Gowned in emerald green, with her long brown locks arranged in a cascade of curls, she glided like an angel, and familiar warmth sashayed over his flesh, soothing charged nerves and quieting his unrest. She did that for him, when he could not help himself, and he desperately needed her.
“Good evening, Lord Rockingham.” Given the announcement of their engagement, the crowd gawked when Arabella greeted him. “It is a lovely night, it is not?”
“A scarce minute ago, I would have disagreed, but it is much improved, now, Lady Arabella.” To his delight, she blushed at his compliment, and he vowed to offer praise more often. He wanted to make her happy, given she settled for less than a man. “May I have—”
“Lady Arabella, I wonder if I might beg the honor of the contratems and rigadon?” Beaulieu extended an arm, which Lady Arabella clutched at the elbow, and Anthony wanted to scream. “And, perhaps, Rockingham might indulge Miss Wallace?”
“Oh—that would be such fun.” Miss Wallace charged the fore, and it was then he noted her presence. “Shall we, Lord Rockingham?”
“Of course.” To refuse would have been rude, but Anthony had no interest in Miss Wallace.
Cursing in silence, he did what any gentleman would do and led her to the dance floor. As they stepped in time with the music, he mulled Beaulieu’s confusing behavior, which made no sense. Was Anthony not supposed to court his future wife? Was that not the scheme?
Yet, as the evening progressed, every time he tried to speak with Arabella, one of his fellow soldiers intruded. Just when he feared he could tolerate no more interference, Lord Greyson signaled Anthony.
“Care for a brandy?” Greyson glanced over his shoulder. “I have it on good authority that the study is vacant.”
“I suppose.” A quick check of the vicinity revealed Arabella in the company of Miss Wallace and Beaulieu, and Anthony shook his head. Were his friends not supposed to help him court his lady? “Because Beaulieu seems intent on keeping me from my fiancée.”
“Then let us enjoy a quiet repast.” Greyson rubbed the back of his neck. “Because I am not quite accustomed to the crowds.”
“Why did you come here, tonight?” Weaving through the crush, they exited the ballroom and turned to the right. Anthony knew the location of the study, by heart, because he had seduced more than one lady in its dark, quiet confines. “You have not attended a single social event, save Vauxhall, since our return to London.”
“I am here for you.” Greyson navigated the small passage, until they came to a door on the left. Slowly, he twisted the knob and pushed open the oak panel. “I gave my word I would help you win Lady Arabella, in truth, and I will do so. Is there a more noble enterprise?”
As Anthony pondered his miserable start, he filled two glasses with brandy. “Only if we succeed.”
*
“Are you sure this is the right course of action?” Arabella strolled the outer circle of the ballroom, with Patience and Lord Beaulieu, when she spotted Anthony with Lord Greyson, departing for the study, as prearranged. “What if Lord Rockingham changes his mind? What if he resists the marriage? What if—”
“What if you stop worrying and have faith in our fighting men, because they will not disappoint you?” Patience grabbed Arabella’s hand and squeezed her fingers. “Besides, you want this. Don’t try to deny it.”
“I’m not denying it.” Arabella bit her lip. “But I cannot pretend the situation is ideal.”
“Don’t fret, because our plan will work, Lady Arabella. Believe me, we need only put you in a room, alone, with Rockingham, and nature will take the reins. I gather he is raring to go after our shenanigans to keep you apart.” Lord Beaulieu scanned the immediate vicinity. “That was my intent, but now we require a diversion if you are to escape without notice, because your presence attracts unwanted attention.”
“What can we do about it?” Patience shifted close. “Even His Grace watches us.”
“Relax, ladies.” Lord Beaulieu nodded once. “I anticipated difficulties and planned, accordingly. My men will do their duty.”
Tracking his gaze, Arabella discovered Lord Michael, lingering near the entrance to the dining room. Just as a manservant strolled past, carrying a tray overloaded with dishes, Lord Michael stuck out one of his crutches and tripped the unfortunate domestic, and a mighty crash echoed through the ballroom. While less than graceful, the scheme worked, and the disturbance garnered a collective of intrusive gazes.
