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

He would kiss her silly at the first opportunity.

“Is there anything else we can do to make you comfortable, my lord?” So she had instructed the staff to accommodate him. Why was he not surprised? “Do you take wine?”

“Yes, and everything is perfect, Lady Arabella.” A servant draped a napkin in Anthony’s lap, as he picked up a fork and speared a tender morsel of meat. With no fanfare, he savored the quiet meal, yet his mind was anything but quiet, because he mulled the consideration his fiancée displayed on his behalf.

It was his first dinner taken outside his residence since his return to England, because he had not the courage to risk embarrassment in public when he often made a mess of things. Even at Vauxhall, he ignored his grumbling, empty belly and waited until he returned home to feast, by which time he was famished. That she went out of her way to oblige him, and address his needs, touched him in ways he had never experienced, and he would never forget her thoughtfulness.

Tomorrow, he would lavish upon her expensive gifts to show his appreciation of her efforts, and he would write more than his name on the accompanying cards. Indeed, he would compose something naughty, just to exercise her beautiful mind.

“I spoke with His Grace about the wedding breakfast.” Lord Ainsworth eased back in his chair. “It is to be a small, private affair, with only family in attendance.”

“Oh?” It irked Anthony that his father excluded him from the planning. Then again, some things never changed, because his father had been dictating Anthony’s life from birth. “I expected him to invite all of London to witness the event.”

“So did I, but I would not hazard to guess His Grace’s motives.” Lord Ainsworth pushed aside his now empty plate. “Shall we partake of brandy and cigars in my study?”

“No, Papa.” Arabella opened and then closed her mouth. “Forgive my outburst, but you promised I could play cards with Lord Rockingham, and you could enjoy dessert in the drawing room, with Mama and I.”

“Ah, yes.” Lord Ainsworth waggled his brows. “Tonight, we indulge in a tasty syllabub with almond shortbread, my favorite.”

“What say you, Lord Rockingham?” Like one of Botticelli’s famous cherubs, Arabella inclined her head, and whatever she asked he would not refuse her. “I understand you are a past master at vingt-et-un.”

“You have spent too much time with Lord Beaulieu.” No doubt Beaulieu functioned as a veritable trove of information, which Arabella was smart enough to employ to her advantage. Yet, her intentions were honorable. But she did not anticipate the fact that Anthony’s deficiency made him a poor player, given he could not hold his cards and draw from the deck, with only one hand. “Perhaps, we might sit by the fire and talk.”

“But I did so wish to engage you in a simple game.” In light of her frown, which cut through him like the sharpest knife, he could not deny her. “Please?”

“Of course, my dear.” How easy she bended him to her will, but he would never admit it aloud. “Whatever you ask, I am your most devoted servant.”

“Wonderful.” In the blink of an eye, her demeanor transformed, and she bounced from her chair. “And I have a gift for you, too.”

“You do?” When she settled her palm in the crook of his elbow, he lingered behind her parents. In a low voice, he said, “I thought you were my gift.”

“Scandalous, Lord Rockingham.” She clucked her tongue and grinned. “Now that is the charmer I have heard so much about but have scarcely seen, since our engagement. I thought it might have something to do with me and a lack of attraction.”

“You think me indifferent?” In the foyer, he pulled her aside, while Lord and Lady Ainsworth settled in the drawing room, because he could not allow her to labor under a mistaken assumption. “Even after Vauxhall? Even after our delicious tryst in the Netherton’s study?”

“You don’t want to marry me.” Craning her neck, she peered into the drawing room and then drew him toward a side passage. “Despite your acceptance of my clumsy proposal, do you deny your objections to our union?”

“You know, very well, my reservations have naught to do with you.” Tempted by her full lips, he backed her into the wall. “While I concede, most regrettably, to opposing our nuptials, I must admit my hesitation was born of ignorance of your strength and character, which will serve me well when you stand as my wife. Where others would founder, you will succeed, and that is why I will have none but you.”

Then he bent his head and kissed her. Summoning the finesse honed in the arms of some of the most seasoned widows and courtesans of London, he launched a full-scale seduction of his fiancée just feet from her father, which intensified the illicit rendezvous and drove him like a stallion with a burr under its saddle.

There was something about their intimacy that inspired unshakable confidence, which he craved, and he rode a wave of passion that harkened to the past. To his glory days, when he was whole, and nothing and no one frightened him. Somehow, Arabella restored his faith. She made him feel like his old self.

Like a man.

Reassured and emboldened, he suckled her little pink tongue, a pastime that quickly ranked as his favorite. No matter how much she yielded, he wanted more. When she yanked the hair at his nape, he pressed on her caresses meant to entice and arouse. No shrinking violet, she bit his flesh and scored her nails along the back of his neck. Hugging her about the waist, he thrust his hips to hers, and she gasped for breath. Desire surged and spiraled, and she opened to him as he loosened his reins, and he walked his fingers lower, to grip her bottom.

“Arabella, Lord Rockingham, are you there?” her father inquired from the drawing room.

Anthony started and came alert, and