The Mad, Bad Duke (Nvengaria #2)(109)
Alexander gave her a satisfied nod. “Then we will come here as soon as I finish with one errand in Town.”
Meagan raised her brows. “Truly? What of our schedules? What of our social standing as Grand Duke and Duchess of Nvengaria?”
Alexander’s look turned feral. “Our schedules can go to hell for a few weeks. If I hadn’t been so adamant about being Grand Duke every minute of every day in Nvengaria, I might have had a real first marriage.”
“I don’t know,” Meagan said thoughtfully. “From what you tell me of Sephronia, she was in love with your position and not you. She adored being Grand Duchess, but she ought to have loved you better.”
“I am difficult to love,” Alexander said in a quiet voice.
“No, you are not.” Meagan smiled against his lips. “Loving you is the easiest thing I have ever done.”
Alexander’s hand moved to the back of her stays, his fingers finding the knot he had just tied. “You should not have said that. Not if you are in a hurry to go home.”
Meagan shivered against him. “Julius will be waiting with the coach. Impatiently, I wager.”
Alexander had told her that Egan, after ascertaining that everything was all right, had taken Julius and the others to the steward’s house to get warm. They’d drunk Nvengarian wine, told tales, and played cards for the remainder of the night. Myn had disappeared, but that was typical of Myn. Meagan had a feeling she knew where he’d gone.
“Julius can wait a little longer,” Alexander said with a hot smile as his hand splayed open the laces of her stays.
Meagan twined her arms around her husband’s neck and let him do as he pleased.
Chapter 27
Grand Duke Alexander met with Prince Metternich, first minister of Austria, in a room in Carleton House which Alexander had bullied the English king into letting them use. Metternich had come to England for diplomatic talks, and Alexander saw no reason not to exploit the time.
Metternich was an elegant man with carefully curled hair and a strong face that held just a hint of plumpness. The two men faced each other, each seated in a gilded chair across a short space of carpet woven with huge roses. Each man had a decanter of brandy and a goblet on a small table beside him, which footmen had filled before discreetly retreating. Alexander had demanded that this meeting be strictly private.
After the preliminary dance of inquiring about the state of both men’s health and that of their families, Metternich congratulating Alexander on his recent marriage, Alexander launched into why he’d cornered the savior of the Austrian Empire.
“Your toady, Otto von Hohenzahl,” Alexander said. “Please do not let him annoy me again.”
“Ah.” Metternich moved a ringed hand in a dismissive gesture as he reached for his brandy. “Von Hohenzahl has retreated to Vienna. I believe he has a country house outside the city where he tends roses with his wife.”
“I know he acted against your wishes and without your knowledge,” Alexander said. “But he is yours. I hope I did not startle you when I delivered my—package.”
Metternich’s eyes flickered. The morning after Meagan had healed him, Alexander had sent Julius and the others to wrap von Hohenzahl in cords and drop the trussed-up man outside the London house in which Metternich was staying. Alexander had tucked a note into von Hohenzahl’s dressing gown pocket to explain the matter.
“A whimsical prank,” Alexander continued, his voice growing colder. “But I was feeling whimsical that morning. However, if one of your servants is fool enough to endanger my wife’s and son’s lives again, you will pay and you will pay dearly.”
Metternich took a thoughtful sip of brandy. He was an intelligent man, who had not taken over the falling-apart Austrian empire and made it whole again without a great deal of strength and cunning.
“If Nvengaria were Austrian,” he said smoothly, “these sorts of things would not happen. Consider it, my friend. Your little country would never have to fear the press of Russia or the Ottomans again.”
“What about the Austrians?” Alexander asked dryly. “We will never bow to you, we will never succumb—we will never let you in.” He picked up his glass of brandy but did not drink. “Become used to the notion.”
Metternich sighed. “I really did not think you’d say oh, very well, and hand Nvengaria over to me. But I must ask, Your Grace, while we have a private moment, why not? Why on earth should you not want to be part of the larger whole, part of the empire that is the most powerful and wealthy in Europe? In other words, why are you Nvengarians so damned stubborn?”
He asked as though he were curious about an oddity.
“Because we should lose ourselves,” Alexander answered. “Because eight hundred years ago when the first leaders of our primitive tribes made a pledge to each other to make life better for their people, we promised to never bow down to any outsider. We would remain Nvengarian, untouched and untouchable. We are a proud people, and we will be so until the last one of us is dead.”
“Time marches, Your Grace. The world changes.”
“I know,” Alexander said calmly. “Which is the point of me being here in England—to bring Nvengaria into the world without letting the world conquer it. Prince Damien is no foolish playboy figurehead—never mistake him for one. He knows exactly what he is doing, and I stand right beside him.”