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 camePuck & Family. She rolled it into a scroll the size of her forearm and tucked it into the basket before stretching the 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 face 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 wasthat? 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?”
4
Chloe swung the privacy curtain shut in Faircliffe’s shocked face and spun back toward the horses.
No, no, no.This could not be happening. She had comeso closeto completing a perfect mission with no one the wiser until she…accidentally abducted a duke in the process? Her blood pounded loud in her ears. What the dickens was she supposed to donow?
Faircliffe jerked the curtain back open.
She did not turn around.
“Stop the carriage!” His Grace’s imperious tone sent shivers up her spine.
