How to Capture a Duke(35)

       

"Fiona!" He hollered her name, forcing his voice to rise over the  chit-chatter of the crowd. Never mind that it wasn't proper to address  her by her first name. This was the woman he loved.

And for a moment he thought she wavered. But her gaze didn't meet his,  and her eyes were rounder, more frightened than he'd ever seen them.

"Stop that woman!" He shouted. "I'm the one she kidnapped. Speak with me."

But if the magistrate heard him, he didn't stop. No one stopped. Fiona  vanished, and he was left with nothing except the amused attention of  the surrounding people.

"You!" Fiona's uncle spotted him. He wound his way through the crowd,  his rotund figure not hampering his speed. He waved his finger at  Percival, as if he were a mischievous boy. "You got her arrested."

"I-" Percival shook his head.

"That would be me," Arthur said from behind him. "Percival isn't responsible for this turn of events."

Air blew from Sir Seymour's mouth, and his beady eyes narrowed to thin slits. Finally, he shrugged.

"You're Arthur Carmichael, aren't you? His Grace's brother?"

His brother nodded. "That would be me, Sir."

"Sir Seymour," the man corrected. "Not just any sir. I'm like you. A member of the aristocracy. Titled."

"How nice," Arthur said.

"Yes." Sir Seymour's face brightened, before he flung his gaze to the  large wooden doors from which his niece had just exited. "Miss Amberly  is not titled."

"Indeed," Arthur said.

"Seems she had a desire to be titled." Sir Seymour eyed Percival, and he  stiffened. "I thought it highly strange when she introduced me to you.  Until I saw your leg of course. Then it all made sense." He laughed,  though Percival did not join him.

"You needn't apologize for her." Percival tightened his grip on his cane.

Sir Seymour's eyes rounded. "I wouldn't dream of that. That woman  deserves no apology. From anyone. I hope her erratic behavior won't  hamper our relations, should we meet in London. I must apologize for not  recognizing you. A man of your position, it's most embarrassing. And me  a baronet! I will apologize for that. Though I see that you were off  fighting in France."

"A war you didn't choose to join." Percival's voice was frosty.

"Me?" Sir Seymour chortled. "And end up without a leg?"

Percival tightened his lips.

"Or dead like your cousin?" Sir Seymour continued to guffaw.

"You place sole importance on yourself." Percival strove to make his tone as icy as possible.

"Exactly!" Sir Seymour chirruped. He shifted his legs. "I don't mean that as a failing."

"I know. But I find your demeanor insulting to the greatest degree."

Sir Seymour's hand moved to his fancily tied cravat. "I . . . er-"

"And you do your niece the utmost disservice as well," Percival added.  "You should not stand here before me and disparage her. I will not  tolerate it."

Sir Seymour narrowed his eyes. "Look. The law is the law. Her behavior  to you was reprehensible, and I am most sorry that she was your  introduction to the family. All Amberlys are not like her. I am not like  her."

"Well, we are in agreement on that."

"Good!" Sir Seymour spread his hands on his waist, and it occurred to  Percival that perhaps the baron would not have been as poorly suited to  His Majesty's Army as he claimed. Drill sergeants might have things to  learn from the man's ability to carry his voice.

The surrounding people were silent, everyone focused on the baronet.

"Please take this conversation to another location," Percival said. "I imagine that we would not want everyone to hear."

Sir Seymour narrowed his eyes. "I must divulge the poor character of my niece. I cannot wait. My conscience will not permit it!"

"Let's go," Percival murmured to his brother.

"And miss this?" Arthur chuckled. "This is far more fascinating than the  carriage ride would be, even if that leaves us more at risk of  highwaymen, or of women pretending to be highwaywomen."

"We must depart," Percival said, but the crowd thronged in a thick circle around them.

"She tricked you," Sir Seymour said.

Percival sighed. "It was unplanned. She didn't know I was in the  carriage. She was attempting to warn my driver about a fallen tree, and  unfortunately my driver was mistaken and believed that she had put the  tree on the road deliberately."                       
       
