How to Capture a Duke(6)

Double blast.

Everyone knew forests in remote areas were dangerous. Everyone knew the  war had made people more and more desperate as the economy had  plummeted, and everyone knew local magistrates struggled to control  their respective districts, when all their strong young men battled  overseas.

She was mad if she thought he would give anything to her. His  grandmother's sapphire ring, his great-grandmother's pearls, and a few  other pieces the dowager spoke in raptures about, but which he had never  quite managed to keep straight, were intended for somebody else.

He pulled his gaze from the woman to the dark trees that loomed behind  her. Thick pine trees that smelled like Christmas, and nothing like the  nightmare he'd been hurled into, stretched overhead. The dark green  needles and sweet-scented pine cones conjured images of yule logs, long  days of sledding with a cousin who no longer existed, and mince pies.  Slender trees stretched beside the pines. Their leaves were gone, the  branches ready for snow to descend on them. They ranged from a cold  white to a warmer amber, and he focused his attention on the spaces  between their branches. Maybe he might spot another thief and see just  how many people were robbing them.

The Scarlet Demon raised her chin. "I've got four other men with me."

"Indeed."

"They're large men," she said. "Very muscular."

"And armed?" Graeme asked her, his eyes wide.

She nodded gravely. "We were able to overtake a wagon filled with army supplies last week."

"Oh?" Graeme's lower lip appeared to be trembling.

Percival fought the urge to bite back a laugh. Clearly a viper-tongued woman was all it took to dissipate Graeme's arrogance.

"Yes." The highwaywoman nodded her head again.

"Is that so?"

"It is indeed."

"And you managed to overtake the British army's wagon?" Graeme stammered.

"Indeed." The woman paused. "You don't want me to call for my men. Any  signal from me is a signal for utter destruction. My men are fearful of  being identified. If you obey, you can escape with your lives. If not,  the men will come forward, and if they're recognized, they'll have to  kill you."

"We won't recognize them," Percival said.

She tossed her head. "They won't believe you."

A series of loud shots fired from the forest. Percival stiffened, his  chest constricting, and the Scarlet Demon only smiled. "Those are my men  now."

"Don't kill us," Graeme pleaded.

"It would be amusing." The Scarlet Demon tapped her long, slender  fingers together, and then exhaled. "But I don't want that to happen.  You're very fortunate-I have another thing you can help me with."

"We'll do anything!" Graeme cried. "Anything at all."

Percival scanned the forest again. "It's possible she might not actually have a swarm of men hidden-"

The woman swung towards him. "How do you think my hair turned so red?"

"Blood!" Graeme gasped. "I always knew redheads weren't trustworthy."

Percival fought the urge to roll his eyes in the face of the woman's earnestness and Graeme's credulity.

The woman's face tightened, but she simply replied, "Then sir, you are a very wise man indeed."

Graeme's chest jutted out.

"What do you want?" Percival finally asked.

She hadn't referred to him as His Grace yet. If there was a chance she  did not know his identity, he wasn't going to tell her. He was thankful  he'd kept the fact a secret from Graeme. Who knows what she might do  with the information. They could overpower her, but he rather doubted he  and Graeme could tackle four strong, muscular men.                       
       
           



       

Percival swallowed hard. For a moment he'd forgotten that using force to  battle anyone was something that belonged in the past. The cold air  blew against his face. He shifted his knees. The position was  uncomfortable, but he had no desire to exit the coach.

The woman pressed her lips together and then glanced at Graeme. "I need an audience with your charge alone."

Blast. She knew who he was after all.

It was perhaps impossible to hide his position. Fame was inevitable when  one possessed classical good looks, vast wealth, an elevated position,  and a roguish reputation.

The latter had already changed.

Something flickered over Graeme's face. "Tell you what. I'll let the  highwaywoman discuss her exact requests to you in the coach. More  private that way."

The Scarlet Demon hesitated. "I would prefer a meeting outside."

Graeme snorted. "Worried about preserving your reputation, darling? I'm  sure your crew can rescue you. And believe me, you won't be needing  rescuing."

Percival tightened his fists and fought the urge to scowl.

Graeme turned to Percival. "Unless you're concerned?"

Percival exhaled sharply. "I am quite capable of being alone with this woman."

Graeme shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Percival hadn't fought Napoleon to be treated like some damsel. He  unlocked the carriage door and pulled the blanket over him. He inhaled  and waited for her footsteps.

After a few agonizing moments the carriage door swung open. The scent of  vanilla, warm and soothing in a way that a highwaywoman should not be,  wafted over him. She fixed her dark green eyes on him, narrowing them  before he could contemplate the gold rings that sparkled against the  emerald shards. He blinked.

He didn't need to look her over again, but he found himself doing so all  the same. That hair. Red and flowing and unlike all the structured,  conservative hairstyles that donned the chits at balls. Her dirty cloak  and dress were nothing like the fur-lined coats and glossy gowns he was  accustomed to seeing ladies parade around in. The woman wasn't even  wearing a hat. Nothing tasteful about her at all.

Which maybe was why she'd gotten herself into this mess.

She raised her chin. "A gentleman always keeps a door open for a lady."

"You were never a lady," he replied.

Her cheeks flushed, and she stomped by him, her skirts brushing against  him in a manner that wasn't, he was sure, strictly necessary in the  nearly vacant carriage. She strode to the seat opposite him, weapon in  hand. Her boots clinked against the floor, and if someone had told him  he was hearing the sound of his heart, he wouldn't have doubted it.



***



Fiona didn't need to ponder whether her behavior verged on the inappropriate. It was obvious she'd abandoned all propriety.

And the man, this strange gentleman, a man more handsome and dashing  than even the most well-loved hero from Loretta Van Lochen's romances,  sat in this enclosed space with her.

"Welcome, highwaywoman. Or do you prefer to be called Scarlet Demon?"  The man yawned and stretched his arms. The action caused the material of  his clothes to tighten, revealing a firm, broad chest. "I must say, I  rather like the idea of meeting in the coach. Too many robberies lack  organizational prowess."

A plaid blanket draped over the man's legs in perhaps an attempt to  appear casual, but his furrowed brow and tight lips denoted a less than  lackadaisical sentiment.

What she was doing was wrong, but it would all be over in a few hours.  She sucked in a breath of air. "You're not really in a rush."

His eyebrows lifted. "I think I can judge that."

"There's no dying parent you're hastening to see. No wife in labor."

"Would you call off your ruffians if I had one?"

Fiona folded her fingers on her lap. She'd never been in a space this  small, this confined with any man, much less a specimen of masculinity,  the very sort her art instructors would laud. Fiona's breath quickened,  and suddenly she had absolutely no problem with the cold winter air. She  forced her gaze from the satisfactory width of the man's chest and  lifted her nostrils. "Is that-brandy?"

Her voice shook. It wouldn't do for the man to realize just how much his presence affected her.

"Indeed. Should I compliment you on your sniffing abilities?" Sarcasm riddled through his velvet voice.

"I-" Fiona's mouth dried. She lifted her gaze toward him, meeting his  blue eyes. They had a knowing look to them as if accustomed to seeing  women's eyes melt. She dropped her eyes to her lap, focusing on her  thick cape. The worn fabric was convenient for outdoor pursuits, but the  plain material differed from the luxurious appearance that the man  opposite, only slightly rumpled from his journey, managed to convey.                       
       
           



       

"Get to the point, woman. Or are you in awe of being in such a glamorous  place?" The handsome man's tone was sultry, and he moved his hand  toward Fiona.

"Stay right there!" she cried.