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

palms to his lapels. “I would be a good husband and indulge your independent spirit, because I consider your strength a boon.”

“Do you?” Perched on tiptoes, she studied his beautiful mouth and ached for him to kiss her. “Because I am my own person, and I cannot change, my lord. Not for you. Not for anyone.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it.” In that moment, he bent his head and kissed her.

And kept kissing her.

That was what she needed to quiet the doubts nagging her conscience. Reassurance in the form of what she heretofore would have described as a pedestrian physical expression, based on the books she read. But Anthony changed all that, because it was not so pedestrian given his aggressive flicks of his tongue, in concert with his bold fondling of her bottom through her skirts. Indeed, the fact that he had one hand did not in any way limit his abilities to tempt her, and nothing could mute the force of his touch. When he pressed his hips to hers, and she noted the telltale firmness of his erection, she grew dizzy with undeniable longing, but he held her, safe and sound, and she did not falter.

Passion rang a mighty salvo in her ears, blazing a trail from their point of contact to the pit of her belly, and she moaned when he ravished the curve of her neck. Beguiled by something she did not quite understand, she gripped his thick hair and stared at the starry sky, while desire tasted her. Then, to her unmitigated frustration, he halted his play, and she clung to him.

“My lord, what is happening to us?” Gasping for breath, and shivering from the power of their exchange, she nuzzled him. Patience was right. The man was plenty dangerous with a single hand. “What have you done to me?”

“I want you, sweet Arabella.” He chuckled. “And no one is more surprised than I, because I have not felt this alive since before the war.”

“I know what you mean.” Shifting, she met his stare. “Because I feel it, too.”

“Did I scare you?” To her disappointment, he removed his hand from her bottom and cupped her cheek. With infinite tenderness that melted her heart, he caressed her lips with the pad of his thumb. “Are you frightened?”

“Of you?” She gave vent to nervous laughter. “Never, my lord, because you will not hurt me.”

“You are that sure?” Anthony brushed his mouth to hers. “You believe in me that much?”

For Arabella, it was a moment of unvarnished truth, and she did not hesitate. “Yes.”

Nothing could have prepared her for the ensuing tryst, because Anthony again pulled her into his one-armed embrace and made more improper advances on her person. In a masterful opening sally, he let fly a barrage of inexpressibly intimate kisses that left her breathless, and his lone hand seemed to be everywhere at once. Indeed, she discovered he loosened the bodice of her gown when he took turns stroking her nipples, and she loved every minute of it—until Lord Beaulieu cleared his throat.

“Excuse me, because I am not one to interrupt a bloody good seduction—not that I was spying on your progress, which was commendable given the setting—but Lord Ainsworth seeks Lady Arabella. I suggest you right yourselves, because you don’t want to be caught dallying in the bushes.” Lord Beaulieu averted his gaze and snickered. “Upon my word, Greyson just launched a brilliant flanking maneuver, but even now Ainsworth approaches, so I suggest you make haste.”

“Oh, dear.” Panicking, in light of her unfamiliarity with such wanton circumstances, Arabella tucked in her chemise and retied the bow that sat at the center of her décolletage, given Anthony’s enthusiastic encroachment on her breasts, and then she repaired the damage to his cravat and smoothed his hair. “Papa is here. What shall we do?”

“Just follow my lead.” With the innocence of a babe, Anthony pointed at a tree. “And this is an excellent specimen of a deciduous elm, with its thick canopy of oval leaves with serrated edges. But it is the grayish-blue bark that sets the elm apart from other species—oh, Lord Ainsworth. How are you, this fine evening?”

“I am well, Lord Rockingham.” Papa blinked and sputtered, and she bit her tongue against laughter. How she admired Anthony’s resourcefulness. “But I grew alarmed when I did not locate my daughter in Lord Beaulieu’s supper-box, given his promise to guard her.”

“Papa, you worry for nothing, because I’m quite protected, and Lord Beaulieu and Miss Wallace stand as competent chaperones.” Gaining her wits, Arabella rocked on her heels and glanced at Anthony. Did she just glimpse another side of the man unspoiled by war? “But Lord Rockingham offered a lesson in the mysteries of nature, and he is a vast deal more than knowledgeable in such matters.” Of course, that was putting it mildly. “I would invite him to dine with us, Thursday next, if you are amenable.”

“It should not surprise me that you enjoy the otherwise mundane topic, and Lord Rockingham is always welcome at our table.” Papa drew a handkerchief from his coat pocket and daubed his forehead. “But the lamp-lighters shall assume their stations, at any minute, and I know you don’t want to miss the spectacle.”

“You are correct, and I thank you, given it is my favorite part of the evening.” Like a proper lady, Arabella settled her hand in the crook of Anthony’s arm, and he winked at her. The casual observer never would have suspected that only minutes ago, her fiancé slipped his fingers down her bodice to tweak her nipple. “Although I would never describe Lord Rockingham’s impromptu tutelage as mundane, because I found it rather stimulating.”

Chapter Six

The valet tied a precise mathematical, as Anthony scrutinized his black tailcoat, waistcoat, and trousers. Wondering how he let Beaulieu talk him into attending the Netherton’s ball, when all Anthony wanted to do was climb into bed and crawl beneath the covers, he studied the empty sleeve pinned to