           



       

"Oh she would never have put it there." Sir Seymour shook his head, and  Percival nodded, assuaged that her uncle at least believed this about  her.

"But what would she do?"

"Did Fiona's sister, Lady Rosamund, ever have a chance to share with you her theories on catching a husband?"

"No . . . I did not have the pleasure of speaking with your other niece much."

"Such a shame. My other niece is most intelligent."

"As is Fiona," Percival said stiffly, though he wondered at the purpose  of this gallantry, given Sir Seymour's disinclination to listen to any  favorable word about his very own niece.

"Lady Rosamund managed to marry off many people. She's a romantic." Sir  Seymour smiled. "Such a feminine attribute, would you not agree? But we  men should not fall for such female manipulations."

Percival's leg throbbed, and he tried to shift his position discretely. Sir Seymour's eyes narrowed.

"Though perhaps you are claiming to have fallen for Miss Amberly? Because I can tell you-she planned everything. I have proof."





Chapter Twenty-two




Fiona planned this?

Percival raised his chin defiantly, and his voice was every bit as  steady as when he bellowed orders in the battlefield. "Impossible."

"You didn't tell her before?" Sir Seymour smirked.

"Miss Amberly did not know I was a duke until I was at Cloudbridge Castle."

"Are you certain, Your Grace?" Sir Seymour leaned toward him, and his  features arranged themselves into a condescending expression usually  reserved for tutors who'd noticed a foolish error in a wayward pupil's  arithmetic problem.

"I may have announced it before, but she seemed most unimpressed." He chuckled. "She did not believe me."

Sir Seymour raised his eyebrows. "Didn't believe you, or already knew?  Because if she already knew-she would also appear unimpressed."

Percival tilted his head. He hadn't expected Sir Seymour to talk about that.

The man pressed on. "You didn't wonder why she chose to spend so much time with you? Despite your deformities?"

"Injury," Arthur said behind him. "Heroic injury."

Sir Seymour waved his hand. "Injury, deformity. I'm not favorable to all  these niceties. The problem with the ton is that they are all too  willing to feign politeness. It's a waste of effort on everyone's part.  We would all save time if-"

"My dear," Sir Seymour's wife broke in. "Perhaps it is not reasonable for you to speak to His Grace in this manner?"

"He understands. He was a warrior, for goodness' sake." Sir Seymour gave  him a huge grin. "That's why I'm not afraid to speak my opinion freely  to him. It's wonderful to celebrate our ability to speak freely to one  another here. Quite different from France and its Reign of Terror."

"That was some time ago," Arthur said.

Sir Seymour shrugged. "I'm not prone to visiting the frogs myself.  Bloody horrible if you ask me. All too willing to attack Englishmen. As  your cousin so clearly discovered."

Pain seared Percival's leg, and he shifted it.

"But I'm warning you about my niece! The chit was clearly in desperate  need of a husband. Still is, to be frank, so perhaps I shouldn't say  anything." He closed his mouth, and then opened it, as if in desperate  desire of speaking.

"You should tell us," Arthur said, his voice firm.

"But-" Percival turned, but Arthur rested a hand on his shoulder.

"You're the duke; she doesn't even have a title," Arthur whispered. "She's already shown an inclination to violence."

"But-" Percival protested.

"Or madness," Arthur said. "I don't want you to get hurt."

His gaze shifted to Percival's leg again, and Percival's chest  constricted. He abhorred that even his younger brother, a man completely  without any sense of reason or responsibility, felt capable of ordering  Percival about.

Even though Percival's leg had been cut off many months prior, and even  though he'd recovered from his confinement long ago, his status of  invalid was assured. It didn't matter how reasonable Percival acted; he  would now always be worried about.

This fact would not be lessened if he continued to insist that Fiona was  not as appalling as everyone else deemed her to be. Many of these  people insisted she possessed horrible qualities and claimed she verged  on insanity.