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

his breeches. Juggling a bouquet of roses in the crook of his elbow, he swore to himself when he almost dropped a book of note, tucked under his arm, which he hoped would please his lady. When the butler set wide the oak panel, Anthony lifted his chin.

“Good evening.” He crossed the threshold. “Lord Rockingham to see Lady Arabella.”

“Indeed, my lord.” The manservant bowed. “Lord Ainsworth expects you. If you will follow me.”

As Anthony passed the hall mirror, he glanced at his reflection, cursed the sleeve pinned to his lapel, and his confidence flagged, because he still yearned for his old, whole self. An image of his bloody and mangled stump flashed before him, and he winced and shook his head. If only he could forget the past, he just might remember how to live in the present. Tension built in the pit of his belly, and he swallowed hard.

“Lord Rockingham, you are right on time.” Stunning in a gown of ruby red, Arabella strode straight to him. “Oh, and you come bearing gifts. Dare I ask if they are for me?”

“They are, my lady.” Every composed thought fled him in the face of her smile. He handed her the flowers, which she passed to the butler. “I hope they meet with your approval.”

“Travers, have these put in a vase and placed on my bedside table.” The grace and ease with which she conveyed her directive would serve Anthony well, and he envisioned her presiding over the casual dinner party for various members of Parliament, whereas the behavior she exhibited in the Netherton’s study would keep him satisfied in their bed. “And what else have you brought?”

“Arabella, mind your manners.” The Countess of Ainsworth wagged a finger. “Welcome, Lord Rockingham. We are so pleased you could join us for dinner.”

“Indeed.” Lord Ainsworth extended a hand in friendship, and they exchanged an awkward greeting, given Anthony fumbled with the book in his lone hand. “You do us a great honor.”

“The honor is mine, Lord Ainsworth.” Anthony noticed Arabella’s interest fixed on the book, and he caught her stare and arched a brow. Her curious nature exercised his imagination. “I am grateful for the invitation and the opportunity to spend time with my future wife, because I would foster amity prior to our nuptials.”

“Your motives are quite sound and do you great credit.” Lord Ainsworth seemed cautious when he stepped back and assessed Anthony. What did Ainsworth mean by quite sound? “Lady Ainsworth and I partake of sherry. Would you care for a glass?”

“No, thank you.” Anthony shrugged off his unease and told himself he was being overly sensitive on his first informal meeting with his future in-laws. “With your permission, I would speak with Lady Arabella.”

“Of course.” Lord Ainsworth nodded once. “Her ladyship and I will sit near the window, to offer you a measure of privacy.”

“You are too generous.” Yet, Anthony would prefer Arabella’s company, unreservedly. Sitting at one end the sofa, he scooted to the edge of the cushion and handed her the old tome. “For my lady’s pleasure.”

“How kind you are to think of me.” Biting her bottom lip, she perused the cover and came alert. When she met his gaze, he smiled. “Thoughts on the Education of Daughters. Is this a suggestion, or do you make sport of my predilection for Wollstonecraft?”

“I thought it might prove useful, someday.” While she flipped through the pages, he availed himself of her distracted state and admired a single thick curl that dangled at her throat, along with the flirty layer of lace that called attention to her décolletage. Beaulieu described her bosom as wickedly tempting. In truth, she manifested an irresistible combination of virginal coquette and seductive siren. If not for the social Season, he would lock her in his bedchamber for a fortnight after their marriage. “Have you not read it?”

“Must confess I have not.” Closing the book, she peered over her shoulder at her parents. Then she studied him and scooted closer. “How considerate is my fiancé, and I shall endeavor to express my gratitude at your earliest convenience.”

“I like the sound of that.” There it was again, the genial conversation and easy airs that typified their fledgling relationship, and he marveled at her ability to identify with him, when he struggled to find something to say to her. “I enjoyed our evening at Vauxhall and recall it with fondness.”

“As do I.” The charming blush that colored her cheeks declared she understood his meaning, because he referenced the tender kisses they shared along the serpentine. In the dark hours, he summoned a vision of that evening and slept in peace. “Perhaps, we might venture there after our wedding, that we might mark our brief courtship with equal affection.”

“Excuse me, my lord.” The butler cleared his throat. “Dinner is served.”

“Let us adjourn to the dining room, because I’m famished.” Lord Ainsworth stood and straightened his coat.

Trailing in Lord and Lady Ainsworth’s wake, Anthony escorted Arabella. In that moment, he ached to kiss her, if only to savor the warmth of her mouth. But it was her comforting embrace he craved in the night, when he often woke to the brutal images of war. Yet, that happened less and less since they renewed their acquaintance.

“Lord Rockingham, if you will take the chair to my left, Arabella can assume the opposite position.” After situating himself, Lord Ainsworth signaled the butler. “You may commence the service.”

In silence, the servants moved into action with admirable precision, dishing portions of steak, mashed potatoes, and carrots. It was then Anthony panicked, because he could not cut his own food. At home, Walker performed the service. Anthony’s heart pounded in his chest, his ears pealed, and he grew warm, because he anticipated disaster. Just when he was about to announce his deficiency and ask for assistance, a footman collected his empty plate and replaced it with another, which evidenced merciful intervention. To his surprise, the food had been sliced into perfect bites. When he glanced at