The Mad, Bad Duke (Nvengaria #2)(74)

Meagan blinked. “Indeed, no, most of the gentlemen I spoke to could not believe I had a single thought in my head beyond the state of the weather. I have been well trained to talk about the weather, but one soon has enough of it.”

Alexander leaned closer. “I promise you, my wife, that I will never make you speak about the weather.” He skimmed his fingertips across her lips. “Now, about what you wanted to hold in your hands …” Alexander tilted her head back, pulling her to his mouth.

He seemed different somehow. As Meagan kissed him, she thought that the taste of his lips had changed. She realized after a few heartbeats that he was warm, his skin, his mouth, his breath. Not the heated frenzy of the love spell or the cool rigidity of the Grand Duke—the simple warmth of Alexander the man.

Meagan pulled back a little. “What happened to you tonight?”

Alexander smiled again, feral and wild, the Nvengarian in him evident. “Something wonderful. I have conquered it.”

“Conquered what?” Meagan ran her hands up inside his open coat, finding the solid warmth of his chest. “You madden me, Alexander.”

Alexander kissed her forehead then her lips again. “Wait here for ten minutes exactly then go into the garden.”

Meagan started. “The garden? It is still dark outside. And cold and damp, I’ll wager.”

Alexander’s smile became more of a grin, a thing she’d never seen on him. “You may wear boots and wrap up warm, love. I have something to show you, my duchess.”





Chapter 19





After exactly ten minutes, Meagan opened the garden door in the enormous downstairs reception room and stepped onto the terrace. She’d hastily found her boots and a warm mantle after Alexander departed, not liking to wake her maids or Mrs. Caldwell. The household would be stirring soon, and she had the feeling that Alexander did not want his servants to know his secrets.

Meagan had not been wrong about the cold. The spring wind was crisp, the paths wet with the evening’s rain. She pulled a fold of her mantle over her nose and tried not to sneeze.

“Meet me in the garden,” she muttered. “Where in the garden exactly? I wonder if other ladies have husbands as trying as mine?”

Being married to the Grand Duke was certainly unique. But then, Alexander was handsome and well-formed, and when he did smile, lightning flickered through Meagan’s body. She’d never seen anything as blue as his eyes, which darkened when he bent to kiss her.

Meagan stepped onto the main path and began to walk toward the maze with its high hedge enclosing its turns. She’d have to bring Alex out to play a good game of hide and seek inside it.

She found no sign of Alexander. It was too dark to see the path properly, the gray light of dawn being swallowed by lowering clouds.

“Alexander?” she called softly. “It really is quite cold out here.”

No answer. The wind rustled the yew hedges and stirred the leaves of the apple trees entwined with rose vines. The garden was a mad place, with sharply sculpted flower beds placed slap against hedges, with tiny paths between. The designer must have been released from Bedlam solely to plan it.

Meagan reached the maze and peeked inside but could see nothing in the darkness. “Alexander?”

Something rustled deep within the hedge. Annoyance touched Meagan. Why on earth should Alexander wish to meet her in the middle of the maze? The India sitting room, as bizarre as it was with columns carved like palm trees and tigers stalking the ceiling, was at least warm and dry.

“Nvengarians,” she said through chattering teeth as she followed the sound.

Halfway in, she found Alexander’s clothes on a wrought iron bench, his boots carefully placed to not absorb too much mud. She touched the still-warm coat.

Why should Alexander throw off his clothes on a blustery morning in the middle of the garden? Her heart gave a painful beat. He hadn’t run mad had he? Perhaps that was what had changed about him, that he’d given into the wildness she’d sometimes glimpsed in his eyes.

“Oh, Alexander,” she whispered. She hurried through the last turns of the maze, straining to see in the dark.

Something warm brushed her thigh. Stifling a scream, Meagan jumped backward against the hedge, its branches scraping her spine.

She faced a panther, a black leopard. It was a huge beast, its eyes a luminous blue glow in the darkness.

Meagan froze in shock. The panther watched her, its tail brushing the leaves behind it. It stood so close she felt the heat of its body and its breath scalding her hand.

Thoughts careened through her head. Was this what Alexander had wanted to show her? Perhaps he’d brought the beast here as a pet for her—it was the sort of overblown gift Alexander would give her.

Was it tame? Meagan thought of Alexander’s clothes lying on the bench. What the devil was going on?

“You didn’t eat Alexander, did you?” she asked it, half-jesting. What wildcat politely waited for his dinner to undress?

The panther reared to its hind feet. Meagan let out a cry, but there was nowhere to go but into the hedge firmly behind her. The cat’s huge paws pinned her shoulders, and then its wide, rough tongue licked her from chin to forehead.

Before she could squeal in protest, the panther shimmered, and then Alexander was there, the length of his naked body covering hers. He was laughing.