The Accidental Duke (The Mad Matchmaking Men of Waterloo Book 1)

by Devlin, Barbara

  “Are you sure of what you claim?” Father held Anthony’s stare, and he stood strong for himself and his lady. “And you don’t conspire to fool me, while you prepare to leave England?”

  “I deserve that, but it was a temporary lapse in judgment, of which I am embarrassed, and I apologize.” Although Anthony believed otherwise, he had to yield the impetuous dreams born of fear, if only to spare Arabella a dreadful future with some ignorant dolt who would either abuse her, stifle her independent nature, or both. He told himself it was her fate that moved him to reconsider his position, and if he did that enough, he just might convince himself of the reality. “In that respect, I pondered my reasons for resisting the arrangement and decided I am better served, as is the dukedom, by acquiescing.” He cursed his dry mouth. “Rather than oppose you, I would join you in celebrating my future.”

  “My son, you have made me very proud.” Father moved to stand beside Anthony and rested a palm to his back. “Tomorrow, I shall dispatch the men I hired to guard you, and we will start anew, as if nothing happened.”

  “But, Mama terminated their employment almost a sennight, ago.” Together, they strolled toward the sidewalk, where Mama waited. “And I have done nothing to merit such treatment, given I gave you my word I would not leave these shores.”

  “Blood under the bridge.” Father chuckled. “But I could not be too careful, because I gave my friend my solemn pledge that we would unite our two houses. So, let us set aside any discord in favor of unity, and I look forward to the day we announce the joyous news of an impending addition to our family. Now, let us drink, dance, and make merry.”

  “Father, in that, we are one.” They neared the entrance, and Anthony waved to his mother. His spirits lifted when she smiled. Clicking his heels, he stiffened his spine. “Come, Mama. Your son would like the pleasure of the allemande.”

  “Oh, he would?” She laughed and settled her palm in the crook of his elbow. “Well, it would be my honor to indulge him.”

  “And I shall claim the first waltz.” Father hummed a ditty.

  “You must be joking.” Mama snorted and climbed the entrance stairs to the palatial Berkeley Square residence. “What is the occasion, Walter?”

  “The answer is simple.” Father crossed the threshold, glanced at Mama, and winked. “Tonight, the Bartletts mark the commencement of the union that shall produce the next generation, and we secure our legacy for the future. If that is not reason to dance a jig, then I am at a loss.”

  “All right.” Mama smiled. “Who am I to say otherwise?”

  In the foyer, Anthony exchanged pleasantries with Lord and Lady Howard, the hosts for the evening. And while he embraced an air of polite calm, he wanted nothing more than to locate his charming bride-to-be and make a few inappropriate encroachments on her feminine fields, if only to soothe the restless beast that threatened to charge forth and disrupt the party.

  It was with that primary objective in mind he strolled down the hall and into the expansive ballroom. He veered left, right, and then left again, nodding acknowledgments of various members of society, until he neared the side interior wall.

  A huge mural depicted, in violent detail, the Roman battle of Alesia. Often described as the crown jewel of Julius Caesar’s campaign in Gaul, the brutal clash never meant much to Anthony, until he studied the tactics, an unparalleled example of siege warfare and investment, defined by the mass destruction of flesh and bone, in preparation for deployment. He must have looked upon the innocuous image countless times, through the years, but he had never really seen it until that moment.

  At one end, in the bottom corner, a soldier rested on his back, an expression of horror, forever frozen, marring his face, while a Gallic warrior planted a lancea in the Roman’s chest. In that instant, he closed his eyes, and a familiar drumbeat echoed in his ears. His pulse raced. He gasped for breath. His cravat seemed to choke him. Cries of men rose above the hum of idle gossip, and the refined ballroom yielded to visions of a bloody skirmish. The tattered remnants of a savage conflict flitted before him, when a woman’s voice cut through the terror and uttered his name.

  Pushing aside the ugliness of war, Arabella reached for him in a cherished reverie. In his thoughts, he clung to her, to the support she never failed to extend even in her absence. Little by little, his hammering heartbeat slowed. He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed, just when someone slapped him on the shoulder.

