But theyhadto go back, damn him. Whether he missed her or not. He still had their Puck. Chloe distracting him was her family’s best chance to recover it. This was their opening.
She lifted her head. “What do I wear?”
Tommy opened both wardrobes. “What do you want to wear?”
Dully, Chloe scanned her choices. Bland beige again, since she had already lost? An extravagant evening gown, to show him what he was missing? Neither option was appealing. Both gave away too much of how she was feeling.
She selected a simple day dress of blush-colored muslin with long sleeves and a double flounce of figured lace at the bottom hem. Neither frumpish, nor flamboyant. The sort of walking dress an ordinary woman whose heart was in no way broken might wear on an ordinary outing to pay calls on ordinary acquaintances.
Chloe would not let on that anything was amiss.
“Go put on Great-Aunt Wynchester,” she told Tommy. “Today we bring our painting home.”
***
Lawrence valiantly strove to return his attention to the research for the next Exchequer bill.
It did not work.
Every distant creak of a floorboard: Was that his footman Jackson, returning with a note from Chloe? Every whistle of wind outside the window: Was that the Wynchester carriage rumbling up the street outside?
He checked the clock for the fiftieth time. She had received his letter by now. Jackson must be home. If she had sent a reply, Lawrence would already have it in his hand. She wasn’t coming. She wasn’t even responding. Perhaps Southerby had won her hand and she no longer had need for Lawrence or his increasingly unlikely gala.
If Chloe wanted nothing to do with him, it was no less than what he deserved. Regardless of what his heart might want, he was still on the hunt for an heiress.
Indulging in stolen moments knowing full well it could lead nowhere was not the comportment of a gentleman—especially not one who had promised to help Chloe marry someone else.
The thought hardened his stomach, and he shoved it away. He was not going todeflowerher. He just wanted to see her. And perhaps steal one tiny little kiss.
He was strong enough not to ask for any more than that.
Hastings appeared in the doorway. “Your Grace?”
Lawrence jumped. “Yes?”
His butler’s eyes were merry. “Mrs. and Miss Wynchester are in their parlor.”
Their parlor.The one with no mirrors and a trunk full of ugly bonnets. They were here!
He leapt to his feet at once. “Send for tea. I’ll be right there.”
Hastings nodded and disappeared.
Giddy with relief and excitement, Lawrence ran a hand through his hair and straightened his neckcloth before making his way to the drawing room where Chloe and her aunt awaited.
When he entered, both of them were wearing silly bonnets from the trunk.
He bowed deeply to hide his grin. “Ladies. I am honored by your visit.”
Great-Aunt Wynchester narrowed her eyes. “Chloe said there would be jam tartlets.”
“I did not say ‘tartlets,’ Aunt,” Chloe corrected quickly. “I said there might be tea.”
“There will definitely be tea for the two of you.”
He seated himself in the chair across from the ladies’ chaise and gazed wordlessly at Chloe. She dazzled. This was the first time he’d seen her without the specter of a loveless union to someone else hanging over his head, and she seemed brighter, bolder, too pretty to be real.
Her hair looked soft and touchable, her lips pink and kissable, her curves set off to perfection beneath a deceptively modest high-necked day dress, whose rose-colored bodice accentuated the swell of her bosom. He would dream of this gown tonight. Peeling off every layer and pressing heated kisses to each new inch of flesh he revealed.
