The Mad, Bad Duke (Nvengaria #2)(25)

“You suppose. But you are not certain?”

Meagan fluttered her hand again, as though trying to erase her words. “I am annoyed with her, but over another matter. The talisman was not even meant for me. It was meant for my friend Deirdre Braithwaite, who wanted … well, she wanted … ” She faltered. “Well, you are Grand Duke of Nvengaria after all, and quite handsome, I must say.”

The flattery in the statement nestled in Alexander’s heart. He’d be falling on his knees like a schoolboy in a moment.

He forced his tone to be brusque. “Mrs. Braithwaite wished to couple with me? To slake her lust?”

Meagan nodded, curls on her forehead dancing. “You like to put things as bluntly as do I, but I suppose it’s easiest. Being blunt, that is. No one can mistake your meaning that way.”

“I believe you are wrong.”

Meagan’s brows went up. “About you being blunt? No, indeed. Thus far, Your Grace, you are the most blunt man of my acquaintance.”

She made him want to laugh even through Alexander’s impatience, and she could not know how precious that was to him. “I meant about the talisman,” he said. “Talismans like this one cannot be transferred from person to person. They are made for one man and one woman specifically. Your Black Annie made it for you to give to me.”

Meagan shook her head again. “But she did not. My friend obtained a lock of your hair and paid Black Annie to make the spell for her.”

“Did your friend ever touch the talisman?”

Meagan looked thoughtful. “Now that I think upon it, no. Black Annie asked me to put my finger on the talisman to hold the wire she tied, and a drop of my blood got on it.”

Alexander nodded grimly. “Your friend may have instructed her, but this Black Annie made the spell with you in mind. Witches can be deceitful. It is part of their trade.”

Meagan smiled suddenly, dimples appearing. “Oh, goodness, I’ve just realized. Deirdre paid such a sum of money for it, and if Black Annie meant it for me all along … But why on earth should she?”

“I do not know, but I will question her.”

Meagan lifted her brows, as though wondering exactly how he’d go about this questioning.

Alexander dug his hands harder into the chair back. “Meagan, you need to marry me. I have seen what your countrymen do to a woman who is ruined. Her family hides her, if they do not outright disown her. Gentlemen assume she is fair game and proposition her. She is treated as a whore when she may only be guilty of trusting a blackguard. In Nvengaria we would not dream of doing this. We do not punish a woman for what a man has done, and if he dishonors her and she shoots him, it is regarded as justifiable, and she is praised for her bravery.”

“Good Lord.” Meagan put her fingers to her lips, touching the pad of the lower one. Her eyes took on a thoughtful gleam. “I hadn’t considered shooting you.”

“You looked quite unhappy to see me today. I would not have been surprised had you brought a pistol with you.”

“I am unhappy because you are a whirlwind.” Meagan began to pace again, her hands curling. “You put visions into my head of making love to you in a luxurious marble bath, and then you sweep me away from the dance floor to the anteroom. Today you sweep me here and ask me to marry you. You like to sweep, Your Grace, and I cannot move quickly enough out of your way.”

“The marble room is the bath chamber in this house,” Alexander said. “I had the same vision.”

“I thought you did.” Meagan’s face turned red again, blending with her fiery hair. “How embarrassing.”

“I did not find it embarrassing,” Alexander said in a hard voice. “I found it arousing and frustrating. I am not marrying you simply to satisfy propriety, Meagan. I told you that we could marry in name only, but that is not quite true. I want you. If this spell will have me lusting after you night and day, I wish you to be in my house so I can conveniently have at you.”

Meagan’s eyes widened. Clearly, she was unused to gentlemen expressing their desires so boldly. Alexander was not used to women who did not expect that. He saw turbulent waters ahead.

“And what happens when the spell is broken?” Meagan asked, sounding uneasy.

“We will see what happens. Until then, I refuse to die of longing.” Alexander leaned forward, his need soaring. “Nvengarians are not Englishmen. We act on our passions—we are lovers with our wives, and we are not ashamed of what is between us. I do not want you to be ashamed of what you feel or what you want from me. I wish to know what you need, no lies and no evasions. You tell me your desires, and I will fulfill them. That is my promise to you—my duty—as your husband.”

Meagan stopped pacing, her eyes going wide. “Nvengarians are rather breathtaking, Your Grace.”

“Alexander. There will be no formality between us.”

“But you are quick to give commands,” Meagan said, holding him with that intoxicating gaze. “Do you expect me to salute you in private? I will in public, of course.”

Alexander’s smile was raw. “I am used to giving commands. It is my way. You may obey or tell me to rot in hell as you like.”

“But husbands expect their wives to obey them,” Meagan pointed out. “It is part of the vows.”

“Not in Nvengaria. If a man is a fool, his wife is obligated to disobey him. Who would follow a fool’s orders?”