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

“I thought so, when I arrived this evening, and I apologize for that.” Reaching for her, he toyed with her fingers. “But I am not so afraid, anymore. In fact, I believe we will be just fine.”

“How can you say that, when you know what His Grace intends?” Surreptitiously, she glanced at her parents, but they were diverted by their dessert. “Must confess the situation keeps me up at night, and I am consumed with your wellbeing.”

“Well, at least you are thinking of me, while you rest between the sheets.” Anthony waggled his brows. “There is that. But you need not worry, because I will speak with my father and sort out the matter.”

“How I wish I had known you, before the war.” Once again, the invisible but nonetheless potent connection drew her to him, and she studied his blue eyes, the clarity of which never failed to steal her breath. “When I am alone, I imagine such grandiose notions of you, not that you are any less a man, now, because I would argue quite the opposite. I think you brave and strong, every bit as formidable as you believe me.”

“Praise, indeed, my lady.” The mantel clock chimed the hour, and he pushed back his chair and stood. “It is late, and I should depart.”

“Must you?” She didn’t want him to leave. She wanted him with her, so she could protect him. “But you didn’t finish your syllabub, and you didn’t take a brandy with Papa.”

“I had quite enough, Lady Arabella.” To Mama and Papa, Anthony said, “Thank you, so much, for a lovely evening. Indeed, I cannot recall enjoying such a pleasurable meal and most excellent company.”

“We are honored you consented to join us.” Papa crossed the room and shook Anthony’s hand. “Your coach is parked at the curb, and I will see you to the door.”

“Oh, no, Papa.” Arabella shot to the fore. “Please, allow me to escort Lord Rockingham, given it is my duty.”

“I can deny you nothing, my dear child.” Papa chortled. “Perhaps, Lord Rockingham might accompany us to the Promenade, tomorrow.”

“What a wonderful idea.” Arabella bounced and peered at Anthony. “Say you will, my lord, else I shall be disappointed.”

“What man could resist such a request from his beautiful betrothed?” She gripped his arm, and he clucked his tongue. “Of course, I shall be too happy to escort Lady Arabella.”

“Then it is settled.” She drew Anthony into the hall. “I shall return in a moment, Papa.”

In the foyer, her fiancé glanced left and then right, before pulling her close. The kiss, hard and fast, did not appease her, and she held tight, while she made improper advances on his person. She didn’t think he would complain, given his encouragement.

When he ended the glorious tryst, she clung to him. Shaken and vulnerable, she held tight to the lapels of his coat and gasped for breath, as did he.

“You know, I am beginning to wonder why I ever objected to our marriage.” Anthony caressed her cheek with his thumb. “If I knew you could kiss like that, I should have insisted on hasty nuptials.”

“My lord, I am a woman of many talents.” She relaxed, when he claimed another kiss. “However, I never counted kissing among my abilities, due to my lack of experience, thus I wonder if it is to your expertise that you owe your thanks.”

“I would argue my partner makes the difference.” How his carefree demeanor worked on her, easing the tension of the evening, and she yielded to his infectious spirit. “Until tomorrow, lady mine.”

“I’m yours, my lord.” She opened the door. “Never forget that I am on your side, and we will triumph over His Grace.”

“My dear, I don’t want you to fret about my father.” Anthony tapped her nose. “Because I promise I will speak with him before our wedding, and resolve our differences, so everything will be perfect for our special day. You have my word.”

She perched on the first step, and he skipped to the sidewalk. “But, my lord—”

“It will be fine, my lady.” After saluting, he boarded his equipage, and she backed into the house.

While Arabella didn’t share Anthony’s optimism, she could only hope he was right.

Chapter Eight

It was late in the evening when Anthony walked into a private room at White’s, where the Mad Matchmakers, as Arabella called his friends, waited. On normal occasions, such as those moments when his father was not trying to commit Anthony to an asylum, the gathering often devolved into a ribald but harmless contest of recounted audacious seductions and exaggerated claims regarding the length and inventive use of their most prominent protuberance.

Not so that night, given his reason for summoning them.

As expected, his fellow wounded veterans did not disappoint him, and they lounged in a circle of high back chairs and quieted when he entered. The collective of quizzical expressions gave him pause, because he knew not where to begin his sad tale.

“Is it that bad?” Beaulieu inquired and shoved a crystal balloon of brandy into Anthony’s grasp. “You look like you could use a drink and, please, don’t tell me you changed your mind, and you intend to fight the marriage after all our hard work to secure Lady Arabella’s submission. I am not half so sure we can find another impressionable female to take you.”

“In all honesty, I am not sure Lady Arabella submits to anything or anyone.” Smiling, Anthony reflected on their heated exchange at her home, where she engaged him as an active participant in their games. “In fact, she is no follower, because she keeps pace with me, better than any woman of my acquaintance.”

“Oh, I say.” Greyson grimaced. “Not that I am shocked, but did we fail in our one and only attempt at making a match, when I thought it a triumph?”

“I told you we never should have got involved in the first place.” Warrington shook