The Mad, Bad Duke (Nvengaria #2)(85)

“Ah,” Meagan said. “Well, I shall try to live up to it. Thank you, Nikolai.”

Egan MacDonald, it turned out, had to teach Meagan the traditional Nvengarian lord’s and lady’s dance because Alexander proved elusive. Whenever Meagan tried to schedule time with him to talk about the ball, Mr. Edwards explained that His Grace had too many appointments—or Alexander would simply leave London. He’d be on an errand to a diplomat’s country house or visiting a wealthy merchant who might contract business with Nvengaria, Mr. Edwards said.

The secretary never looked happy relating this news, his plain English face unable to conceal his embarrassment. Meagan had a few times overheard Mr. Edwards and Mrs. Caldwell agreeing that Alexander was neglecting his wife rather shamefully, and they hadn’t believed this was Nvengarian custom.

Meagan’s heart squeezed whenever she thought of Alexander. He had not shouted at her about seduction Number Twenty-Eight nor had he acknowledged it. Nikolai had told her that Alexander had slept in the bed, but that he’d dressed and left the house the next day without a word.

Meagan had planned to carry on with seduction Number Forty-Three of the book Penelope was copying out for her on the magic paper, but at Alexander’s lack of reaction, she hesitated.

When Egan MacDonald paid a call, handsomely dressed in a black coat, red plaid kilt, boots, and lawn shirt, she told him of the dance dilemma.

“That’s easy, lass,” Egan said. “I learned dancing when I lived in Nvengaria. I’ll teach you.”

They went up to the ballroom, which was flooded with sunshine, the weather this week being soft and warm. “And where is your estimable husband today?” Egan asked as they entered.

Meagan knew exactly where he was because she’d memorized the schedule Mr. Edwards had presented to her this morning. “Off wooing another diplomat.” She sighed.

“‘Wooing’ and Alexander don’t go together. More like bullying said diplomat into doing what he wants.”

“He doesn’t bully me,” Meagan answered glumly. “He barely speaks to me.”

Egan gave her a shrewd glance. “Doesn’t he, now? Maybe I’ll have to have a talk with our Alexander.”

“No, Egan please do not,” Meagan said hastily. “Dismiss such a thought. I am simply maudlin and have a headache, which makes me out of sorts.”

Egan raised his brows, but to her relief, he dropped the matter. Meagan certainly didn’t want Alexander believing she’d recruited Egan to admonish him on her behalf.

“Now then,” Egan said, “to begin.”

He started them standing side-by-side, facing opposite directions. “Your arm goes around the front of my waist, and my arm goes around your waist.” Egan’s strong hand rested on her hip. “Then we reach up and clasp each other’s other hands, like so.”

Meagan curved her arm over her head and met Egan’s fingertips. “Goodness, this is a most intimate dance. Rather like the waltz.”

“Aye, it is intimate, as you say. And this is only how it begins.”

Meagan’s thoughts whirled back to the night she’d met Alexander. She remembered feeling his gaze all the way across Lady Featherstone’s ballroom and then the warmth of his hand on her side as he’d swept her into a waltz. She’d been terrified of him and intrigued by him at the same time, and had so much wanting for him she thought she’d collapse at his feet.

Meagan was still intrigued, and her lust had in no way diminished, but she was no longer afraid of Grand Duke Alexander. Her glimpses into his heart had told her he was a man who loved with a tenderness he did not know how to show.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Egan said teasingly.

Meagan realized she’d been staring into the distance, remembering the strength in Alexander’s hands when he’d pulled her out to the terrace that night, the heat of his lips when he’d first kissed her.

Her face flamed. “I beg your pardon.”

“Dinnae worry, Meagan,” Egan said kindly. “Alexander is a cold man, but he’ll not resist you for long. A warm-haired, bonny lass like you will wear him down.”

His voice was gentle and Meagan forced a smile. “Do not mind me. As I said, I have a headache. Lead on.”

Egan did not believe her, but he ceased speaking and complied.

The dance was intricate. The couple moved clockwise with a shuffling step, then each spun around, clasped each other’s waist with the opposite arm, and moved counterclockwise. Then they parted, held each other’s hands, and pivoted this way and that. They came together again in the same stance as in the beginning, but stood closer, hip to hip.

“You go on like that in similar steps, until the lady and gentleman are right close together. Alexander can show you how close. And then you go through the steps again, this time faster.”

Egan swung her around. After a few tries, Meagan got the hang of turning and grabbing his waist just as he grabbed hers, their hands meeting overhead exactly. They sped up, and Meagan laughed with the exuberance of it. They turned swiftly, Egan’s kilts flying as much as Meagan’s skirts.

Then Meagan saw Alexander standing still as a statue just inside the ballroom’s double doors.

She stumbled to a halt. Egan swung around once and stopped beside her.

Alexander never moved. He could have been a stone Alexander brought in for the ball, except the blue of his eyes glittered like the ruby in his ear.