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

Chapter Twelve

The expensive wall coverings stretched and swirled, manifesting a series of unforgiving spiderweb traps, and his throat constricted. Aubusson rugs shifted and lifted from the floors, forming ghostly figures, emitting a morose cacophony of hideous wails, and his insides tightened. Random trinkets and vases sprang to life, dancing a provoking jig, and he clenched his gut. From the shadows emerged imaginary combatants, the devil’s army, to taunt Anthony as he navigated the maze of hallways, and he tensed his muscles. Doorway after doorway sank into a dark vortex, locking him in his own private hell, daring him to plunge into the abyss. To yield to the fright. To lose himself.

It was all in his mind.

Shaking himself alert, he reminded himself that the haunting visions were just that—visions.

They did not exist.

They could not hurt him.

Focused on the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, he descended the stairs. He sought solace in the constant tick-tock of the long case clock in the foyer, letting it guide him like a beacon to a place where safety and sanity dwelled, and slowly he emerged from the mental fog. Yet, hope for liberty diminished with each step, because he could not elude reality, and it was all he could manage to put one foot in front of the other, tramping to his doom.

With the burly escorts at either side, he clutched Arabella’s hand and tried to ignore the usual inclinations. To panic. To shout a warning. But a warning of—what? A drop of perspiration traced a path down his temple, offering a mild distraction from the stress wreaking havoc within him, and he reminded himself to breathe. How he longed to scream in terror. To run from the house and never look back.

But Anthony would not abandon his bride.

Every seemingly innocuous piece of furniture morphed into an enemy soldier, advancing on his position, and his anxiety grew to epic heights. In his mind, duty waged war with fear, and fear seized the lead. Gasping for air, he craned his neck against his cravat and tripped.

“My lord, I apologize for trampling your foot.” Of course, she did no such thing. Searching his eyes, no doubt seeing more than he wished to reveal, as was her way, Arabella grabbed his arm and then frowned. “In the future, I will take greater care to watch where I am going, so I do not injure you, but you knew I was clumsy when you married me.”

“No apologies necessary, my lady.” In the bright sunshine of her smile, he grinned and broke free of the illusive torment. “I believe I almost sent you for a tumble, after catching the toe of my boot on the rug.”

“Then we are a fine pair.” She giggled, but her attempt at levity didn’t fool him. He detected the lines of strain at the corners of her mouth and the firm set of her jaw that belied her poised demeanor. She worried, too, and the knowledge only intensified his concern.

Together, they strolled into the drawing room, where Dr. Shaw loomed as a specter of doom before the hearth. “Ah, you are arrived.” With brittle cordiality, Shaw extended an arm. “Please, be seated.”

Anthony showed Arabella to an overstuffed chair, and he stood as sentry to her left. Simmering with unchecked agitation and ire, he longed to decry the unfairness of his predicament, but he recalled Dr. Handley’s advice and tamped his temper. He would give Shaw no reason to define him as mad. “I hope that now you will relate the details of our captivity, including the duration and scope of our stay, because we are eager to return to London and begin our married life.”

“Indeed, we did not anticipate an impromptu visit to Surrey as part of our honeymoon, and I have previous engagements I must keep.” Arabella folded her hands in her lap and inclined her head. “If I am to be inconvenienced, I should like to let my parents know of my whereabouts, else they will worry. I would allay their apprehension surrounding my unexplained absence.”

“Lady Rockingham, there is no cause for concern.” Shaw cast a brittle countenance laced with unveiled contempt. “It is my understanding that the Duke of Swanborough has apprised Lord and Lady Ainsworth of his plan and secured their agreement, so your alarm is unwarranted.”

“W-what?” Her voice quivered, and Anthony rested his palm to her shoulder. She took a deep breath as she composed herself. “You mean my mother and father knew of the duke’s intentions, including my imprisonment, prior to my wedding?”

“Indeed,” Shaw replied with an air of superiority. “We all discussed it.”

“I-I don’t believe you.” She half-whimpered and clenched a fist. “My parents would never support such nefarious enterprises, and I will not permit you to slander them in this fashion. My parents love me. They would not allow you to hold me against my will, so you must lie, sir.”

“I can assure you, Lady Rockingham, that I act with the Earl of Ainsworth’s blessing.” With unveiled indifference and callous disregard for Arabella’s feelings, Shaw assessed his fingernails and smirked. “As a matter of fact, the earl attended the last meeting with the Duke of Swanborough, shortly before your nuptials, wherein we finalized the details of Lord Rockingham’s convalescence. Of course, securing an heir is of utmost importance, in the event Lord Rockingham cannot be rehabilitated to the extent he can perform his duties.”

“What do you mean, ‘In the event Lord Rockingham cannot be rehabilitated’? When has Lord Rockingham failed in his responsibilities? I challenge you to name one instance.” Anthony adored her as she rose to his defense. “Who are you to judge anyone? What, exactly, are your credentials? And what authority do you possess to hold us, when we have committed no crime?”

How well he knew the expression on her face, because he’d spent months on the other side of it. The relentless bite of hurt. The unchecked ire. The