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

ignorant of her charms, and that drew him to her as a bee to honey. If only he could escape the past and begin anew, they might have a chance at happiness, but nothing could erase the hideous recollections of Waterloo. He had to set her free. “And if you insult me again with your rude suggestions, which reflect worse on your reputation than mine, I shall be too happy to cooperate with my father and yours, and you will have to manage on your own, with no ally. See how far that gets you from the parson’s noose.”

“You are right, Lady Arabella, and I am ashamed of my behavior.” Duly chastised, he savored another taste of the ice. How he adored her temper, which he surmised took everything within her to control, given her brief but glorious outburst in her drawing room. What he would give to unleash that raw power in another more intimate realm, to sample the fire within her, to let it warm him, to divert him from his ugly reality, if only for a little while. Indeed, she was a rare glimpse of sunshine on a cloudy day. “Please, accept my apology. I cannot afford to offend you, because you are my only friend.”

“Am I?” After a quick glance about the room, she scooted closer. “I do so wish to be your friend. As such, I must be honest with you. Our fathers conspire to negotiate hasty nuptials, that I might give birth to your heir, and I know not how to circumvent their plan.”

“I know, because I have been unable to seize upon any means to avoid the contractual obligation enacted by our sires, and I am aware of their aim.” In fact, he had spent countless hours trying to devise a solution to their quandary, with no success. Short of a miracle, Arabella would be his wife, unless he resorted to drastic measures. “English law binds us to a fate not of our making, and we may be trapped. If we must wed, I will do everything I can to protect you.”

“And I vouchsafe the same, my lord.” Under cover of the table and its linens, she reached for his hand, and he calmed at her mere touch, which never failed to soothe him. “But I am surprised by your reaction, because I would rattle the rooftops from here to Brighton, were I informed of such a nefarious plot against me. Rest assured, I will never let anyone harm you.”

“You think me in need of your defense?” That surprised him, because his was the stronger sex. Then again, she was not like most women. And her comments, forceful in nature, struck him as rather odd, given noblemen traded in flesh, with routine, to ensure the future of their lineage. “Trust me, Lady Arabella, I may be a lot of things, including an addlepated lack wit, according to my father, but there is still fight left in me. If all else fails, I can run away, where no one will ever find me, and I would do so to save you.”

“If it comes to that, I shall be forever in your debt.” Squeezing his fingers, she smiled, and in that elementary act he found refuge and courage, because his closest relations treated him with fear and the accompanying telltale distance. “However, I would have your promise to contact me, that I might know you are all right, and your pledge to find a measure of happiness, because you deserve it.”

“You have my word.” In truth, Anthony doubted he could stay away, because she seemed to be the only one interested in his wellbeing, and he had formed a genuine fondness for her in the brief tenure of their acquaintance. Indeed, he liked her. “May I state something rather forward?”

“When have you not?” She gasped when he drew imaginary circles on her palm, and he savored her response. Oh, what he would do with her, were she to grace his bed.

“Point taken.” He chuckled, as he regarded her high cheekbones and ivory complexion. In another time, he would have pursued her with relish. “You would have made a very fine Duchess of Swanborough.”

“Praise, indeed.” In that instant, Arabella withdrew from his grip in what struck him as a farewell, of sorts. “Do you know where you will go?”

“Back to the Continent, I suppose.” Gazing at the world beyond the window, he pondered the possibilities of his future, which no longer possessed the lure it once had, and he sighed. “In some respects, I feel as if I left the best part of myself at Waterloo, amid the mud and blood, and, with a little luck, I might be able to reclaim what I lost if I return to the site and stare down my demons.”

“I would argue your assertion, because I consider you the best of men, but what I would give to stand at your side when you do,” she whispered, and despite his plans, he ached to kiss her. “What of your parents? Will you not miss them?”

“No more than they will miss me, I suspect.” Then a particular notion gave him pause, as a stylishly garbed couple entered the establishment. “What will happen to you, in my absence?”

“I gather my father will negotiate another union, and I shall marry, unless I devise a plot to avoid it.” The resignation in her response struck him as a wicked blow to the cheek, yet she maintained her characteristic poise, and Anthony realized he had grossly underestimated her inner fortitude. Indeed, she was a diamond of the first water. “Thus, my fate remains the same, regardless of your machinations and flight to freedom. My options are few, and I must obey, but I will hold true to my beliefs that my sex is equal to yours, no matter who I call husband.”

“No doubt.” With a spoon, he scraped the last of the pistachio ice cream from the dish and marveled at his relaxed state. In