The Mad, Bad Duke (Nvengaria #2)(62)

“What? Oh … Yes.” Meagan cleared her throat. She thought of the French ambassador’s wife, who’d sneered at her at the garden party. She was in no hurry to meet the woman again. “I suppose I must. If I am not dressed well, the ceiling might fall in.”

Alexander smiled, true mirth in his eyes. Then the amusement died abruptly, and he slid one finger across her cheek. “Come upstairs with me,” he said in a low voice. “I need you.”

Meagan closed her eyes. She ought to point out that they had little time and should not be late to the ambassador’s ball, but then she opened her eyes and nodded.

Alexander took her hand and her lightly up the stairs and down the corridor to his bedchamber, which, if anything, was larger and more sumptuous than hers. Alexander abruptly told Nikolai, who was brushing Alexander’s clothes for the evening, to find something else to do. Once Nikolai had discreetly departed, Alexander undressed Meagan and took her twice in his deep featherbed, his strong body pinning her hard.

Alexander made love silently, frantically, as though he could not get enough of her, then he held her, breathing like a man who’d swum far and fast against a very strong current.



* * *



“I am still waiting for you to shout at me.” Meagan straightened her velvet cloak and gazed across the carriage at her husband as they bumped their way through crowded Mayfair streets to Grosvenor Square.

Alexander turned from the window, which he could not possibly see out of because the glass only reflected the bright carriage lamps inside their bubble of elegance. He gave her a puzzled look. “Why should I shout at you?”

“For the fishing,” Meagan answered. “For having the gall to rush into Alex’s nursery and demand he come out with me. For changing his precious schedule.”

Alexander’s brows drew down and he turned to the window again. “I am not unhappy that you wanted to see Alex. Sephronia never did.”

Meagan’s heart gave a quick beat. “Gracious, whyever not?”

“She rarely spoke to Alex,” Alexander said without inflection. “I had not expected you would wish to.”

“Alex was her son,” Meagan said heatedly. “He is very like you.” She stopped when he turned back to her. “I beg your pardon. I suppose I should not speak ill of the Grand Duchess.”

Alexander rested his hands on his thighs, broad fingers in black gloves. “Sephronia loved Alex in her own way. She was proud of him, but she did not enjoy children.”

“Not even her own?” Meagan’s indignation rose. “I beg your pardon again, but I cannot fathom why she would not want to be with him—why she did not want to be with you.” She held up her hands as Alexander began to speak. “I know, I know. I am not Nvengarian and do not understand, but she ought to have been grateful for what she had.”

Alexander shrugged. “It was a political marriage and one of mutual convenience. Sephronia did her duty.”

He spoke matter-of-factly, but how must he have felt knowing that his wife preferred to find pleasure elsewhere? That she bore no love for him? Likely Alexander had calmly gone about his business and said nothing, but how had he felt?

“How could she not be happy to be with you night after night?” Meagan couldn’t stop herself from asking. “Was she a fool?”

Alexander smiled faintly, his row of medals glinting beneath his greatcoat. “You flatter me.”

“I have eyes, Alexander. I vow, you are the handsomest man I’ve ever seen, and that includes his magnificent Highness, Prince Damien of Nvengaria. All Nvengarians are handsome.” Meagan pressed one hand to her bosom, where she’d hoped the décolletage of her gown would cover her freckles, but it was not to be. “But you, Alexander, quite take my breath away.”

Alexander was silent a moment. “I wish you could mean that.”

“I do mean it. I’ve just said.”

One hand on his thigh curled to a fist. “When the love spell is broken, perhaps you will not.”

Meagan made a scoffing sound. “The love spell cannot change what you look like, silly. I believed you handsome months ago, when I saw your portrait in the newspapers. Grand Duke Alexander of Nvengaria, ambassador from the court of Prince Damien. I could not believe any man could be quite so handsome—I thought perhaps the newspaper drawings exaggerated. Of course, at the time, I was quite angry with you for trying to assassinate Damien last summer, but I am no longer angry. That I blame on the love spell.”

Meagan liked the way his mouth lifted in one corner, the promise of laughter held back. “Damien and I have, how do you English say? repaired our fences.”

“Mended your fences. Penelope tells me so in her letters, claiming that you are cohorts now. I will believe it better when I see you and Damien face-to-face.”

Alexander’s eyes flickered, amusement dancing in their depths. “I think I will be so pleased to be home in Nvengaria that I might embrace him.”

“Let us not expect miracles.” Meagan shivered, remembering Alexander pinning her hands above her head in his bed not an hour ago, whispering Nvengarian phrases she did not understand. “They call you the Mad, Bad Duke, you know. No one is ever certain what you will do next.”

Alexander’s brows drew together. “That is an English joke of some kind, is it not? The Mad, Bad Duke.”