“Go—now.” Lord Beaulieu shoved Arabella into the hall. Then he drew Patience to his side, effectively shielding Arabella from sight.
Glancing left and then right, she clutched her throat and ran down the passage, until she arrived in the foyer. Recalling Lord Beaulieu’s instructions, she followed a narrow corridor, until she stood before the requisite door.
So much weighed on her shoulders, and she shivered as her palm met the metal knob. Everything rested on her ability to convince Lord Rockingham that they had no other option than to obey his father. But there was more to her design, because she wanted a match based on friendship and respect, which she considered necessary for success, and she had to know that he believed it possible. That he was capable of such dedication.
Otherwise, they were doomed.
Still, she reminded herself that in life there were no guarantees, and a lady had no choice in the selection of her husband. Lord Rockingham presented the chance for something more. For something real. With him, there existed the hope for an equal partnership, and that was precisely what she wanted, so she would fight for him, regardless of previous reservations.
With that, Arabella opened the door.
In the study, Lord Rockingham and Lord Greyson occupied a matched pair of chairs before the hearth.
“Well, I believe that is my cue to depart.” After setting a glass atop a small table, Lord Greyson stood and walked toward her. When she dawdled, her conspirator gave her a gentle nudge and secured the door behind her.
“My lord.” Nervous, she curtseyed and prayed for the strength to persist, as her heart pounded in her chest. “It is remarkably pleasing to see you, again.”
“And you, Lady Arabella.” So resplendent in his black formal wear, he stretched tall to greet her. “I gather this was not your idea.”
His was a statement, not a question.
“Not exactly, but neither did I protest.” To her surprise, he expressed no anger. Instead, he extended a hand and flicked his fingers, and she stumbled forward. “Shall I join you?”
“For a brandy?” His eyes widened. “Do you favor it?”
“Actually, I have never tasted it.” To foster amity, she stared at the glass he held in his grasp. Recalling Dr. Larrey’s advice, she sought common ground to put Anthony at ease. If only she could put herself at ease. “May I sample yours?”
“Be my guest.” Without hesitation, he passed her the elegant crystal balloon.
In her mind, she toasted to strong women everywhere and took a healthy gulp.
A wicked burning sensation stung her throat, searing a fiery path to her belly, and she yielded to a violent coughing fit. Tears streamed her cheeks, and she feared she might be ill. Laughing, Anthony patted her back. Just when she regained her composure, she surrendered to another embarrassing, unladylike bout of hacking.
“Are you all right?” To her chagrin, he chuckled. “You should not have tried to consume such a large amount in a single swallow, because brandy is to be sipped. It is to be savored.”
“For heaven’s sake, why didn’t you warn me?” She set the offensive concoction on the table. “I would have followed your advice, had I known it could be so potent. I’m not daft.”
“Lady Arabella, in some respects, you are the smartest person of my acquaintance, and you are blessed with an uncanny ability to offer comfort and support when I most need it.” His kind words did much to alleviate her chagrin and trepidation. She still thought she might revisit her supper. “While I could have cautioned you, I must confe
ss I wanted to see how you would handle it because, if you are to be my bride, you must possess an adventurous spirit.”
“Am I to be your wife?” Of course, Lord Beaulieu proclaimed as much, that afternoon in the drawing room at her home, but she needed to hear the news from Anthony. “Because you made it clear you didn’t welcome our union.”
“My dear, if I may be so bold, I regret to inform you that my father learned of my plans to escape London, and he hired men to guard me, thus I am going nowhere, so I altered my position.” He shifted his weight to face her. “But before you take insult, I should explain that I have other reasons for marrying you, none of which have anything to do with my father and everything to do with you.”
“Oh?” It was the moment for which she waited, and the declaration, freely given, did much to allay her fears. “Might you clarify your statement?”
“It would be my pleasure.” In that instant, he reached across the table and took her hand in his. “I practiced this discussion, yet I know not where to start.”
