Chapter Seventeen

P ercy stepped onto the lawn, taking in the distant targets and the table laden with bows and arrows, their mistress nowhere in sight.

"Danny—Lady Daniella!"

"By the trees!"

Percy followed the muffled voice to the treeline at the far end of the field and stared up at a scraggly spruce in horror. "What the devil are you doing?!"

Reaching for a higher branch, Danny glanced down between her arms, her cheeks flushed and wisps of hair curling around her chin. "Percy, good. I'll need you to catch her."

"Catch her?" Seeing nothing in the immediate vicinity, Percy could only surmise she'd struck her head while climbing and was now hallucinating. His chest squeezed with panic. "You mustn't move after a bump to the head." He slouched off his coat and unbuttoned his cuffs to roll up his sleeves. "Wait there. I will come get you."

"No time for that," Danny called, stepping onto a higher branch. "If Lord Pickles is startled, we may lose our footing. I'll reach up and guide her down to you."

Her injury was worse than he feared. Lifting his hands, he approached her at the base of the tree as if she were a frightened animal. "I understand, Danny. Whoever this Lord Pickles is, I will see to his care."

One of the branches rustled and Danny's face appeared in a hole in the foliage. "Can you be more condescending? I am not out of my head. Lord Pickles is real and currently attached to my sleeve."

Her face disappeared and a pained cry sounded before the ugliest cat Percy had ever seen made a blurred beeline for the trunk; indeed lost its gnarled, clawed footing, and dove out of the tree like a hawk on a mouse.

Percy caught the fuzz ball upside down—appalled at the missing tufts of orange fur along its spine—and proceeded to get his best shirt shredded by a pair of ungrateful hindquarters. Extricating himself, Percy held the wretched thing at arm's length and deduced the puss was no worse for the wear, though the mentioned sleeve had taken damage if the long strip of blue linen in its mouth was any indication.

"Did you catch her?" she asked from somewhere above.

"Yes."

"Is she unharmed?"

"I thought you said the cat was a lord?"

"Why can't a woman hold a man's title?" Her voice was growing closer. "You haven't answered my question."

Percy saw a muddied slipper peek out from a lower branch, along with a beautiful, bare ankle. Setting the feline down, he went to the tree's base and harangued the influence of stupid poets.

Beautiful ankles, ha! Next, he'd croon over an exposed wrist. No, wait! What hark, a loose curl. Someone call the vicar because he was a besotted fool.

The woman was more than mad, rescuing cats from trees, groundskeepers from shoulder injuries. One of these days, she'd break her neck looking out for everyone else but herself.

A fact he'd change today if he had any say in the matter.

"Percy!"

He focused on the hem of her skirt that followed her exasperated voice. "Aside from an unfortunate shearing by the tree, your Lord Pickles is discomposed but whole."

"Oh, she always looks like that. She wrestled with a vulture a few years ago and the fur never grew back when the cuts healed."

Percy bowed his head to the cat at his feet with new appreciation. "My apologies, Lord Pickles. I had no idea you were a veteran."

The cat's tail flicked superiorly.

"She likes you," Danny said.

Percy eyed her hemline as it made a slow descent onto the next lowest branch. "You can't even see us."

"I can tell."

Of course she could. "May I assist you down?"

"No need."

Percy gritted his teeth watching her satin slipper skid down the bark of the trunk. Not only was the woman risking neck and life falling out of a tree, but she couldn't even be bothered to wear the proper footwear when doing it. "Really—"

She dropped down to the ground in an elegant crouch and stood, eyes bright and stunning. Brushing off her hands, she peered around him and smiled at Lord Pickles, who eyed their exchange with a grand show of pomposity.

"Troublemaker," she said.

Percy's blood heated at the purr in her voice. He'd climb a tree and mewl for rescue if this was the outcome. He picked a twig from her mushed coif—berating himself for being jealous of a damn cat—and silently surveyed her for any injury. Aside from a long tear in her sleeve, the remains of which were still clamped between Lord Pickles's teeth, she looked fit and radiant from the exercise.

"You shoot, climb trees, play nurse to servants, steal bushes from unsuspecting gardeners." Percy shook his head. "What's next? Carriage races at twilight?"

"I haven't the time, what with late-night rendezvous with a certain gentleman."

