by Erica Ridley
“Right from the start?” she choked out in disbelief. Every muscle trembled at the unfairness of his accusation. “That painting is ours. We came to your father and then we came to you. I knocked on your door, my sister knocked on your door, my brother knocked on your door… We sent dozens of letters. They all came back unopened!”
“I have a reputation to protect,” he snarled. “Calls and correspondence are only accepted from respectable parties. Anyone not on the list is rejected out of hand. I only lifted the prohibition on Wynchesters because I owed you that favor.” His eyes flashed. “I see I was right to distance myself from your duplicitous family.”
She recoiled as if struck.
“You were right?” Her throat went dry, her limbs shaking with anger. “You wish we came to you from the start. We did, and you ignored us. You needed money. We tried to pay you—for an item that was rightfully ours. The only reason you acknowledged me this time was because I stole a carriage with you in it.”
His lip curled. “I should have known then what kind of person you’d turn out to be.”
“As should I,” she retorted, jabbing an unsteady finger at his chest. “If I hadn’t tricked you into allowing me across your precious threshold, you would have no idea where to find your father’s vase because you can’t be bothered to acknowledge the existence of your ‘lessers.’ So, explain to me, Your Grace, which one of us has a right to be offended by the callousness of the other.”
“I ignored you. I did not lie to you,” he said, his tone frigid. “Take me to my father’s vase at once or I shall take you to visit the Bow Street Runners.”
25
Chloe climbed up through a fog of dread and into the Duke of Faircliffe’s waiting coach.
What had she done?
This had been the most wonderful and terrible afternoon imaginable. And now, taking him home to meet her family, under conditions such as these… What would they think of him? What would he think of them? Once they traded the Faircliffe vase for the Wynchester portrait, would she ever see Lawrence again?
Would he return the painting? He hadn’t confirmed it was still in his possession. Had her unfortunate honesty ruined everything for nothing?
Up came Tommy, who took the seat opposite until Chloe grabbed her by the arm and tugged her into the squab at Chloe’s side.
Tommy sent her a sharp frown. “What’s happening?”
Before Chloe could answer, the duke bounded into the carriage and took the rear-facing seat Tommy had vacated to glare at them, stone-faced.
“Er,” said Tommy. “Was it the lemon cakes? They looked delectable. I just thought it would be better if this old stomach refrained from turning inside out onto your settee.”
“It’s not the lemon cakes.” He rapped on the wall facing the driver, and the horses burst into motion. “I’ve learned that the real reason your niece has been coming round is because she intended to steal a painting—and is also in possession of my father’s vase.”
Tommy’s mouth fell open, and she jerked her shocked gaze at Chloe. “You told him?”
The duke gaped at her. “You knew?”
“I knew about the vase and the painting.” Tommy’s nostrils flared. “I did not know my niece was a ninnyhammer.”
Chloe clenched her teeth together and made a smile as brittle as her soul.
“You might say,” she bit out, “things did not go as expected.”
What she really wanted to do was to toss Lawrence from his carriage and then throw herself straight into her sister’s arms.
Tommy’s frustration melted at once and she slid her hand over Chloe’s.
Chloe squeezed back, grateful beyond words for a sisterly anchor in the midst of the storm.
“I demand the return of my vase,” the duke commanded.
She ground her teeth. Moments before, they had been equals. Now he was back to being superior, treating her as though she weren’t a person in her own right. As though his needs and wants were the only ones that mattered. As though his heirloom were more valuable than hers.
Outside the window, fashionable Mayfair disappeared. Soon they approached Islington.
By the time the coach clipped up the path leading to the stately Wynchester home, panic raced through Chloe’s blood. She had never disappointed her family before. She had always completed every mission.
Until today, when a wild duke followed her home.
She exited first, on shaky legs. Tommy came next. They inched closer to each other before edging toward their house.
The Duke of Faircliffe alighted from his carriage in time to see Chloe’s brother Graham race along the edge of the roof, leap sideways from the topmost gable to the cupola over the first-floor balcony, and perform an elegant forward flip to land in perfect silence on the grass below.
Lawrence’s eyes widened in astonishment.
Graham swiped a hand over his flyaway black curls. “Why is he here?”
The duke straightened in obvious affront. “I might expect a modicum of respect.”
“You might not, pup,” Tommy scolded in perfect Great-Aunt Wynchester cadence. “You might be a duke, but this is our home, and it’s up to us who we allow in it.”
“Chloe,” the duke said imperiously, “has informed me that—”
“You call her Chloe?” Graham’s initial shock swiftly changed to speculation, and he sent her the sort of irritatingly knowing glance that only an elder brother could deliver.
She glared back at him mulishly.
