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

she embraced him, stroking his back until the passionate storm passed, and he turned his head to press his lips to hers.

“My darling, I am home, at last.” He rubbed the tip of his nose to hers. “Because, when we are one, this is home, and I love you.”

“If that is how you feel, why have you ignored me?” A single tear streamed her temple, and he realized he had work to do, to restore his lady’s faith. “Don’t you understand that I need you? That I love you, too? And it hurts me when you exclude me from your life. Indeed, I cannot bear it, given the pain is such that I falter beneath the burden of my loneliness.”

“Sweetheart, that was never my intent.” With a sigh, he withdrew from her, fluffed a pillow, and reclined. As before, she sidled next to him, and he rested his palm to her hip. “Rather, I hoped to spare you the details of my brief imprisonment. It is difficult to explain, but they treated me less than a man and more like an animal, and it was humiliating. But I would have you know that I survived because of you.”

“Oh?” With a finger, she toyed with the hair on his chest. “How so?”

“When I arrived at the asylum, they chained me to a bed and beat me.” Recalling the horrible night, when he feared he might never see her again, he shuddered, and she kissed him. “And that is what helped me endure. To escape the pain, I conjured visions of you, of your tempting lips, of your glorious face, of your warm embrace, and of your affirmations, in the most grievous situations. No matter how hard they tried, they could not touch me. So, you did not fail me, because regardless of their ruthless endeavors to break me, in my darkest moments, when I needed you most, you were there, and you saved me.”

In her continued silence, he sensed a request, and he submitted to his wife’s unspoken demand.

For the next hour, he detailed the length of his confinement, omitting nothing, however seemingly insignificant, and Arabella cried for him, as he expected and once thought to avoid. Incomparably strong, his lady stood for him, and in her tears he found something powerful and curative. She wept for them, both. And in her tender expression, he found restorative healing and peaceful calm.

“You know, on more than one occasion, I have declared you the bravest man of my acquaintance, because you survived what no man should have had to endure.” Dragging the backs of her knuckles across her face, she sat upright. “But that description does not do justice to your character, and words are grossly inadequate to convey the depth of my sincere admiration, so I am left to find some way to pay tribute to your remarkable courage.”

“Am I that worthy?” With his hand, he caressed her breast, and she sighed and favored him with her singular shy smile. “Are you not recompense enough for my travails, because I consider myself a most fortunate man, to be Lady Arabella’s husband?”

“I thought I was Lord Anthony’s wife.” She bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes, when he flicked a taut nipple with his thumb. “And I am content to exist as such.”

“But you are so much more, Arabella.” When she brushed aside the sheet and straddled his hips, he groaned and relaxed atop the down mattress. Sighing in unutterable contentment, he admired the subtle bounce of her breasts as she moved on him. “While I never lived for anyone or anything, I live for you and our babe. Indeed, you are everything, and I should declare my appreciation, that you may never doubt my devotion.”

“My lord, that is lovely, and I should be delighted to hear it, in the morning, but no more talking, for now.” As she rocked her hips, she closed her eyes, dropped back her head, and gave vent to a soft moan. “I wish to make love to my man.”

*

Humming her customary flirty little ditty, Arabella strolled down the hall and walked straight into the study, where Anthony, fully recovered from the ghastly confinement at the asylum, held court with the Mad Matchmakers, while they plotted their next successful, if less than elegant, courtship. While he included her in every aspect of his business, she preferred to forgo the meetings with his friends, which often devolved into boisterous, altogether humorous discussions unfit for a lady of character.

“Ah, there is my beautiful bride.” Anthony’s expression lit up, as it always did when he met her gaze, and he his patted his thigh. “Join us, my darling, because we decide which of my fellow soldiers should benefit from our matchmaking skills, and I would have your input.”

“Must we choose now?” Beaulieu crossed and then uncrossed his legs, in unveiled discomfort, and she bit her tongue against laughter. “Can we not wait, and just see what develops?”

“I, for one, volunteer.” Lord Michael perched on the edge of his seat. “Because I am more than ready to marry and start a family.”

“I second Lord Michael as our next groom, because you need not put yourself out on my account, given I have no intention of taking a wife.” Warrington folded his arms in unmasked disdain, which did not quite convince her of his position. “I am here for moral support and to provide assistance, as needed, but naught more.”

“And I am not sure I am meant for that sort of happiness.” Greyson rubbed his chin. “Indeed, I am not half so confident as the rest of you, so we may begin with Lord Michael, because he is amenable, and we have much to learn of the shark infested waters known as courtship.”

“I concur.” Beaulieu nodded, yet Arabella reflected on her husband’s half-smile. Something in his expression gave her pause. Indeed, Anthony had other plans, and he flicked his fingers in a telltale sign of unrest. She would give anything to know