The Mad, Bad Duke (Nvengaria #2)(50)
“The last thing any Nvengarian gentleman will do is laugh,” he said. “I am certain you will have plenty of choices for your paramours. That is something else we need to discuss. I believe you will intend to be discreet, but there are rules to follow that you may not know of.”
Meagan stared back at him, her forkful of spicy meat hovering above her plate. “I have no idea what you mean. What rules? What are you talking about?”
Alexander’s expression was perfectly serious. “I mean that you will have many candidates for your lovers, but you must be careful whom you choose. Also you will need to be instructed in the use of contraceptives. My position in the Nvengarian government is such that I must not let another man’s child under my roof. It would be too dangerous.”
He was perfectly serious. Meagan laid down her fork, her body stilling in anger. The Nvengarian footmen continued to hover, waiting to whisk away plates and serve more food and wine. They didn’t understand enough English to follow what Alexander was saying, and Montmorency, thank heavens, had moved across the room and was absorbed in his bottles of wine.
“Alexander, are you saying you expect me to cuckold you?” she asked in a fierce whisper. “That I will take lovers and break my vows and behave like—like Deirdre Braithwaite?”
Alexander answered in a neutral, reasonable tone that made Meagan’s hands curl to fists. “I am a powerful and wealthy man, and you are a beautiful woman. It is inevitable that gentlemen will dance attendance upon you and natural that you will single out one or more for your attentions. It is the sort of thing that happens in the circle you have entered.”
Meagan remembered his blatant statement that his first wife had taken lovers and that he’d done so himself from time to time for physical relief. He was calmly assuming that Meagan would do as the first Grand Duchess had done.
Alexander’s quiet words brought the emotions which had curdled inside her all day into sudden boiling rage. Meagan turned to the butler, her eyes burning.
“Montmorency,” she called in a clear voice. “Take the footmen out. I wish to speak to His Grace in private.”
Alexander did his brow-lift but gave Montmorency a nod when the butler looked at him questioningly. Montmorency clapped his hands and said loudly to the Nvengarians, “Come along, you lot.”
The Nvengarians gave him blank stares. Alexander, blast him, did not translate. Montmorency repeated his command in a louder voice, pointing to the door.
The footmen, comprehending the gist, began to argue. Gaius furiously waved the bottle in his hands, sending an arc of wine over the polished table. The other five shouted at Montmorency, one pounding his fist on the table, sending the silver dancing.
Alexander returned to eating as though a roomful of angry yelling footman and a trembling, red-faced butler was nothing unusual. No wonder people were afraid of Alexander, Meagan thought, fuming. He could shut out everything, a cool look in his eyes, as though the emotional frenzy of his fellow man could not touch him.
His withdrawal made Meagan more furious than ever. Without stopping to think, she snatched up his full goblet of wine, lifted it high, and poured it into his lap.
Alexander leapt to his feet, his cutlery crashing to his plate, and the footmen abruptly ceased shouting.
Alexander’s thigh sported a decidedly wet stain that spread rapidly across his crotch. After one frozen moment the footmen abandoned their argument to swoop upon him, white cloths fluttering like flags of surrender. They swarmed around him, arms and elbows waving as they tried to wipe him down.
Meagan watched with a twinge of satisfaction. The man who so calmly spoke of them living separate lives and of Meagan taking lovers now glared at her in fury above the heads of his mob of footmen.
“Gaius!” Meagan shouted. Her voice broke through the frenzy, and Gaius turned to her, blue eyes round.
Meagan knew something about directing servants. One had to take a firm hand with Roberts or else fires did not get laid or boots polished or food lugged home from the markets. Gaius understood English much better than the others, so she singled him out as her point of contact.
“Gaius,” she repeated, pointing a rigid finger at the door. “Go!”
Gaius looked from her to Alexander. Alexander was lost behind his footmen, but she heard his growls in Nvengarian mixed with the footmen’s babble. Meagan turned her commanding gaze into an imperious stare.
“Now,” she said.
She imagined thoughts warring in Gaius’ head—whether to stay and assist Alexander his master or to avoid angering his new mistress. Meagan met his gaze, and something in her eyes must have triggered a decision to cast his loyalty with the Grand Duchess.
Gaius rounded on the other footmen, shouted commands in harsh Nvengarian, and swept his arm toward the door. The others drew apart reluctantly, revealing Alexander standing in front of his chair, dabbing at the stain on his trousers.
“You must go as well, Montmorency,” Meagan said, putting a note of icy hauteur in her voice. “We will ring if we need you.”
Montmorency gave her a grateful look as though these sorts of orders he understood. He drew his butler’s persona about him, though his lips trembled and his cheeks were white. “Very good, Your Grace.”
Gaius led them out, the footmen still arguing at the tops of their voices. Montmorency followed, then the shouting cut off abruptly as Montmorency swung the door shut.