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

wide. Anthony drew Arabella across the threshold and strode straight to their inner bedchamber. The escort secured the door behind them.

“All right, what was that?” He narrowed his gaze, and she lifted her head and grinned. “You have never been given to such torrents of emotion, even when baited, and I should know. You are uncommonly calm under pressure, which is one of the many positive traits that draws me to you. Are you genuinely out of sorts, or is there another method to your madness?”

“Well, you appeared on the verge of an apoplectic fit, which I feared might lend credence to Dr. Shaw’s assertion that you are unfit for your rank. I would not have him use your reaction to bolster his claims against your sanity.” She furrowed her brow. “I had to do something, and hysteria proved the only weapon at my disposal. While I thought it a successful diversion, I apologize if I caused you distress, because that was not my aim.”

“You are a remarkable woman, Lady Rockingham.” Moved beyond words by her desire to protect him, he could have wept in gratitude. Instead, in a single swift sweep of his arm, he wound his fingers in the hair at her nape and pulled her near. Then he covered her mouth with his and kissed her hard and fast.

A knock at the door could not have come at a more inopportune moment.

Cursing audibly this time, he lifted his head and shouted, “Come.”

Emily, the awkward maid, peered around the edge of the oak panel. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but Dr. Shaw ordered a bath for her ladyship. Since Lady Rockingham did not wash before your meeting with Dr. Shaw, I had water boiled, to service her ladyship without delay. Shall we set up the tub in the wash area?”

“Yes, of course. And that was very thoughtful of you, Emily.” Anthony made no attempt to disguise the fact that he had been kissing his bride, because he bloody well enjoyed himself, and he loved the charming flush of Arabella’s cheeks. He tugged her to one side, so the footmen could carry in buckets of steaming water. “Take your time and have a relaxing soak.”

“What will you do, in the meantime?” she asked in a whisper. “Do you need my help formulating a plan?”

“Shh.” He pressed a finger to her lips. “We will discuss it, later. Now, I will await your arrival in our sitting room, whereupon I shall take my turn and bathe, but do not hurry on my account.”

“All right.” Perched on tiptoes, she favored him with a feathery kiss. “I promise, I will not linger too long.”

The look she gave him almost took him to his knees, and he cleared his throat.

The footmen exited the inner chamber, and he followed in their wake. When they marched across the sitting room and into the hall, Anthony eased into an overstuffed chair near the windows. In light of recent revelations, he realized he could not appeal to the earl of Ainsworth for assistance. Liberty would have to be secured elsewhere.

*

The mantel clock signaled the late hour, and Arabella stretched long and yawned. In the world beyond the windows, the sun had long since set, and she pondered ringing for Emily, but something odd left her rooted in place. Reclining on the chaise, and holding a book in her lap, she pretended to read. Pretended because she could not settle her thoughts. Instead, she studied her confusing husband.

For some reason she could not fathom, her once amiable and flirtatious spouse had become sullen and despondent. He barely said a word over dinner, despite her numerous attempts to discuss their situation. Yes, the conversation with Dr. Shaw did not yield the hoped-for results, because they remained where they started—in captivity. But she thought they would form a new plan, together.

“Shall I have the dishes cleared?” She sat upright. “Would you like more wine? I can refill your glass. Or I can pour you a brandy.”

“Brandy, please.” He nodded once and said naught more.

With a sigh, she scooted forward and dropped her feet to the floor. Standing, she rubbed the small of her back with her knuckles and walked to the tallboy. Reaching to the left, she yanked the bell pull. Then she lifted the heavy decanter and filled a crystal balloon with the amber liquor, which she delivered to her husband.

“What is wrong?” She perched on an ottoman near the chair he occupied, so he could not ignore her. “Aside from the obvious. You’ve hardly spoken to me. Have I done something wrong?”

“No.” He took a healthy gulp and frowned. “But I am at a loss to discern a way out of this mess. I had thought we could rely on your father for assistance. In truth, we need his support. His complicity makes our predicament more dire.”

“Well, I cannot argue with you there, because I never would have imagined Papa could betray me, but why should his involvement make our situation worse?” Cocking her head, she half chuckled. “Things are pretty bad, already, I suppose.”

“My father can do with me as he wants. I am not concerned for myself, because I am not afraid of him or his doctor.” Anthony compressed his lips and met her gaze, and the despondence she spied well-nigh punched her in the gut. “But your fate I cannot begin to contemplate without profound reservations.”

“Fret not for me, because Dr. Shaw made it clear that I am to be returned to London.” Yet, something dark and ominous stirred within her as she uttered the statement, and nagging doubts crept to the fore of her brain. He was right to worry. A light rap of the door signaled the maid’s arrival, and Arabella whispered, “We will continue this discussion, later.” Then she stated, “Come.”

“Good evening, my lord and my lady.” Emily curtseyed and approached. “Should I have the footmen remove the dishes?”

“Please, do so.” Arabella dipped her chin and stood. “And I should dress for