How to Capture a Duke(19)

She hitched her dress up an inch and proceeded faster. Her cloak  billowed in the wind, and strands of hair were flung against her face.  Her boots crunched against the sheets of snow that sparkled from the dim  sunlight. The servants had attempted to shovel some of the lane, but it  was a large job, and she skidded and swerved over icy patches.                       
       
           



       

Until she fell.

The world veered downward, and her nose squashed against the snowy  surface. She pushed her hands against the snow and forced herself up,  striving to maintain some semblance of dignity as the wind whirled about  her coat and dress.

"I trust you're uninjured?" Percival shot her a cocky grin. His steady  pace, even hampered by his injury, placed him at the entrance to the  manor house.

The man grasped the cast-iron door knocker and pounded on the bright red  door that never quite matched the mourning Grandmother had thrown  herself into.

He was not going to speak with the servants before her.

Who knew what story he would tell them.

Like the right one. The pit in her stomach hollowed, and she was only a few paces behind him when the door opened.

Not to a servant.

Grandmother.

Her knees quivered, and it was only focusing on the door that kept her  moving forward, because certainly Fiona's natural inclination was to  topple forward and pray for the earth to swallow her.

Grandmother peeked her grey head out, and Fiona knew without a doubt  that she had seen everything. Fiona was with a man, all alone. Fiona had  traveled with him by herself. If she were the type of woman who  believed in being ruined, Fiona would have been devastated, though right  now she only desired Grandmother to believe her story.

"You must be Captain Knightley." Grandmother extended her hand toward him.

Percival paused.

"You can take her hand, my dear!" Fiona forced a laugh. "He's a bit shy, Grandmother. I should have said."

"I-" Percival swung his head around and glared at her.

"Oh, that's quite alright." Grandmother tilted her head. "My Fiona is very shy too. As you no doubt know well."

A vein throbbed from Percival's temple. "I would not have used that term to describe her."

"My dear, you must come in. It won't do to have you shiver in the English winter, as nonexistent as some people claim it to be."

Percival brushed past Fiona's grandmother. "England isn't supposed to  have a winter. It's supposed to be blustery and sometimes damp. That's  all."

"My dear Captain Knightley." Grandmother smiled fondly at the man. "How  much shock it must be for you now to return to your home country after  so many years of fighting."

"You mustn't call me that. I'm just a man who-"

"Adores my niece." Grandmother's smile widened. "You are much too  humble, my dear. I can call you that, can't I? I feel you are like  family to me. I have heard so much about you."

"I have not heard anything about you-"

"-that has not been pleasant." Fiona hastened to the man's side and then  halted. It felt too natural to stand beside him, and she had a strange  urge to stand even closer to him, as if her body missed his. She  frowned. The sleigh had been too tight.

Percival opened his mouth. "I am afraid that this woman captured me!"

Fiona froze. She steeled herself for Grandmother's reaction, and  Percival gave her a smug look, not befitting a man whose jewels she had  stolen.

"She held me up at gunpoint and demanded I be her fiancé."

Grandmother tilted her head and smiled. "True love is rather like that. I do envy you both."

"She captured me! Completely against my will!"

Grandmother laughed, though Fiona did not join her.

"One doesn't know when love will strike." Grandmother leaned closer.  "But when it strikes hard, when it is so strong, it bodes well for your  future. Too many people settle for simple, mutual non-hatred. Even  hatred can be more of an indication of true passion."

"But-" Percival's face reddened, not as if the extra color could  decrease from the man's handsomeness. He glanced at the butler, and  Fiona hastened to slip her hand underneath his arm. Blast convention.

"My fiancé finds amusement in jesting about the force of our passion.  I'm sure he was about to demand you call the magistrate and notify the  local gentry." Fiona tilted her head up at Percival's ever more bemused  countenance.

"You take the words out of my mouth," Percival said stiffly.

"My darling." Fiona allowed herself to rest her face against Percival's  chest. The woolen fabric of his great coat scratched against her cheek,  but her cursed heartbeat still quickened.

Percival tensed against her, but thank goodness, the man didn't push her  away. She ignored the sudden warmth that soared through her with  inexplicable force.

Though that was absurd. It was Grandmother's scrutiny that brought on her excitement. Nothing else.                       
       
           



       

Obviously.

Evans' countenance appeared less stern than normal, and she remembered  that the butler was himself married to the housekeeper in a match so  well-suited that it had produced seven children, despite the  discouragement of household staff to create families.

"Where's your sister?" Grandmother inquired.

"She's . . . er . . . still at her estate." She stretched her lips into a  wide smile, even though there wasn't anything pleasant about this  moment. She resolved to send Rosamund a note at once and inhaled.  "Forgive me, I know that it was improper to ride without a chaperone-"

Grandmother waved her hand, and Fiona noticed that her appearance was  slightly more frazzled than customary. Her makeup was unevenly applied,  as if her grandmother had seen fit to do some touch-ups herself.

"The mail coach was waylaid." Percival scowled.

"I'm sorry!" Fiona squeaked to Grandmother, conscious of Percival's arched eyebrow and his steely eyes fixed on her.

"You mustn't worry, my darling. I'm so happy to see you. And to meet  your captain." Grandmother laughed and peered closer to Percival. "Your  appearance is quite extraordinary. Most aristocratic. Has anyone told  you that you look just like the old Duke of Alfriston? He was quite a  handsome fellow in his time. Dead now. And his son after him. So  tragic."

Percival stiffened, and Fiona tilted her head. She hadn't wanted to know anything about Percival, but suddenly she regretted it.

"The straightness of your nose and that shade of blue in your eyes …  And  your chin, such a perfect shape. It is quite extraordinary to find all  those features in one person, so much younger than the duke. Perhaps he  is one of your ancestors."

Percival opened his mouth, and Fiona stammered. "Most curious.  Unfortunately, my darling fiancé will need to leave very soon. But you  can see that we are engaged and happy."

She avoided directing her gaze anywhere in the direction of Percival.

"Yes." Percival nodded with such vigor that people might have termed the  gesture frantic. "I would not want to encroach upon your hospitality."

"Impossible." Grandmother shook her head. "Your cousin's Christmas Ball is in two days, and my niece must have an escort."

"But!" Fiona's voice trembled, and she shot a glance at the butler who  seemed amused by the unaccustomed appearance of a stranger. "The dear  captain will be able to escort me to events for the rest of our lives."

"Starting today!" Grandmother nodded firmly and turned to Percival, who  was definitely scowling now. "You would not believe how much my poor  granddaughter missed you. Locking herself up all day long in her work  room."

"Oh?" Percival's cool, impersonal question caused the back of Fiona's neck to prickle.

"I will not let you venture out in this dreadful weather. I forbid it."

Percival sighed. "But I am afraid the weather will become more dreadful-"

"En route." Grandmother shook her head. "Just when you don't want it to  become worse. That's why I favor staying inside. Unless you are willing  to risk your good health when you have just arrived from the devastation  of battle." She flickered her gaze to his wooden leg, "In order to  abandon my granddaughter-"

"Of course he wasn't!" Fiona cut in, forcing a laugh, and ignored the  manner in which Percival's jaw tensed, and his scowl deepened. "My  fiancé has a dreadful sense of humor."

"Clearly he makes up for it in other respects," Evans said slowly, his gaze scanning Percival.

"Indeed, Evans. Please have the maids prepare the Green Room." Grandmother seemed to be amused. "Let us have tea now."