Sometimes she even imagined she heard his voice. Sometimes it seemed to ring in her ears. Deep and rich and velvety, like the sound of everything reassuring.
Something rustled in the bushes. "Fiona!"
She bit her lip. Lord, it sounded just like him.
The voice called again, and she told herself that it wasn't him. Perhaps the driver had an assistant or friend or acquaintance she didn't know about. Not that that would explain why he was calling her name. Perhaps-perhaps she should have had a second cup of tea after all, and was simply exhausted after yet another night of poor sleep.
That didn't mean she was crazy. Just that she was a bit sleepy.
Slightly delirious.
Really, completely normal.
Almost.
"Fiona!" the voice echoed again, and her heart sped up, even as she tried to tell it that there was no need to because it absolutely couldn't be-
Him.
She leaned back in her seat. She would not look. She refused to look. She would not deign to see if her imagination had concocted him.
There was no earthly reason in the world why the Duke of Alfriston would be outside.
"Most irritating," Fiona found herself saying. Madeline raised her eyebrows, and she hastened to add, "The carriage stop, I mean. It's taking a while."
"Probably a loose cow. Or little lambs. As if they don't know they're there for eating and not for prancing around the middle of the lane."
"Madeline!"
"I'm jesting!" Her cousin settled back into her seat. "Somewhat."
Fiona sighed and poked her head from the window. The fresh air brushed against her, and the scent of spring flowers and grass caused her nostrils to flare. In fact-it almost seemed like she could smell cotton and pine needles, though that was ridiculous. Madeline and herself were firmly clothed in linen, and deciduous trees dominated the scenery: no pine needles were about. "Driver! What seems to be the trouble?"
Something that sounded like a muffled cry answered, and she shivered. She raised her voice. "Excuse-"
"I wouldn't do that if I were you." A deep voice wafted into the coach. The voice was wonderful, and the deep notes reminded her of all things splendid. "You are being attacked."
"Attacked?" Fiona squeaked.
She swung her gaze toward him, but the man, whoever he was, wore a black mask.
"By the very worst highwayman." The strange man whispered, and for some absurd reason, her skin prickled.
"Are you very terrible?"
The man laughed, and Lord, it sounded like his laugh. Rich and melodious like velvet. "I hang out with the likes of the Scarlet Demon."
"Truly?" Her heartbeat fired, beating wildly.
"Truly!" he said, lowering his voice, "And I have plans to spend increased time with her."
A sound rustled behind her, but all she concentrated on was him. The man was tall, and his dark great coat hung from broad shoulders. She wondered what would happen if she were to trace her fingers over his mask, whether she might find the well-formed nose, the sturdy jaw, the high cheekbones of him.
She extended her hand from the carriage, as if she were in a trance.
A footstep creaked behind her.
Thump. The man toppled down from the side rail.
"I did it!" Madeline's triumphant voice soared behind Fiona.
"You didn't-you didn't shoot him?" Fiona's eyes stung with tears that didn't have time to fall. She jiggled with the door handle, exhaling when it swung open.
"I'm not some violent creature." Her cousin called after her, in a voice that almost seemed affronted. "I simply threw my valise at him."
Fiona scurried toward the highwayman.
"I'll check the driver," Madeline chirped, and Fiona nodded weakly.
She stared at the lumpy heap before her. At least no blood was visible, though she knew that didn't eliminate the possibility of the most advanced injuries. The man's great coat sprawled out, the edges rippling over the muddy ground. The mask still sat firmly on the man's face, and she knelt down beside him. Her eyes roamed to his legs. The man just had one.
It's him.
Though maybe he's dead.
She reached trembling fingers toward the man's mask. A sour taste invaded her mouth, and she swallowed hard. She grasped hold of the edge of the mask, and jerked the fabric upward, trying to prepare herself for pimpled-skin, a full beard, or anything else that could signify that this was not, in fact, him.
