The Accidental Duke (The Mad Matchmaking Men of Waterloo Book 1) Devlin, Barbara (that summer book .TXT) 📖

The stress of the escape, Anthony’s capture, and the argument with her father stretched taut her nerves, and she broke. Arabella bent forward and sobbed.

“None of that, now.” Papa rushed to provide support. To her relief, he enfolded her in his warm embrace. “None of that, my girl. It will be all right, I promise.”

Still, she could not stop crying. She wept for her husband. She wept for her unborn child. She wept for the future she desperately desired.

“Oh, Papa, what am I going to do if I cannot find Anthony?” Again, she wailed, and her father stroked her hair. “I cannot abandon him to Swanborough’s clutches.”

“And we will not.” Papa fumbled with his robe, and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Well, given I am not properly dressed to receive company, I have no handkerchief to offer you. Perhaps, it is time to rejoin the others.”

“Papa, what are you going to do?” She sniffed.

“Let us discuss our next move, with our guests.” Papa led her back to the drawing room, where the butler served tea. Her father thrust a letter into the manservant’s grasp. “Travers, have the missive delivered into the hands of the Duke of Swanborough’s solicitor. Send a footman for my representative, and have another footman fetch Dr. Handley. Tell him Lady Rockingham is indisposed and requires his services.”

“Right away, my lord.” Travers bowed.

Beaulieu and Emily stood and cast a glance at Arabella. She shrugged.

“And one more thing.” Papa raised a finger. “Have footmen posted at all doors. No one is to enter this house without my expressed permission, and no one is to be granted an audience with Lady Rockingham, unless either myself or Lord Beaulieu is present.”

“Very good, my lord.” The butler hurried into the hallway.

In a short span, Ainsworth House morphed into a beehive of activity, as maids and footmen rushed in all directions. Arabella met her father’s stare, and he winked. In that instant, she knew she was not alone.

“My lord, what is happening?” Mama came to stand beside Arabella. “Why do you reassign the staff?”

“Because we are going to war, my lady wife.” Papa lifted his chin. “We challenge the Duke of Swanborough.”

Chapter Seventeen

A delightful cherub flitted above him, sprinkling him with gold dust. Dancing and prancing through the air, in seraph form Arabella soared. Her smile, stretched across her face, fed his soul and soothed his nerves. Her effusive laugh, bubbling with joy, filled his ears, and Anthony relaxed and sank into the mattress of his filthy bed. When his wife splayed her arms in welcome, he reached for her, and the treasured vision dissipated.

“How are you this morning, Rockingham?” Charles glanced at Anthony, winced, and quickly averted his gaze. Yes, he required no mirror to know he looked bad after Shaw’s henchmen practiced their pugilist skills on his face. “This cannot be allowed to continue. You will not survive much more of Shaw’s torture.”

“We must get you out of here.” Thomas scooted to the end of his bed and hefted the chain attached to the shackle on his ankle. “I would gladly take another beating for you, today, but that is no real solution. If we do not liberate you, and soon, Shaw will kill you.”

“That will not happen.” Anthony choked and sputtered, and he bit back the searing agony in his ribs. Thanks to Thomas, who intervened when Shaw’s men arrived to take Anthony for more therapy, he enjoyed a brief respite the previous day. “Lady Rockingham will find me. She will find me and free us all. Just wait, and you will see.”

“It has been a fortnight.” Head bowed, Henry sighed and punched his pillow. “Surely, they would have found you, by now. And Shaw starves you. You grow weaker with each successive day, and you are powerless to defend yourself. How much more can you—can any man withstand? And what did you do that he attacks you so? I have never seen him assault a patient with such ferocity and ruthless abandon. If necessary, I will take your treatment, today.”

“No.” Anthony shook his head and sucked in a breath. His eyes watered, and the room spun out of control. “I cannot, in good conscience, permit that. I will take whatever Shaw metes out, and I will prevail.” He swallowed hard. “With my wife as a shield, he cannot touch me.”

“Despite evidence to the contrary.” Charles snorted. “You look like you’ve been trampled by a herd of elephants, and they focused particular attention on your face. And your wife is not here.”

“Thanks, ever so much, and she will come for me.” Anthony’s stomach growled, and he ignored the hunger gnawing at his insides. At one point, out of sheer desperation, he envisioned some of his favorite foods, like Yorkshire pie, a savory ragout of beef, and onion soup. The images, so vivid in detail, he could almost taste them. “I beg your pardon, but I am so famished I may eat my pillow.”

The telltale scrape of the keys heralded the arrival of the morning meal, and he rolled onto his side and sat upright. Two guards entered the chamber and set a tray at the foot of each man’s bed. Whereas the other veterans were given a bowl of porridge, a large chunk of bread, and a cup of tea, Anthony received naught but a meager crust and a small glass of water.

“Eat your food, and be quick about it.” The larger attendant, a beast of a fellow with a half-moon scar from his mouth to his chin, scowled and waved a fist. “Else I will shove it down your throat, and I would enjoy it.”

Shivering, Anthony blanched at his paltry fare, but he had to keep up his strength, if only to stay alive until Arabella saved him. And she would save him. He would believe in her to his last breath. Just as he retrieved the crust, Charles tossed a portion of his bread.

“You