The Mad, Bad Duke (Nvengaria #2)(69)

Julius tried to speak stoically, a bodyguard nothing could startle, but his knuckles on his knife were white. Nvengarians sometimes displayed berserker rage, which was clearly what Julius thought had happened.

“Did I change?” Alexander asked Myn.

Myn regarded him quietly. “No.”

“Don’t be so damn cryptic,” Alexander growled. “What did I do?”

“You almost changed,” Myn said. “You stopped yourself.”

“Not on purpose. I remember nothing.”

Myn shrugged but offered no more.

Alexander clenched his bloody and raw hands, trying to calm the tremors rushing through his body. “I cannot control it. But I have to control it.” Alexander looked at Myn who faced him silently, his heart pounding. “Teach me more. Teach me how to change and how to remember when I do.”

Myn watched him a moment longer then gave a nod.

Julius, who obviously did not understand what they were talking about, looked worried. “Your Grace? What do we do with Herr von Hohenzahl?”

“Watch him.” Alexander tried to move back to his Grand Duke persona, but his voice was rasping, his hands still shaking. “Put as many men on von Hohenzahl as you can spare, but do not let one guard stray from the Grand Duchess. I will need a new coat, and then you return home and tell my wife I will be late.”



* * *



“Late,” Meagan repeated as Julius, Alexander’s bodyguard, stood stone-faced in the India sitting room, where she and Egan had returned after completing the house tour. “Did he say how late?”

“No, Your Grace.” Julius sounded regretful that he could not give her an answer that pleased her. “He is with the logosh called Myn.”

“I see.”

Meagan did not see, really, but Julius seemed to want an answer. Egan MacDonald, lounging in his chair with the whisky, shot Meagan a look of compassion. “Well, you’ll just have to put up with me company a little longer, lass.”

“Why aren’t you with him, Julius?” Meagan asked. “I thought you were his personal bodyguard.”

Julius looked uncomfortable, or as uncomfortable as a brick wall could look. “He sent me home, Your Grace.”

“Did he? A rather curious thing for him to do—he is always going on about how dangerous it is to be Grand Duke.”

Julius said nothing, but Meagan read in Julius’s eyes that he did not like that Alexander had sent him away either.

Meagan turned to Egan. “Mr. MacDonald …”

Egan quickly held up his hands. “Do not ask me, lassie. Do not ask me to trot about dark and rainy London to find the elusive Alexander.”

Meagan blinked. “I know you are not dearest friends with him, but …”

Egan shook his head. “What I think of him is not the point. Alexander instructed me to stay with you and look after you. If I run after him and, God help me, find him, he’ll peel the skin from my bones for leaving you by yourself.”

Meagan glanced at Julius, who nodded in grim agreement. “You are to be guarded at all costs,” Julius said. “You and His Grace’s son. Do not despair, Your Grace—Myn is with His Grace, and he is stronger than any man I’ve ever seen.”

“True,” Meagan said. “But is Alexander safe from Myn?”

The worry in Julius’s eyes grew, meaning he had no idea. Meagan rubbed her knuckles, not liking the chill in the pit of her stomach. Something was wrong.

“And do not get that look,” Egan said. He pointed a broad finger at Meagan. “You will not trot around London looking under every bush for Alexander. I imagine our dear Alexander sent home his guards not only to protect you but to keep you here.”

Egan got to his feet, his kilt swaying as he rocked from the whisky he’d consumed, and his gaze lit on the chessboard in the corner. “You stay here and play chess with me. See if you can trounce a drunk Scotsman.”

“I will,” Meagan promised darkly. “My father taught me, and he’s very clever.”

“Well then.”

Egan glided unsteadily to the table with the chessboard and pieces. Meagan closed her mouth on hot words as she went to join him, sensing Julius’s and Dominic’s immense relief behind her.

Meagan would stay home if going out would not be safe, she decided, but she would have things to say to Alexander later. Many, many things.



* * *



“Where are we?” Alexander asked Myn.

The logosh shrugged. “Woods.”

They were a long way from London, that was certain. Alexander could tell by the fresh tang in the air and the absence of the fetid scent of city that they’d reached open country. Myn had brought him here, the logosh able to move across distances very fast. Alexander remembered none of the journey and had no idea if he’d become a logosh during the transition. He did not think he’d changed because his clothes were firmly on him, his spare coat unripped.

Nikolai always sent an extra suit and several shirts with Alexander wherever he went. One never knew if some clumsy servant would spill wine or candle wax on the Grand Duke, who must appear pristine at all times. Alexander admitted that Nikolai’s preparedness didn’t hurt Alexander’s reputation for perfection.

Of course, the only person in London who’d spilled wine on him since he’d arrived was Meagan.