The Mad, Bad Duke (Nvengaria #2)(82)

Mrs. Caldwell highly approved of Meagan spending time with young Alex. She even showed Meagan a newspaper drawing of Meagan, Alexander, and little Alex standing on the green in the middle of Berkeley Square solemnly fishing from a puddle.

The Eccentric Nvengarian First Family, the journalist had written, then went on to speculate what they did behind the closed doors of the opulent mansion.

“Absolute rubbish,” Mrs. Caldwell said, but her eyes twinkled. “Every father in London will now be plagued by his son to take him fishing in puddles. You are an Original, my dear.”

“Is that good?” Meagan asked in trepidation.

“They will admire and envy you for it, believe me, Your Grace. You will be famous.”

Meagan tried to be glad rather than worried.

Her scheme continued that afternoon when her schedule, which originally said she would ride in Hyde Park in a landau at the most fashionable hour, was altered to have her driving a pony phaeton with Alex by her side at an earlier time. Four hulking bodyguards, led by Dominic, rode near as usual, making Meagan and Alex conspicuous in the extreme, but that couldn’t be helped.

Meagan pleased Alex by letting him drive a little bit of the way, showing him how to hold the reins between his fingers. Alex proved competent with the horses—he’d started training to ride at three years old, he told Meagan. Someday, he declared, he’d ride as well him—Alex pointed to an upright man on a black stallion who cantered slowly toward them.

Meagan’s heart missed a beat as she watched the tall body of the approaching rider, his firm legs guiding the horse, his hands quiet.

“Papa!” Alex waved, losing hold of the reins, which Meagan rescued before the horses could take advantage and run away—or more likely, come to a dead stop and refuse to budge.

Meagan wondered whether Alexander would simply turn his horse and ride the other way, pretending not to see his son waving madly at him. The park was by no means empty. Early afternoon riders were exercising mounts or enjoying quiet drives before the rest of the fashionable world descended on the Rotten Row to crowd them out.

Alexander must have decided to not give London something to gossip about. He continued toward the phaeton without missing a beat. Meagan’s hands were slick inside her gloves by the time he slowed his horse and turned it to walk beside them. The bodyguards, both his and Meagan’s, dropped behind to give them some privacy.

Alexander was indeed handsome on a horse. His leather riding breeches hugged tight thighs, supple black boots encased his firm calves, and gloves outlined his broad hands. He rode hatless, as did all Nvengarians, his black hair shining in the spring sunshine.

Alexander bowed slightly in the saddle, his eyes cool. “Your Grace. Alex.”

“Good afternoon, husband,” Meagan said brightly. “How pleasant to find you here at this hour.”

“Yes, an amazing coincidence.” Alexander eyed her steadily, black lashes barely flickering.

Alex, unaware of any nuances, leaned to his father. “Good afternoon, Papa. Step-mama is letting me drive the horses. She says they need to be taught to move their lazy bums.”

Meagan fixed a smile on her face. “Perhaps the mares are a bit too gentle for me.”

Alexander gave her a polite nod, the same he might to a guest who complained about slackness of the maids. “I beg your pardon. I had heard you were timid with horses.”

“Indeed, I am of spirited stallions such as yours, but I do believe a few snails passed us on the way down the lane.”

Alexander inclined his head, still the polite host. “I will see that swifter horses are made available to you.”

“Thank you, that would be kind.”

Meagan spoke through a stiff smile that made her face ache. She’d hoped to provoke Alexander into some sort of reaction by appearing here during his daily ride, but his expression remained unchanging. A man playing cards with him would never have a chance.

Of course Alexander had perfected the stone-faced expression years and years ago, as Egan MacDonald had told her, during his awful youth. Meagan felt a pang of pity for that young man and what he’d gone through. While Meagan had never had cause to hide her emotions, terrible circumstances had made Alexander master of the game.

“Horses are afraid of Myn,” young Alex announced. He leaned over Meagan to pass his hand along his father’s horse’s coat. “Because Myn is logosh.”

“The horses know he is a demon,” Alexander agreed.

“Whereas horses are never afraid of your father,” Meagan said, looking straight at Alexander.

Alexander, damn him, didn’t take the bait. He patted his horse’s neck while he waited for the next thing Meagan would throw at him.

Alex paid no attention. “Papa, may I ride with you?”

Meagan saw Alexander’s expression soften the slightest bit. “Of course you may, Alex. Come on.”

Alex raised his arms high, and Alexander leaned over to scoop him out of the phaeton. Alexander’s coat brushed Meagan’s cheek as he did so, the scent of fresh spring air clinging to him.

Alexander settled Alex on the saddle in front of him then helped him close his hands correctly over the reins. Alexander gave a nod to Meagan and nudged the horse into a slow trot.

Meagan watched them ride away, wishing she could be perched in front of Alexander while he wrapped his arms around her waist. But then, from the phaeton, she had a very good view of Alexander’s tall form and trim backside competently swaying with the horse’s movement.