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

cannot subsist on that, soldier.” The infantryman grinned. “Besides, I have more than enough to satisfy me.”

Henry and Thomas followed suit.

Their generosity touched him more than he could say.

“Gentlemen, I will never forget your kindness.” His mouth watered, as he claimed a warm morsel. “When we are liberated, I shall see you rewarded for your benevolence.”

“No reward necessary, major.” Henry dipped his chin and compressed his lips. “We are all but marking time, and we support you. Never doubt that.”

In silence, Anthony inhaled the scant portion and gulped the water. With his finger, he caught every crumb, yet his belly grumbled. He developed a newfound respect for cooks and vowed to pay his chef double the usual salary upon his return to London. As he pushed aside the empty tray, the guards reappeared.

While two attendants collected the dishes, two additional keepers made straight for Anthony. He sat poised and sedate to meet his fate. The schedule remained the same, and he admired the rolling hills and lush greenery while an escort removed the shackle.

“Come along, Rockingham.” With customary benignity, the scoundrel grabbed Anthony by the back of his gown and threw him to the floor. When he didn’t move fast enough, the guard kicked Anthony in the arse. “Get a move on, fancy pants. I haven’t all day, and Dr. Shaw awaits your presence.”

So many recriminations danced at the tip of Anthony’s tongue, but he said nothing. Instead, he tucked his legs beneath him and scrambled to his feet. Thomas met Anthony’s gaze, and he cast a warning glance, but Charles shuffled to the end of his mattress.

“Now, see here.” The infantryman frowned and pointed for emphasis. “Your methods are cruel, and Lord Rockingham should be shown the deference owed to a member of the aristocracy.”

“Aw, what have we here?” The beast struck Charles across the face. “I will be sure to tell Dr. Shaw how Lord Rockingham has incited rebellion in our ranks. You just earned your friend additional therapy.”

How Anthony longed to protest, but he knew he would only make the situation worse. Anxiety wrapped like a vise about his throat, and he concentrated his attention on the dirty floor. He imagined strange shapes transforming into various depictions of his bride and clung to her likeness.

The usual combatants surfaced, crouching in dark spaces, waiting to pounce. The drummer’s rat-a-tat-tat played in rhythm with his pulse, and he ached to scream and run amok, but Arabella anchored him to reality. When the cannons fired, he flinched, but he blinked and centered her image, a cherished reverie, before him.

From the moment he met her, he thought her the handsomest woman of his acquaintance. And the most talkative. He adored her sweet nose and her impish grin. The little pink tongue he loved to suckle. Her heart-shaped face and her patrician features any debutante would kill to possess. But her best quality was that which he could not see. It was her capacity for compassion.

Anthony tripped, and a blackguard smacked the back of his head.

“Watch your step, fancy pants.”

At the door to Shaw’s office, the larger brute pounded on the oak panel, before pushing it open and shoving Anthony over the threshold. Perched behind his desk, Shaw smiled his sickening smile, and Anthony braced himself to endure another session of treatment in the form of unmitigated violence.

“Lord Rockingham, my favorite prize. We have no one with such estimable lineage in our facility, so I consider you my most valuable patient.” With a sneer, Shaw closed a ledger and rested his hands atop the blotter. He appeared calm. Too calm. “Please, have a seat.”

The room, decorated in various shades of blue, with mahogany accents and an ever-present hint of cigar smoke, struck Anthony as far too refined for its occupant, given what often occurred there. Without complaint or comment, he plopped into one of the Hepplewhite chairs.

“What, nothing to say, today?” Of course, Anthony wouldn’t reply, because whatever he might have said would have only garnered him more pain. Shaw laughed and drew a book from a drawer. He flipped through the pages and furrowed his brow. “I thought we might work on your attitude, because you cannot improve until you accept that you are very ill. You do understand that, do you not? That battle has perverted your character and damaged your sanity?” When Anthony refused to respond, Shaw pounded a fist to the desktop. “Answer me.”

“No, I do not accept your assessment of my mental health.” Given Arabella’s counsel, and Larrey’s work, Anthony knew there was naught wrong with him. He inhaled a deep breath and repeated a single phrase in his mind: I am not alone.

“Your continued refusal to acknowledge your infirmity validates my conclusion and your need of further treatment, as I recommend. I shall compose a letter to the duke, informing him of your deteriorating condition and ongoing descent into madness.” Shaw snatched his pen from the inkwell and scribbled on a piece of parchment. “By the by, you should know we recovered Lady Rockingham, along with the maid, Emily, and Lord Beaulieu.”

“That is not possible.” Anthony’s hand shook, and a chill slithered down his spine. His heart raced, and his nerves tightened. “You lie.”

“Ah, now I have your attention.” Shaw leveled his gaze, pinning Anthony on the spot. “But it is true. My men ran them aground, just outside the London environs, and Lady Rockingham again resides at Sanderstead, under my supervision.”

“And what of Beaulieu and the servant?” Anthony swallowed hard. “What have you done with them?”

“Why, I have done nothing to them, Lord Rockingham.” Shaw inclined his head. “I have no intentions of harming your allies, unless you refuse to cooperate. Don’t you want to get well? Don’t you want to return to your home and your position in society?”

“I think we both know that will never happen, if you have your way.” Anthony shifted his weight and ordered his thoughts. “You are not interested in helping me, or anyone, for that matter. You want