A regal brow, firm nose, and even firmer chin appeared before her. She resisted the urge to trace the planes of his face. The man was most definitely, most assuredly him.
Her heart thumped against her ribs, as if it were trying to pound the sounds of Handel's Messiah for all the world to hear.
Percival's dark eyelashes were fixed downward, and his skin was pale. Given his fondness of the outdoors, she could not blame the weather. A bump formed on his forehead.
"Please, please be fine." She grabbed hold of his cold hand. Her heartbeat quickened as she stared at his ashen face.
He'd been in her thoughts every hour of every day, and yet she'd done nothing. And now it was too late. She pushed her hand toward his mouth. Warm air puffed against her fingers, and she exhaled.
He was alive.
She peered at him again.
Barely alive.
She loved him. She truly, completely loved him.
"The driver's fine! Some highwaymen waylaid the coach," Madeline called, and footsteps squished over the mud. And then a gasp sounded.
"It's His Grace!" Madeline exclaimed.
"Whom you took out." Fiona pressed her lips together.
"Not permanently I hope." Her cousin bent down. "Oh my goodness."
The man's eyes-Percival's eyes, darling Percival's eyes-fluttered open. "You needn't fret on my behalf."
His voice was hoarse, and Fiona wanted to kiss his cheeks. She settled on stroking them and running her fingers through the soft curls of his blond hair.
Percival turned his head toward her, and his eyes expanded and softened all at once. "Am I in heaven?"
"Oh don't tell me it feels like you've died!" Madeline exclaimed. "Forgive me, Your Grace. How do you feel?"
"Like I'm looking at the most beautiful angel." Percival's tone was reverent, and his gaze didn't depart from Fiona's.
"I assure you you're not!" Madeline said.
And then she paused. And coughed. "Oh."
Percival's lips turned upward. "Baroness, please give me some privacy."
"I'm not sure that's proper, Your Grace."
"Now."
Madeline scampered back up the steps of the carriage, and Fiona stifled a giggle when the door slammed shut. Percival grinned and brushed a strand of her hair under her ear.
"Are you quite sure you're fine?" Fiona asked.
Percival nodded. "It's dangerous spending time with the Scarlet Demon."
"Mm-hmm." Fiona swallowed hard. "What were you saying?"
"Before I got cobbled with your cousin's valise?"
Fiona nodded, her throat dry.
It was too much to hope that this was anything more than a moment's spontaneity. Likely he saw their coach and wanted to amuse himself. That's all.
Except-she hadn't been traveling in her own coach. She'd been in her cousin's.
Except-his family estate was in Sussex now. He shouldn't be huddled behind trees, waiting to have a laugh.
Except-he was looking at her with something that looked very much like adoration, very much like something more than adoration.
Her heartbeat escalated, as if it were galloping through the lanes like a very real highwaywoman.
Though it needn't look for treasure, for she'd already found it.
It was him.
"What on earth is going on?" Mr. Potter's voice boomed.
She swung her head toward some trees. "I-"
Mr. Potter brushed through a thicket. Mr. Nicholas stomped through some bushes after him. Both men glared at her.
"We heard the commotion," Mr. Nicholas said. "Came straight back."
"We were tree-cutting," Mr. Potter boasted. "Not quite as intellectual as archaeology, but it's good to be well-rounded. Aye, aye, good for the ladies."
"The gentlemen were careful to only cut down a tree which would be highly visible to coaches," Percival said.
"Aye, aye. We pride ourselves on being very safety-conscious highwaymen. When we pretend to be." Mr. Potter darted a nervous glance.
Fiona smiled. "I think you'd better move the tree."
"Right, right." Mr. Potter scowled, and he and Mr. Nicholas scampered away.
"We're in a hurry," the coach driver called out.
Percival's jaw tightened, and Fiona tensed.
Madeline shook her head. "We can delay our journey. We cannot fail to help this man. It's my fault that he's injured. He requires a doctor."