“Oh, Papa, I do love you.” Choking on tears, Arabella sobbed and wrapped her arms about his waist, and he drew her into his comforting embrace. “You could not have known what the duke intended, given he deceived you, too.”
“There, there. It will be all right, girl.” He stroked her hair as she wept. “We have not yet ceded the fight, and I believe we will prevail, in the end.”
“It must be so, Papa.” In that instant, she detected the steady clip-clop of horses, and she lifted her head. “Do you hear that?”
“I do.” Lord Michael dropped his cards atop the table and hobbled on his crutch toward the foyer, with Patience escorting Warrington. “I think it is them.”
“I will get the door.” Papa strode forth and waved off Travers. When he opened the oak panel and peered outside, he flinched and shouted over his shoulder, “Summon the footmen—now. And send someone to fetch Dr. Handley.”
“Aye, sir.” Travers bowed.
“Papa, what is it?” Arabella perched on tiptoes. “Is it Anthony? Do you see him? Is he with them?”
“It is, my dear.” Papa rubbed the back of his neck and stayed her with an upraised palm. “Clear the area and make way.”
As she hugged the wall, two ducal footmen ascended the entry stairs. Behind them, Beaulieu and Greyson carried Anthony, who appeared unconscious. His head listed from side to side and suddenly dropped back, and she shrieked in horror at his gaunt visage. With a black eye and a horribly disfigured and bruised cheek, he hung limp.
“Follow me.” In a flurry of activity, she grabbed a candlestick from the foyer table, hiked her skirt, and sprinted to the second floor. “We have a room prepared.” She hurried into the chamber next to hers, an arrangement she insisted on, so she could guard her husband, and lit several tapers placed about the spacious accommodation. “Put him in the bed.”
With care, Beaulieu and Greyson navigated the huge four-poster, settling Anthony in the center. A muffled moan snared her ear, and she set the candlestick on the tallboy. Easing to the edge of the mattress, she brushed a lock of hair from Anthony’s forehead, and then she bent and kissed him. To her relief, he stirred. For a moment, he simply stared at her. All of a sudden, he scrunched his face and turned away from her.
It was not the reconciliation for which she prayed.
“Get out.” He rolled on his side, and she sobbed. “Get her out of here.”
“Anthony, it is me.” Certain he had to have been confused, given his disheveled state, she reached for him, but he shook free. “It is Arabella, and you are safe.”
“I said get out.” Again and again, he repeated the same words. “Do not let her see me in this condition.”
“Lady Rockingham, perhaps it is best if you wait downstairs with the others.” Beaulieu lifted her from the bed and escorted her to the exit. “He has endured a terrible shock, and it is not wise to agitate him.” When she hesitated, he stated, “I promise, I will come to you after Dr. Handley completes an examination, and I have news to share. I shall give you a full report.”
“All right.” A tear traveled a path to her chin, and she dried her face on her sleeve. A cold chill settled in her chest, as she dutifully withdrew from Anthony’s quarters. She dragged her feet, straining for the slightest summons. At the landing, she prayed her husband would call her, but quiet fell on the household.
Halfway down the stairs, she paused, when a footman arrived with Dr. Handley, bearing his black bag. Setting aside her heartache, she continued to the first floor.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice.” She extended a hand in welcome. “Lord Rockingham is installed in the third room on the left. Lord Beaulieu and Lord Greyson are with him, and he seems quite out of sorts.”
“That is to be expected, Lady Rockingham, and I have been at the ready since I received Lord Ainsworth’s note yesterday. Must confess I was glad to receive it, but I lament the circumstances.” The affable medical professional adjusted his spectacles on his nose and smiled. “I know you are concerned, but I caution you not to panic. We do not yet know the details of what he endured, but Lord Rockingham is strong. He will get through this with your love and understanding. Now, if you will excuse me, I must assess my patient.”
“Of course.” She dipped her chin and lingered until he disappeared from sight. Bowing her head, she walked into the drawing room and collapsed onto the sofa. “He does not know me. He banishes me from his presence. My god, what did they do to him?”
