, I tuck her back into my basket as though the incident never occurred. After all, it wasn’t I who embarrassed myself horribly. It was Jane Brown, who cannot hurt me because she doesn’t exist.” She bit her lip. “Sometimes being someone else is the easiest way to be yourself.”

He gazed at the card in his hands. He supposed Jack Smith would have no problem exposing himself as a talentless fool in front of the woman he most wished to impress.

But then again, neither should Lawrence Gosling, eighth Duke of Faircliffe. He might have been raised to be anxious and lonely and overthink himself into knots, but he was not a coward.

He slid the card into his waistcoat pocket. “All right. But I’ll go as Lawrence.”

“Would you like me to join you as your muse and model?” She gave him a saucy wink. “Perhaps the inspiration for a lewd portrait?”

She wasn’t serious…was she? This idea sounded better by the second.

He ran behind her up the stairs to the third floor, where Chloe led him to a small room on the left. He stared in wonder.

Generous windows with curtains tied open filled the well-appointed interior with sunlight. Five easels with stretched canvases stood at inviting angles. There were tables with paints and rags and turpentine, an artfully arranged collection of objects to serve as the subject of a still life, and a plush green chaise longue, empty but for its cushions.

Chloe sat in the center and affected an artful pose. “Perfect for a very serious portrait of a very serious woman. Should I hold a bouquet of flowers? Or perhaps the loaf of bread?”

Lawrence felt giddy, as though he were up in this attic as his childhood self and had just received more than he had ever hoped for on his birthday. This studio was every bit the equal of professional studios used by portrait artists—and Marjorie had prepared it as a gift for him.

He had no way to repay her other than to enjoy every moment.

“I’ll start by attempting to paint a still life,” he decided, and turned to the blank canvas.

He hadn’t the least idea how to mix paints, but Marjorie had already done so for him. There were half a dozen colors in little jars on a long table, next to a collection of palettes and a wide variety of brushes.

He chose a brush at random, then a palette, then yellow as his first color. Marjorie had placed a ceramic jug in the center of the scene. Lawrence would start there.

Chloe leaned back on the chaise longue to watch.

Over the next hour he dragged all five easels over to the arrangement for the still life to capture some semblance of what he saw. None of his efforts was recognizable as the artful display before him.

Yet he’d never had more fun in his life.

He scrubbed the paint from his fingers, then reached to pull Chloe into a kiss. Her mouth opened beneath his, welcoming him, granting him another wish. Every bit of the joy bursting within him was her fault. She dragged him from where he was most comfortable and set him free, again and again. His first attempts were dreadful, but it didn’t matter as long as he was doing what he loved.

And he was doing what he loved. Standing here, kissing Chloe, holding her as though they would never need to part. The thought was unbearable. He loved her more than paint. More than his library. More than anything yet to be invented. He was not ready to let her go.

He might never be ready.

When he started to lead her toward the chaise longue, she placed her hand on his chest to stop him. Color came to her cheeks.

“Not here,” she murmured. “My siblings are all around us.”

“You’re right.” He glanced about appraisingly. “I need my own studio, posthaste.”

She grinned at him shyly. “You like your gift?”

“I adore my gift.” He ducked his head to give her another kiss. What he adored was Chloe. “Come home with me. There will be no siblings there.”

She wrapped her arms about his neck. “Oh? Then what might you have to entertain me?”

“A bed.” He let her see the passion in his eyes and hoped