"Your leg?" Fiona asked at once.
"It's fine."
"Good."
They were silent for a few more minutes. The bells on the horses jingled, and the blanket was a seasonal mixture of red and green, but Fiona did not protest.
"I brought the jewels and money," she said.
"What?" Percival swung his head over to her.
She nodded. "I thought you might want to make your escape in Harrogate. You should be able to catch a hack easily enough that will take you to a mail or stage coach."
"Oh?" Percival tried to compose his features into an innocent expression, but from Fiona's resigned smile, he hadn't achieved much success.
"You needn't pretend otherwise. You were terribly eager to go shopping in Harrogate."
"Perhaps I have a fondness for visiting new tailors."
Fiona's shoulders slumped, and a dull weight pressed against Percival's chest. "You're correct. I did plan to take advantage of Harrogate's connection to London."
"Thank you for everything. You were so kind last night. And I've-I've been horrible to you. Dragging you so far away. I'm so sorry." Fiona passed him the package.
He grasped hold of the thin satin material, and pressed against the stones, feeling the familiar shapes. He'd traveled so far to fetch them, had lost them, and now had regained them.
They weren't his. They should have belonged to his cousin, and soon would belong to Lady Cordelia, the woman whom the dowager never failed to praise.
He frowned. "What's going to happen after I leave?"
"Nothing."
"But your sister, your brother-in-law, your grandmother … "
"I'll let them believe in the engagement, and then at some point-" her voice wobbled, and he wondered if she meant after her grandmother's death, "I will invent a lie, and they'll think it's broken off."
"But-why are you doing this? You must know it will be more difficult for you to find a husband after you've been betrothed before."
Engaged women were chaperoned more lightly, and women who were formerly engaged were regarded as spoiled.
"I won't ever marry," Fiona said.
"But society demands it."
"Society demands many things. One needn't follow it slavishly."
"Right." Percival scrunched his fingers together and thought of Lady Cordelia, his destiny, despite the fact he'd never met her, despite the fact that until a few months before, she'd been his cousin's destiny.
"I would love to travel," Fiona said. "I would love to learn more about the people who lived here before."
"And a family? Children?"
Fiona pressed her lips together. "It's not to be. Not everything is."
He tilted his head to her. "Just why did you leave your season early?"
Fiona sighed, and her fingers tapped a nervous pattern over the blanket. She glanced up at him, and her eyelashes flickered over her emerald eyes.
Something in his gaze must have seemed reassuring, for she sighed and gave a short laugh. "I looked forward to it. Before it happened. Before I knew better. I looked forward to wearing pretty dresses and to having men dance with me. Everyone said debuting would be the nicest part of my whole life."
"And what happened?"
"Nothing." She shrugged and wrapped her arms together. "The pretty dresses I wore weren't considered pretty by the other girls. I suppose I went to the wrong dressmaker. I suppose Grandmother didn't know any better and I thought they were pretty."
"I'm sure you were beautiful," Percival said.
Fiona's eyes widened, and she averted her eyes. He had a sudden urge to pull her toward him.
"I felt foolish amidst the gossip. I didn't know the dances well, and the men soon knew better than to ask me to dance. I suppose I was the typical wallflower, except I never bonded with anyone else either. I had considered Madeline a friend, but she was only too happy to gossip about me."
"So you left."
Fiona nodded. "Grandmother was uncomfortable in London as well. She was older than all the marriage-minded mamas and hadn't been in London in ages. It was easy to convince her to leave. And though everyone told me that I was ruining my chances, I never really believed them."
"I suppose you haven't had any suitors here?"
Fiona faltered and then shook her head.
This time the urge to pull her toward him overwhelmed him. He moved his hand underneath the blanket, and away from any cursory glances from the others.
Fiona stiffened, but her fingers opened to his. He pressed his hands against hers and entwined their fingers.
The snow sparkled against the bright blue sky and the still brighter sun. In the distance children played, their gleeful shouts echoing through the valley.
Soon the sleigh would arrive in Harrogate, and they would never see each other again.
Percival pressed his fingers more tightly around hers, telling himself that it didn't matter how well suited Fiona and himself might be.
She bit her lip. "I had all these ideals, and I'd decided that I had no time for the ton and all the vapid, gossipy women. But I sometimes wonder if I was just as vapid, just as prejudiced, because I certainly didn't take the time to actually know any of them. And when I see how happy Rosamund is, I feel so foolish for not having tried harder."
The sleigh vaulted toward Harrogate. Percival pressed his top hat on his head. The crisp wind swirled beside them, toppling the cloak from Fiona's head. Her hair lay exposed, and for a moment, Percival simply stared at her auburn curls. The rich color contrasted with the snowy-white landscape behind her, and her locks twisted and turned in the air.
Her curled locks shouldn't fascinate him. She shouldn't fascinate him. Her voice should not sound like the one of his dreams, and when he closed his eyes, her face should not echo back at him.
"Everyone said a husband was vital," Fiona continued, "but I had no desire to be tied to a man like Uncle Seymour. I thought I was doing something noble by not yielding to the pressures of the ton, but really I was just being foolish. Perhaps I was afraid I wouldn't be able to find someone and didn't want to play a game I was always destined to lose."
"Not all men are like your uncle."
She turned to him, and her eyes roamed his face. "No."
"I suppose it was fortunate that I had my war injury. It made me easier to capture."
"Oh, I would have been successful either way. I planned to capture you once I called myself the Scarlet Demon."
"Indeed." Percival's voice was frosty, a quality he'd practiced at school, surrounded by the other children of aristocrats, all with morals that tended to be low on the ethical spectrum. He crossed his arms and cursed himself for removing her fingers from his own.
She raised her chin. "If this is about your foot, Percival, you know I don't care about it."
"Excuse me!"
She sighed. "I mean, of course, I care that you got hurt. Of course that's dreadful. And of course I wish you did not have to be in so much pain, and that you did not need a cane, and all of that. But no, I did not choose to capture you because you lacked a foot."
His mouth tightened.
"Anyway," she said. "Once we're in Harrogate, you can make an excuse and leave. Or not make an excuse, though I'd still rather that the true cause doesn't reach Grandmother … "
"I won't." His voice softened. "I find it admirable that you are so close to her and I've little desire to break that trust."
Her smile wobbled. "I'm sure I deserve for that trust to be broken."
"You never set out to be a highwaywoman."
"I took advantage of the situation."
"Perhaps not a completely bad quality."
She flickered her eyelashes down, and Percival averted his eyes. Stone houses dotted the landscape, and in the distance the Ripon Cathedral pierced the horizon.
The fact was agonizingly clear. With Fiona everything was different-truer. The women with whom he'd shared his bed had seemed interchangeable, saying words that had seemed calculated to please him and not reveal anything about their own personalities.
They remained the beautiful blonde debutante or the experienced widow, and he remained the army officer, the cousin of a noble family, and now the duke. They expected him to act poorly, to not call on them, and to leap into bed with them, and he was ashamed that he had lived up to their lack of expectations.
"There are coaches near the Minster," Fiona murmured as the sleigh stopped. "I'll tell the others that you were called away."