“I have never seen anything so medieval.” The duke snapped his fingers, and Travers lifted a decanter from the tea trolley and filled a brandy balloon. “They caged my son like an animal. Can you believe it? To treat a marquess, and the heir to the dukedom of Swanborough, with such barbarity?”
“What?” Drowning amid an ocean of frightful images, she snapped to attention. “What did you say?”
“They restrained Lord Rockingham in a device such as I have never seen.” Swanborough took a healthy gulp of the amber intoxicant. “Shaw stripped my son of any semblance of humanity, sold his clothes, and stole his signet ring. They commenced to beat my issue without compunction. If it is the last thing I do, I shall bring Shaw and his men to justice, for the affront to my estimable ancestry, and I will see that asylum razed.”
“Justice?” Wound tight as a clock spring, everything inside her railed, and she leaped to her feet. “You dare speak of justice, after you put Anthony in Shaw’s care? And you would have done the same to me and your future grandchild, had we not rebelled.”
“I rescued him, did I not?” The duke averted his stare. “I would argue I am owed a measure of gratitude and recognition of my efforts to liberate Lord Rockingham.”
“He would not have required rescuing had you not committed him, in the first place.” She marched to his chair and slapped the crystal glass from his grip. “I said it before, and it bears repeating. Your son lost his arm, not his mind, but you equate one with the other, and your mistake almost killed him. I neither acknowledge your attempt to make amends nor congratulate you on saving him from your worst proclivities, because you are deserving of naught but a swift kick in the arse.”
“I am insulted, and I demand an apology.” The duke slowly stood and rotated to glance at her father. “Ainsworth, are you going to permit your daughter to accost me thus under your roof?”
“Aye.” With unimpaired aplomb, Papa cast a stoic expression. “She states the truth in much prettier language than I would employ, were I in her position. If you don’t like it, you may leave my humble abode.”
The duke’s mouth fell agape. “Well, I never—”
“But you did, and therein lies the problem.” Riding a crest of fury, Arabella backed the duke into the foyer. “You adopted an unscrupulous enterprise, soliciting my father’s unwitting cooperation based on deception. You entrusted the care of your son to an unprincipled charlatan, the consequences of which now rest, battered and bruised, in a guest room. And now you laud your actions as worthy of acknowledgement and a sense of obligation?”
“I corrected the situation.” Swanborough retreated a step. “What else would you ask of me?”
“I want you to suffer.” She inched forward, and Travers, stationed near the main entry, opened the door. “I want you to bleed as Anthony bled, until you know what it is to be cast out. To be rejected. To be abandoned by those you love and have naught but yourself to provide succor.”
“That is not very charitable, Lady Rockingham.” The duke withdrew, looming at the threshold. “I made you an honest bargain, and I upheld our arrangement. I, too, was fooled by Shaw. You cannot fault me for that.”
“But I do blame you.” Again, she advanced. “I had spent a mere handful of minutes in Shaw’s company when I knew him to be the most dastardly, immoral villain of my acquaintance.”
“Pray, some of us are not so observant, Lady Rockingham.” Ignorant of his precarious perch, the duke alighted on the first step. “But I expect you to honor our agreement, as
befits a woman of your station, and I will call on you, tomorrow.”
“Of course, you would insist that I adhere to the social dictates that govern our set, even while you flout them. And why wouldn’t you, when you think yourself above such scruples.” Arabella dismissed the butler with a wave of her hand. “Permit me to speak in a language that is familiar to you and borrow a page from your stratagem, so we understand each other. In short, I renege.”
“But—you cannot do that.” The duke planted his feet wide, and his nostrils flared. “I am the Duke of Swanborough.”
“Oh, yes, I can.” Arabella shook her fist. “For I am the whirlwind, and you shall reap it.”
With that, she slammed the door in his face.
