The Mad, Bad Duke (Nvengaria #2)(110)

“Watching over his shoulder, eh?”

Alexander made a conceding gesture. “As you say.”

The two men studied each other, Metternich’s eyes shrewd. But he nodded and dropped the subject.

For today, Alexander had won. Austria and Metternich would never give up, Alexander knew, but neither would Alexander.

They finished the brandy and rose, both men extending hands at precisely the same time, breaking apart after one brief handshake. The footmen, cued, opened the double doors for them.

“I was introduced to your wife at the king’s soiree last evening,” Metternich said as they walked out of the room, side-by-side at the exact same time. “She is quite a beauty. Again, I congratulate you.”

Alexander’s mouth softened as he remembered waking up next to Meagan in her bedroom in their Berkeley Square house that morning. She’d smiled at him, her red hair tangled on the pillows, her eyes warm from their lovemaking the night before, and he’d realized a joy that he’d never felt in his life. They’d then had a leisurely breakfast in the sunny morning room as had become their habit, sending for Alex to join them. It was a welcome novelty, living as a happy family.

Meagan and her courage had given him that. If she’d not charged out to the country to show him that his love for her would keep the beast from hurting her—and that she loved him, beast and all—he would never have known, at last, what happiness could be.

Alexander hadn’t really understood what Myn had meant by surrender until Meagan had shown him. Myn had meant complete surrender, letting go of all the hurts and angers Alexander had accumulated in his life, the fears he’d learned to embrace at such a young age. The death, the vengeance, the years of watching and dark suspicion, were in the past. Meagan had made it possible for him to begin again.

“She is,” Alexander answered with a cordial nod, his heart warm. “I will convey the compliment.”

Metternich nodded in return, and the two men parted. Metternich returned to his lodgings to prepare to intimidate King George, and Alexander went home, to his wife, who waited for him.



* * *



“Fishing,” Meagan said. “Is a satisfying occupation.”

She watched her husband and his son standing knee deep in water at the edge of the lake, both in tall boots, both with lines dragging on the surface. It was late June, the Season over, and sunshine sparkled on the deep blue water.

On a slight rise above them stood Alexander’s Elizabethan house, splendid and old, quaint and cozy. They’d retreated here days ago for a welcome respite.

Meagan stretched out on a blanket on the grass watching Alexander give Alex solemn fishing lessons. They stood side-by-side, one a miniature of the other, and let their lines bob.

When young Alex’s line began to pull, he let out a cry of delight and followed his father’s instructions to the letter to pull in a flopping silver fish.

Meagan sat up and clapped her hands. “Excellently done, Alex. We’ll have Cook fry him up for supper.”

Alex looked in distress at the beautiful fish dancing on the end of his line. “We are going to eat him?”

“Well, yes,” Meagan laughed. “That is the point of catching fish.”

Alex looked at the struggling fish a moment longer, then unhooked it from his line and tossed it back into the lake.

Alexander glanced over at Meagan, his blue eyes full of mirth. “He has a soft heart, I think.”

“It is all right.” Meagan place a hand on the tiny swell of her abdomen where Alex’s brother or sister grew. “We have plenty of roast left from yesterday evening.”

She lay back on the blanket, resting now as she needed to do more often these days. The sky arched blue above her, a few clouds drifting past to give cooling shade. A perfect English day in a perfect English summer. Her father and stepmother were wandering the gardens somewhere, enjoying Alexander’s hospitality while giving him and Meagan privacy.

Alexander had invited her parents and looked surprised at Meagan’s wonder that he should do so. Of course they should grow to know one other, Alexander said. They were family.

Myn had departed soon after Meagan’s rescue of Alexander, stating that Alexander no longer needed him. Anastasia had resigned as Alexander’s spy and had gone to Nvengaria with Myn. She’d looked both relieved and rather bewildered at the turn of events, but the haunting grief had eased from her lovely eyes.

“Your Grace!” Nikolai’s voice floated down the hill and soon his lithe form loped toward them from the direction of the house.

Meagan stifled a sigh. When Nikolai came to find Alexander in person there was usually some tedious errand Alexander had to perform, such as meeting with an ambassador or soothing the English king’s ruffled feathers. Some things never ceased.

Alexander looked around but did not seem alarmed. He never looked alarmed, drat him. He could be calm and cool even as a wild panther.

Nikolai came panting up, his polished boots the worse for the muddy path. “A letter Your Grace,” he said, waving a folded paper. “A letter from Nvengaria. From the Imperial Prince himself!”

Without undue haste, Alexander carefully thrust his pole in the bank and waded to shore. Alex copied his movements and followed.

“The Imperial Prince has written before, Nikolai,” Alexander said. “Why is it an occasion to interrupt something as important as fishing?”