The Mad, Bad Duke (Nvengaria #2)(24)
He cleared his throat and continued, “Even so, it is the best solution to our predicament. I have obtained the license already, and we will proceed as soon as I send for a vicar.”
Meagan stared him in shock. “You mean you want me to marry you on the moment?”
Alexander’s heart beat faster. Yes, now, immediately, before he died from wanting her. “The more quickly it is done, the easier things will be,” he said, forcing his voice to remain calm.
Her eyes were wide, golden sparks swimming in the brown. “Good heavens, Alexander, what did you write in your diary this morning? Eat breakfast, pen letters, marry Miss Tavistock, meet with the cabinet?”
“Not quite.”
“No, but very close, I imagine.”
She turned to pace the carpet, walking through a sunbeam that made her hair glisten a rich red.
This woman perplexed him. Every female of Alexander’s acquaintance shivered when he so much as looked at them, in both fear and anticipation. Even Anastasia regarded him in a mixture of trepidation and physical excitement.
Meagan neither shivered nor looked particularly amorous. As she had done last night, she was assessing Alexander the man, seeing past the trappings of the Grand Duke, second-in-command of the country of Nvengaria. Very few females bothered to move aside the curtain of his power and look directly at him, but Meagan was busily tearing that curtain to shreds.
Alexander had the sudden urge to lift her to the desk and lay her down on the polished wood simply to see her red hair spread like a curtain against the mahogany.
He clutched the back of his desk chair, the raised carving pressing painfully into his palm. “I told you last night that I would put things right.”
Meagan sent him a glance as she paced, one side of her mouth quirked upward. “I imagined you meant to marry me off to one of your friends, perhaps some minor nobleman of increasing years who needs a wife.”
Alexander’s indignation flared. “Is this what men do in England? Pass their lover to a convenient friend?”
Meagan’s eyes flickered at the word lover. “I believe it is common practice, yes.”
“It is not common in Nvengaria,” Alexander answered in anger. “I gave you my word, and I will not desert you. We were both caught by the love spell, and we will make the best of it. We may be married in name only if you wish.”
Even as he said the words, Alexander knew he’d never be able to keep the marriage to name only. He wanted all of Meagan, every part of what marriage would mean. The love spell kicked at him and kept kicking, reminding him how it felt to be inside her, of the sound of her voice when she said his name in broken passion.
“You are certainly a romantic, Your Grace.” Meagan’s sardonic tone cut through his visions. “I must say, it is all over London that you left with Lady Anastasia last evening, and that she came here with you. I know I should die of shame before repeating such a thing, but I am rather blunt, I am afraid. I think it only fair you know this before you decide to marry me.”
Every word was music. Alexander smoothed his hand along the mahogany carving. Was she jealous, then? He hoped so, because it meant she might have some interest in him beyond the love spell.
“Anastasia and I are not lovers,” he said, knowing words to soothe jealousy as well. “We were in the past but are not at present. I asked Anastasia to accompany me home last night to focus gossip on her rather than on you. I wanted no speculation to form when you disappeared so soon after our waltz, and I could not be certain that no one noticed us leave for the terrace or go to the anteroom. Lady Anastasia spent the night in this house, but in a guest room, far from me.”
“Oh.” Meagan’s flush rose, a pretty color that slid under her décolletage. “Actually, that was rather clever.”
Alexander’s heart burned. “I am pleased you approve.”
She gave him an exasperated look. “Do not mock me, I beg you. I have had a terrible night, and the day has not been much better.”
“A terrible night?” Alexander smiled a chill smile. “I believe I shared that terrible night. I dreamed of nothing but you. You are haunting me, and being alone in a room with you is not helping.”
Meagan’s flush deepened. “Did you dream of me? I dreamed of you as well. We must still be under the influence of the spell,” she finished, her cheeks burnished red.
“I agree.” Alexander could guess what kind of erotic dreams she’d had, because he’d had them too. “You must tell me who gave you the talisman, and why. I have many enemies, and they would not hesitate to use you to get to me. So, please, do not shield anyone. It is important that I know.”
To his surprise, Meagan’s lips twitched as though he amused her. Perhaps that was what Alexander found so fascinating about her—Meagan looked at the world in an entirely different manner than he did. He scented danger and shadows everywhere; she walked in sunlight.
“Something is funny?” he asked.
“It is all so silly,” Meagan said. “It has nothing to do with enemies, I promise you. I got the talisman from Black Annie, but by mistake.”
Alexander combed through his memory but could not place the name. “Black Annie? Who is this person?”
Meagan waved her hand. “She has a house just off the Strand, in Garland Close. All the ladies go to her for potions and the like. She pretends to be a witch, but she is harmless, I suppose.”