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

to rail at the injustice of his imprisonment, Anthony mustered an air of unimpaired aplomb, but anger simmered just below the surface. “What brings you to Sussex?”

“I came to apologize.” With an expression of contrition, the once mighty duke appeared a mere shadow of his former self. A pale complexion emphasized dark circles beneath his eyes, and he had lost weight. When he sat before Anthony’s desk, he fidgeted and adjusted the hem of his sleeve. “But my intentions were honorable. I only wanted to help you, and what is my reward? I have lost my duchess and my closest friend.”

“You think yourself deserving of recompense for almost getting Anthony killed? The only reason he survived is because I challenged you.” Arabella clenched a fist, and never was a husband prouder of his bride. He would express his appreciation of her defense, later. “If it is a reward you seek, I shall be too happy to give you—”

“It is all right, darling.” Biting his tongue against laughter, because he could only imagine what his fiery hellion might say next, Anthony stretched upright, and she quieted. Oh, he would put all that energy to use, that afternoon. Then he gave his attention to his father. “I have no business interfering in your quarrel with Lord Ainsworth, so I advise you to take it up with him. As for my mother, she is here at my invitation, visiting her grandson.”

“A right I am owed but denied.” Father sniffed. “Am I to be forever punished for a minor mistake?”

“A minor mistake?” Arabella shot from her chair. Just as quick, Anthony tugged her skirt, and she reclaimed her seat. “The only thing we owe you is a sound horse whipping and a swift kick in the arse.”

The Mad Matchmakers chuckled in concert.

Fighting for control of his emotions, Anthony remained stock-still. After a moment of reflection, during which he carefully considered his words, he inhaled a deep, calming breath.

“You know what you did, and it was rather more than you imply.” A series of brutal images flashed before him, and he reached for his wife. At once, she twined her fingers in his. “However, the birth of my heir softens my position in your favor, and I am prepared to be charitable where you are concerned, although I am not certain you deserve such consideration.”

“Anthony, as God is my witness, I thought I was doing right by you.” Father splayed his arms in contrition. “I was led to believe you would receive proper care and treatment. Never did I suspect nefarious motives, else I never would have placed you in the asylum. Please, forgive me.”

Silence blanketed the room, and he mulled his father’s request. The hurt and the pain of the previous summer resurfaced, and he closed his eyes against the vivid memories. The bugle sounded, horse’s hooves thundered, and Napoleon’s men charged, executing a perfect flanking manoeuvre sur derri res, Boney’s favorite tactic.

Arabella caressed his hand.

In an instant, his wife’s face, and that of his newborn son, came to him. Their smiles, their joy trounced the angst, brushing aside the agony. It was then he realized he had to forgive his father or risk forever being tied to the horrors of his past. He shook himself alert.

“You wish to see your grandson. A reasonable request I am inclined to allow. You may even speak with Mama, provided she is amenable.” Anthony pointed for emphasis. “But I will have you thrown out of this house, head over heels, if you upset her. Is that clear?”

“Yes.” Father slumped forward.

“And I would have your word, as a gentleman, that you will make no attempt to take custody of my son.” Anthony pounded his fist on the desk. “On that I will not relent, and you may leave, at once.”

“I say, that is wholly unfair, and I am offended by the mere suggestion.” Father thrust his chin and glanced at Arabella. Beneath her scowl, the duke shrank. “Be that as it may, know that you have my word, as a gentleman, I will not infringe upon your duties as primary caregiver for your heir, in any capacity.”

In rigid motion, which underscored her displeasure with his actions, Arabella reached behind her and tugged the bellpull. When the butler appeared, she huffed. “Merriweather, show His Grace to the nursery.”

The butler bowed. “This way, Your Grace.”

When Father stood, Arabella snapped her fingers, and the Mad Matchmakers surrounded the duke. Anthony narrowed his stare and studied his beloved bride.

“Is this necessary?” Father asked with more than a little incredulity.

“It is if you wish to see my son.” She folded her arms, and how he loved her stubborn streak. Anthony would put that to good use, too. “Lord Rockingham may forgive you, but he is a better man than most. I, on the other hand, know no such affinity.” To Beaulieu, she said, “If His Grace makes one false move, shoot him.”

“Aye, Lady Rockingham.” Beaulieu clicked his heels and saluted. Then he gave the duke a none-too-gentle shove. “Move, Your Grace.”

The awkward party departed, with Arabella trailing in their footsteps. At the door, she secured the oak panel and set the latch. A particularly protuberant part of his anatomy roused to attention, especially when she turned and bit her bottom lip.

“Are you vexed with me?” Ah, she deployed the charming pout he could never resist. When he slapped his thigh, she walked to him. After stepping about his knees, she eased to his lap and rested her head to his chest. “I’m sorry, my love, but I may never forgive your father.”

“It is all right, sweetheart. Your loyalty does you great credit.” With his nose, he gave her a gentle nudge. To his delight, she threw her arms about his shoulders and claimed his mouth with her usual fervor. After a few groping, heated, achingly desperate minutes, he broke their kiss. “I needed that.”

“Oh?” She nipped his chin and wiggled her bottom. “I never would have guessed.”

“You tempt me, Lady Rockingham.” Anthony pressed