The Mad, Bad Duke (Nvengaria #2)(21)
Above them a door banged, and Nikolai appeared on the first landing. “Ah, you have come,” he said, his tone welcoming. “Miss Tavistock and honorable father and mother, please to follow me?”
Gaius flashed a triumphant smile and the butler gave him a weary look. Meagan suddenly wanted to pat the butler sympathetically and fix him a cup of tea. Living with all these Nvengarians must be trying.
Simone had already reached the top of the stairs, Michael right behind her. “What a beautiful house,” Simone exclaimed, running her hand along the carved railing. “Just think, our Meagan will live here and we shall visit every day.”
If the prospect dismayed Nikolai, he made no sign. He waited for Meagan to reach the top of the stairs and gave her an inquiring look. His friendly sympathy made her want to burst into tears, but she bravely held them in and whispered, “I am fine. Thank you, Nikolai.”
Meagan’s father shot her a sharp glance, clearly wondering how she knew Nikolai’s name. Meagan blushed but kept her eyes averted as Nikolai moved past Simone and Michael and led them on.
The upper hall encircled the lower one with an oval gallery supported by pillars and arches carved into the shape of palm trees. Gilded double doors led off of this balcony into rooms the magazine stories described in detail—the Asia Hall, the India Sitting Room, the Marble Salon, and others.
The study Nikolai led them to was high-ceilinged and decorated in shades of dark red, lit by tall windows that overlooked the square. Bookshelves covered the walls, and the cavernous room ended in a desk placed before an enormous and ornate fireplace.
Behind this desk sat Alexander, Grand Duke of Nvengaria.
It was an audience they’d come to have with him, no less. Not a visit or a chat—he controlled the room, and Meagan and her family were supplicants.
Alexander rose to his feet as they entered, every inch the Grand Duke with his dark coat, medals, and blue and gold sash of office across his chest. He wore no gloves today, showing the ruby ring on his forefinger that reflected the red of his earring.
Meagan swallowed a lump in her throat. She’d managed to push aside thoughts of his very blue eyes and the heat he’d stirred inside her, letting worry about this proposal drive away her physical reactions to the man.
But as she entered the room, visions of him returned thick and fast—Alexander’s ragged voice as he whispered endearments in Nvengarian, his kisses that possessed her, his hands firm on her body. Alexander holding her on his lap, his eyes heavy, making her feel wild and wicked, free for the first time in her life.
Meagan’s face heated under her bonnet and her fingers went ice-cold. From the look in Alexander’s hard eyes, he remembered every moment of their encounter as well but was less than happy about it.
Gaius dragged armchairs into a line before Alexander’s desk. He gestured Meagan to the first chair with a flourish. “Honored lady, please to sit.”
Alexander said nothing at all, neither inviting them to stay nor sending them off. He simply waited for them to obey his servant.
Gaius gestured again, regarding Meagan in growing agitation. “You must sit. An honored lady cannot stand.”
To make him happy—or at least be quiet—Meagan moved to the chair and plopped into the seat.
Simone readily took her chair and smiled at Gaius, who set a stool under her feet. “We are frightfully honored, Your Grace,” she said to Alexander. “Fancy you choosing our daughter above all ladies to marry. Of course she is quite charming, so it is no surprise to me. I have always praised Meagan for her unusual looks.”
She stretched the truth. All Season thus far Simone had suggested different remedies to remove Meagan’s freckles, or dressing her hair in ways to not draw attention to the redness of it. And you could try a bit of slimming, darling. Not that you are not adorable, but …
Michael remained standing.
“You have come to accept my offer?” Alexander began, addressing Michael. Meagan noticed that though he seemed to look at all of them at once, Alexander never let his gaze rest directly on Meagan.
“We have,” Simone said at once.
“We have not.” Michael’s voice rose over his wife’s. “We have come to inquire what prompted you to make it. Do you have a shortage of marriageable ladies in Nvengaria, Your Grace? Your countrymen seem to keep snatching up English girls to wife, particularly from my family.”
Alexander’s brows rose, his cool poise not in the least dented. Meagan recalled Nikolai’s tale about Alexander destroying half a city on a whim, and looking into Alexander’s hard eyes this afternoon, she well believed it.
“Your speech is not quite flattering to your daughter, Mr. Tavistock,” Alexander said, breaking a tense silence.
“To the contrary, my daughter is the most important thing in the world to me,” Michael said steadily, “which is why I must ask why you wish to marry her. If you simply seek a wife, there are plenty of young ladies of important families in London this Season making their bow. Why has your interest lighted on Meagan?”
Meagan chewed her lip. Michael was never one to stand in awe of the aristocracy—he judged men on their deeds and their character, not their birth. Alexander, on the other hand, was evidently used to being obeyed without question. And now this unimportant Englishman dared look him in the eye and request him to explain himself?
“You will of course be well compensated,” Alexander said, lips tight. “I will not require you to provide a dowry.”