How to Capture a Duke(34)

Percival was involved in her arrest? Fiona's heart rate galloped, but there was no escape.

"That's absurd," Madeline said. "Fiona? Mousy Fiona is a highwaywoman?"

Fiona flinched.

"Indeed," Barnaby said. "It pains me that her gentle soul would have  seen fit to take on a lifestyle adopted by the basest of society,  abandoning all feminine values … "

"B-but," Madeline stuttered.

The magistrate stepped nearer to Uncle Seymour. "Your niece is a menace  to us all. Not only did she steal a mail coach-a horrendous crime, she  also kidnapped one of Britain's most prominent aristocrats. I am  arresting her."

"It's not true," Madeline said. "Fiona-tell them it's not true."

Fiona was silent and averted her gaze.

Madeline shook her head. "Is that why you've never been to one of these  events before? You were too busy engaging in criminal activity? Stealing  mail?"

Fiona searched the crowd, but no one was there. "It wasn't like that."

"Do you deny the alleged events? Did you or did you not kidnap a  nobleman in a mail coach? Did you or did you not then proceed to steal  priceless family heirlooms from that same nobleman?" The magistrate's  eyes narrowed, and she stepped back. "Please consider your words. I  wouldn't want to find out that you had lied to evade justice."

"I-"

"Answer him!" Uncle Seymour urged. "It's a simple question. Yes, or no."

"Y-yes," Fiona stuttered. "It's true. I-I drove off with him."

The crowd murmured behind her. Even the magistrate's face looked shaken, as if he truly hadn't expected her to actually confess.

Her shoulders slumped. This was a mistake. If she had only been able to  stay home, just as she had desired, this would never have happened.

"Oh my goodness," Madeline said. "You wanted to use my husband's good name too. Was that a scheme as well?"

"What?" Uncle Seymour swirled around. This time he fixed the force of  his personality on Fiona. His bushy eyebrows moved down as he narrowed  his eyes, as if they were cannons directed on the enemy.

Fiona's stomach writhed under his steely gaze. "Just the apple orchard."

"Idiot!" Uncle Seymour sneered. "Stop embarrassing the family. Lead her away, Barnaby."

"Embarrassing you?"

Uncle Seymour frowned. "A baronet has certain expectations to fill. Mad  nieces do not generally improve their status. I certainly will not be  known as a fool here."

The crowd that had gathered murmured, and Fiona's chest clenched. She  glanced at the dance floor, but the couples had thinned, and now only a  few young debutantes danced with some soldiers. Everyone who knew her  was near her, and quite a few people who did not know her were also  there.

The only person who wasn't there was Percival.

It was her fault. It was all her fault. She never should have kidnapped him, but there wasn't a way to make things right.

Fiona stepped toward the magistrate. Her legs wobbled, and she shivered.  The crowd parted slowly, in equal shock that she was being dragged  away.

Lord, what would happen when Grandmother found out? Shame ratcheted  through her. She pulled at her red gown. The scarlet color branded her,  and she followed the magistrate through the ballroom.

Percival was nowhere to be seen. The magistrate had mentioned the jewels. Only Percival knew about that. Not the driver.

He must have arranged for this to happen. He'd been so encouraging of  her to go to the ball. She'd confided in him, sharing her discomfit of  these events, and he'd-he'd asked the magistrate to arrest her, dragging  her from this event before everyone.

That's why he'd encouraged her to seek out Madeline and the baron. He  hadn't wanted to stand beside her when the arrest happened.

Her eyes stung, and she willed herself to not cry. Not here. Not before everyone.

This morning . . . Her heart wrenched, and she wrapped her arms together. Percival had seduced her.                       
       
           



       

Not that she'd put up much of a fight. He'd had her in her very own bedroom.

Her cheeks flamed. She'd trusted Percival. He'd whispered a few sweet  words to her, expounding on some beauty that no one else seemed to see.  He'd undressed her and touched her most intimate parts, all while  intending to have her arrested later on. Had he simply been bored? Was  she simply the only female of a certain age in a very snowy radius?

Lord-he'd acted like the very worst rake in the world, like the most unabashed rogue, and she hadn't seen it.

Her fingers clenched together as she strode through the ballroom. The  butler swept open the door for her, refraining from making eye contact.

Cold air slammed against her, and the magistrate ushered her into his  coach. Highway robbery was likely a capital crime, and her relatives had  not seemed eager to defend her. She sat on the seat, every muscle  rigid, her body already aching as her heart hammered frantically.

All her happiness had been an illusion; Percival despised her, and the  archaeological finds would forever remain in the ground. And  Grandmother-lord, she would disappoint her. Even Rosamund would struggle  to hold her head up high when the ton discovered her sister's criminal  deeds. The satin dress provided little protection against the cold, and  she shivered, waiting for the magistrate to whisk her to her punishment.





Chapter Twenty-one




Percival strode in the direction of the crowd, but the cluster of people  was thick. His leg ached. He'd stood on it for so long already, and the  wood pressed awkwardly into his remaining flesh.

He swallowed a deep breath of air, gulping down the scents of heavy perfumes and cigar-smoke from the thick cluster of the ton.

"Percival," Arthur said. "You don't need to see her. You know what she did. I spoke with the driver."

"You don't understand."

"Blast." His brother swore behind him. "So maybe she's not a  professional criminal. Maybe you're right. But you're still a duke and  you don't need to fall for some silly chit who pretended to be a  highwaywoman. Didn't you mention she'd stolen the jewels as well? If you  ask me, there seems to be scant difference between her and an actual  highwaywoman."

"I didn't ask you." Percival's jaw tightened in a straight line and he  pressed against the thick crowd of people. He clutched his cane, but  maneuvering was a challenge. Balance was always an issue, and none more  when there were actually people pushing against him.

He swerved toward a middle-aged woman wearing too much rouge. She glared  at him when he collided against her pearl necklace. "You're not  stealing that."

He muttered his apologies, and his brother called from behind him. "It's my brother's leg."

The lady directed her pince-nez downward. "Then he shouldn't be at a ball!"

A hard knot tightened and grew in his stomach. Murmurs sounded from the  surrounding crowd. Someone was being arrested. Fiona. It could only be  her.

"I always knew she was a ne'er-do-well," someone said. "Keeps to herself. Always thought it right suspicious."

Fiona was being hauled from the ballroom. He was going to be too late.

He quickened his pace.

"She abandoned her season," someone said, "after two mere weeks, and hasn't shown herself in society since then."

"Redheads. Not to be trusted," a third said.

Percival wanted to explain to each one of these people that they didn't  understand. He didn't have time though. He needed to get to her.

He inclined his gaze toward Arthur, but his brother seemed all too interested in the surrounding conversations.

"You should listen," his brother said.

He stifled a laugh. "I thought you prided yourself on not heeding gossip."

"I pride myself on being a rogue," Arthur said. "Not on abandoning all sense and reason."

"Right." Percival forced himself to push farther into the crowd, even  though that was a desire that everyone else seemed to be sharing now.

He was supposed to be here to protect her. He'd encouraged her to go to  the ball, and now he was the reason she was being swept away, arrested  before all of Yorkshire's finest society. Zeus, he'd ruined her life.

If only the magistrate had spoken to him. If only the driver's testimony  hadn't been so damning. If only he hadn't allowed himself to separate  from her.

"There she goes," someone said. "Arrested."

He peered over the neatly swept hair of the people, tamed into a  plethora of familiar shapes. Jewelry glinted from some of the women. He  could see her. His Fiona. Being dragged away by some elderly fellow who  didn't deserve to be in her presence, much less take her away to  whatever prison he had before the courts decided what to do with her.