"If the gentleman isn't me, there's a dead man walking somewhere."

She rolled her eyes at his serious threat and nodded towards the targets. "Care to practice your shot, Your Grace?"

How he'd like to deliver the arrow in his pants straight to her center. Percy sighed. He'd never get through this afternoon.

"That bad?" Danny laughed. "You must be the shame of the Home Office."

Percy smirked, a sudden idea lending to his growing good humor. "Care to make a wager on who's the better shot?"

She tilted her head, her smile coy. "I'm not bad. Even the rough-and-tumble boys would be hard-pressed to take the lead."

There wasn't a possibility the woman was bad at anything. "Is that a yes?"

Coyness turned to confidence. "What are your terms of surrender, sir?"

God, he liked her aplomb more than her eyes and ankles and wrists put together. And grandiose arrogance must be rewarded in kind. "I'm a trained assassin by Her Majesty's service. You may set your own terms of defeat."

Teeth flashing, Danny trekked back up the hill and took her place opposite the targets. " When I win, Your Grace, you are to do as you once claimed and import a grove of coconut trees here and attempt to grow them for no less than a year."

Percy guffawed. "That's insane." He could worship at her feet for merely suggesting the grueling endeavor.

"Good thing you're so confident in your winning."

He smiled. He was going to enjoy taking the egg too. "And when you lose , my lady, you will acquiesce to any question I ask at the conclusion of our wager."

Curiosity lit her eyes, but she didn't ask for specifics. Confident, indeed.

Nerves had Percy narrowing the terms further. "Two chances, no more."

She laughed. "Feel free to take a practice shot. One will be enough for me."

Dear God, he was going to marry her if he had to offer up his soul to the goddess of archery. "Agreed." He waved a hand over the table with the equipment. "After you."

There was no hesitation in her choices. Picking up a medium bow, she placed a quail-feathered arrow on the string and pulled back until her thumb rested against the corner of her mouth, the action displaying toned muscles in her arms.

Percy felt a moment of apprehension seeing her perfect form. He held his breath as she released.

The shot went wide, missing the target altogether.

Percy crushed his cry of victory and took up his place where she'd stood, using a longbow and an arrow that ended in a decorative raven wing. Leveling his gaze at the top of the arrowhead, he inhaled and released.

His arrow struck the inner ring, just shy of the dead center where he'd intended. There was no need to rub his victory in her face.

Composing his expression, he returned his bow to the table and offered Danny his hand.

"Better luck next time." He should feel guilty for baiting her, knowing the difference in their skill levels. He didn't. Not if it gave him even the slightest advantage she'd agree to his proposal.

"Condolences are in order, Your Grace." Her triumphant smile gave him pause. "For you."

He dropped his hand she'd refused to shake and frowned at the target. "I wouldn't have taken you for a sore loser..." He trailed off as she crooked her finger. Following her order, he leaned over... over, around the target until a second target—a good fifty feet farther back—stood hidden in the trees.

And in the dead center was her arrow.

Percy froze.

There were snipers who couldn't make that shot.

Danny smiled sweetly. "I call that one ‘Baiting the Duke.'"

Percy stared.

She'd fucking conned him.

"There's a perfect plot of land on the south side of the Grandfellow property for a green house," she said. "By the time you break ground in the spring, the trees could be shipped and have arrived in plenty of time. The Duke of Camine will assist if you have questions, I'm sure. His peach tree grove is sublime, from what the duchess implies."

If he wasn't already a smitten fool, her sound thrashing of his ego would have done the trick admirably.

But she wasn't done.

"I know as an ex-assassin in Her Majesty's service, you have quite the reputation of superior skill, but if you need any assistance defending your grove until the trees take root, I am but a stroll through the woods away."

Percy applauded her technique. That knife twist would have gutted a man with even a modicum of pride.

"Watching you wield that bow, I find myself doubting my male prowess to protect anything," he said.

Her smile never wavered. "I could feign hysterics if it would lend you to feeling less impotent."

She was marvelous.

"I do believe the sharp insult to my male pride has reaffirmed our roles aptly, but thank you for the offer."

"You are most welcome."

That grin of hers—forget marvelous, she was devious, lovely. He'd been right in his assumption of her success as a force of nature. Give the woman a weapon and she'd hold the world at arrow point. Give her a worthy title and she'd rule like a gods' damn queen.