Chapter Nineteen
It was late when Anthony jolted awake. He reached for Arabella but found nothing, because he had not shared his bed with her in the fortnight since his liberation. Sitting upright, he glanced about the chamber of his London townhouse, but all remained quiet save the crackling logs in the fireplace. After reassuring himself that he remained safe, he punched his pillow, rolled onto his side, and stretched long.
“Anthony.”
In an instant, he came alert, when Arabella beckoned in a shrill exclamation. He tossed aside the covers and scooted to the edge of the mattress. Standing, he shrugged into his robe and fumbled with the belt. At the hearth, he lit a single taper, grabbed the candlestick, and rushed into the little corridor that joined their rooms. As he entered her suite, she called to him, again, and gave vent to a strangled cry.
Tossing and turning amid the sheets, she whimpered, and he recognized the fitful slumber he knew all too well. At the bed, he sat the candlestick on a table and eased to her side, and she flinched and mumbled his name. With care not to startle her, he rubbed her cheek.
“Arabella.” When she did not rouse, he gave her a gentle nudge. “Darling, I am here.”
With a shriek and gasping for breath, she opened her eyes and flinched. When she noted his presence, she lurched and flung herself at him. Bursting into tears, she clutched fistfuls of his silk robe.
“You were gone. You were gone. I searched for you, but you were gone,” she said, between mournful sobs that tore at his gut. “Everywhere I looked, you were not there, and I was alone. So very alone.”
“Sweetheart, it is all right, and you are safe.” He hugged her about the waist and kissed her hair, and she buried her face in his chest. “And I am here, so you are not alone. I will always anchor at your side, and I will never leave you, so you worry for naught.”
It dawned on him, then, that he used the same words to reassure her that she often used to comfort him. With their roles reversed, it fell to him to support her, and never had he felt more a man than in that heartbreaking moment, while his wife trembled in his embrace and relied on him for succor.
“But you were gone.” She fought for breath and clung to him. “You were gone, and I could not find you.”
For a while, he simply held her, and she shivered and wept. Her distress, painfully familiar in its intensity, shredded his heart.
“Darling, you need not seek what sits before you, what resides within you, now and forever.” Shuffling her in his hold, he drew her with him and stood. “Come with me, and let us return to my bed.”
“No.” With an abrupt sniff, she shook her head and tried to push free. “I know you no longer want me there, and I’m fine—really, I am.” Ah, he knew that sharp tone. Not for a minute did he believe her, as she wiped her nose. “I apologize for disturbing you, my lord. If you wish, I can move to a room at the other end of the hall, so I will not interrupt your rest, in the future.”
“Like bloody hell.” In that instant, he realized his mistake in dealing with his bride, and he should have known better. Clutching her wrist, and determined to set things right, he dragged her back to his apartment. “How long have you suffered the night terrors?”
“Since you were taken from me.” Of course, he should have known of her discomfit. Should have recognized the signs, so evident now that he opened his eyes, to see beyond his own angst. In his room, she again tried to wrench loose, but he tightened his grip. “Anthony, this is not necessary. I am quite content in my own accommodation, because I would not impede your recovery. Indeed, in your absence, I have grown quite accustomed to sleeping by myself.”
“Really?” At his four-poster, he led her to sit. After pulling back the covers, he patted the mattress. She nodded and bit her bottom lip. Then shook her head, and he laughed. “Neither have I, now take off that ridiculous nightgown, because you know I prefer you naked.”
“In my defense, I am cold when we do not share a bed.” Without hesitation, she stripped from the fine lawn garment and flung it on the floor. Pouting, she climbed between the sheets. After doffing his robe, which exposed his healthy erection, he joined her, and she nestled at his side. “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too. And tell me, my dear, whatever gave you the impression I no longer want you?” Inching closer, she eased her head to his shoulder, and he speared his fingers in her long brown hair, to massage her scalp. “Why would you ever think such a thing, when my body provides ample evidence to the contrary, even now?”
