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

“Darling, consider our child.” Anthony tugged a single grape from the bunch, bit off half and fed her the rest. “I will write to Beaulieu and have him gather the Mad Matchmakers. If necessary, we make our stand for freedom, in Weybridge.”

Chapter Fifteen

The prospect of failure had a way of forcing a man to face his own mortality, to confront past regrets. To ponder his priorities and rank each item according to that without which he could not live, emphasizing the importance of family and love. Ah, love. It posited a curious emotion, two-fold in its power, manifesting unfathomable strength and incapacitating weakness at the same time.

At war, he knew no such impediments, because he had no wife or child. No rosy future of which to dream. Unencumbered by husbandly responsibilities, he charged the field, indifferent to the potential consequences. Never considering the cost. Unafraid of death. Death. A prospect he defied countless times. But all that changed, because Arabella’s demise he could not begin to contemplate. To succeed in making his escape and ensuring Arabella and his babe’s safety, Anthony held tight to the strength. Coveted it. Let it bolster his courage as they prepared to flee Sanderstead.

“She is late.” His bride, bedecked in a traveling gown of lavender wool, sat on the sofa. She slapped her thighs twice and stood. Before the hearth, she paced. Then she walked to the windows and gazed at the night sky. She stopped and hugged herself. “What if something happened? What if Shaw discovered our plan? What if—”

“What if you take your ease in my lap and calm your nerves? We will be much more comfortable, together.” He told himself she worried for naught, and Emily would be along, soon. They just had to be patient, although patience was a scarce commodity, at the moment. “Perhaps a sip of brandy will help?”

“It burns my nose.” She wrinkled her adorable appendage, and he chuckled. He needed a distraction, and she always proved most capable at diverting his torments. “But I will take you up on your first offer, because if we delay much longer, I shall scream.”

He understood the anxiety. The bone-gnawing agitation ever present. Like an old friend, the battlefield reflections flashed before him, and he closed his eyes against the barbarity. The blood. The bodies.

“Well, that will certainly garner unwanted attention.” He patted his leg, and she stepped about his knees and complied with his suggestion. Soft and feminine, she was his balm. His sanctuary. His voice of reason amid the chaos that loomed in the fringes of his mind. Watching. Waiting for a moment of vulnerability to strike. “I just wish we heard something from Beaulieu. Of course, he may not have been able to send word.”

“Emily said Mr. Parker assured her that he gave the letter into Beaulieu’s hand, so we must believe the Mad Matchmakers ride for Weybridge, as we speak. They will not disappoint us. They will be there.” How he envied her faith. Unshakeable. She rested her head to his shoulder and sighed. “Anthony, I’m frightened.”

“As am I, darling.” He gave her a gentle nudge and kissed her forehead. “But we must have courage. At the very least, Beaulieu knows our location and the details of our imprisonment. While I wish we had time to formulate a more reliable stratagem, wherein my friends could ride to our rescue, here, I suspect we would be grossly outnumbered, and Shaw would hold the advantage. With no reinforcements, it is likely our little rebellion would fail, so we stick with our plan.”

“I know, but—oh, where is she?” Arabella bit the fleshy base of her thumb. “Talk to me. Tell me something. Anything to divert me, I beg you.”

“As you wish.” He glanced at the book that occupied most of their days. “Did you know Larrey saved General Blücher’s son, after he was taken prisoner by the French, near Dresden?”

“Indeed?” She pressed her lips to his neck, and his senses awakened.

“Aye.” He set his crystal brandy balloon on the side table and cupped her bottom. “At Waterloo, Wellington ordered our men not to fire on Larrey, because of the uncommon bravery he showed as he treated the wounded. Later, the Prussians captured him near the border, and they wanted to execute him, but a German doctor recognized Larrey. Blücher invited Larrey to dinner, gave him money, and released him.”

“The man sounds too good to be true, does he not?” She ran her tongue along his jawline, and every fiber of his being honed in on her.

“He is a genuine humanitarian.” Anthony caressed the crest of her ear with the tip of his nose, and she shivered. “When I found the book, I was prepared to dismiss Larrey’s conclusions, because of his nationality. Given what I’ve read, I could not have been more wrong.”

“What matters is that you know you are not infirm.” She placed a series of feathery kisses along the curve of his cheek, until she hovered within striking distance. “You may be different, but you are the best of men.”

With that, she claimed his mouth in a searing affirmation of her desire. She pressed on him sweet caresses and whispered words of encouragement. She told him what he did to her. How he made her feel, and he reveled in every moment of it. Delighted in her show of passion, leaving him in no doubt of her ardent admiration.

Until they were rudely interrupted.

The wrought iron bolt clicked, and they parted. The hinges creaked, as Emily pushed open the door. With care, she secured the heavy oak panel and tiptoed into the sitting room.

“Your lordships, we must go, now, without delay.” The maid waved at them. “The house is abed, and Fergus sleeps.”

“You do not think we will rouse him?” Anthony asked, as he stood, carrying Arabella with him. Every nerve charged with palpable agitation, and his muscles tensed. “What if he wakes and shouts an alarm?”

“I doubt it, my lord.” Emily grinned. “I