  “Why so morose, my friend?” Beaulieu gave Anthony a playful jolt, yet he maintained the connection to the soldier’s gaze, so blue, as if he glimpsed his reflection in a mirror. “Now this is a target-rich affair, and I intend to fire as many salvos as my Jolly Roger can withstand. My, my, but Lady Allen poses a most delicious dish.”

  “Just like old times.” When the world was not so vile a place, and the ton’s ballrooms presented nothing more than a forum for seduction. It struck him, then, that he could spend the rest of his days locked in the very same atrocity portrayed in the work of art, forever trapped in the past, or he could embrace life, like Arabella suggested. “Perhaps, not such a noble but certainly a worthwhile endeavor.”

  “There is the Rockingham I remember.” Beaulieu elbowed Anthony. “Care to make a wager? See anything that tempts you? Are you feeling lucky?”

  “But I am to be married.” One lady held his attention, to the exclusion of all others, and he scanned the crowd for the slightest sign of her.

  “All the more reason to take a turn at Bushy Park.” Beaulieu smirked. “Besides, how long has it been, and do not lie to me?”

  “That is none of your affair, but I would not give you the impression that I am ignorant of my predicament, because I thought about my situation, in the dark and quiet hours, and I learned something about myself. We engaged in war because we believed in something greater than ourselves, and we were willing to make the ultimate sacrifice, to uphold our convictions. We fought for England, to defend our homes and our way of life, to be free from tyranny, and we won the day, yet we gained naught for ourselves. While ours was an honorable cause, we have long since concluded our mission, and we reap no real rewards, because we remain rooted in bygone days.”

  Just then, he spotted Arabella, and soothing warmth enveloped him, despite the fact that he could not explain the effect she had on him, because he could not resist her. He knew not why he wanted her, but he would marry her, not of some vulgar, misplaced sense of duty.

  Oh, no.

  He would take her to wife because he needed her. Because she spoke to all that remained good within him.

  “I am tired of this tedious existence—tired of fighting. Always fighting. Always hoping for something more, yet we languish in the violence and the horrors of yesteryear. While I did not see her coming, I cannot disregard the obvious conclusion, which is that Arabella offers a chance to escape this hellish prison that holds me captive, and I intend to seize her and all the beauty she brings to my world.”

  “Is that the way the wind blows?” With a countenance of surprise, Beaulieu narrowed his gaze. “Are you in love?”

  “What is love, my friend?” Anthony snickered, because he did not believe in such nonsense. “Can you define it, because the singular emotion resists my efforts to identify it? Call it what you will, but I know how to make love and satisfy a woman, and I plan to deploy the finesse of a lifetime in her arms, on our wedding night. Indeed, I am bloody well going to enjoy a husbandly benefit even I cannot argue against, because this time I fight for myself.”

  “Oh, I say. There is my riding companion.” Beaulieu chucked Anthony’s shoulder. “Now, let us mark our prey and savor a bit of salacious sport.”

  “No need to mark anything, because at present my quarry stands near the terrace doors, which would be perfect to sneak away, if not for Lady Ainsworth firmly anchored at my intended’s side.” Anthony scrutinized the noblewomen and swore under his breath. “Is it my imagination, or does the mother guard the daughter?”

  “Unfortuna
tely, I agree with your assumption, because that mama’s stance boasts an intensity that would rival my best hound on the hunt.” Folding his arms, Beaulieu shifted his weight and jutted his hip. “Lady Ainsworth searches for you. Do you think Lady Arabella would have been foolish enough to confide in her mother, given you have dallied with your fiancée on more than one occasion?”

  “It is possible, although I hope not, but Arabella is incapable of duplicity, and she would answer honestly if questioned.” Garbed in rich burgundy silk, with a low-cut that highlighted her ample décolletage, Arabella surveyed the throng, until she met his stare. Slowly, she smiled, and his loins went up in flames. “Beaulieu, I would never infringe on our longstanding camaraderie, but I am a desperate man, and right now I am in need of a diversion.”