“Er…Miss Wynchester, that is,” Lawrence corrected himself, flustered enough to drop the haughtier-than-thou aristocratic veneer. “The point is, she’s admitted a planned theft from my household, as well as possession of a certain vase that rightfully belongs to me.”
Graham’s smile disappeared. “You ruined our only collateral security?”
“I…” Chloe’s eyes begged for him to understand. “I’m sorry, Graham.”
Her brother did not look appeased. He looked betrayed and disappointed.
“She didn’t ruin anything,” Lawrence snapped. “It’s not ‘collateral security’ if the person you’re bargaining with doesn’t know you have it or want it. Unlike your sister, you clearly have not mastered the art of debate.”
Graham blinked, then visibly tried to mask another of his annoyingly knowing expressions. “The self-righteous duke leaps to defend his thief’s honor. How interesting.”
“Graham…” Chloe said in warning.
Before she could continue her threat, the front door to the house flew open and two more siblings strode outside.
Lawrence craned his head to watch with obvious interest, then outright confusion.
Elizabeth was relying less than usual on her cane—Chloe was delighted to see her sister’s new stretches had eased some of her chronic pain—and Jacob sported a tricolored parrot on one shoulder.
“Ho there,” Jacob called out. “What’s this party?”
“Ho there,” his parrot echoed, with a flap of its red, yellow, and blue wings.
At least, Chloe assumed the squawk had come from the parrot. One never knew, with Elizabeth close by.
“Keep that bird away from me, nephew,” Tommy barked as Great-Aunt Wynchester. “There are no crackers in my reticule.”
Lawrence’s startled gaze went from Elizabeth’s pale features to the golden bronze of Graham’s skin to the rich brown of Jacob’s. Belated realization dawned upon his patrician features.
“Oh!” he blurted out. “I didn’t realize the Wynchesters weren’t real siblings.”
No other words could be a greater or more instantaneous call to arms.
“To the devil with you,” Graham spat, fists clenching. “Nothing is more ‘real’ than our family.”
Elizabeth’s eyes flashed. “‘Wynchester’ is something you feel in your heart. Not something one must be born to.”
“Someone like him has no heart,” Jacob scoffed. “Peers needn’t bother. Their ‘lineage’ matt
ers more to them than actual persons.”
“Arrogant nob,” squawked the parrot.
Definitely Elizabeth.
Lawrence angled his head. “Well, actually—”
“Here he goes.” Tommy gave a noisy sigh. “Prepare for two hours of His Grace pontificating in great detail how he’s the expert on what makes a family and that we’re wrong about everything we’ve lived in our own lives.”
“I haven’t time for that.” Jacob tapped his chin. “But I do have a python and a Highland tiger I could feed him to.”
“And an ill-tempered hedgehog,” squawked his parrot.
“I have cable for tightropes,” Graham offered. “I could string it across the roof like a spiderweb, and tie him to the—”
“Not every situation calls for a trapeze stunt and a rose clutched between your teeth,” Elizabeth hissed.
“Then you’re not doing it right,” Graham whispered back.
Lawrence turned to Tommy in frustration. “Can you not control your nieces and nephews for one moment?”
Elizabeth let out an unladylike snort.
Jacob grinned at Chloe. “He really doesn’t know?”
She shook her head. “He hasn’t a blessed clue.”
“I can’t wait.” Graham rubbed his hands. “This will be amazing.”
Tommy smoothed a white tendril. “Just say the word.”
The others turned to Chloe.
“Why are they all looking at you?” Lawrence demanded. His eyes widened. “You’re their leader?”
“We’re all leaders,” she said firmly. “We are a family and a team.”
“But, yes,” Elizabeth piped up, “she’s the leader-est leader.”
Her words enveloped Chloe like a warm embrace. This family was where she belonged.
“Oh, come along, then,” she said with a sigh. “Shall we go inside? Marjorie must be wondering what the fuss is about.”
“If she’s glanced out her studio window,” Jacob said. “I doubt she noticed Graham’s daring descent.”
“‘Daring Descent!’” Graham perked up. “I like it. Someone should inform the scandal columns.”
Lawrence visibly wrapped himself in ducal gentlemanliness and offered Elizabeth his arm. “Would you like help back into the house?”
“No,” she said flatly. “The handle of my cane hides a knife. If you come closer, I’ll use it.”
Chagrined, he turned awkwardly toward Tommy.
“I don’t need you, either.” She ran up to Elizabeth’s side. “If you come closer, I’ll hit you with the book I stole from your library.”
“You stole a book?” He stalked forward. “I need that back!”
“See?” Jacob grinned at Graham. “We still have collateral security.”
“Wynchesters always win,” squawked the parrot.
The Duke of Faircliffe was the last to enter the house.
