The Mad, Bad Duke (Nvengaria #2)(17)
Alexander did not like that either. Von Hohenzahl was a fool, but one who could be very dangerous. “I will question him,” Alexander said in a hard voice. “If he proves difficult to crack with persuasion, we will use other means, but crack him we will.”
“I am happy to hear you say so.” Anastasia had a ruthless streak in her, especially where Austrians were concerned. “But what happened to you? It is not like you to miss an appointment.” She stopped, her shrewd blue gaze going to Alexander’s absent cravat, the faint finger marks on his neck he’d seen when he’d straightened his garments in the mirror, and his mussed hair. Her mouth dropped open. “Good Lord, you had a liaison. With whom? What did you learn?”
Typical of Anastasia to think of lovemaking only in terms of gaining information. Before tonight, the assumption would not have annoyed Alexander, but it did now. “Not that sort of liaison,” he said in clipped tones.
“What then? A dalliance with a maid?” Anastasia gave him a look of dismay. “Alexander, what on earth were you thinking?”
Alexander had been thinking of a red-haired lady whose lips were curved and warm, whose skin was soft under his fingers, whose broken cries of passion had aroused him as nothing had in ages. She’d smashed through Alexander’s aloof shell and touched the volatile man inside him—the one Alexander had fiercely suppressed for years.
The savagery startled him, but at the same time he relished in the awakening. Violent Nvengarian emotions could be inconvenient, but Meagan had tapped ones Alexander had all but forgotten—joy, elation, happiness.
“I need a favor from you, Anastasia,” Alexander said abruptly. “Come home with me tonight and make it obvious that you are doing so.”
Anastasia studied him with a frown, then her eyes widened in shock. “Good heavens, Alexander—you were with the Tavistock girl. You were, weren’t you?”
Chapter 6
Alexander felt his face heat as Anastasia continued to stare at him, amazement in her eyes. “Have you run mad?” she demanded. “Miss Tavistock is an innocent miss, untouchable. Or are you playing some sort of game against Damien, because she is Princess Penelope’s friend?”
Anastasia’s assumptions flared Alexander’s rage to life. “I am playing no games. I have fallen in love with her.”
Anastasia stared at him, mouth open, ignoring his anger. “Love? You have run mad.”
“It was a love spell,” Alexander said tightly. “Someone is using her to destroy me somehow. I do not know who, and I do not believe she knows either, but she knew about the spell.”
Alexander withdrew the talisman from his pocket. Anastasia’s gaze moved to it, and she nodded. She’d seen spell talismans before.
“Would you like me to destroy it for you?” she asked.
Alexander touched the gold wire absently then dropped the talisman back into his pocket. “No. I wish to discover who had it made. I doubt Meagan did it herself. I cannot see her plucking feathers and chanting over candles.”
“How do you know?” Anastasia asked, interested. “You’ve only just met her.”
“I know.”
Anastasia’s gaze was piercing. “You are too used to political intrigue, Alexander. Perhaps Miss Tavistock simply wants to catch herself a husband.”
“A dangerous way to land a proposal,” Alexander observed. “Love spells create only physical attraction, and most gentlemen walk away at the end of them, forgetting about the woman as soon as the magic has gone.”
“Yes, but you are not most gentlemen.”
Alexander shrugged, his heart burning. “She has no way of knowing that. Tomorrow, I will approach her father. The English have a habit of tearing to pieces any who break their rules, and I do not wish that to happen to her.”
Anastasia eyed him closely. “I see. Hence, I go home with you tonight, so people talk about me with you, not her, and spare her reputation.”
Alexander nodded, his mind turning over the procedures he needed to follow, while another part of him wondered about von Hohenzahl and his secret and how to extract it from him. “I want no hint of gossip or speculation to touch Miss Tavistock until it is a fait accompli.”
“Very well.” Anastasia subjected him to her scrutiny a moment longer, then she began to laugh. And laugh and laugh.
Alexander’s brows twitched in annoyance. “I find nothing amusing.”
“I do. Good heavens, Alexander, how many women have thrown themselves at you? All for nothing—it is like battering the most fortified castle in the world. And one red-haired girl with freckles brings you down with feathers and a twist of gold wire. This is delicious.”
Somewhere deep inside, a man within Alexander laughed with Anastasia for the joy of it, but that man was far from the surface. “I do not like being a joke,” he said firmly.
“I know.” Anastasia wiped her eyes. “You are Grand Duke Alexander, the most ruthless man in the world. Oh my, I am enjoying this.”
Alexander abruptly pulled Anastasia into his arms and kissed her. Not for sudden affection or to stop her laughing, but because he’d heard a step in the hall.
One of Lord Featherstone’s guests, a portly man with little hair left, peered at them and made a grunting noise.