How to Capture a Duke(38)

Footsteps padded below, and she recognized the characteristic thump of  Percival's wooden leg. She straightened her shoulders and tossed her  hair, but that couldn't halt the sobs surging from her.

She didn't want to see him. The man had gotten her arrested and dragged  from the Christmas Ball before everyone. Soon word of her misdeeds would  spread throughout the ton. Because of him, she would never live at  Cloudbridge Castle again. Because of him, she would never be able to  pursue her beloved archaeological project again.

The very worst of everything was that he'd made her adore him-love him, and nothing could subdue the burning surge of pain.

Percival's grim face peeked from the stairs, and rage racketed through  her. The man didn't have the right to act mournful. Not after he'd  ruined Fiona's world. She hurried away.

Her dress swished against the furniture, and startled servants rushed  from her path. She tightened her fingers into sharp fists and strode  down the corridor. Once in her room she pulled her arms around herself  and begged her body to calm.



***



Percival's leg ached. The ball had been tiring, and he'd spent the past  hour on horseback in the frigid winter air, chasing the magistrate, and  then finally convincing the man to release Fiona.                       
       
           



       

"Ah, it's you again." Sir Seymour's voice boomed. "I thought it might be  another doctor. Not that anyone was able to save my mother."

"My condolences. She was a kind woman."

Sir Sidney's face tightened. "Indeed. Too kind at times."

"I wanted to see your niece."

"Gentleman callers at this hour? I shouldn't allow it."

"Please."

Sir Seymour sighed. "You don't believe me. You don't believe anything bad about her."

"Why do you want to demean her? She's your relative."

Sir Seymour shrugged. "I take pride in telling the truth. Perhaps we'd  never met before tonight, but my wife did tell me that she'd heard from  the Belmontes that their daughter Cordelia was going to marry you."

Percival stiffened.

"I hope my niece knows."

"She does."

Sir Seymour fixed steely eyes on him. "Hmph. And you wonder why I berate her for her lack of morals."

"It's not like that-"

Sir Seymour arched his eyebrows up. Finally, he shrugged and picked up a  cloak. It was the dark one Fiona had worn when she first met him. "She  didn't want to wear it to the ball. I found a pamphlet in this. The very  one I told you about."

"You shouldn't search through her things." Percival gritted his teeth together.

"Don't you want to read it?" Sir Seymour flicked through the pages.  "It's all about capturing men. Isn't that what you were-captured?"

"I-"

"And look, it even has a handy list of the most eligible rakes and rogues. And you're at the top. Because-shall I read to you?"

"You mustn't-"

Sir Seymour cleared his throat. "No space exists between the body and  spirit. If you find an injured man, you find a vulnerable one. No man  was more handsome than Percival Carmichael, and now no man is more  flawed. He struggles to make it from one end of the ballroom to the  other. He's now a duke, and the prize for his affections cannot be  higher, nor can his affections be easier to obtain. Wallflowers,  bluestockings, even you can capture him."

Percival's heart stopped. His throat dried, and his fingers were numb. "That was-"

"Educational?" Sir Seymour smirked. "You probably didn't realize why  your aunt was so eager to marry you off. She's probably terrified you'll  marry the first woman who pays you attention. Even one who masquerades  as a highwaywoman."

"I-"

"Tell me. When did you first find my niece attractive? Because I can  assure you, no other man did. Was it after you found out that she had  respectable blood coursing through her? Or was it before? When you  thought her a common criminal?"

Percival's chest constricted, and he rubbed his hand over it. He'd never  felt more powerless, not even when the blood had rushed from his leg on  the battlefield.

Everything had been an illusion.

Fiona, his sweet Fiona, had expertly used him. And why not? The woman  was clever. He didn't know how she'd found out that he'd been traveling  near her estate, but clearly she had.

And the whole ton-did they all see him as this vulnerable? As this  destroyed? He fought to keep his breath steady. Sir Seymour continued to  sneer.

"I don't like being contradicted before a vast crowd. You should respect  the consideration I've shown you." Sir Seymour tossed the pamphlet to  him, and Percival grasped the pages with the automatic reflex of an  athlete.

Percival gazed at the pamphlet, wondering if the well-worn quality  derived from careful perusing or could be ascribed to a poorer quality  paper. "I need to speak with Fiona."

"Truly?" Sir Seymour shook his head. "Clearly you're as weak as the  pamphlet claimed. My niece is in her room. She's already a ruined woman.  You may see her there. I imagine you don't need directions."

Percival flinched and headed toward the steps.

"I trust even you will not be susceptible enough to fall for her trifling charms again."

The pain in his leg had never been more piercing, more searing, yet all he could think about was Fiona.



***



A sound rapped on the door, and Fiona sprinted up. She ran her hands  over her skin. It felt puffy beneath her touch, and her eyes stung from  crying.

It was Percival.

Or some semblance of the man.

His face was stern, and his lips were pressed into a tight, unwavering  line. His eyes, usually so vibrant and lively, were replaced with a  piercing stare, and she shivered.

He brushed past her. "My condolences about your grandmother."                       
       
           



       

The words could have belonged to any of her neighbors, any of her  servants, any of the local gentry, and she wrapped her arms around the  chest.

"You captured me on purpose."

"I-"

"I'm furious. Or are you going to tell me you've never seen this before in your life?" He tossed her a pamphlet.

She took the pages from his hand. The pamphlet was somewhat crumpled, but she recognized the cheerful prints. "It's mine."

"I see." His face seemed to crumple. He shook his head, and any emotion  that had been there was replaced with the rigid expression of a  stranger.

"My sister gave it to me."

"She's in on it as well?" Percival's eyes widened and flickered back into a dull glare. "You have a horrid family."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm leaving."

"Wait! What?"

He grasped the doorknob. "I don't think there's anything more for me to  tell you. You don't even attempt to hide your contemptibility."

"Me? You had me arrested."

She glanced toward Grandmother's room, considering the cold, still body  that lay inside. She couldn't bring herself to think about the ball.  She'd been ridiculous, attiring herself in splendid clothes, smiling and  chatting with everyone whom she knew she couldn't trust.

She clenched her fingers together into fists and forced her eyelashes  down. She hadn't changed her dress yet, had headed straight to  Grandmother's room, and the scarlet color was at odds with the sobriety  of the moment. The ruffles, wrinkled from the long coach ride with the  magistrate, hung limply from her. "Why are you here?"

His features hardened, and she laughed. The sound was ugly, but now was  not the time for any pleasantry. "You shouldn't be here."

"I know."

She stiffened. Against all reason a sliver of her had imagined his  presence would ease things, and he could explain away the pains of the  night. He would tell her that he hadn't really seduced her this morning  only to call the magistrate to have her arrested before everyone. He  would tell her that this morning had meant something.

Instead he was a stranger. Worse even, for he despised her.

"You wanted to rake your gaze over my misery?" Her voice was haughty,  but she couldn't bring herself to care. "You? The person who told the  magistrate that I'm a highwaywoman? The person who made me the talk of  the ball, in the most horrible way imaginable?"

"I-"

"It's not your fault. I know. It's mine."

Percival fixed her with a regal glare. "It is."

She blinked.

He strode toward her, as if he had no idea how much he affected her. As  if he didn't know that she longed to bury her face in his wide chest, as  if he didn't know she wanted his arms to pull her close, protecting her  from everything in the world. As if he didn't know how much she adored  him-still-even now that he was horrible.