The Mad, Bad Duke (Nvengaria #2)(14)

Behind his initial sated comfort, Alexander’s razor-sharp mind worked, listing the myriad things he’d have to do. Everything would have to be right, from the jewels to the legal documents to the ceremony itself, done before time so if he’d given her a child this night, no one would count his next son or daughter a bastard.

The English had such peculiar rules for bastardy, such as the child never being able to inherit his father’s lands. Whereas in Nvengaria, illegitimate children were treasured and inherited what was their due. Also a Nvengarian child conceived while the parents were betrothed was not considered illegitimate, as it was in England.

And who, who, Alexander’s mind cried, wanted me to drop my seed into this innocence of a girl?

It had been cruel to use her, and when Alexander found the man, or woman, he’d make them pay. He knew, even in the lassitude of afterglow, that he’d ruined Meagan in the eyes of her world, and he determined that someone would make recompense for that.

But all would be well. Alexander had a solicitor and a team of people at his disposal who could make this situation become only a small snag in the fabric of his life. It would be smoothed out, and they’d go on.

“Alexander.” Meagan raised her head and gave him a sleepy smile, and Alexander knew he loved her.

Then, in that instant, the love spell faded. Alexander saw the languorousness leave Meagan at the same time the warm contentment drained from his own limbs. They sat face to face, returning to sanity together, cool worry entering Meagan’s brown-gold eyes.

“Did I hurt you?” Alexander asked softly.

A swallow moved down her slender throat. “I thought it would but it felt—strange.”

“The spell helped with the pain.” Alexander put his hands on her hips and gently eased her to her feet. “Likely so we would not turn back.”

Meagan stepped away from him, shaking, her face flushed with embarrassment. There was a dabble of blood on his half-erection and some spattered on her thighs. He lifted his cravat from the floor and used the linen to gently clean her.

“You will not be able to return to the ball,” he told her as he wiped the stain from her skin.

Meagan shook her head, her loosened hair dancing on her shoulders. She could not understand how erotic she looked clad in only her silk stockings and slippers, the stockings tied with gold lace garters. Her breasts were full, the nipples dusky pink, the hair he touched with his cravat a darker red than that on her head.

“I will tell step-mama I am sick and must go home,” Meagan said, her voice raspy.

She was strong, this English girl. She did not break down or fling screamed accusations at Alexander but only looked sad, as though something beautiful had been taken from her and she regretted its loss.

“You will go nowhere.” Alexander rose from the chair then pulled up and refastened his trousers. “I will send the appropriate messages, and you will go home without seeing anyone. I will take care of things.”

“You are no doubt right.” Meagan’s voice was quiet and controlled as she retrieved her chemise from the floor.

Her backside half turned toward him as she leaned to fetch her clothes, and Alexander’s semi-erection became a full one again. The love spell was powerful, but even without it the beauty of Meagan, like a goddess casual in her nakedness, was an intoxicating sight. The fool who’d wasted money on the spell need only have paraded Meagan before him, and Alexander would have become randy and willing.

No, in truth Alexander would never have taken an innocent, not an young nobody who could be ruined in an instant. That had been planned most carefully by some enemy.

Silent tears streaked Meagan’s face as she pulled on the chemise. She wiped the tears from her cheeks, but they continued to flow. Her shaking fingers could not do up the ribbons that held the chemise closed.

“Let me.” Alexander tied the tapes then picked up the stiff stays and put them around her body, gently re-threading the laces he’d so eagerly undone. He helped her pull the cream silk gown over her shoulders and buttoned the cloth-covered buttons up the back.

All the while, tears rained down Meagan’s face, although she did not sob or sniffle. Just silent water falling from her eyes as she realized she’d lost her maidenhood to a stranger, and what the consequences would be.

Alexander had heard of plenty of callous English rakes who ruined girls and left them by the wayside, promising them marriage and then abandoning them. Some of these rakes were shot by brothers and fathers, and rightly so, but the vengeance never truly helped the woman.

Meagan would never know the pain of abandonment—Alexander would make bloody sure of that. She was as much a victim in this as he was.

Alexander quietly donned his shirt and pulled on his high-necked Nvengarian coat, fastening it at his throat so it would not look odd without his cravat. He wrapped the linen cravat into a ball, which he thrust into the lit fireplace, letting fire consume the evidence of their first coupling. He then settled the sash of office on his shoulder, looking in the mirror over the sideboard to adjust it correctly.

He found the ribbon for his hair, smoothed the unruly black mess into something resembling order and tied it again. Meagan had sunk to a chair and watched him in the mirror, her hands limp on her lap, her face empty.

Alexander poured brandy from the decanter on the table and took it to her. “You stay here and drink this,” he ordered, closing her hand over the glass. “Lock the door and let no one in but me. My servants will put it about that you are ill and had to leave, and my man will get you home without anyone seeing. Do you understand?”