How to Capture a Duke (Matchmaking for Wallflowers Book 1) by Bianca Blythe Page B

conscious of the way in which her long skirts brushed against his good leg. His nostrils inhaled that sweet vanilla scent, and he forced his head away rapidly, hoping the warmth rising on his cheeks was not as visible as it felt.
    He shouldn’t have kissed her last night. He shouldn’t have been goaded by the comments of the other men. The thought of reliving that ecstasy invaded his mind, and he should be focused on fleeing her, nothing else.
    He sighed. At least he might cause her some discomfit. He pulled her closer to him, enjoying the way in which her green eyes widened and her black lashes swooped up, as if she were truly some innocent chit. “This is not so horrible, dearest.”
    Mr. Potter waved as they drove off.
    “Care to share where we’re going?” Percival whispered.
    “I live nearby,” she said.
    “I warrant you’re set up in some God-forsaken house.”
    “Some people might say that.” Fiona had the indecency to turn her lips up, as if she didn’t recognize his insult.
    Percival rubbed his leg. “That blasted floor . . .”
    She grabbed the reins from him. “Let me drive.”
    “No, I—”
    “I’ll want you nice and refreshed.” The woman was matter-of-fact.
    “What do you have in store?”
    “You’ll find out.”
    He narrowed his eyes. “I demand that you declare your plans.”
    “That’s all?” She smirked, and her green eyes sparkled.
    “And release me!” he stammered. “I demand you release me as well.”
    She laughed. “And leave you on this road? You wouldn’t survive very long. You have absolutely no idea where you are.”
    “I’ll have you know that I’ve traveled throughout the continent!”
    “Ah, so has my grandmother.”
    “Leading troops!” He scowled
    Fiona squirmed. She no longer pointed a knife in his direction, and he supposed he could direct the sleigh in whichever direction.
    For some reason, he didn’t want to, and he despised it. Snowflakes fell more rapidly, a curtain of coldness. They fluttered down in thick, decadent shapes, toppling this way and that, oblivious to the havoc they caused.
    “I’m not a thief.”
    “So you’ve told me,” Percival remarked dryly.
    “One year ago I made a mistake.” Fiona’s voice quivered.
    “We’ve all made mistakes.”
    “My mistake was telling my grandmother and sister that I was engaged.”
    “So tell them you’re not engaged.”
    The horses rounded a corner.
    And then his mouth dropped open.
    A huge castle sat in the valley. Snow covered the sloping roof and turrets, but it was impossible to avoid seeing just how fine the place was. Gargoyles perched underneath the gables, and classically beautiful statues dotted the yard.
    Everything was immaculate, and everything differed completely from the abode he’d imagined she’d take him to.
    If a criminal lived here, it was not someone who’d made his money robbing travelers. By Zeus, maybe she wanted to steal from the place. Except that seemed unlikely since his leg forced him to be an imperfect accomplice. “What is this place?”
    “Cloudbridge Castle.” The woman tucked a strand of loose hair over her ear. “I live here.”
    “As a—maid?”
    “Only the unmarried kind.”
    He tilted his head, and her cheeks pinkened.
    “I’m an ordinary spinster.”
    “Not a criminal.”
    She shook her head. “I’m not quite as exciting. My name is Miss Fiona Amberly. Perhaps you’ve heard of my brother-in-law Lord Somerville?”
    Percival coughed. “The earl?”
    She nodded. “From the Worthing family. His older brother is the Marquess of Highgate.”
    Percival rubbed his hand in his hair. “So when you said you wanted to kidnap me and bring me somewhere—”
    “I wanted to bring you here.” The woman spoke matter-of-factly, as if what she was doing was completely obvious and self-explanatory, as if loads of women were in the habit of capturing men and dragging them to their castles.
    Percival scratched his head and rather feared that all the