How to Capture a Duke (Matchmaking for Wallflowers Book 1)

by Bianca Blythe

  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. And 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 gingerly 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. His eyes seared through her, and he stroked her cheek.

  “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 stroking her face, 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. His warm and wet mouth breached hers, and his soft, velvety tongue danced with her tongue. 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.”

  Warmth rushed through her at the pet name. 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 breasts 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?”

  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.” Fiona lowered her gaze, and her chest clenched. 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 quit
e 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 heart soared, as if struggling to climb from her chest and join Percival. 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. The space between her legs begged to be touched, and she wiggled her body against his, behaving every bit the wanton woman.

  Everything had changed. She wasn’t the same bluestocking, the same wallflower she’d once been. Percival’s charm, his consistent sense of humor in the face of all manner of ills, made her adore him. Life was fuller than she’d ever imagined.

  She pressed her mouth against his, nibbling and sucking on his succulent lips, with all the vigor and enthusiasm he’d shown her. He lifted her on top of him, and her womanhood tingled and constricted. She rocked her body against his, driven by a baser instinct into a new, mounting rhythm.

  His pupils flared, and he grabbed hold of her bottom, moving her on top of his rod. Her depths throbbed with desire, but she hesitated.

  His face sobered immediately. “We needn’t do anything, Fiona. I’m quite willing to postpone any delights until after the wedding. Whatever you want.”

  She shook her head firmly. She’d thought for so long she might never even see the man again. She wanted this moment. Her whole body craved him.

  She raised her chin. “I choose you over any tradition.”

  “Thank God.” He pulled her downward, so that the space between her legs touched his rod. He rocked her over the tip over it. “Just like that, my dear. Just become used to it. You needn’t do anything more.”

  The contact with something hard and firm was spectacular, and he slid her gently over him. “It will hurt less if you’re in control.”

  She smiled down at him. His hands rubbed along her thighs, reminding her that he was here, with her, for this moment. She arched down over him, placing her hands on either side of him.

  He was inside her. They were joined, and everything in the world was marvelous. Sweat beaded over his muscular chest, and pink tinged his cheeks. Some of his hair clung to his forehead, and she squeezed her hands over the wooden floorboards.

  Perhaps she was acting disgracefully, but she’d never been happier in her life.

  And then the bliss grew larger, for Percival thrust inside her. His rod swelled further, and she joined him in this new, exciting rhythm. Masculine scent filled the air, and her peaks tightened further. Percival urged her lower still, and he returned his attention to her, capturing her tight peaks in his warm, wet mouth.

  Percival’s eyes glistened. “Fiona. Darling.”

  Any coldness she’d experienced had long since disappeared, and she moaned as his hand traveled over her thigh.

  The tempo quickened, his scorching manhood pummeled inside her, and their breaths joined. Fire swept through her, and her body shook and quaked. Percival grasped hold of her. And then he was shaking beneath her, filling her with his seed. Her heart swelled, and he pulled her toward his chest. She rested her head on his broad width and rubbed her fingers over the smattering of chestnut curls and his own tawny peaks.

  This was happiness.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Fiona’s breath steadied as she nestled in Percival’s arms. He stroked the arch of her back, seeming to find fascination in its simple curve.

  Light streamed through the thin curtains with more force, and rain no longer thundered against the walls of the cottage.

  Percival brushed his lips against the corner of her eyes, and his lips moved to her cheeks. “Fiona, my sweetheart.”

  When he pulled her toward him, warmth whirled through her, as if his mere presence was enough to send joy sauntering through every part of her body. She squeezed his hand, tracing the way in which the hairs on his wrist glistened under the light.

  “We should leave,” Fiona said regretfully.

  “Very well.” He appeared equally reluctant, and Fiona smiled.

  They dressed and made their way down the path.

  After a short wait, carriage wheels rolled toward them. Fiona forced herself to at least give the appearance of calm, though her heart still seemed to beat a jubilant melody.