“The beginning is usually best, in such circumstances.” When he twined his fingers in hers, she relaxed. “Perhaps, you might describe how your father discovered your plan?”
“No.” He shook his head. “I should start with Waterloo, although I have never told anyone what I endured, but I would share it with you, if you permit me.”
“I should be honored to witness your account, my lord.” Sitting upright, she mirrored his stance. “And I would have you know that I count myself most fortunate to be your fiancée.”
“You might feel otherwise, after hearing my sad tale.” When Arabella shook her head, Anthony smiled. “All right, little one. If you are so determined, I would describe the morning of the great battle, which commenced with my regular ration of stirabout—”
“What is that?” While she loathed interrupting his story, she wanted to understand him.
“It is what we call oatmeal and water, and it tastes as awful as it sounds.” With his thumb, he traced circles on her palm. “After breaking our fast, the men prepared to fight, when Napoleon attacked Hougoumont and Wyndham’s second battalion of Coldstream Guards. It was a diversion to draw Wellington’s reserves to our right flank, but our artillery soundly defeated Baudin’s brigade.”
“Yes, I read the details in The Times.” And what she recalled of the savagery chilled her blood. “Were you at Hougoumont?”
“No.” Frowning, he averted his stare, but she recognized the familiar signs of distress. The rigidity in his posture. The clenched jaw. The rapid rise and fall of his chest. “I was camped at Le Haye Sainte, at the foot of the escarpment near Charleroi-Brussels road, where the fighting was by far the most intense, given we were woefully outnumbered. The bugles blared, heralding the charge, while squadron after squadron of Cuirassiers, Hussars, and Dragoons advanced, and we were overrun. Columns of infantry assailed us, and I led my men into the fray. From a distance, the Marseillaise played, as if to taunt us, and I drove for the enemy’s heart, but…but…”
Anthony opened his mouth and closed it.
Then he bowed his head and shut tight his eyes.
Tension invested the study, and the silence only worsened her agitation, because he struggled with painful memories. Remembering the counsel detailed in Dr. Larrey’s book, she steeled her nerves.
“It is all right, my lord.” Arabella slid from the chair and knelt before him. “I’m here, and you are safe. I will never let anyone or anything hurt you.”
Framing his face, she paused when he flinched. Embarking on her own campaign, of a sort, she revisited precious recollections of their evening at Vauxhall. Daring to venture beyond the guidance Larrey prescribed, she inclined her head and pressed her lips to Anthony’s.
At first, he simply sat there, and she reconsidered her tack. But slowly, interminably slowly, he responded. Firm but gentle, he claimed her mouth, teasing her with flicks of his tongue, and she accepted his invitation to explore. Emboldened by a rush of power given his reaction, she gripped the hair at the nape of his neck and deepened the exchange, as a flurry of sensations, none of which she could master, traipsed her flesh. Just when she found her pace, to her disappointment, he broke the kiss. Her dismay was brief, given he wrapped his arm about her waist and lifted her into his lap.
“My lord, this is not proper behavior, for a lady.” Even as she called for restraint, she embraced her man. Then again, she started them down the alluring path. “Is it wrong that I want to kiss you?”
“No. Rather, I think, for us, it is a very good thing, and I believe you know I cannot resist you, even though you distract me from my purpose. I can share the rest of my story with you, later.” The strain in his expression eased, and he settled his palm to the curve of her hip, in a scandalous display of affection. “But I would know what ability you possess to calm me, when I am in the throes of hell on earth, because you, alone, influence me thus.”
“If my mother could see me, she would be furious.” Arabella rested her forehead to his and wondered if she should share the source of her altogether unique skill. “But I cannot bear your anguish, and I would comfort you, however I can, with any means at my disposal.”
“Careful, dearest Arabella, because I might be tempted to take you up on your offer, and I would preserve your bride’s prize, until we have taken the vows.” At his pronouncement, she gulped, until again he brushed his lips to hers. “Even then, I would protect you, because I am damaged, and I would not harm you, for anything in the world. Would that I could spare you this union, because you deserve so much more, but I am powerless to stop what our parents have put in motion. And, heaven help me, I want you.”
