The Mad, Bad Duke (Nvengaria #2)(39)

Alexander released her hand to trace her cheek. “I do not want you in the game. I like you like this—unsullied, unspoiled. The game, it will eat you alive. Leave all games to me.”

Meagan’s eyes softened. “I would adore to leave it in your oh-so-capable hands. I would be a dutiful housewife and stay home to mend your shirts, except that I’ll be expected to go out to soirees and balls and things, not to mention hosting them. I will have to face the Duchess of Gower and Deirdre Braithwaite again and again. So I will need to learn something of the game.”

Alexander shrugged. “The duchess, she is a boorish woman. She wishes me to bed her, and she is angry because I have no interest.”

Meagan’s cheeks colored beneath his fingertips. “As I have observed before, you are ever so blunt, Alexander. I suppose I should be happy that you are truthful about your affairs.”

“I have no desire to have affairs,” he said in a gruff voice. “I did not even wish to marry again.”

“Oh.” Meagan’s slender throat moved in a swallow. “Perhaps not that blunt.”

Damnation, he had hurt her and not meant to. Alexander, who could bring any woman he chose into his bed by crooking his finger— literally—was losing his finesse. The love spell made him careless and rushed.

“Affairs are a distraction,” he said, trying to gentle his voice. “I took mistresses when I was married to Sephronia only because when I had physical needs she was busy with her own lovers.”

Meagan’s look turned indignant. “Well, I must say, that was not very sporting of her.” Her face had reddened further, her eyes glittering.

Alexander withdrew his hand and made her a stiff bow. He was awkward with her, and he hated being awkward. Made him feel like a foolish boy again, back when he was ignorant and happy. “I have shocked you. I ask your pardon. I am not used to speaking to English young ladies.”

Meagan’s brows went up. “No, no, I think you are enjoying yourself trying to shock me. I am not used to speaking to Nvengarian Grand Dukes. Even Damien was easier to converse with than you are.”

Alexander’s heart burned. “Damien works to be charming.” He made a small shrug. “I am more … forthright.”

“Yes,” Meagan said fervently. “You are certainly forthright.”

His chest tightened even more. “You wish, perhaps, that I was more like Damien? This would be better for you?”

Alexander’s body tightened, every muscle tense, as Meagan tilted her head to one side and considered him. His blood heated, the savage inside him stirring. Alexander desperately tamped it down and waited for her pronouncement.

Meagan studied Alexander. He was handsome, oh my, yes, but his face had a sharpness that kept him from ordinary attractiveness. Animals were beautiful like him, not men.

She remembered Prince Damien’s eyes, how blue they’d been and how watchful. Alexander had the same watchfulness, but there was a difference. Damien hid his scrutiny behind smiles and teasing; Alexander did not bother. You knew Alexander watched you—you felt his gaze slice you open and dissect what was inside.

Behind Alexander’s watchfulness lurked a man who knew he had to be careful all the time, whether he wished it or not. She’d glimpsed in him a warmth and an intense passion when the love spell opened him to her, these things hidden deep inside him. Meagan sensed that no one else in the world, not even his late wife, had ever seen that passion, the piercing flame of emotion Alexander kept locked away from everyone.

Meagan rested one palm against his gold and blue sash of office, feeling its stiff metallic threads. “I do not want you to be more like Damien,” she said softly. “I like you as you are.”

Alexander’s gaze eased the tiniest bit, imperceptible if she hadn’t been looking for it. The corners of his eyes lost their tightness. “You please me,” he said in a low voice.

“Remember, it might be the love spell making me say such things,” Meagan said, making her tone light. “Properly, I should be terrified of you. Everyone enjoys telling me how dangerous you are.”

“Yes, I am quite dangerous.” Alexander stated it neutrally, a simple and undisputed fact.

Meagan cleared her throat. “For instance, Nikolai said that you once ordered half a city in Nvengaria flattened. Did he exaggerate?”

“Yes, he did.”

Alexander turned abruptly and began walking again. Meagan stared after him a moment, watching his lithe body move, then she hoisted her parasol in exasperation and hurried after him.

“You do know that your answers are short as well as blunt,” she said when she caught up to him. “Quite cryptic. Maddening, really.”

“It was only a section of the city,” Alexander said without looking at her. The sun made his dark hair glisten. “Not half. Narato, the capital.”

He spoke with no defensiveness and no regret in his tone. Meagan remembered what Nikolai had said about people fleeing, and barges filling the river, the citizens trying to escape Alexander’s wrath.

“Good heavens, Alexander, did you wake up one morning and decide What a nice day—I believe I will flatten half my city? I beg your pardon, I mean a section of it.”

Alexander continued walking, shadows from the high yew hedge dappling his face and his black hair. They had left the crowds far behind, the long paths shadowed with thick trees, fountains splashing cool moisture into the air. “Nikolai enjoys the story,” he said.