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Curling her feet under her shin on the sofa, she hugged one of the cushions to her chest and asked, “How did you and Matthew meet? I have always wondered how a young marquess became friends with a gentleman who was not titled.”
Percy stood and went over to the sideboard, where he poured whisky into two glasses. She watched him with some astonishment when he walked over and handed her the glass with the lessor drink.
“Why do you stare at it as if it is poison?”
“Well…it is whisky.”
“Yes, and I am aware you drink it copiously at 48 Berkeley Square and have been tipsy more than once.”
Gasping, Frederica glanced up at him. His expression was carefully composed, but his eyes gleamed with humor.
“Who told you of it?”
“I had some interesting lunches with the duke while you were busy shopping.”
She laughed and took the glass, sipping delicately. “Well, Theo mixes it liberally with tea.”
He said nothing to that but resumed his seat in the high wing-back chair. Then he started to talk in his rather mesmerizing storytelling voice. “I met your brother at Eton on a fine sunny day. Wait, it was actually dreary and miserable, I’m afraid, as all winters are. I was a rather small lad—”
“You? Small? I do not believe it!”
He smiled. “Much smaller than most my age, even Matthew. Some of the other boys thought this meant they could bully me.”
“How dare they?” she muttered.
“Your brother, who was barely bigger than myself, helped me fight off about six boys. We were fierce and had the hearts of lions. By the time we ended, we were laughing our heads off and the best of friends.”
“I am glad you defeated those bullies.”
“I said nothing of the sort. They soundly thrashed us. We just found some humor in the situation. There was a precise moment when we were both on the ground, being pummeled by their fists, and our eyes met. Somehow, we read each other minds, and we scrambled from the fray and dashed away.”
She gasped. “You ran from a fight?”
“Of course. We wanted to live to fight another day.”
“So, did you win another day?”
He seemed contemplative. “No, we ran for about three years.”
Frederica laughed, oddly delighted with the story. “Did he ever talk about me?” she asked wistfully.
“He did.” Percy cleared his throat. “With his whole heart.”
“Why did he ask you to be my guardian and not our uncle or one of our aunts?”
“Would they have taken care of you as I have?”
She grinned. “I am glad it was you. If it was Aunt Maeve, my role would be to take care of her eight children and fight off the chickens to get the eggs. Uncle Bernard is a bachelor, but then so are you. When did he ask you? I was surprised when I got your letter and instructions to come to London.”
“Well, that will be a story to tell when you are about thirty.”
She choked on a sip of the whisky. “Is it that scandalous?”
He nodded, his eyes crinkling at the corner. How it warmed her heart to see it, and it felt as if the tension that had lingered after the kiss dissipated.
“Come, Percy, you must tell me.”
“The most I will say is that it involved a duel. He barely got nicked but was convinced he was dying. We came to this very house, had a few restorative drinks, and then he made me vow should anything ever happen to him, I would take care of you,” he said gruffly. “I would see you honorable wed and provided for.”
