“Please, please be fine.” She grabbed hold of his cold hand.
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 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.”
“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.
“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 clobbered 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. Good for the ladies.”
“The gentlemen were careful to only cut down a tree which would be highly visible to coaches,” Percival said.
“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.”
“I’m not sure how I’m supposed to find one,” grumbled the driver.
“I’ll come with you.” Madeline turned to Fiona. “Will you be able to remain with His Grace? It’s best not to move him.”
Fiona nodded, and her cousin scrambled back into the coach. The glossy black coach grew fainter as it rolled toward the horizon, leaving Fiona alone with Percival.
Chapter Thirty
Everything ached, and Percival shifted. Long strands of grass blew in the wind, prickling his skin, and fluttering his tousled attire.
Fiona’s soft hand brushed against his forehead and sent a joyful jolt through his body. He wanted her hand to remain there forever.
Instead she glanced at the sky, darker than before, and that sweet brow furrowed. “Hopefully the doctor will be here soon.”
Percival smiled at her sudden primness. That said, a doctor sounded bloody good.
Raindrops fell, and Fiona peered up. “Oh, no.”
“Help me rise,” he said. “Let’s follow the direction the carriage went in. At least we’ll be able to meet it more quickly and hopefully we can find shelter en route.”
She blinked. “You’re supposed to be ill.”
He shrugged. “I’m not unaccustomed to pain.”
In truth he hadn’t felt this good in a long time. Fiona was here. Beside him. Perhaps he could have reassured Fiona’s cousin. But then again—now he was alone with Fiona.
She hesitated, but lightning fissured the sky.
“Springtime in Yorkshire,” she muttered.
“Time to go?” He grinned.
Fiona nodded and pulled him up. He couldn’t ignore the blissful warm sensation that spread through him at her touch. He wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms.
Her expression was once again reserved. She handed him his cane. “You dropped this.”
“Thank you.” He despised the strange formality. Not that he didn’t deserve it. “Forgive me. My behavior the last time we saw each other was despicable.”
“How did you find me?”
“I went to the baroness’s home. One of the maids told me.”
Fiona nodded. “And the mask?”
“An improvisation. A stocking.” His shoulders shrank. “It’s been so long. Forgive me. I thought—I had this crazy sensation I was being romantic, but I see now, that . . .”
The raindrops toppled at a quicker pace, and the gray sky darkened. Rain flooded the now muddy lane, bending the green stems of wild flowers.
Fiona bit her lip and craned the horizon. Finally, her shoulders relaxed a fraction. “I see a cottage.”
“Good.”
Ambling on slippery leaves and grass was even worse than braving the mud, but he forced himself forward. Fiona slipped her hand around the arm not wielding the cane, and he smiled.
It was bloody good to have her in his life.
He just hoped she might remain in it.
The next minutes were a blur of slimy branches and squishy leaves. Finally, they halted their muddied slide.
“Edmund Grove.” Fiona read the name on the outside of the cozy, red brick cottage. “Oh, no.”
“Sweetheart.” His reply was instant, and her face flushed.
A lump in his throat thickened. She wasn’t his sweetheart. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
“No one’s home,” Fiona said, averting her eyes. “The cottage belongs to Madeline’s butler... But he went ahead with some of the other staff to Italy.”
A forlorn expression appeared on Fiona’s face. Her lovely auburn locks were swept into an elegant chignon; she had changed.
“Let me have one of your pins.”
Fiona’s eyebrows darted up, and she moved her head toward him. He shivered as the familiar scent of vanilla wafted over him. He’d missed this. So much.
He delved his fingers into her silky locks and slid a long pin from her hair.
She frowned at him, and some curls fell forward.
“You can take the
m all out.” He placed her hairpin in the keyhole, fiddling with it until it sprang open.
“Oh,” she gave a startled cry of approval, and his lips twitched.
“His Majesty’s Army has trained me for just such a moment.”
She swept by him and grabbed the hairpin, tucking it expertly back into her hair. “I’m sure we shouldn’t be here.”
“I don’t fancy huddling outside the cottage in this rain.”
She smiled. “Neither do I.”
