Rather than reply, Papa motioned for her to attend to the door.
Her heart beat too fast for rational thought. Her legs yearned to run away. To cower; to hide.
She yanked open the brass handle in part to prove to herself that she could.
It was him. Elijah Bloody Weston.
Ten years older. Ten times more attractive. Ten times more dangerous.
Her vision seemed to shrink until all she could see was him.
Boots, black as coal. Supple buckskin breeches clinging to indecently muscled thighs. A well-made coat the color of old ash cut in a style completely unsuitable for northern climes—but happened to display to perfection the breadth of his shoulders and the musculature of his chest and arms. A snowy neckcloth at his throat was the only scrap of clothing not molded to his plethora of flat planes and defined muscles.
Weston’s appalling magnetism infuriated her.
His face… God save her, that face. Time had not at all ravaged him the way she had hoped. His jaw was squarer, his face fuller, a hint of laugh lines just beginning at the corners of his long-lashed brown eyes. What the devil did the handsome scoundrel have to laugh about?
Her, probably.
Just looking at him was enough to bring back the old shame. His soft, kissable lips make her want to burst into tears all over again.
Olive’s fingernails dug into her palms. To the devil with men like Weston!
This time, she would not let him win.
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The Duke Heist Wild Wynchesters #1
A secret identities, forbidden love, opposites attract romance from a New York Times bestselling author: Why seduce a duke the normal way, when you can accidentally kidnap one in an elaborately planned 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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Sneak Peek The Duke Heist
Miss Chloe Wynchester folded her hands in her lap and did her best not to glare a hole right through the handsome, haughty Duke of Faircliffe. His frigid blue gaze had looked right at her—and slid away just as quickly, having glimpsed nothing to attract his interest.
How many times had she and Faircliffe been in the same room? Eight? Ten? Every disdainful glance in her direction as indifferent as the last. She lifted her chin. Her father 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 and took in all the other ladies in the parlor.
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 girls were about to have oatcakes and cucumber sandwiches before you arrived.”
“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 reached the door, 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 the painting. 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. Go on ahead. Please don’t wait for me.”
With her basket hanging from her arm, she ducked into the parlor and closed the door behind her. She hurried to lift the painting from the wall and carried it behind a chinoiserie folding screen in the corner. Up came the frame’s grips, off came the backing, out came Bean’s painting. She rolled it carefully and tucked it into the basket before stretching the forgery she’d brought over the wooden frame.
She ran to open the parlor door before anyone noticed it had been shut and hurried past the dining room to the front door without taking her leave from the guests. Would anyone notice she failed to return? Doubtful. If anything, the ladies would assume Jane Brown had slunk off in mortification.
Still, there was no time to waste. Any caper’s success depended upon a timely exit.
Keeping her head
