The Mad, Bad Duke (Nvengaria #2)(38)

Not to be outdone, the Duchess of Gower took up the gauntlet. “Of course, foreign gardens can be nothing to what we have in England. Chatsworth, now, the Duke of Devonshire’s house, has the most magnificent gardens in the world.”

Lady Anastasia smiled warmly. “Yes, Miss Tavistock, they are modeled on the gardens at Versailles. When you have seen both, you may decide which you like better.”

Highly entertained, Meagan and rest of the party turned their heads back to the duchess to see how she would respond.

All except Alexander. His gaze was fixed on Meagan, and he showed not even polite interest in the chatter.

Before the Duchess of Gower could think of her next retort, Alexander removed the duchess’ hand from his arm and stepped forward. “I will escort my fiancée to see the rest of the water gardens,” he announced abruptly.

The duchess choked and turned brilliant red. Lady Anastasia smiled. “An excellent idea, Your Grace. Some of the fountains are quite clever.”

“Too clever,” the duchess said, trying to recover. “Not fit to be seen by a young lady.”

Alexander sent her a long look, his cool silence more effective than any rebuke. Alexander only had to gaze at a person with those steady blue eyes that missed nothing and the recipient flinched and worried. The Duchess of Gower gaped a moment then shut her mouth with a snap.

The first match to Lady Anastasia, Meagan thought. The duchess had revealed that she thought Alexander too gauche to keep his young fiancée from risqué statuary and also that she knew it was risqué. The duchess had skewered herself. Some victories were sweet.

“Dominic,” Alexander said. Dominic came forward, alert. Alexander made a sharp gesture, and Dominic, understanding, stepped behind them, ready to keep anyone from following. Lady Anastasia took Michael’s arm, inquiring in her flattering, accented voice if he would walk with her back to the main gardens.

Alexander did not extend his arm to Meagan nor did he reach for her hand. Much safer this way, Meagan thought, as she shouldered her parasol and turned to walk beside him.





Chapter 11





Alexander led Meagan around the fountain of the large-breasted goddess whose nipples continued to gush water, highly conscious of Meagan’s warmth beside him. They ducked beneath the low-hanging branch of a tree, Alexander holding the branch so it would not slap Meagan or her parasol, then he guided her along an empty path that led away from the main gardens.

“She is Hera,” he said after they’d walked in absolute silence for a few minutes.

Meagan blinked and looked around in bafflement. “Who is?”

“The woman in the fountain,” Alexander said stiffly. “Hera, the mother goddess. A symbol of fertility.”

The Duchess of Gower would have given him her annoying simper at the announcement, believing Alexander hinted at a sexual liaison but Meagan appeared thoughtful.

“Well, she certainly looked to be fertilizing a good many,” she said decidedly. “Are there truly naughty fountains back here as the Duchess of Gower suggested?”

She was so serene, the yellow parasol throwing a golden shadow over her body, the fine straw bonnet framing her face rather than hiding it. Meagan further protected her skin with a light lawn fichu, a thin cloth wrapped around her shoulders and tucked into her sash. Alexander saw the talent of his handpicked dressmakers in the white and blue walking dress which subtly hugged her figure below the fichu.

This innocent young English miss asking eagerly about naughty fountains made certain parts of Alexander stand to attention.

“Yes,” he had to answer. “Lord Talbot showed them to me earlier.”

“More naughty than Hera?”

Alexander nodded, letting his mouth run the conversation as his imagination showed him what it would be like to peel the rather modest gown from her body. “Lord Talbot has statuary performing the sexual act in many and varied positions. The water seems superfluous.”

Meagan pressed her fingers to her lips. “I ought to be shocked, but it makes me want to laugh.”

He enjoyed the way her eyes sparkled, her lips curving in guilty glee. Alexander reached down and slid his hand through hers.

His entire body focused on the warm touch of her fingers. He knew then that the love spell hadn’t given in, despite the current lack of erotic visions. It was merely biding its time.

Alexander said, “I like that you laugh when it is appropriate and do not stoop to trading insults with bitches of women.”

Meagan’s brows climbed, but she looked amused rather than appalled at his words. “Well, Lady Anastasia was doing so nicely. I hated to interrupt her.”

Alexander gave this an acknowledging nod. “Lady Anastasia knows how to play the game.”

“Did your first Grand Duchess know how to play the game?” Meagan asked.

Alexander halted under a tall tree that overhung the path. Shadows brushed the face Meagan turned up to him.

Alexander never liked to speak of Sephronia, but with Meagan, all things were different. “Sephronia was a master at it. None could touch her, not even Anastasia.”

Meagan’s expression turned wry. “And the Grand Duchess was honored by poets the length and breadth of Nvengaria, Dominic told me.”

“She was.”

“Ah, well, I suppose I will be master of the game too, after many long and painful years of lessons.” Meagan sighed but squared her shoulders, looking as though she faced a series of daunting mountain ranges to be scaled.