“Because you close yourself off from me,” she replied, in a small voice, and he exhaled in disgust with himself. “And I am not welcome in your meetings with Dr. Handley, when there was a time when you would not venture to the doctor without me. And you stopped talking to me, when conversation once manifested the sum of our relationship.” He could have kicked himself in the arse, because he hurt his wife. “Indeed, we share nothing but this house since you returned. Yet I cannot be angry with you, given I failed you. Now I must accept what has become of us. It is only right that you are cross with me, when I broke my promise, and I’m sorry, but I tried everything to find you and bring you home.”
“Wait—what?” In shock, he shoved her onto her back and propped on his elbow, so he could look directly into her eyes. What he spied in her tormented gaze ravaged his conscience. “What do you mean? Just how did you fail me, when I am here, as you see, owing to your efforts?”
“My lord, I am confused.” She blinked. “If you are not at odds with me, why do you deny me, when I need you as you once needed me?”
“Oh, my darling, I have neglected you, and that shame is mine to own, but it ends, here and now.” He bent his head and offered an olive branch in a kiss. At once, she opened to him, displaying the characteristic raw hunger for which he adored her. She yanked his hair and mingled her tongue with his. She dug her fingernails into his shoulders. Then she broke. “Shh, sweetheart. This is my fault, and I will make amends, until first light and beyond, if that is what it takes to prove you are still my most desired lady.”
With his knee, he spread her legs, which she immediately wrapped about his hips, and in a flex of his spine, he merged their bodies. To his unutterable delight, she exhaled a shivery breath and wrapped her arms about him, supporting him as he commenced the delicate dance.
It was a deed as old as humanity, yet for him it represented a rebirth.
In the gentle slip and slide, he found unshakeable validation, and Arabella declared her love, twofold. The incomparable connection, irrefutable in its meaning, carried him to new heights of pleasure and reassurance, when she gripped his arse and hastened his rhythm. Thus, he whispered fervent declarations, for her ears only, proclaiming what she did for him and how she brought him alive, when so many conspired to destroy him.
Given their time apart, he gritted his teeth, and completion beckoned. In silence, he vowed to delay until she found release. Just as he thought he could withstand no more, she gave vent to a heartrendingly sweet cry, and he let fly his seed, deep within her.
Some moments later, he floated back to the mortal plane. As usual, she embraced him, stroking his back until the passionate storm passed, and he turned his head to press his lips to hers.
“My darling, I am home, at
last.” He rubbed the tip of his nose to hers. “Because, when we are one, this is home, and I love you.”
“If that is how you feel, why have you ignored me?” A single tear streamed her temple, and he realized he had work to do, to restore his lady’s faith. “Don’t you understand that I need you? That I love you, too? And it hurts me when you exclude me from your life. Indeed, I cannot bear it, given the pain is such that I falter beneath the burden of my loneliness.”
“Sweetheart, that was never my intent.” With a sigh, he withdrew from her, fluffed a pillow, and reclined. As before, she sidled next to him, and he rested his palm to her hip. “Rather, I hoped to spare you the details of my brief imprisonment. It is difficult to explain, but they treated me less than a man and more like an animal, and it was humiliating. But I would have you know that I survived because of you.”
“Oh?” With a finger, she toyed with the hair on his chest. “How so?”
“When I arrived at the asylum, they chained me to a bed and beat me.” Recalling the horrible night, when he feared he might never see her again, he shuddered, and she kissed him. “And that is what helped me endure. To escape the pain, I conjured visions of you, of your tempting lips, of your glorious face, of your warm embrace, and of your affirmations, in the most grievous situations. No matter how hard they tried, they could not touch me. So, you did not fail me, because regardless of their ruthless endeavors to break me, in my darkest moments, when I needed you most, you were there, and you saved me.”
In her continued silence, he sensed a request, and he submitted to his wife’s unspoken demand.
For the next hour, he detailed the length of his confinement, omitting nothing, however seemingly insignificant, and Arabella cried for him, as he expected and once thought to avoid. Incomparably strong, his lady stood for him, and in her tears he found something powerful and curative. She wept for them, both. And in her tender expression, he found restorative healing and peaceful calm.
The Accidental Duke (The Mad Matchmaking Men of Waterloo Book 1) Page 29