For a moment his eyes flared. The woman was an angel. Every bit as beautiful as he remembered, though she now moved with an increased confidence, and her attire was elegant.
“I should have come back to you earlier.”
“But you didn’t want to,” Fiona said.
His eyes widened. “No. That’s not it.”
“You didn’t want to see what Lady Cordelia was like?” There was a bitter tone to her voice, and she immediately shook her head. “Forgive me. And—thank you for getting Graeme to send me back Ned. And for everything else as well.”
“I don’t deserve you. Though I should say I definitely did not leave out of curiosity for Lady Cordelia.”
She stilled. “Why are you here?”
“Because—I couldn’t stand the thought that I might never see you again. I acted so horribly to you when your grandmother died. I’m afraid I can’t offer very much.”
She smiled. “You have a dukedom.”
“With responsibilities to see to in Sussex and festivities to attend to the rest of the year. You were wonderful at the ball, but I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Fiona settled onto the sofa and smoothed her bronze traveling dress. He settled beside her, stretched out his arm, and rested it on her shoulders. She tossed him a startled glance, and he did his best to smile at her.
Perhaps nothing had changed. She was going to Italy. He couldn’t offer her that. But he needed her to know everything.
“So what do you think about Yorkshire in the spring? Rainy, isn’t it?” Her voice rose an octave higher than her customary tone, and a jolt of happiness lurched through him.
Against all odds, she was here, beside him.
And from her wide eyed expression, she was every bit as amazed.
FIONA NEVER LEARNED his musings over the county’s climate, for he swooped her into an embrace. Firm arms encircled her and pressed her against the hard ridges of his chest. Her breath quickened and caught in her throat, and her heartbeat, usually so unobtrusive and steady, careened wildly. The thought of any normality when he was near her seemed impossible for her body to comprehend.
Life only consisted of his steady gaze and the angular arcs of the chiseled features of his face.
“Fiona,” his voice roughened, and he clutched her more tightly against him. The gesture made her heart hammer, but there was nothing wrong, only everything good and wonderful with what was happening.
Everything had changed. Everything was perfect.
His gaze remained tender, and she had the feeling he understood her completely. “No other woman makes me laugh quite as much.”
“Oh?” She croaked.
“And you’re intelligent, skilled in something apart from water colors.”
He smiled, and she was transfixed by the tantalizing proximity of his alluring mouth.
The space between them narrowed, and her heart galloped. “Water colors is a good skill,” she said, conscious she was rambling. “And I’m dreadful at it.”
Percival shook his head solemnly. “I don’t care. You’re curious and amusing and—”
She pressed a finger to his lips. “Stop.”
He stared at her, and she fought to resist the temptation of succumbing to his deep blue gaze.
“Are you simply here to apologize?” Her voice trembled, and he shook his head solemnly.
The strained line of his sculpted mouth quivered, and he inhaled. “I love you.”
She couldn’t answer him. The words were too much what she’d always dreamed of someone saying, and the fact that that someone was him . . . Her heart pounded with greater vigor, and she had the mad thought that if she said anything she might break the spell, flinging her back to her old world.
“I don’t want us to be apart,” he continued, as if answering her fear, and he leaned forward.
This time his lips angled, and her eyelashes flickered shut. The whole world vanished, and all she concentrated on was the blissful sensation of his lips caressing her own, and the deep sweeping strokes of the velvety warmth of his wicked tongue.
He explored her body, and the tender motion of his firm hands gliding to her arms, and settling on her waist, gave life to a swarm of butterflies fluttering in her stomach.
She shivered, and he drew back, his eyes still on her. She grabbed hold of his coat, conscious of her forwardness. But she pulled him toward her anyway. Right now she didn’t want to think about all the reasons they might not be together. She didn’t want to think about his dukedom. She didn’t want to think about how he was charming and sociable while she was most comfortable poring over tomes and pottery.
He kissed her again. He devoured her. “I’ve missed you so much.”
She closed her eyes. Maybe if she opened them, she might find this had all been a dream, for certainly there could be no possibility in which Percival was simply stating all the deepest desires of her heart.