  *

  Beneath the soft glow of ormolu chandeliers, amid the crystal vases filled with hothouse blooms and the splendor of sixteenth century Italian embroideries, a sea of elegantly dressed ladies and gentlemen mingled in preparation for the ball. In the back corner, a quartet readied their instruments, sounding various notes. To the left, three sets of double doors opened to reveal a huge dining room, in which a collection of long tables festooned with green linens, polished silver, and Royal Worcester china encouraged revelers to savor a repast of mouthwatering dishes and tempting desserts. While the fare enticed the average guest, Arabella sought naught but her fiancé, because there was so much she needed to say, and she did not have far to look.

  From across the room, in Beaulieu’s company, Anthony peered in her direction, and his expression gave her gooseflesh. After a quick check of her appearance, she told herself she did not wear the new gown, with the bold neckline, to attract her man’s attention, because she would never do anything so frivolous. But deep inside, where she was always honest with herself, she admitted she chose her attire for his delectation, because she wanted to be pretty for him. Wanted to make him proud.

  “Arabella, stop fidgeting, because it is unbecoming a lady of your prestige.” In a steady rhythm, Mama fanned herself in time with the repetitive tap of her foot. “And remember what I told you about Lord Rockingham. You are not to entertain him sans a chaperone, and if I am unavailable, Miss Wallace has offered to stand in my place.”

  “Of course, Mama.” How Arabella rued her decision to confide in Mama, because the conversation led to an in-depth discussion of marital relations, which her mother described in terrifying detail, and what previously seemed a pedestrian act now shocked her. Science books made such intimate exercises seem simple and straightforward, so benign, if a tad messy, and she resolved to put the entire affair out of her mind. Still, when she assessed Anthony’s rapid advance, something in his impassioned countenance suggested she would violate her mother’s directive, that night, and Arabella would not protest. Slow and steady, he weaved through the crowd, his gaze never leaving hers, and she shivered, as naughty thoughts raced through her head. “Would you care for some ratafia?”

  “I would rather drink dirty water from the mop bucket.” Mama waved to a friend but remained rooted at Arabella’s side. “The waiter brings champagne. Be a dear and fetch us a couple of glasses.”

  “Yes, Mama.” Arabella flagged the servant and collected two portions of the bubbly confection, one of which she handed to her mother, just as Anthony and Lord Beaulieu emerged from the herd, and she mustered an air of calm. “Lord Rockingham, what a lovely surprise.”

  “Indeed, the pleasure is mine. Good evening, Lady Ainsworth and Lady Arabella.” Clicking his heels, he bowed, and what she would have given to wipe the self-satisfied smirk from his face, before he clued her mother to his intent, which she guessed was anything but proper, even for her fiancé. “Shall we take a turn about the room, Lady Arabella?”

  “I would love to, my lord.” She stepped forward. “Perhaps, we can—”

  “Lord Rockingham, we shall be too happy to accompany you on a brief tour.” Mama nudged Arabella aside, to claim Anthony’s outstretched arm. “After all, I should say hello to Lady Allen and Her Grace.”

  “Now that will not do, because I would beg Lady Ainsworth for the honor of a dance, given they play my favorite chassé step.” Arching a brow, and clutching a fist to his chest, Lord Beaulieu placed himself in Mama’s path. “What say you, my lady? Would you refuse a gallant war hero his humble request?”

  “I beg your pardon, my lord.” Given Beaulieu’s boisterous tone, nearby attendees gawked, and Mama relinquished Anthony’s escort, much to Arabella’s relief and amusement. “I would never decline such a gracious invitation, and the honor is mine.” To Arabella, Mama said, “Collect Miss Wallace, because she is your friend, and you should include her.”

  “We shall do so, at once.” In the glare of Mama’s piercing gaze, Arabella could not lie, so she rested her palm in the crook of Anthony’s elbow and drew him in her friend’s direction. “We must be careful, my lord. Mama watches our every move, tonight.”

  “I see that.” Anthony tensed, and she squeezed his arm. “What did you tell her?”

  “More than I should have, but in all fairness I could not deceive my mother, and she asked a direct question.” Lines of strain about the corners of his eyes declared his unrest, and she tugged at him. “But we gained an ally, which I will explain when we are alone.”

