by Erica Ridley
“As soon as the painting is hung,” Mrs. York chirped, “we shall all remove to the dining room for a nice, leisurely tea.”
Good God, anything but that. Besides his distaste for tea, Lawrence could not court anyone properly while dodging the unsettling gaze of the woman with the pretty brown eyes. Even now, he was thinking of her instead of concentrating on Miss York. It would not do. Once the painting was hung, Lawrence would bolt out the door and into the sanctity of his carriage.
His driver had better be ready to fly.
Chapter 3
Chloe folded her hands in her lap and did her best not to glare a hole right through the handsome, haughty Duke of Faircliffe.
All of this would have been much easier if Faircliffe would simply return the painting. But addressing His Arrogance directly did not work. Chloe and her siblings had pleaded for months, in countless letters sent to his home and dozens of humiliating attempts in person.
His Infuriating Loftiness was far too superior to see reason…or commoners like the Wynchester siblings.
His frigid blue gaze looked right at Chloe—and slid away just as quickly, having glimpsed nothing to attract his interest.
How many times had she and Faircliffe crossed paths? Hyde Park, Berkeley Square, Westminster. Every disdainful glance in her direction was as indifferent as the last. She lifted her chin. Bean had taught her that, to the right person, she would be visible and memorable. Faircliffe was clearly the wrong person.
Not that she wanted him to notice her, Chloe reminded herself. The continued success of “Jane Brown” hinged on her uncanny ability to be wholly unremarkable under any circumstances. She gripped the soft muslin of her skirt. Tommy might be an unparalleled genius with disguises, but Chloe needn’t do anything at all to blend in and be forgettable.
She possessed one of those faces that was at once familiar yet too ordinary to pick out from a crowd. She was neither tall nor short, ugly nor pretty. Nothing about her stood out.
Her skin wasn’t palest alabaster like Philippa York’s or golden bronze like her brother Graham’s. She was not thin and willowy like Tommy or pleasingly plump like Elizabeth. Her limp brown hair wasn’t spun flax like Marjorie’s, or blessed with glossy black curls like Jacob’s. Chloe was neutral and dull, with nary even a freckle to add a spot of interest.
She was just…there, like a dust mote in a shaft of light.
Her perpetual insignificance had helped her through scrape after scrape. Chloe would never admit how much she wished, just once, to see a flicker of recognition reflected back at her.
Not that her expectations of Faircliffe were high. What type of conceited, coldhearted knave blithely gave away a painting he did not own as a courtship gift?
A villain like that could not be trusted or reasoned with. He’d had his chance to deal honorably. Chloe wouldn’t beg him for the painting even if she could. At this point, the duplicitous, arrogant blackguard deserved to have it whisked out of his hands.
She forced her tense fingers to unclench and folded them in her lap. Soon.
“Thank you ever so much for your charming gift,” Mrs. York cooed loud enough for the entire party to hear, and likely the neighbors as well. “Philippa is overjoyed.”
Philippa did not appear to be overjoyed. Or even middling-level joyful. She bore the same I am here because I must be expression she wore at every social function, save the brief occasions when her mother left her side and the reading circle could actually talk about books. Chloe imagined her far more interested in the duke’s famed library than in the man himself.
Not that Faircliffe seemed particularly infatuated. A man in love would have dreamed up a gift better suited to his bride.
“My gratitude,” Philippa murmured.
The duke looked self-congratulatory. “My pleasure.”
Chloe glared at him on behalf of women everywhere who longed for more than token gestures of false affection.
But Faircliffe’s kind didn’t waste time on matters of the heart. Lords and ladies—or those who aspired to become them—selected their unions with cold practicality. Their minds were muddied not with emotion but with visions of titles and dowries and estates and social connections.
Chloe was delighted not to belong to a world like that.
Mrs. York clapped her hands together. “And now…a celebratory tea!”
The duke’s face displayed a comical look of alarm. “I don’t think—”
“You must join us!” Mrs. York’s hands flapped like frightened birds. “The ladies were about to have oatcakes and cucumber sandwiches—”
“We were about to discuss epistolary structure in eighteenth-century French novels,” Philippa murmured.
“I never meant to interrupt,” Faircliffe said with haste. “I mustn’t stay, and in fact—”
“Nonsense! Come, come, all of you.” Mrs. York waved her arms about the room, driving her guests into the dining room like a shepherd herding sheep.
