She bit back a retort. The only reason he wasn’t bringing her up on charges was because he believed her a naïve little duckling unable to think through her actions. She would have to let him keep on believing it.
“You are all that is kind. I do not require your help.” A scuffed dressing table stood beside a rickety wardrobe. Chloe slid the basket with the hidden painting under the table and sat gingerly on the worn stool, pretending to check her hair in the looking glass. “Have a good evening, Your Grace.”
That was his cue to leave.
He took off his hat and sat on the windowsill instead.
A crack of air above the pane ruffled a few strands of his dark hair, lending him a sense of motion even while sitting still. It was as if, underneath his relaxed pose, every muscle were coiled and ready to pounce.
His blue eyes filled with sympathy. “It must be frightful to be without prospects. I do have compassion for those who are desperate.”
“Donotfeel sorry for me,” she ground out through clenched teeth. To her surprise and misfortune, being visible was even worse than being invisible.
Poor Chloe Wynchester: so far beneath a duke. Ha!Hewas the onesheshould feel sorry for.
Many lords and ladies limited themselves to the thousand or so aristocrats matching their own class and station, relegating them to loveless marriages between debutantes and roués, first cousins, total strangers, sworn enemies. Whereas Chloe’s pool of potential future spouses wasthe entire rest of England.
No one cared if she married a butcher or a bookseller, an apothecary or a highwayman.Shewas free to do as she pleased.
That was, if she ever escaped this interminable conversation.
Why was he ignoring her less-than-subtle verbal dismissals? Was he so used to being scraped to and fawned over that he genuinely wouldn’t recognizegood-byeunless she drove him home herself?
“It’s safe to say we started off on the wrong foot.” He gave her a sympathetic smile, which infuriated her all the more by making him even handsomer. Did the Ice King of Parliament truly possess adimple? Good God. Right there in the hollow above his chiseled jaw.
No wonder the blasted man took being abducted in stride. A smile like that could melt petticoats. And inhibitions.
His gaze was earnest. “Although we shan’t see each other again, and all we know of each other is the drivel printed in the society columns—”
That and the dozen other times they’d crossed paths, but who was counting?
He cleared his throat. “—before I go, I want you to know that—”
A door slammed beneath their feet. “Where is she?”
Chloe affected an alarmed expression. Rescue had arrived! Now what was she supposed to do with the duke?
5
When Lawrence saw the dismayed expression on Miss Wynchester’s pretty face, he leapt to his feet in alarm. Some families could withstand a brush with gossip. His was not one of them.
“Someone is here for you?”
“My brother.” She glanced over his shoulder toward the door. “He must have come to take me home.”
Bloody hell, she’d been right. Lawrence should never have followed her up the stairs, no matter how unlikely it had seemed for someone to stumble across them in such a seedy establishment.
“Your brother cannot find us together.” He darted a horrified gaze toward the open doorway. How on earth had the man found them so quickly? How had he even known his sister was missing? “Didn’t you just reserve this room a few moments ago?”
“I told you,” she said. “Our house in Islington is being repaired. Because it is too far to travel with a megrim, I told my family I would rest here if I suffered another attack.”
Islington. Of course the Wynchesters wouldn’t live in fashionable Mayfair. He wondered if she truly had enough money to rent a room or hire a hack. It was good for her that her family had come, but terrible for Lawrence.
“Where is she?” a loud male voice called from the foot of the stairs.
“Graham grows combative when he’s distraught,” she whispered. “He’s extremely overprotective, even for an older brother. I don’t know what he’ll do when he finds amanalone with me…”
Panic itched beneath Lawrence’s skin. Who cared why Miss Wynchester rented a bedchamber? All that mattered was not being caught alone with her inside of it.