Now to offer her the world.

"Nothing else to add?" she asked with a tipped lip.

If bland poetry—and superior skill—was out, it would be best to be direct. "I do believe I'm in love with you."

Her sudden parted lips and stunned silence vanished with a smile. She set down her bow and crossed her arms over her chest. "It's about time you came to your senses. Or is this merely self-preservation? Truly, Your Grace, I'm nowhere near as proficient with a moving target."

Her teasing brought bright hope to the dark uncertainty in his chest. "Does that mean you approve of my affections?"

"Not only do I approve, sir..." Her gaze was hot and honest. "It seems you've ruined me for every other man."

Her silken words, like fingers brushed across his groin, had his feet eating up the scant distance between them.

She was ruined? He pulled her into his arms, his hands digging into her hair to guide her head closer, her lips a hair's breadth from his. He growled against her mouth, "You ruined me the moment you put that wicked tongue on my knife."

Her eyes danced with amusement. "A quick lick is all it takes? Men are far easier to snare than I anticipated."

"There's that wicked tongue again."

And he kissed her, soft and slow, letting the ease and skill of his lips and tongue do the talking. She didn't return his affections, yet , but there was no doubt about their chemistry. She was a lady with dark appetites, and he was a would-be duke who wielded them as second nature. She was intrigued by him and comfortable. For now, that would have to be enough. He'd use that connection to deepen their relationship. He'd do his damnedest to make sure she wouldn't regret ending her impressive refusal streak for the likes of him.

He ended the kiss with a scrape of teeth against her lower lip and groaned when she shuddered in his arms.

"You'll marry me, won't you?" He rested his forehead against hers, a wave of nerves making him unable to face her. "I can't promise the stuffy and distant life of an aristocrat. I won't tolerate separate beds or holidays away. If you agree to become my duchess, you are to be my partner, for always." He flinched at the ultimatum. Danny had been raised by typical English peers. Their customs and expectations so unlike that of a working man. Though they were considered superior in their manners and outlooks, he'd never settle for half a life. Better she know now, then agree to his proposal and be miserable later at his modern ideals of marriage.

But when he glanced down to gauge her level of reluctance, it was to find her smiling.

"Did you truly believe asking me to be your equal would in any way dissuade me?" she asked.

"Some women would find the idea peculiar and frightening."

" Some women," she admitted.

"But not you?"

"I think you know that answer already, sir. I don't steal bushes with just anyone."

His heart was flying. Cradling her face in his hands, he soaked up that smile, that knowing glint in her eye, and the silent challenge in her voice. "I need to hear the word, Danny. I need to know you're serious. Once you decide, I won't let you go."

She scrunched her nose, her eyes dancing. "When you put it that way, perhaps I will reconsider. I've heard Mr. Pendor is amiable and still on the market."

"Minx!" Percy kissed her, long and hot, until all the games and banter were stripped away and replaced with sincere sensation.

"Yes," Danny said against his lips when they'd become breathless. "I accept your proposal... on one condition."

He didn't hesitate. "Cats to rescue? Dogs to tend? I'll hire two dozen servants for you to fuss over and proclaim you their saint."

Expression amused, her gaze flicked up to a window on the southern side of the house. Her smile turned guilty. "There's one thing I need us to do first."

Us . How lovely and un -singular that sounded. "Name it."

"Convince my father."

He kissed the tip of her nose, his heart light. "An easy ask."

*

This was going to be harder than the teeth-chipping biscuits they served in the workhouses.

Percy had faced warriors, soldiers, having his toenails ripped off by a lovely Frenchman named Sweetling, but standing in Lord Bromley's study, waiting for the man to announce his fate, Percy decided he missed the croissant-loving torture man and his affinity for pain.

Gone was the informal man who'd wolfed down biscuits like a child before dinner. Gone was the same man who'd clapped Mr. Brinkley on the back and shook his hand when the old groundskeeper had joined them on the terrace at Fellow Hall. Lord Bromley sat back in his chair behind his desk, fingers steepled so only his eyes were visible—eyes that hadn't blinked since Danny and he had entered the man's haven hand-in-hand ten minutes ago and announced their engagement.

"Am I to understand, you formed an attachment after but a few outings?" he asked finally.

