The Mad, Bad Duke (Nvengaria #2)(61)

Oh lud, Meagan thought, pretending to focus on the fishing. Tomorrow the Times could very well read, Her Grace the Grand Duchess of Nvengaria incites a riot in Berkeley Square over the Question of how well She Grips a Pole.

The shouting died away and things fell eerily silent. Meagan knew before she looked up, before she heard his boots crunching on the gravel path, exactly who was approaching.

Alexander walked toward them in his dark blue greatcoat, his head hatless, as was custom for Nvengarians, his black hair sparkling with droplets of rain. He did not smile at Meagan and his son, his blue eyes as watchful as ever.

Alex raised his head and saw his father. “Good afternoon, Papa,” he called as Alexander neared them. “Step-mama is teaching me to fish.”

Alexander halted, his boots a few inches from the puddle. He took in Meagan, the puddle, the fishing poles, and the lines disappearing into the water. Meagan expected his eyes to grow chill, for him to instruct Dominic to escort his wife and son back to the house at once.

He did nothing but study them, the breeze stirring his dark hair and the tails of his long coat. His black boots were finely polished, the tops splashed with muddy water from his walk across the green.

When he spoke to Alex, his voice was quiet, almost gentle. “Have you caught anything?”

“Not yet,” Alex answered, his gaze again on the water. “But you must give them time, Step-mama says. She says we’re bound to catch something sooner or later.”

“Does she?” Alexander stepped behind Alex and cast his gaze over the pole. “You hold it well. A light touch; that is good.”

“Step-mama taught me,” Alex said proudly.

Alexander flicked his gaze to Meagan, his eyes unreadable. Then he reached down and made a small adjustment to Alex’s pole with his black-gloved hand. “I did much fishing when I was a boy. Damien and I used to sneak away from our tutors to a lake in the woods.”

“Truly?” Alex exclaimed. “You and Uncle Damien?” His eyes lit in delight that his father had been truant.

“Only we knew where the lake was, or so we believed,” Alexander continued. “I imagine our bodyguards followed us at a discreet distance.”

“Did your papa go fishing with you?” Alex asked.

Alexander waited a beat too long to answer. “He was very busy.”

“Like you,” Alex said. “You are a very important man.”

Alexander released the pole, but he remained staring at it, not looking at Alex or Meagan. Abruptly, he turned and gestured for Dominic.

“Your Grace?” Dominic answered, ever vigilant.

“Send for a fishing pole for me.”

Dominic blinked. “Your Grace?”

“A fishing pole. Now, Dominic.”

Dominic turned and shouted at another bodyguard in Nvengarian. That bodyguard called to Alexander’s servants who waited outside the fence, who in turn shouted to the servants nearer the house.

The new family waited, Alexander silent, Meagan anxious, Alex oblivious. Soon the pole came from house to gate, was passed through to the bodyguards there, one of whom carried it to Dominic, who handed it to Alexander. Alexander looked over the pole, accepted it with a nod, stripped off his gloves, and baited it himself.

They fished quietly, the three of them, while the bodyguards, journalists, passers-by, nannies and children in the park, and the curious residents of Berkeley Square watched the eccentric Grand Duke, his bride, and son fishing in a puddle.

They remained there until the wind turned cold, and Alexander announced that they should go inside. Meagan nodded, her hands already numb, and returned her pole to Dominic.

Alexander lifted young Alex to his shoulders, strangely subdued as they walked along the path and through the gates.

The crowd parted before them like water from a ship as they exited the park. Dominic and the others held back the tide as Alexander and family walked across the square and into the echoing foyer of Maysfield House.

Alexander set Alex down and steered him toward the stairs. “When you want to fish again, I will arrange an expedition to a lake in the country, where you will find many fish.”

Alex smiled happily. “Will you come too, Papa? And teach me?”

Alexander gave him a nod, eyes unreadable. “We will all go. I will arrange it.”

Alex whooped and turned in a circle. He caught the hand of one of the Nvengarian footmen, who pulled the boy playfully up the stairs.

“If you attend to your lessons,” Alexander said, as though remembering to be an admonishing father.

“Yes, Papa.” Alex beamed at him with an angelic expression, then told the footman he’d race him up the stairs. The footman obliged, slowing his steps so that Alex could patter ahead.

Alexander rested one arm on the railing and watched his son, his expression somber. That, coupled with his lack of annoyance at Meagan for taking Alex out of his schoolroom, worried her.

“Alexander?”

He swung to her, eyes glittering. Alexander gripped Meagan’s shoulders and pressed her back into the newel post, his mouth coming down on hers in a searing kiss. The kiss was hard, possessive, his fingers biting into her flesh.

With effort, Alexander wrenched himself away from her, and they stared at each other, breathing hard. Alexander’s eyes were very dark blue, his lips parted, red from kissing her.

“You must ready yourself for the ambassador’s supper ball,” he said, his voice rasping.