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

He suppressed a snort of laughter, because he would not stifle what he considered her healthy curiosity for anything in the world. “Does that bother you?”

“Who—me?” she inquired in an unusually high pitch. Never had he seen her so discomposed, and he liked it. “Oh, no. You are free to retire however you choose.” She bit her lower lip. “But, is it done? I mean, is it proper?”

“Probably not, but we won’t let that stop us, will we, darling?” Anthony waited with baited breath for her response.

“Us?” Her nervous titter did naught but increase his interest. Seducing his own wife presented heretofore uncharted territory he ached to explore at his leisure. “I never heard of such a thing. And I supposed we would occupy separate chambers, as is customary in most marriages.”

“Well, we can always store our personal belongings in our respective quarters, and you may birth our babes in your room.” Never had a woman in his company flushed beetroot red from top to toe, and he savored the moment and pondered his next move. “But you will spend your nights in my bed.”

“I will?” She gulped. “Am I to forgo clothing, too?”

“I hope so.” He waggled his brows. “Else I am not doing a proper job of seducing my wife.”

“And will you seduce me?” In the blink of an eye, she checked her demeanor but failed to conceal her interest. “I mean, when we consummate our vows?”

“I may do so before then.” He winked and relished the thrill of the chase. It had been a long time since he flirted with a woman, in pursuit of a singular delicious goal, and it was as if he reclaimed another part of his old self. “You know, it is possible to satisfy you without actually taking your maidenhead.”

“Really?” He didn’t know if it was his imagination or just wishful thinking, not that he cared, but she appeared enrapt by the suggestion. “How is that possible?” Just as quick, she flinched and bowed her head. “Never mind. Forget I asked, because such conduct is not permissible for a lady of character.”

“You little hypocrite.” He chuckled. “Admit it, you want to know what I can do for you. In fact, I will go a step further and assert you want me to pleasure you. Your inquisitive mind demands it. You want to know how it feels to soar beyond the earthly plane to the place where ecstasy prevails above all else.”

“I should summon Emily.” To his infinite disappointment, his suddenly reticent bride gave him her back. When she yanked on the bellpull, he realized he had erred in pressing his suit. “I’m sure Cook has our meal prepared, and I would like to break our fast while the food is still warm, if that is all right with you.”

“Arabella, wait.” Although she had already summoned the maid, he needed to apologize, because husbands did not proposition their wives like some dockside doxy or three-penny upright. “I apologize if I offended you, because that was not my intent.”

“No apology necessary, my lord.” Her downcast expression declared otherwise. “I assure you I am not offended. To be honest, I share your desire for intimacy, however inappropriate it might be for me to express it, aloud. Often, I have dreamed of such tantalizing assignations, wondering if I can fulfill your expectations. Given the books I have read, I understand how our bodies work to achieve the physical connection, but the emotional bond defies my attempts to study it. It is my greatest regret that our present circumstances prevent us from exploring our potential as a married couple, because I had such high hopes. However, I look forward to the day we are free to seal our vows and live as we choose.”

“Now, you shame me.” In a single sweep, he draped his robe about his shoulders. After fumbling with the belt, he secured the garment and stood. “Know this, my dear. You have my solemn promise that day will come, and we will spend the rest of our lives satisfying mutual desires.”

“You feel it, too?” She halted before the door to their sitting room. “You share my struggle?”

“Aye.” Clutching the soiled blanket, he walked to her. “More than you know.”

“Oh, Anthony.” To his surprise, she flung herself at him. With her arms wrapped about his waist, she rested her head to his chest. “I thought I suffered, alone. While I would not see you distressed, I am somewhat mollified by the revelation.”

“Misery loves company, sweet Arabella.” He kissed her hair. “While our situation is dire, all is not lost. We may yet defeat my father and Dr. Shaw. What we require is naught but unyielding discipline and a degree of intrepidity to survive.”

“And we must not allow them to separate us.” She lifted her chin and pressed her lips to his. “I will fight to my death before I surrender you to Shaw.”

“You are formidable, Lady Rockingham.” When she loosened her grip, he retreated a step. “The morning meal will soon arrive, and I should wash before I join you. Shall I bring your serviceable robe?”

“How very thoughtful of you, my lord.” With that, she curtseyed and strode into the sitting room.

In her absence, he strolled behind the small screen that shielded the bathing area. He dropped the blanket and lifted the pitcher on the washstand. After filling the basin, he scrubbed his face and brushed his teeth. From the closet, he retrieved his silk trousers and a clean shirt and dressed himself.

At the opposite side of the small enclosure, his wife’s items had been neatly folded and stacked on a bench. Wall pegs held her gowns and various accoutrements. When he located the item she required, he yanked the robe and knocked over some of her belongings. A stack of books tumbled to the floor, and he bent to retrieve them.

It was then a curious title snared his attention. Soldier’s Nostalgia and Other Battlefield Maladies, by Dominique Jean Larrey. He recognized the name of