His hands fumbled on the buttons of her dress. “The rain was not ideal. I’m worried you might get cold.”
“And you once wanted to be a physician.” She chuckled.
Amusement flickered through his eyes. “You know me well, sweetheart.”
Blood surged through Fiona, and Percival reverently removed her hairpins.
His pupils darkened, and he slid her dress and various undergarments off.
“I love you,” he repeated, and she longed to answer him.
She loved him, she was sure, but she’d never said that to anyone before. And the last time they were together like this, he’d left in the night.
He brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry for everything. Truly.”
Percival leaned down, exposing the wide breadth of his back, and removed his boot and stocking. He then winked at her, as if he were fully aware of how her heart was fluttering in his presence, and unbuttoned his waistcoat.
Her throat dried. “I’m not sure that’s proper.”
Percival stripped off his shirt, revealing his broad and powerful chest. “There’s plenty of time to be proper. Though I have to say, I dream of a lifetime of being just this sort of improper with you.”
Fiona blinked. His words blazed through her, even as the lantern’s rays jostled over the planes of Percival’s body. She ran her fingers over his chest, brushing against the hair that curled over the hard surface.
“My darling.” His voice thickened, and he swooped her toward him. “The things I desire to do to you.”
He trailed kisses over her bare flesh, seeming to revel over every inch, and her skin tingled beneath the warm attention of his delicious mouth. He circled her bosom with his hands, sending pleasurable jolts through her body, and tightening the mound between her legs.
He brushed his fingers over her rosy peaks and swallowed hard as they pebbled beneath his touch. “I know I’ve seen these before, but Zeus, I swear I haven’t seen anything more perfect in all the world. Fiona. Darling. I cannot wait to make you my wife.”
“Your wife?”
Percival flushed. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t the proposal I had in my mind. I had imagined something with rather more flowers. And perhaps even champagne and a splendid view. Forget I ever said anything.”
Joy cascaded through her, and her lips twitched. “I can’t forget.”
Percival kneeled before her, his voice solemn. “Then, Fiona Amberly, sometimes known as the Scarlet Demon, will you do me the tremendous honor of making me the happiest man in the world by becoming my wife?”
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Fiona’s heart raced, and warmth leaped and lurched through her. This was everything she’d ever dreamed of.
She stared at him, almost to ascertain he was not in fact a mirage.
But it was him. It was her Percival, and he was saying the most brilliant things in the world to her.
“You think I’ll be a suitable wife?” Her voice trembled.
“The very best, my dear.”
“But I haven’t been in society much, and my season was, well, rather less than mediocre. People will wonder why you chose me. They might gossip. You’re a new duke, you don’t need cause to make anyone think less of you.” Saying each word slashed her heart, but he had to know, simply had to know how unsuitable she was. She wouldn’t want to do anything that might harm him, even if that would mean giving up the one thing that would bring her the most joy in the whole world.
“And you, my darling, are quite incredible for telling me all that.”
“I mean it—”
He kissed her hand. “I know you do. I also know that you’re sweet, and mostly honest, when you’re not trying to pretend to be a highwaywoman, and that you would do anything for your family.”
Her fingers shook, as if unsure this was really happening, that everything actually would be just fine.
“Fiona...” His voice trembled, and she realized she hadn’t responded to his proposal.
“Yes! Naturally, yes, I—” She stammered on her words, and drew him into an embrace. Speaking was too difficult an action right now, but he had to know, that she wanted nothing more than to have him beside her.
Forever.
Her heart pounded against his chest, and his hands moved over her.
“Darling,” he murmured.
There was something she needed to say. Something she’d never said before, even if it was the truest thing in her heart. “I love you, Percival. I love you so much.”
His eyes misted, and he held her more tightly in his arms. “I love you too, sweetheart.”
His murmurings turned to warm, wet kisses. His lips caressed her, and his arms held her close. She’d never felt this safe before. And this was just the beginning of the rest of their lives.
He lay her down on the cottage floor. The thick wooden boards roughened her back, and her hair tangled against the rigid floor. She only pulled him toward her, satisfied only when his body pressed against her own.
Lords, Snow and Mistletoe Page 54