  “Who said we are going to be alone?” Before she could answer, he came to a halt and sighed. “Miss Wallace, how are you this evening?”

  “Lord Rockingham, Lady Arabella.” Patience dipped her chin. “What is the plan, or do you have one, because I gather you seek an unimpeded audience?” Leaning forward, she whispered, “Lady Ainsworth charged me with your guardianship, and I would not fail in my duty, but neither would I interfere in your liaison.”

  “Good evening, Miss Wallace.” On cue, Greyson appeared to the left. After a crisp bow, he extended a hand. “May I have this dance?”

  “Of course, Lord Greyson.” Patience grinned and partnered the veteran soldier. “Well, I suppose that solves my quandary.”

  “All right, my lord, where shall we rendezvous?” Arabella glanced at her brave soldier and hoped he would not be offended by recent developments, which she enacted on his behalf, and she needed to reveal her intentions. “The study or the garden?”

  “The garden.” Anthony led her toward the terrace doors. When he spotted His Grace and her father, her fiancé started and ducked behind a large bust of Sir Isaac Newton, which decorated a dark corner. “Bloody hell, if they find us, we are doomed.”

  “Then let us hide.” They crouched in the shadows, and Arabella studied Anthony’s profile, until he met her gaze. In close proximity, she inhaled his signature sandalwood scent and stifled a gasp, when he rubbed his nose to hers, and she ached to kiss him as she admired his beautiful mouth. “Are they gone?”

  “Well, you certainly will not find them where you look.” At his quip, she frowned, and he snickered. “Hurry, let us make our escape, because I am just as anxious to enjoy your unreserved company.”

  “Is it my fault I treasure your affection?” She twined her fingers in his, and they slinked along the wall. When she spied his mother, she pulled him behind a heavy velvet drape. “In light of my relative youth and inexperience, one might argue you took liberties, sir.”

  “Do you pose a complaint?” With the edge of the material drawn back, he checked the vicinity. “We remain undetected, but we must move quickly.”

  “No, I do not complain.” Holding tight to his grip, she followed him, and they rushed to shelter behind the next drape. Just then, she noticed her mother, with Patience in tow, all but running toward the terrace. “Oh, no. We are discovered.”

  “Ye of little faith.” Anthony pulled Arabella behind another drape. “Watch and learn, my dear, because the Mad Matchmakers know of my aim and will not fail us.”

  To her delight, Anthony’s fellow Waterloo veterans surrounded Mama and Patience. While Greyson begged Mama for a dance, Beaulieu simply dragged Patience
into the rotation.

  “I will owe Patience an apology for that.” Arabella bit her bottom lip and snorted with mirth. “But I wager Mama has never been favored with so much attention, and she laughs, my lord.”

  “Good. Now, let us away.” In that instant, Anthony yanked hard, and they sprinted to the double doors, crossed the threshold, and burst into the garden. “If memory serves, there is an ideally placed gazebo that will suit our purpose.”

  “And how do you know of this gazebo?” Pebbles crunched beneath her feet, as they navigated the path that wound through the rose bushes, and in silence she reviewed her hastily composed arguments to defend her actions. “Or do I want to know the answer to my question?”

  “Jealous?” Anthony chuckled.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Yet, his characterization stated her emotions to perfection, much to her dismay, because she considered herself immune to such flightiness. “Who was she?”

  “Does it matter, when she does not signify, because I am marrying you?” In the dark confines of the tiny structure, he pulled her close, held her tight about the waist, and kissed her. A tender and sweet expression, which ended far too soon for her liking. “I have been thinking of this moment, all day.”

  “Have you?” With a sigh of contentment, she rested her head to his chest, as he stroked the back of her neck, and it was time to speak her mind. “My lord, there is something I wish to tell you.”

  “How curious, because there are things I would say to you.” Caressing the flesh at her nape, he nuzzled her. “Ladies first.”

  “Oh, no, after you.” She swallowed hard, because her courage faltered, given she had never made such an important declaration, and she remained uncertain of his response, regarding the appointment she scheduled with a friend, a medical professional with ample experience treating wounded warriors. Would he welcome or reject her scheme to help him deal with the past? “I insist.”