The Accidental Duke (The Mad Matchmaking Men of Waterloo Book 1) by Devlin, Barbara (love letters to the dead .TXT) 📕

divert to Finsbury Square, because I would visit the Temple of the Muses and procure a new book.” She scooted to the edge of her seat and deployed her dependable pout. “You know my fondness for reading, and it helps me relax.”

“Oh, do let us patronize the bookseller, Richard.” Mama patted his arm. “I would love to peruse the cookbooks.”

“All right.” Cupping a hand to his mouth, Papa shouted, “Oy. Take us to Finsbury Square.”

In a matter of minutes, the driver drew the landau to a halt before the familiar domed establishment in which she had spent many a cherished afternoon. As usual, she did not wait for the footman, opting instead to leap to the sidewalk, to her mother’s protestations, whereupon Arabella all but ran into the shop.

Inside, she rounded the massive circular counter and strolled down one of the main aisles, bypassing row upon row of fiction, until she located the appropriate topic to suit her purpose. Beneath a sign marking the medical section, she scanned scores of titles, searching for a clue amid a rather large collection of books, which focused on such tantalizing subjects as bloodletting, excess vapors, and constipation.

When so many promising volumes yielded naught but disappointment, she resorted to a random perusal of the inventory, yet she found only more frustration. Just when she prepared to cede the quest, her gaze lit upon an intriguing leather-bound tome labeled Soldier’s Nostalgia and Other Battlefield Maladies by Dominique Jean Larrey.

“Could it be so simple?” Biting her lip, Arabella pulled the heavy treatise from the shelf and opened to the table of contents. Scanning the various chapter headings, she squealed with excitement and turned to the overview. “Oh, dear. The author is a French physician, which I suspect Anthony will not appreciate. Then again, I need not apprise him of my sources.” Thus, she gave her attention to the journal and devoured the introduction.

According to Dr. Larrey, combat experiences often resulted in a mental disorder typified by anxiety, stupor, heart palpitations, fever, loss of appetite, disturbed sleep, interminable thoughts of home, and excess melancholia. Further, the condition progressed in three stages. First, the afflicted soldier suffered heightened excitement and imagination, followed by a period of fever and prominent gastrointestinal distress, succeeded by acute frustration and depression.

“Upon my word.” She gulped. “No wonder Lord Rockingham is irritable.”

While she had no knowledge of the initial two phases as they pertained to her reluctant fiancé, she had spent enough time in Anthony’s company to form a considerable opinion on the final episode, which he possessed with a vengeance. Smiling, she slammed shut the book, tucked it under her arm, and hurried to the novels section.

After locating a sufficiently flowery title that would garner her father’s immediate disdain, thus ensuring he would ignore her other pick, she met her parents at the counter.

“Ah, there you are, my dear.” Papa glanced at the top selection, wrinkled his nose, and snorted. “Oh, no. ‘A Most Noble Swain for Her Delicate Heart.’ Sounds awful, but I suppose I should be delighted that you read, and I am glad you found something that interests you.”

“Worry not, Papa.” Arabella clucked her tongue. “I found exactly what I wanted.”

Chapter Three

Nestled in Berkley Square, Gunter’s Tea Shop boasted a large selection of English, French, and Italian sweetmeats. On a warm afternoon, Mayfair society gathered to partake of various confections and the requisite accompanying gossip, in another superficial display of opulence. Anthony enjoyed the former but loathed the latter, yet he tolerated the outing for Arabella, although he understood not his desire to make her happy, when any extended association with him was bound to result in misery.

A server delivered their order, an assortment of ice creams and sorbets arranged in a set of Sèvres tasses à glace, situated on a plateau au bouret. More ridiculous pomp for naught more than dessert, when a simple bowl would suffice. His always fetching fiancée chose a bombe ice, the mold of which bore more than a passing resemblance to a particularly proud part of his anatomy, and he clenched his gut as she innocently licked the erotic shape.

In the blink of an eye, he surrendered to an altogether strange sensation, as he envisioned the delicate lady, nestled between his thighs, on her knees, and his body came alive for the first time since before Waterloo. Gazing at him with her wide baby blues that saw far more than he wished, she bent, parted her plump, rosy lips, and took him deeper into the hot enclave of her mouth, and he—

“This épine-vinette is delicious.” Trailing her little pink tongue about the bulbous tip of her ice, she moaned, and he almost spilled his seed in his breeches. “And how is the neige de pistachio?”

“Quite good.” Reluctant to abandon the captivating reverie, he jolted to the present. With a small silver spoon, he sampled a healthy portion and noted her intense scrutiny. “What are you looking at?”

“I was wondering about your appetite, given we are to be married.” She peered at their mothers, who turned their chairs and commenced discussing the latest on-dit, no doubt to encourage the couple. In a low voice, Arabella asked, “Do you suffer any gastrointestinal maladies of which I should be aware when planning menus? Likewise, do you have any favorite dishes I should insert into the regular rotation?”

“You presume our union a forgone conclusion.” Beneath the pointed stares their presence garnered because he was the heir to the dukedom of Swanborough, acute melancholia blanketed him in a thick cloud of gloom, and he pushed aside the treat. He had to find a way out of the betrothal, if for no other reason than to spare the graceful lady, even though she remained undeterred. “Did we not agree to identify a suitable excuse to end our engagement, or does the title tempt you?”

“We did, but I am befuddled, Lord Rockingham.” Elegant and sensuous, at once, she posed an irresistible lure, yet she remained