The Mad, Bad Duke (Nvengaria #2)(111)

“He’s never sent a letter magically, Your Grace,” Nikolai answered breathlessly. “It popped in on the tray in the hall—poof—sent by a spell.”

Alexander reached for the paper, carefully wedged his finger under the wax seal, and opened it. He read for a moment, then his face lost color and he curled his fingers to his lower lip.

Meagan struggled to her feet. “Alexander, what is it? Bad news?” Her heart beat faster, wondering if Penelope or her child had taken ill or become hurt.

“No, nothing like that.” Alexander looked up at her, his eyes intense. “Damien is recalling me. He wants me to return to Nvengaria to help him with a few problems.” He tried to sound matter-of-fact as he scanned the letter again. “Things more important than me keeping the English king under the whip.”

Meagan reached her husband where he stood statue-still over the letter. But his body shook, and happiness kindled in his eyes.

“You mean we are going home?” she asked.

“Yes.” Alexander threw down the paper, lifted Meagan off her feet, spun her around, then crushed her against him. “Home.” He said the word with such longing that Meagan’s heart nearly burst for him. “With you, where I belong.”

Nikolai stared at them. “To Nvengaria?” he repeated as though too stunned to comprehend it. “We return to Nvengaria?”

“Yes, Nikolai,” Meagan said, laughing. “His Grace has just said so.”

Nikolai jumped straight into the air and punched it with his fist. He let out a ululation, then turned a cartwheel and rushed up the path, shouting the news at the top of his lungs.

Alex ran after him, attempting the cartwheel and nearly falling in the mud. He scrambled up, brushing himself off and sprinted after Nikolai’s retreating form.

Alexander held Meagan close. “Do you mind? Leaving England? Your father and stepmother may come with us, of course. I would not separate you from those you love.”

Meagan cupped his strong face between her hands. “Step-mama will adore living in a castle. Do not worry, dear Alexander, it has always been my fondest dream to travel.”

Alexander’s happiness beamed out in his smile. “Then we will go together. As leisurely as you like, stopping in as many places as you like. I will show you the world, my Grand Duchess.”

“If I see it with you, it will be a fine thing.” Meagan kissed the bridge of his nose.

Alexander pulled her into a darker kiss, one filled with promise and excitement, and of Number One-Hundred and Twenty of Adolpho’s Book of Seductions they’d shared last night, the one that involved soft silken tethers.

The lesson might have commenced at once had it not been for Simone’s shrill voice and her lithe form racing down the hill.

“Oh, my dears,” she cried before she reached them. “Nvengaria. In the palace with darling Penelope and my grandson. I shall have to have entirely new gowns—gracious there is so much to do. Fancy me and your father in a royal palace.” She pressed her hands together as Meagan laughed, and Alexander and Michael looked on in fondness. “Oh, the Duchess of Gower and Deirdre Braithwaite will stew in envy now!”





Epilogue





A wild panther roamed the woods of Nvengaria, sleek and black, his blue eyes intense. The rare black leopard existed in the northern mountains of the country, but this one was a little bit different.

For one thing, a red-haired young woman walked next to him, unafraid, resting her hand on his strong shoulder. The second odd thing was that two children rode on his back, fingers clinging to his fur.

One child was a seven-year-old boy with black hair, blue eyes, and an eager smile. The second black-haired boy also had Nvengarian blue eyes but was about a year and a half old. The older child steadied him with great responsibility as they rode. The woman carried a third child trussed on her back, a small girl with dark red hair who had been born six months before.

Following the panther and the woman came the Imperial Prince and Princess of Nvengaria, both in casual clothes for walking in the woods. Behind them trailed a few Nvengarians bearing a wide picnic basket between them. Heaven forbid that Prince Damien and Princess Penelope should venture into the woods for a picnic without a full seven-course meal complete with wine, cutlery, and crystal.

“Are you certain it was up this hill?” the Prince called ahead.

His handsome face held an easy attractiveness, his lips curving to a ready smile. His eyes contained intelligence, a man who knew how to use his attractiveness and charm to his own benefit.

He addressed his question to the panther, who rumbled low in his chest.

“He is certain,” the red-haired Grand Duchess of Nvengaria said over her shoulder.

“How she understands him is beyond me,” Damien muttered. He closed his hand around Penelope’s and helped her over a rock.

“Love,” Penelope answered, giving her husband a warm smile. “It translates everything.”

For a moment Damien let Penelope remain on the rock, which put them at eye level, and gave her a long kiss. “What do you translate from that?” he asked her.

“That I am looking forward to retiring to our chamber this evening.”

“As am I, my love.” Damien kissed her again, then helped her down and caught up to the others.

The panther waited impatiently, one blue eye peering around his broad shoulder.