Chloe led them to the dining room, pausing only to murmur instructions for tea to a passing maid.
Once they were settled, Lawrence looked up and down the long mahogany table, then back to Chloe. “This room could seat two dozen. How many of you are there, really?”
“Enough,” she replied indifferently, knowing the nonanswer would vex him.
At the moment there were three persons on either edge of the long table: Jacob, Chloe, and Lawrence to one side, and Tommy, Elizabeth, and Graham on the other.
“Explain yourselves,” the duke commanded. “Start at the beginning.”
Chloe would definitely not be doing that. “You’ll call off the Runners?”
Jacob startled. “Runners?”
“Bow Street Runners?” squawked his parrot.
“Faircliffe believed his missing vase to be stolen,” Chloe explained. “It is not. It’s upstairs. Call off the Runners and we’ll negotiate an exchange. Do we have an agreement?”
Lawrence studied her as though he were just now seeing her properly.
“No Runners,” he agreed slowly. “But no truce until I have all of the facts and the vase.”
“No truce until you return our painting,” Jacob added.
The duke inclined his head.
Graham leaned back. “Your father sold us our painting nineteen years ago, a few weeks after Bean fostered us. They’d met in some gentlemen’s club with low enough standards to welcome a minor baron from a small foreign principality…as well as dissolute gamblers like your father, who was always on the hunt for a new wager to repay the last one he’d lost.”
Lawrence’s jaw flexed, but he did not argue. The picture Graham painted wasn’t pretty, but it was accurate.
“From time to time, when the duke’s pockets were to let, he’d try to sell us another painting, but we weren’t interested.”
“We had no need to purchase art,” Elizabeth added. “By then, Marjorie was producing works worthy of a museum, and her tutors claimed there was little more they could teach her.”
Tommy jumped in. “Ten months ago, she and I were in the parlor discussing an upcoming exhibition. Your father was visiting at the time and became quite agitated. He asked for Puck & Family back. Bean refused. The duke came back the next day to propose a temporary trade using collateral security. Bean refused again. There was some sort of disturbance in the barn—”
“Never let a hawk near your pet squirrels,” Jacob murmured.
“—and when it was over, the painting and your father were both gone.” Tommy pointed a liver-spotted finger at Lawrence’s cravat. “He stole it from us.”
“A duke would never steal,” Lawrence mumbled. But the pallor in his cheeks indicated he was not at all convinced his father could be held to any such standard.
Graham snorted. “Because of him, we came up with a half dozen new rules.”
“‘Never trust nobility.’”
“‘Forge everything.’”
“‘Don’t allow anything of value out of the family again, or trust anyone who isn’t a Wynchester.’”
“Wait,” the duke interrupted. “‘Forge everything’?”
“I didn’t fake my bellyache,” Tommy assured him as Great-Aunt Wynchester. “Lemon cakes are no laughing matter. But everything else was a lie.”
Chloe’s gaze caught Lawrence’s.
“Not everything,” she murmured softly. “There were…moments.”
Naked, sensual, tender moments. Her cheeks flushed.
His pupils dilated as if he, too, was assailed by memories of their moments of passion. Of their joined bodies, slick with sweat, surging together. But lovemaking did not mean he accepted her—or her family.
Nor was she certain her family could ever accept him. Lawrence was straitlaced and respectable, and her siblings were…Wynchesters.
“True enough. Faircliffe isn’t so bad, for an arrogant pup.” Tommy patted his arm, illustrating to the others that she found the duke mostly harmless. “Anyone who makes bonnets as preposterous as his can deal with a few surprises here and there.”
The corners of Elizabeth’s mouth twitched.
“Few surprises,” squawked the parrot. “And perhaps a pail of water over the head for causing all this trouble when he could have simply opened the letters we sent to him, accepted the money we were willing to pay for the safe return of our heirloom, and then popped the painting into the hands of a capable footman with instructions to nip right over and return the bloody vase back home, neat as can be. And furthermore—”
Lawrence’s head jerked back in shock. “Wait…that isn’t the parrot talking?”
Graham and Jacob dissolved into laughter.
“Not as cork-brained as he looks,” the parrot squawked. “Next he’ll ask about Father Christmas.”
Tommy gave a very Great-Aunt Wynchester cackle.
“Don’t get your breeches twisted,” Graham drawled. “Siblings tease each other all the time.”
Yes, but Lawrence had never had a sibling. He wouldn’t have any idea what to do with a family like theirs. Chloe braced herself
for his wounded pride or ducal hauteur.
Instead, a disbelieving grin blossomed on Lawrence’s face. He looked strangely…thrilled?
“A talking parrot.” He gave a low chuckle. “That’s brilliant. I could use a trick like that in 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.
