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

“You claim a desire to wed me, and your behavior at the ball convinced me to an extent, but I would know more about the reason for your change of heart. I wish to understand you.” He shrugged and situated his cards. “Why me, when your father could secure a more advantageous match?”

“Because you need me.” The instant she posited the bold statement, she cursed the burn of a blush. She didn’t want to offend him. “And because I think I need you, my lord.”

Papa cleared his throat, and she almost jumped out of her skin. Smoothing her skirts, she bowed her head.

“How so?” Inclining his head, Anthony moved the deck to the center of the table and nodded once. “Your draw, my lady.”

There was something in his voice, something primitive and possessive in the otherwise pedestrian salutation that bespoke fellow feeling and something more. A like-minded perspective. A cryptic attachment she did not quite fathom, but it was there, nonetheless.

“Thank you.” She pulled the top card and assessed her hand. “Given you know of my affinity for Wollstonecraft, and my propensity for independent thought, I believe you are the perfect spouse for me, because you humor me, despite the fact that you do not share my views.”

“I would not say that, but no man, sane or otherwise, would willingly proclaim he considers a woman his equal.” His chuckle, a rich and throaty baritone, sent a rush of tremors pulsating through her. With care, he drew from the deck, exchanged a card, and placed it on the table. It should have been a simple game, yet there was more to it. In their own language, they made their pact, until, with a mischievous grin, he turned about the platform to display his hand. “I win.”

He did, in more ways than one.

Just then, the butler rolled the tea trolley into the dining room.

“Ah, the dessert arrives.” Papa clapped twice and stood. “Serve Lord Rockingham and Lady Arabella, first. And I will have a brandy.”

“Yes, my lord.” The butler set two glasses of syllabub and a plate of almond shortbread on the table.

“Feel free to dunk the shortbread in the syllabub.” To set an example, and put Anthony at ease, Arabella did as she bade him. “It is delicious, is it not?”

“Indeed.” When he leaned forward, she mimicked his movement. “But I prefer your sweet lips. Ah, you blush, and I adore that about you. Perhaps, now, you might tell me why your father stares at me as if I am a loose munition about to explode.”

“My lord, you seek to shock me with your bold statements, when I invited you here to show my parents that you are not mad, so please behave.” He halted mid-chew, and she gulped. “I do not mean to offend you, but should His Grace enact his dubious scheme, we may need my parents’ support. Given His Grace told my father that you are mentally unsound, I must prove otherwise. They must see for themselves that you are no different than anyone else.”

“And here I thought it was my estimable company you desired.” The frown returned, and she bit her tongue, because she did not want to hurt him. “You should have told me I was to perform, tonight. Pray, how am I to acquit myself, Lady Arabella?”

“Act natural, and do not be vexed, my lord.” She set down a piece of shortbread and reached across the table. To her relief, Anthony touched his fingers to hers. “Just be yourself, because your inclinations always do you credit, and we do this to ensure our future.”

“I can manage that, and you are wise beyond your years.” His professed confidence did not fool her for a second, given his pained countenance, and she longed to hug him. “But I submit this would be unnecessary if I still had my other arm. No one would question me. No one would view me as unfit, in any capacity. But because I am less than a man, I must be mad.”

“My lord, you must stop looking to the past, because your history is written and cannot be changed, but that does not mean that your destiny is set in stone and you are done on this earth.” Arabella chose her words carefully, because she honestly believed Anthony underestimated himself. “There is more to you than a single limb, and I would caution you not to define yourself by what you lack, because you are a better man than you realize. You need only stop looking over your shoulder and turn your eyes to the present and what looms on the horizon, to grasp the reins and charge forth.”

“You expect me to forget what I was once, because you flatter me?” His scowl indicated she angered him, when that was not her aim, so she sought to soften her response, at the first opportunity. “I am to ignore the life I enjoyed before the war?”

“My lord, you mistake me, given I suggested no such thing.” She quieted and smiled, when her father peered in her direction. For Anthony’s sake, they had to maintain the image of a normal, happy couple. “Please, I would not set myself at odds with you, when I am not the enemy. If we are to defeat His Grace, we must combine our efforts. As a partner, you should know that I would never stop fighting for you, should His Grace take you from me. Regardless of what he promises, no fortune, townhouse, or rank will sway me from my purpose, which is to defend my husband and the family we create.”

Again, he held her stare, and she could almost sense him tugging at her. Indeed, he wanted to hold her as she yearned to hold him.

“Formidable.” Narrowing his gaze, he shook his head. “You are formidable, Lady Arabella. If only we had your fortitude in France, we might have been home much sooner.”

“Do you mock me?” She was more