Danny smiled and shook her head. Thankfully, she'd taken the time to change out of her ruined dress and re-pin her hair. "No, Papa. The truth is, Percy and I met my first season at the Leishires' ball."

The older man's unblinking eyes turned some color that reminded Percy of brimstone. "You've been carrying on a secret engagement this entire time?"

"No!" Danny exclaimed. "Goodness, Papa. I would never keep—"

"Lord Bromley." Percy stepped forward, dropping Danny's hand to look the man in the eye—and do what he should've done in the first place and asked, "May I speak to you in private, sir?"

Danny frowned. "I will not leave. This discussion is my future as well."

"Please, Danny." Percy willed her to understand her father's fears and the parental instinct to posture. Trust me as you've always done.

She understood the unspoken words, his perfect lady. Give her a month, and she'd have no need for conversation. A look and she'd know his mind better than he did.

Expression softening, she nodded. "I'll check on tea and biscuits for after."

Percy watched her leave, waiting until the latch clicked closed before he addressed Lord Bromley. "I'm in love with your daughter."

Lord Bromley wasn't impressed. "Near a dozen men have claimed the same."

What a tough old bastard. No quarter, no mercy: If the remaining two Deime family members he had yet to meet were half so callous, it'd be hard not to fall for the whole family. Though he suspected he'd informally met one of the two earlier. The Deime family coloring and inability to keep to manners was startlingly similar.

Percy could be just as uncivil. "Your daughter did nothing but insult me at the Leishires' ball, berated me, threw suspicion at me."

Lord Bromley's surprise didn't stop at his expression. Apparently, no other man had claimed that before. "And you've come to admit you've grown to love her despite all that?"

Percy laughed. "I love her because of it. A woman who isn't afraid of title or prestige, a woman who speaks her mind and calls a man's bluffs is rare. I couldn't help but fall for her."

"And what of your background? I find it inconceivable that Jack would never mention you."

"My father and his family were estranged," Percy said. "I never knew my grandfather's cousin except as a passing memory from my childhood. His title and fortune were never mentioned, and I never asked."

Lord Bromley nodded, as if he'd suspected as much. "When did your father pass?"

"I was young, sir."

Lord Bromley recovered with a frown. "What of your living? How did you support yourself?"

"I took a commission in the army, sir." Percy wouldn't mention the years in between when his father had passed away and how he'd managed to pay for such a thing. "I was recruited early to work for the Home Office." He quickly added, "Though I am now retired from the work."

Lord Bromley's eyes widened. "The Home Office?" He went back to that contemplative steepling of fingers, knowing not to ask further inquiry on the subject. The truth would be easy enough to verify with the right connections. Connections an earl in the House of Lords would have. "I see."

Lord Bromley was quiet for some time, five minutes twenty seconds. Wielding silence like a weapon, another thing the family had in common. Then, "I won't claim to understand the hardships of your youth, nor will I denounce what courage and will it takes to raise yourself up to the position you acquired in Her Majesty's forces.

"Nor am I blind. I can see your affection goes deeper than my daughter's fine features and fortune. Knowing how Jack ran the estate, I know you are in a better position than even I to provide for my Danny." Lord Bromley's gaze was unyielding. "But I would not give my blessing for such worthless reasons."

Percy's insides twisted. "Sir—"

The other man held up his hand for his silence. "I would give my blessing to a man who shows my daughter respect, a man whom she in turn respects. A man who finds worth in a woman's opinion. If you'd demanded she leave this room to secure my cooperation, I would have shot you between the eyes before the door finished closing."

Percy swallowed. He had a suspicion Danny's expert marksmanship was hereditary. "But?"

"But you asked, and she left." He stood and walked around his desk to offer his hand. "I trust my daughter's decisions, Your Grace, and so I will put my trust in you as well." His hand was a vise around Percy's fingers. The smile on the older man's face was tighter. "Don't turn my daughter into a liar."

Percy returned the bone-crushing grip and found his insides warming to the idea of a typical family. He couldn't resist poking at the other man's hostility. "Shall I call you ‘Papa' too?"

Lord Bromley's smile was all teeth. "Not if you wish to avoid that bullet."

Percy took it back: The ambushes and teasing, the thinly veiled threats—having a family far exceeded all expectations.