How to Capture a Duke(39)

Her chest tightened. "You're imaginary."

"I am not."

"No, but-" She swallowed hard. She didn't know what had happened to the  Percival she once knew. He was gone. Maybe he always had been. "I  concocted up a fiancé to please Grandmother. And now she's dead and I  need to prepare things. I need to speak to the doctor and to the staff.  I'll need to move. I don't have time to talk to you."

He continued to approach her.

Her heart pommeled her ribs, and she lifted her chin. He still appeared  to resemble something-more. But she couldn't trust him. "You had me  arrested."

"No!"

"You were the only person who knew I'd taken the jewels. And what is so upsetting about that pamphlet?"

"You knew about me."

"What are you talking about?" She glared at him.

"You said you'd never heard of me."

"I hadn't."

He stared at her.

She sucked in a deep breath of air. "Look …  You come here right after my grandmother dies to insult me?"

"I-"

"Because I don't have time for that," she interrupted. "Go back to London."

"You really didn't know?"

She blinked again.

"Did you read the pamphlet?"

"Some of it. Those things are too silly to take seriously."

"Forgive me," his voice was hoarse, but she shook her head.

"It doesn't matter." She tried to laugh. "You were never real. Not to me."

"You're upset." Percival swallowed hard. "Let me be a comfort you."                       
       
           



       

She steeled herself from his charm. "And what? Fall for you? We both  know just what that ring in your parcel is for, and it has nothing to do  with me. Do your duty, be a dutiful duke. I'll do my duty here."

She glanced down at her red ball gown. The silky fabric was garish, and  she pressed her arms together, aware of Grandmother's unending sleep.  Fiona lifted her chin. "Please leave."

He swiveled, his steps echoing through the hallway, and she stood  silent, listening as the steps grew fainter and fainter, listening as  she heard him murmur to Evans downstairs, and listening finally at the  sound of horses trotting away.

He was gone, now just as much a dream as when she first described Captain Knightley to Grandmother.





Chapter Twenty-four




The horses slowed, and the sounds of the city pervaded the carriage.  Post horns blared, their honks mingling with the crunch of carriages  grinding against cobblestones, and men and women shouted and jabbered  outside.

Only one thought careened through Percival's mind, usurping the clamor  and clatter of the city: he'd lost her. His stomach tightened, and he  fought to square his shoulders and relax his face, lest his brother  comment again on his misery. He clenched his fingers together and forced  his breath to remain calm, for heaven help him, it was all he could do  to keep his breaths steady.

By Zeus, he'd been an absolute fool. He didn't deserve her. What sort of  man stumbled into the room of a woman whose grandmother has just died  to accuse her of misdeeds? When he'd only just had her arrested?

He'd been too willing to believe society's gossip. He'd been too  prideful, on guard of anyone taking advantage of his supposed  vulnerabilities. She wasn't desperate for his money or lifestyle. He  tightened his fists.

She wasn't the type of woman to care about dukedoms. Fancy balls meant  nothing to her, and long dinners were dismissed as unpleasant. All the  things which might have made women chase after him were disadvantages to  her.

He should have been begging her to make her his. Instead he'd only hurt her more.

She was right. He shouldn't be anywhere near her.

His leg throbbed, pain pulsating through it. He shifted in his seat, but no position could ease the straining of his heart.

Ten years of being a rake, yet he'd lost his composure with this woman.  She'd shattered all his pre-conceptions. She'd been braver, more  intelligent, and more passionate than the ladies of the ton with whom  he'd been familiar, and he'd claimed her for his own.

He closed his eyes as the memory rose of the day before, of soft curves  pressed against him, of a woman unperturbed by his wooden leg. He  directed his gaze at the offending appendage.

Maybe it wasn't his injury that had made her oust him from her side.  Maybe she'd simply despised London, despised the ton, or found his  company tiresome. Clearly it didn't matter-she was gone from his life.  She'd made it clear that this was a time for real family and real  friends, and not the ones caught along the way.

Percival sighed and thrust open the curtains. Tall white buildings  flanked both sides of the carriage, and men rode on horses. Top hats  perched on their heads, and their great coats spilled over both sides of  the horses' rears.

It would be difficult to rejoin the ton. The woman had showed him what  it was like to truly live, and he wasn't ready to live the dull, staid,  responsible life he should.

He massaged his fingers over his aching leg. The long drive had done  little to ease the pain. Sleep had been a rarity on the journey. They'd  spent the night at another tavern, another blasted reminder of Fiona and  all the wonder he'd thought he'd gained in his life, only to lose it.

A bird squawked outside, and Arthur rubbed his eyes. "Good grief,  Percival, this is the absolute last time I'll rescue you. You look  appalling."

"I feel appalling."

"At least you're honest with yourself. That's the first step to recovery."

Percival scowled, and Arthur heaved a heavy sigh. "Don't worry, old  sport. You'll be back to your old dastardly self soon enough."

He laughed, but Percival did not join in.

Yesterday at this time he'd had Fiona on his lap, had gazed into the  liveliest eyes in the world and dreamed of their lives entwined  together.

Now he sat rigid in an uncomfortable carriage meant to take him to the  finest neighborhood in the finest country in the world, and he couldn't  feel more miserable.

He wrapped his arms together. Fiona's grandmother had died. Even though  war had tried to teach him that the fact a person was there one moment  was no guarantee he'd last until the next one, the news still shocked  him. Death always did.                       
       
           



       

Percival sighed. His brother appeared bleary-eyed; it had been decent of  the man to come after him. "I'm sorry for dragging you away from  London."

Arthur stretched his arms over his head and eased his legs into a new position. "Gives a chance for the chits to miss me."

"Anyone in particular?"

Arthur tilted his head at him. The two weren't prone to discussing much  beyond gambling halls and horses. "I prefer widows. They don't get their  hearts broken as easily." He grinned. "Though married women are even  better. They never confess to getting their hearts broken at all."

"You're enjoying being a rake."

"It's the perfect life." Arthur smiled, but something in his face flickered, and the words lacked his characteristic enthusiasm.

Percival tilted his head. He was older than Arthur, and by the time his  younger brother had mastered talking, and playing without toppling over,  Percival had been ushered off to Harrow.

"What's Lady Cordelia like?"

"Feeling romantic?" Arthur winked.

"Hardly," Percival growled.

Arthur shrugged. "Impeccable. She's a Belmonte after all."

"Hmm . . ."

"She's fluent in French, just perfect when you want to take your  European tour. And quite knowledgeable about horses, if her brother's  passion for them is any indication."

"Splendid," Percival said, though the thought of dragging his leg around  Napoleon's former empire or buying horses failed to conjure an  immediate rush of pleasure.

"And her watercolors are divine," Arthur continued. "The dowager was quite raving about them."

Percival narrowed his eyes. "Have you even met her?"

Arthur shrugged. "I met her last season. She's too proper to have spent time in London when parliament wasn't in session."

Percival grinned wryly. "I know. And what does Louisa think? Did she meet her on her short visit to London last year?"

"Our sister found Lady Cordelia intimidating. And the woman hadn't even  debuted then. I believe they just played some pall mall." Arthur  shrugged. "Though Louisa seems to say that about everyone."

"She'll grow out of it," Percival said. "If our parents ever do send her back to London."

"And then we'll be doomed," Arthur replied.

Percival laughed. The one good thing about his parents' enjoyment for  travel meant they hadn't sent his sisters for their season yet. They  were holed up in Boston now.