The Mad, Bad Duke (Nvengaria #2)(105)

She told me that the love spell had finished on our wedding night. That anything we have felt since then is all our own doing.

In other words, the heart-wrenching, gut-twisting love that burned inside him for Meagan, the longing to have her next to him every minute—holding her hand during the day and buried deep inside her at night—came from his own carnal lusts, not a spell.

No, it was too powerful—it had to be magic. Alexander had never felt anything like this in his life.

His wife banged back into the room with a large bowl of water and an armful of towels. “Thank goodness the water was warm. Someone has kept your kitchen fire going and water heating, presumably so Julius and his men could have coffee after chasing you about. I do hope they don’t catch cold out there, but I will not let them in to interfere with us.”

Amusement trickled through Alexander’s near madness. No woman but Meagan would dream of standing up to a Nvengarian fighting man like Julius and tell him to go find something else to do. Alexander would have to give him a rise in wages.

The amusement deserted him when Meagan folded back the sleeves of her cotton dress and dipped a towel into the bowl. Her bared forearms glistened with perspiration, and the steam curled tendrils of hair around her forehead.

He wanted her with fierce intensity that would not let him hold back. Alexander moved to her much like the panther would move, quietly and with determination, the thick wool of the carpet prickling his bare feet.

Meagan met his gaze, unafraid, and gave him a little smile before wringing out the cloth and stroking the wet towel across the cuts on his arm. “I would not want your wounds to take sick.”

Alexander slid his hand behind her head and threaded his fingers though her loose hair as she dabbed at the smears of blood on his interlaced tattoo. When she raised her head, he saw tears on her face.

“I was so worried about you,” she whispered.

No woman had ever worried about him, not even Sephronia. The former Grand Duchess, stately and regal, cold like a diamond, would never have stood by him while he struggled to regain his sanity. She’d have kept far away from him until he was better. Sephronia would never have looked at him with stark love in her eyes and say she worried for him.

Meagan, on the other hand, had come all the way out here in the dark, had stood in front of the beast in the freezing cold woods and declared her love for Alexander in front of a dozen men. Now she dabbed at the blood on Alexander’s arm, fearing he’d take a fever.

Alexander stroked Meagan’s hair, enjoying how sleek and soft it was. No longer able to speak, he leaned down and kissed a tear on her cheek.

The salt taste made what little control he had evaporate. Alexander heard the growl in his throat, and her eyes widened.

Then they were on the floor, Meagan landing on top of him where he pulled her, water cascading over them in a warm arc. Alexander kissed his wife, furrowing her hair where droplets of water glistened like jewels. Meagan closed her eyes tightly, tears beading on her lashes, the line of freckles across her nose an endearing sight.

She pressed her fingers into his bare shoulders, indenting his flesh. The slight pressure only increased Alexander’s desperation.

Too many wretched garments barred the way between her and himself. Alexander found the fabric-covered buttons at the back of her bodice and impatiently pushed them through the holes. No, not fast enough. He spread his hand.

Fabric tore and buttons popped, then Alexander fumbled with the ties that held her stays. The night he’d first made love to Meagan, he’d been able to slowly and deliberately work the complicated laces free, but tonight his clumsy fingers tugged and pulled to no avail.

“Let me.” Meagan dropped a kiss to his lips, then rose to her knees, her legs on either side of him, his erection pressing the tangle of her skirts. Alexander had already snapped the laces, and Meagan reached behind her back to tug and pull them free.

The stays came off to reveal her pale chemise, her tight, dark nipples pressing the fabric. She shrugged off the remains of her bodice then unlaced her chemise and pushed it from her shoulders. Her breasts came into view, beautiful and taut, fitting perfectly into Alexander’s hands.

Every lesson he’d learned at the cult of Eros fled his conscious mind. He only knew he wanted Meagan with mindless need and would not be satisfied until he sated himself with her.

“Take off the rest,” he commanded.

Meagan, face still stained with tears, climbed to her feet. She let her chemise and skirts fall from her hips, then she stepped out of the gown and shoved it aside. She was bare except for her stockings and slippers, just as she had been at Lady Featherstone’s the night the love spell had made Alexander crave her. Meagan was even more beautiful to him now, pink-cheeked and starry-eyed, knowing what it was to have him inside her, and wanting it again.

Alexander reached up to clasp her hips and dragged her down on top of him. “Ride me,” he said.

Her lips curved to a smile, a woman pleased that a man wanted her so much. She slid her knees to either side of him, her opening rubbing his waiting cock. Alexander groaned with frustration, fingers clamping her wrists.

“Please.”

The secret smile broadened, Meagan’s opening slick with her wanting. Still she teased him, rubbing against him, her soft, hot flesh against his tip.

“Do not,” Alexander said between gritted teeth. “Do not, Meagan—you will regret it.”