Chloe and Faircliffe were both caught in the flow.
Once they passed through the doorway, however, Chloe stepped to one side. She could not take a seat at the table or she would be stuck there for the next hour.
While everyone else was occupied, this was her chance to liberate her beloved Puck. But first, she needed an excuse to disappear. An adorable, furry reason.
She released Tiglet from the large wicker basket. The calico kitten darted between boots and beneath petticoats with a formidable rawr.
Mrs. York gave a dramatic shriek in response.
Tiglet scaled several curtains in search of an open window before darting out of the dining room and flying off down the corridor as though his tail were afire.
Chloe gasped as if shocked that her homing kitten was attempting to dash home. “How embarrassing! I’ll run and find the naughty little scamp at once. Please don’t wait for me.”
Philippa glanced up from her place at the table. “I could help—”
“Sit down,” her mother hissed. “The duke is here.”
Philippa sighed. “We could at least ring for a maid or footman—”
“It’s really no trouble,” Chloe assured her. “Please serve the tea.”
With a meaningful glance to Mrs. York, Chloe made several unsubtle tilts of her head toward the Duke of Faircliffe, who was tarrying noticeably, as if reluctant to take his place at the table.
“Oh!” Mrs. York said loudly. “You’re absolutely right. Go on, dear. Take your time. Over here, Your Grace. Come and sit by Philippa. We’ve saved you the best seat.”
“Have you met the others?” Philippa gestured at each young lady as she took a chair at the table. “To my left is…”
Chloe slipped from the room at the sound of Mrs. York chastising her daughter for performing introductions out of the order of precedence. Chloe could be gone an hour before anyone would notice.
She wouldn’t need but five minutes.
With her basket hanging from her arm, she ducked into the parlor and closed the door behind her. A broken hairpin in the keyhole would not only prevent anyone from entering behind her but would also make it obvious a crime was under way. She would simply work fast.
There was no sense looking for the kitten. Strands of calico fur and unfortunate paw prints on a velvet curtain indicated Tiglet had already found an open window and was well on his way home.
Chloe hurried to lift her family painting from the wall and carried it behind a chinoiserie folding screen in the corner. Cutting the canvas free was not an option. The replacement must look identical to the original, and besides, she would never damage an object that meant this much. Quickly she lay the frame facedown and removed her tools from the basket.
Marjorie had drilled Chloe on mounting and unmounting canvases until her fingers were callused and she could perform the maneuver in her sleep. Up came the grips, off came the backing, out came Puck & Family. She rolled it into a scroll the size of her forearm and tucked it into the basket before stretching t
he forgery over the wooden frame.
This was the tricky part. There was no way to attach the painting without hammering the grips in place. She must do so in silence. If she placed only one grip on each side, and lined each one perfectly with the holes it had come from… There! She hurriedly returned it to the wall.
As long as it stayed there, no one would notice the imperfect craftsmanship. And if one day someone did notice, well, that was none of Chloe’s concern. Faircliffe would be the one who had to explain the shoddy frame.
She did not feel sorry for him at all. This was not his painting to give away. For that alone she could never forgive him.
She ran to open the parlor door before anyone noticed it had been shut, and strode past the dining room to the front door without taking her leave from the guests. By now Faircliffe and Philippa were exchanging romantic words, with all of the other ladies hanging on every utterance.
Would anyone realize she had failed to return? Doubtful. If anything, the ladies would assume Jane Brown had slunk off in mortification.
Her throat prickled. She would never know what the other ladies thought of the current novel, but Chloe didn’t need reading circles. She was a Wynchester. They had each other, which was more than enough.
Keeping her head down, she headed along the front walk toward the first carriage in the queue. Only when she glimpsed red curtains and a pair of leather gloves on the box did she lift her head toward the driver’s perch.
It was empty.
Her lungs caught. Where was Graham?
Distant shouts reached her ears, and her tight muscles relaxed. Something unexpected must have occurred, and her siblings’ planned distraction was in progress.
This was her cue to flee.
Chloe pushed the basket onto the perch, unhooked the carriage from its post, and leapt onto the coachman’s seat. Female drivers weren’t unheard-of, but all the same, she was glad she never went outside without garbing herself in the plainest, dullest, dowdiest clothes in her wardrobe. No one who glanced her way would bother looking for long.
She set the horses on a swift path out of Mayfair.
