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

the room, and she appeared fascinated by the space and the long bar with the many men sipping ale. He almost wanted to laugh.
    He grabbed hold of his purse and dipped out some of his gold coins. He handed her his still heavy bag. “This is yours.”
    “I—”
    In the next moment he knocked two tankards from the table. Then he was off, dragging his bad leg behind him, and gripping his cane as if everything depended on it, as murmurs broke out.
    There was no way she was going to start flinging her knife at him now.
    He increased his speed, grateful for the clusters of men. She’d have trouble coming after him.
    He smiled. He wouldn’t need to worry about her anymore. The highwaywoman was in the past. He’d even left her some coins. To distract her. Not because he was worried what would happen to her, now that she was stuck in a strange place by herself.
    Not at all.
    He rubbed his hand through his hair and pressed the door to the outside. Cold wind slammed against him. The snow that he’d predicted had started to fall. He swore. Why on earth did he have to be so bloody right about everything?
    He stepped over the icy cobblestones. Snow clung to his clothes, and the ground grew ever whiter. The groom helped him onto the mail coach, changed with fresh horses, and Percival took the reins quickly before the man might ask him any questions about why he was not wearing a uniform.
    He pressed the horses forward, leaving the light of the tavern as he sauntered into the darkness toward freedom.
And Lady Cordelia.
He sighed, trying to summon thoughts of his future bride.
     

Chapter Eight
    He was gone.
    She’d pressed after him, but the thick cluster of men swarming the broken tankards had impeded her path. When she’d reached the door, he’d already vanished with the coach.
    Just like that her hope for the future that would satisfy Grandmother’s dreams for her was extinguished.
    She scrunched her fists together.
    “What’s wrong, love?” A burly man with a bushy beard not quite masking a rosy face called from a table.
    “I—” Fiona swallowed hard.
    This establishment was not a place she ever should have found herself in. The throngs of workers and scent of alcohol embodied everything Grandmother’s manor house was not, and she stepped away. She bumped into something—someone, she realized, and the man’s eyes narrowed.
    “Forgive me, sir.”
    “You’re not lost, are you? Want to have a drink? We’ve got mulled wine.” The man turned to someone else. “My wife always likes a bit of mulled wine. The cinnamon and sugar go well with the hot liquid.”
    Fiona groaned. She was not going to sit in some establishment, listening as thickset men discussed Christmas drinks. “I need your help. The gentleman you saw—well, I need to find him. I fear he ran away.”
    “Hobbled away,” the man corrected, and Fiona frowned.
    The man sighed. “Look, love—why ever would he do that?”
    His voice boomed, and more heads swiveled in their direction. Fiona shifted her legs, and the wooden beams of the floor croaked beneath her. A fire leaped and swirled in a great stone hearth beside her, the flames merrily devouring the mound of logs and kindling. The twigs snapped and sparked, and the smoke stung Fiona’s eyes.
    Her chest constricted, and she moved her hand to her neck, fiddling with her mother’s brooch. The sharp swerves of the flower-shaped design provided little comfort now.
    Fiona sucked in a deep breath of air, conscious of the inquiring gazes fixed on her, and patted her stomach.
    “Lord.” The man stared at her abdomen. “He’s done a runner, has he?”
    She nodded, her heart pounding wildly.
    “My daughter went out with a man who did a runner, and I’ve vowed to murder him. Strangle him. Or shoot him with one of those fancy rifles the former soldiers are always going on about.” The burly man rubbed his hands together. “I’m going to the bottom of the world to track down the man who ruined my