  “You seem better.” Madeline poked her head from the coach. “Mrs. Rogers is having a baby, and I was going to take you to another doctor. But perhaps you’re fine?”

  “Never better,” Percival said.

  “Mm-hmm.” Madeline assessed them. “So I’m chaperoning you two?”

  Fiona smiled, and Percival linked hands with hers.

  “Because I’m not sure I’m doing a good job.” She narrowed her eyes at them. “I like doing a good job.”

  “I’m not removing my hand,” Percival said testily.

  “Hmph.” Madeline sniffed. “So are you joining us in Italy as well?”

  Percival stiffened. His hand was, as promised, still around hers, but it was more rigid than before.

  “How long will you be gone?” Percival turned to Fiona. “This doesn’t change anything.”

  “As long as we can,” Madeline chirped.

  “I don’t want to keep you from your dreams, Fiona,” Percival said, his tone softer than she had ever heard it. “You have brilliant dreams, and I—I have duties.”

  “Well, you should probably decide, unless you want to wait until we reach Hull to make your decision,” Madeline said.

  Fiona shot her cousin her most confrontational look.

  “I’ll wait for you,” Percival said. “Go to Italy. Enjoy yourself.”

  “I—” Fiona hesitated. She’d spent her life dreaming about the Romans. She’d never expected to go to Italy, and her cousin’s sudden enthusiasm for the trip had spurred her on.

  Italy was the very loveliest of dreams.

  “My parents adore the country,” Percival said, and his voice trembled.

  She peered up at him. She knew Percival’s parents loved traveling and hadn’t spent much time in England in years. He hadn’t spoken much about them.

  “You would have a good time with your cousin,” Percival said.

  “I’m not as horrible as people make me out to be,” Madeline added cheerfully.

  “Good.” Percival bit his lip. “My leg—it makes traveling more painful. Not that I won’t do it. I just—probably couldn’t do it with as much enthusiasm. Wandering cobble-stoned streets in the rain no longer sounds appealing.”

  Fiona squeezed his hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Percival’s eyes shone, and he pulled her toward him.

  For a moment her cousin’s face seemed to crumble, but then her lips arched upward with a swiftness suited to a gifted hostess. “I’m happy for you, Fiona.”

>   “I’m sorry, Madeline. Perhaps one day—”

  Her cousin nodded. “Perhaps. You’ll have a large estate to manage,” Madeline said. “You’ll be meeting many people.”

  Fiona tilted her head. She’d never allowed herself to ponder a life so conventional in its form of happiness. She’d always assumed that that life wouldn’t be available to her. She considered her cousin’s warnings. It would be difficult. Yes, she knew that. She hadn’t lived her whole life as a bluestocking and wallflower to not know that finding her way into society would not come naturally.

  Worry flickered through his eyes, and his chin jutted out, as if bracing himself to hear the worst.

  She looked at Percival and smiled. “I’m not going anywhere,” she repeated. “Except to be at your side.”

  He beamed and drew her close, and this time their lips met again. His firm, hot lips pressed against hers, sending a jolt of happiness racketing through her body.

  Her cousin cleared her throat noisily. “Let me speak to the driver.”

  Fiona laughed softly as Madeline scurried away.

  ***

  Fiona was firmly part of Percival’s life at Wentworth Place. They’d darted up to Gretna Greene before traveling down to Sussex. He beamed as he contemplated her and turned to Higgins. “It’s odd, isn’t it, how one’s whole life can change because of a fallen tree?”

  “Terribly,” Higgins muttered. “Now let me finish here, because I can assure you your visitor will expect you to look your very best.”

  Percival’s beam faltered. “Just who is here, Higgins?”

  “The dowager duchess herself.”

  Percival stiffened. “She should have sent word of her arrival.”

  “I believe she was aspiring for the element of surprise.”

  “Well that’s the only thing she will succeed at getting.” Percival grabbed his cane and headed out the door.

  “I haven’t finished your hair,” Higgins called after him.

  Percival shook his head as he strode down the corridor. “She’ll just have to put up with it.”