Only when Grosvenor Square was no longer visible behind her did she allow herself a small smile of victory.
Their cherished family portrait was coming home. Once she walked in that door with their painting held high—
“Did we escape?” came a low, velvet voice from within the carriage.
Chloe’s skin went cold. Who was that? Graham wouldn’t be hiding in the back of the carriage. A stranger was in the coach! She twisted about and wrenched the privacy curtain to one side.
A handsome face with soft brown hair and sculpted cheekbones stared back at her, glacial blue eyes wide with surprise.
“Faircliffe?” she blurted in disbelief.
“Miss…er…you?” he spluttered when he found his voice. “What the devil are you doing driving my carriage?”
Ahhh! What will happen next? Find out in The Duke Heist.
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The Duke Heist
Chloe Wynchester is completely forgettable -- a curse that gives her the ability to blend into any crowd. When the only father she's ever known makes a dying wish for his adopted family of orphans to recover a missing painting, she's the first one her siblings turn to for stealing it back. No one expects that in doing so, she'll also abduct a handsome duke.
* * *
Lawrence Gosling, the Duke of Faircliffe, is tortured by his father's mistakes. To repair his estate's ruined reputation, he must wed a highborn heiress. Yet when he finds himself in a carriage being driven hell-for-leather down the cobblestone streets of London by a beautiful woman who refuses to heed his commands, he fears his heart is hers. But how can he sacrifice his family's legacy to follow true love?
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"Erica Ridley is a delight!"
—Julia Quinn
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"Irresistible romance and a family of delightful scoundrels... I want to be a Wynchester!"
—Eloisa James
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Boxed Set Collections:
12 Dukes of Christmas (Books 1-4)
12 Dukes of Christmas (Books 5-8)
Rogues to Riches (Books 1-3)
Rogues to Riches (Books 4-6)
Dukes of War (Books 1-4)
Dukes of War (Books 5-7)
Gothic Love Stories (Books 1-4)
Magic & Mayhem (Books 1-3)
In order, the 12 Dukes of Christmas:
Once Upon a Duke (FREE!)
Kiss of a Duke
Wish Upon a Duke
Never Say Duke
Dukes, Actually
The Duke’s Bride
The Duke’s Embrace
The Duke’s Desire
Dawn With a Duke
One Night With a Duke
Ten Days With a Duke
Forever Your Duke
The Wild Wynchesters series:
The Duke Heist
In order, the Rogues to Riches books are:
Lord of Chance (FREE!)
Lord of Pleasure
Lord of Night
Lord of Temptation
Lord of Secrets
Lord of Vice
In order, the Dukes of War books are:
The Viscount’s Tempting Minx (FREE!)
The Earl’s Defiant Wallflower
The Captain’s Bluestocking Mistress
The Major’s Faux Fiancée
The Brigadier’s Runaway Bride
The Pirate's Tempting Stowaway
The Duke's Accidental Wife
In order, the Gothic Love Stories are:
Too Wicked to Kiss (FREE!)
Too Sinful to Deny
Too Tempting to Resist
Too Wanton to Wed
Too Brazen to Bite
In order, the Magic & Mayhem books are:
Kissed by Magic
Must Love Magic
Smitten by Magic
About the Author
Erica Ridley is a New York Times and USA Today best-selling author of witty, feel-good historical romance novels, including the upcoming THE DUKE HEIST, featuring the Wild Wynchesters. Why seduce a duke the normal way, when you can accidentally kidnap one in an elaborately planned heist?
In the 12 Dukes of Christmas series, enjoy witty, heartwarming Regency romps nestled in a picturesque snow-covered village. After all, nothing heats up a winter night quite like finding oneself in the arms of a duke!
Two popular series, the Dukes of War and Rogues to Riches, feature roguish peers and dashing war heroes who find love amongst the splendor and madness of Regency England.
When not reading or writing romances, Erica can be found riding camels in Africa, zip-lining through rainforests in Central America, or getting hopelessly lost in the middle of Budapest.
Let’s be friends! Find Erica on:
www.EricaRidley.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any r
esemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2021 by Erica Ridley
Cover design by name TK
Cover photo/art by TK
Cover copyright © 2021 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
Hachette Book Group supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
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First edition: February 2021
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ISBNs: 978-1-5387-1952-7 (mass market), 978-1-5387-1950-3 (ebook)
Printed in the United States of America
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