The Accidental Duke (The Mad Matchmaking Men of Waterloo Book 1) by Devlin, Barbara (the best electronic book reader .txt) 📗

is not mad. He is simply misunderstood, and if anyone tries to harm Lord Rockingham, there will be quite the wake in this house.”

“Of that I have no doubt, but I would wager on you, every day of the sennight and twice on Sunday, and I am with you, come what may. Remember, together we are invincible, and I am always in your corner. Woe the poor soul that challenges us.” Patience laughed and then sobered. “Oh, dear. I believe you are summoned.”

Trailing her friend’s gaze, Arabella discovered Anthony looming in the hall, just beyond the doorway. The raw terror in his eyes provoked an intense desire to protect him, and she acknowledged him with a surreptitious nod, checking to ensure no one else noted his presence, before he turned and trod toward the study.

“Walk with me.” Adopting an air of calm, Arabella moved with purpose. “And follow my lead.”

Strolling at a relaxed pace, with nary a hint of urgency, Arabella and Patience embarked on a well-played ruse, as if they shared the enthusiasm in regard to the forthcoming marriage.

“You know, I find it remarkable that you resist the union with Lord Rockingham, because you are always so quick to identify adventitious circumstances, which is one of the many reasons I hold you in high regard,” Patience declared studiously and waved a greeting to Lady Breckham. “Hear me, my friend. If you employ the common sense for which you are renowned, you will admit he is your perfect match, because he already relies on your strength. The balance of power in your relationship shifts in your favor, which is what you have always wanted, is it not?”

Arabella came to a halt and then resumed her tour about the room.

“I never thought of it like that.” Mulling the prospects, which had eluded her to that point, Arabella approached the entry, with a new attitude, and stopped. “But you make an excellent argument, as always. How could I not have seen the obvious?”

“You are too close to the situation, and you fail to recognize he is just the mate for you, given you must marry.” Patience gave her attention to the guests, as Arabella occupied a position behind her friend. “Go, now.”

As Arabella crossed the foyer, a booming crescendo of laughter echoed from the dining room, where the men remained, and she jumped. In seconds, she navigated the corridor that led to Papa’s study. At the door, she glanced left and then right before entering the dimly lit chamber.

A fire in the hearth bathed the relatively small space in a soft saffron glow, and she secured the oak panel and set the bolt. Slumped forward, cradling his face in his hand, Anthony emitted a groan, and she rushed to provide aid.

“My lord, what is wrong?” Framing his jaw, she lifted his head, and a tear streamed down his cheek. “Oh, Anthony, it is all right. I’m here.”

“Help me. Make it stop.” He winced and jolted her. “The cannons—we are too close. Too close.”

He revisited the battlefield.

“No, my lord, we are not too close.” With her thumbs, she caressed his heated flesh, and she recounted Dr. Larrey’s counsel. “You are with me, in London, and you are safe. Do you hear me?” Pinning him with her gaze, she swallowed hard. “It is Arabella, and you are unharmed, because there are no cannons here.”

“But I heard them.” Closing his eyes, he shivered. “Even now, the piercing salvo echoes in my ears.”

“No, my lord. You are mistaken.” Her mind raced, as she sifted through the knowledge from Larrey’s book, until it dawned on her what may have instigated her fiancé’s unrest. “Look at me, Anthony. It was the champagne bottle and naught more. I swear, there are no guns in this house.”

In a flash, he growled and charged, pushing her against the wall, grinding his hips to hers, and then he grabbed her at the nape of the neck and covered her mouth with his. Frenzied at the onset, he besieged her flesh in a punishing slip and slide that stole the breath from her lungs as she tried to keep pace.

Thus was Arabella’s first kiss.

On the heels of the deed, the sensations, so many, lured her into the mesmerizing storm, and she plummeted, headlong, to her fate. Delicious heat seared her veins, and a deep-seated hunger unfurled in the pit of her belly, beckoning her to answer his call. A shiver of excitement sashayed over her flesh, suffused her nerves, and pulsed in her heart. When he plunged his tongue into her mouth, she welcomed the tender invasion and mimicked his movements, as she dug her fingernails into his shoulders.

Slowly, the tension eased, and he loosened his grip. To her shock, he skimmed her back and drew her from the wall. With his one arm, he hugged her about the waist. Angling his head, his ensuing exchange enticed her with his characteristic gentle tenor.

A thousand times more provocative than the prior clumsy, groping, urgent experience, he seduced her with playful nips and suckles that nurtured and intensified her appetite. In those treasured moments, she realized she was seeing him, the true Anthony, for the first time, and she yielded, of her own free will, to her scarred hero. Just as she gained her feet, everything halted.

Then he ended the tryst and retreated.

For a few minutes, they simply stood there and stared at each other, and she ached to hold him.

“I have taken liberties.” Grazing her bottom lip with his thumb, he sighed. “I apologize, Arabella, and I promise it will not happen again.”

“Don’t bother.” She closed the distance and perched on tiptoes. Winding her arms about his neck, she kissed him with all she had and for all she was worth.

Chapter Four

A ray of sunlight cut a path across the Aubusson rug as Anthony lounged in his sitting room, mulling the events of the previous night. On the mantel, the clock counted the minutes with a repetitive tick-tock, and