“Well, I will have no less than the very best of men, and that is you, my lord. So, I remain true to my principles.” Caressing his cheek, she instigated the next kiss, and he nibbled the corner of her mouth, which sent delicious shivers spiraling through her. “Indeed, I will have no other.”
“But you had no wish to take a husband.” As he reclined in the high back chair, he studied her with unveiled interest. “In that respect, you were very clear when we met at your home, so I would settle our arrangement, once and for all. Are you positive you wish to marry me?”
“My lord, the new perspective is mine to own, because I admit I felt otherwise.” In an attempt to amuse him, she cast the lethal pout her father could never resist, and Anthony rewarded her with a charming blush. She would store that information for future use, when dealing with her soon-to-be-husband. “However, it is a woman’s prerogative to change her mind, is it not?”
“It is, indeed.” Ah, now he favored her with a boyish grin. “But I would know why you wish to wed me. Indeed, I would know everything about you, just as I would have you know me, for good or ill, including the details of my war experience. In the end, if you have any reservations, I would know them.”
“My lord, it is simple, really. And you must know I am in complete accordance with your position.” She shrugged and tried but failed to ignore how he trailed his hand to her waist and higher, just shy of her bosom. “My standards remain the same. I am a woman of strong opinions, which I yield to no man. Yet, I am defined by a society that views me as less than a man, so I must marry. Why would it surprise you that I contemplated my choices and selected you, when we are well suited, and I consider myself your equal? I would be your partner, in every way, Lord Rockingham, if you will have me.”
“Are you proposing to me, Lady Arabella?” When he poked her in the ribs, she yelped, and he arched a brow, as if to challenge her. “While I may not know much about marriage, and no woman has ever asked me to marry her, that sounded like a proposal.”
“What if it is, my lord?” Indeed, she honored her beliefs and stood for her man. Not for an instant would she relent. “If I am so inclined, what say you?”
“All right.” He nodded once. “I accept.”
Chapter Seven
Life seemed so much simpler, once Anthony consented to ma
rry Arabella. After much consideration in the quiet hours, he resolved to embrace the fate his father planned, but Anthony would wed on his terms, which he intended to discuss with his bride-to-be that night.
No longer obsessed with clandestine dealings and escape, he skipped up the entrance stairs to his fiancée’s home, for the heretofore agreed upon dinner. He made a quick check of his appearance and knocked on the door. Nervous, he rubbed his palm down a leg of his breeches. Juggling a bouquet of roses in the crook of his elbow, he swore to himself when he almost dropped a book of note, tucked under his arm, which he hoped would please his lady. When the butler set wide the oak panel, Anthony lifted his chin.
“Good evening.” He crossed the threshold. “Lord Rockingham to see Lady Arabella.”
“Indeed, my lord.” The manservant bowed. “Lord Ainsworth expects you. If you will follow me.”
As Anthony passed the hall mirror, he glanced at his reflection, cursed the sleeve pinned to his lapel, and his confidence flagged, because he still yearned for his old, whole self. An image of his bloody and mangled stump flashed before him, and he winced and shook his head. If only he could forget the past, he just might remember how to live in the present. Tension built in the pit of his belly, and he swallowed hard.
“Lord Rockingham, you are right on time.” Stunning in a gown of ruby red, Arabella strode straight to him. “Oh, and you come bearing gifts. Dare I ask if they are for me?”
“They are, my lady.” Every composed thought fled him in the face of her smile. He handed her the flowers, which she passed to the butler. “I hope they meet with your approval.”
“Travers, have these put in a vase and placed on my bedside table.” The grace and ease with which she conveyed her directive would serve Anthony well, and he envisioned her presiding over the casual dinner party for various members of Parliament, whereas the behavior she exhibited in the Netherton’s study would keep him satisfied in their bed. “And what else have you brought?”
The Accidental Duke (The Mad Matchmaking Men of Waterloo Book 1) Page 10
