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

his forehead. While she hated causing him unrest, he could not spend his life forever longing for his past self. He had to look to the future. “Please, ask anything of me, but do not ask this.”

“Trust me, you can do it, my darling.” Framing his face, she pressed her lips to his, ever so briefly. “Anthony, I know you are afraid. I do so wish you could see yourself as I see you, because you are the strongest, bravest man of my acquaintance, and I shall go to my grave, declaring it for all to hear.” With care, she slipped her arms about his waist and hugged him. “You have endured and survived unspeakable horrors, yet you remain the gentlest soul, unspoiled by the cruelties inflicted upon you. You work to ensure those about you are protected, without concern for yourself, and you are generous, to a fault. Will you not let me do something for you? Will you not let me help ease your last gaping wound?” Again, she kissed him. “Please, my love. If he does not suit you, we can return him to Tattersalls, but I ask that you give him a chance. Just come and meet him. If you will not do it for yourself, do it for me and our unborn child.”

A war of emotions invested his handsome visage, and she bit her tongue against further encouragement. He had to make the decision for himself. To her relief, when he noted the presence of his friends, he advanced two steps.

“Major.” Beaulieu held the lead of the impressive stallion she purchased for her husband. “We stand at the ready, sir.”

“You conspired with my men?” Anthony turned to her, and she could not miss the hurt in his expression. “Why did you not discuss your plan with me, because you know how I feel?”

“It is because I know of your affliction that I did not consult you.” Little by little, she coaxed him, with a caress here and a gentle nudge there, and he did not resist her. Slowly, the lines of strain about his mouth relaxed, and he exhaled audibly. “But you cannot let your fears keep you from moving forward, my love. For good or ill, you must get back on a horse, else you risk remaining a prisoner to the past, and I will not allow that.”

“What if I am not ready to let go? What if I need my pain?” When her husband spoke, the beautiful steed flicked his ears and peered in Anthony’s direction. “Well, hello there.” He paused just at the stallion’s head. “Do you have a name?”

“I suppose I should leave that to you, if you keep him.” Arabella anchored at his side. “But I thought we might select something Greek, in keeping with our tradition.”

“Our tradition?” Anthony blinked. “Ah, yes. You have Astraea.”

When she dipped her chin, Beaulieu pried open the creature’s lips, that Anthony might inspect the teeth. For a while, her courageous soldier simply stood there. Then, to her surprise, Anthony bent and ran his hand down the cannon bones, one after the other.

“What solid, sturdy legs you have.” Anthony chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck, and the horse whinnied a reply. Arabella uttered a prayer. “You have a muscular chest, too, and a chiseled jaw, with wide-set, intelligent eyes, which I would do well to heed, I suspect. I should give you free rein at my own peril.” He continued his inspection, running his palm along the prominent withers, the strong back, and the powerful haunches. “He is blessed with a perfectly balanced conformation. Superb, Arabella. I could not have chosen a better specimen.”

“I did so wish to please you.” She caught Beaulieu’s stare, and he signaled the stable hand, who saddled the stallion. “Shall we venture into the north field?”

“I am not sure.” Anthony retreated and stiffened. “What if it rains?”

“My lord, there is not a cloud in the sky.” After waving to the stablemaster, who brought forth Astraea, Arabella tugged on her kidskin gloves. “If it makes you feel better, we need not ride far. Please, Anthony.” Leaning forward, on tiptoes, she whispered in his ear, “I will do anything.”

“I will hold you to it,” he replied, in a low voice. “If I am to make a fool of myself, I expect a reward. Now then, let us get this insanity over with, because I would not waste my time on useless endeavors.”

Moving slow and steady, and with Beaulieu’s assistance, Anthony grasped the reins and eased his left foot into the stirrup. With a half-hearted leap, he tried to gain the saddle. On his first attempt, he tripped and almost fell flat on his arse. His second try landed Anthony in Beaulieu’s arms, and she swallowed a snort of laughter. For the third effort, the stable hand set a mounting block on the ground and gave Anthony a boost.

With her man secure in the saddle, Beaulieu lifted Arabella atop Astraea and urged the elegant mare into an easy trot. Following in her wake, in a less than inspiring sight, Anthony bobbled and bounced, and she feared her grand scheme just might break something of importance. Or worse, widow her. Still, she persevered.

Trailing the path, they cleared the formal grounds, and her husband pulled beside her. Together, they proceeded to the lea and veered into the verdant meadow dotted with clusters of wildflowers. In an encouraging sign, he rode past her, and she urged Astraea into a gallop.

Faster and faster, they drove their mounts, and her heart raced, as the wind whispered and thrummed in her hair. Charging a rise, her husband exhibited confidence, yet she checked her enthusiasm. He sped forth and drew back, and she followed his lead.

And then it happened.

In the wide, open space of flat earth, Anthony let go the reins. Closing his eyes, he flung back his head, and splayed his arm. In that instant, she steered Astraea to the shadows of a crescent of mighty oaks,