The Mad, Bad Duke (Nvengaria #2)(88)
Alexander wondered, as he ran, if returning to Nvengaria without Meagan would break the love spell. Or perhaps he could send Meagan and Alex back to Nvengaria without him, if his duties did not permit him to leave England. Princess Penelope would no doubt be happy to see her dearest friend.
But his heart burned at the thought of being so far away from his wife and son. When Alexander had surrendered to Damien last year his greatest fear had been that Damien would separate him from Alex as punishment. Damien had looked surprised at that assumption, a good sign that Damien was not the monster his father had been.
Alexander caught a scent along one path and loped onto a flat expanse of moor. A wolf sat under the moonlight, a breeze ruffling its fur.
“There are no wolves in England,” Alexander told him. He did not actually speak—he had learned to convey ideas without words.
“Or panthers,” Myn said.
“No. We ought to be careful lest an eager farmer shoots us or captures us for a menagerie.”
Myn looked at him with his light blue eyes, no humor in his expression. “As you say.”
“You have been with Anastasia,” Alexander said. He caught the unmistakable scent of Anastasia’s floral perfume even over Myn’s wolf-ness.
As a human Alexander would have many complicated thoughts about Myn sleeping with Anastasia, such as whether Anastasia was up to something, or whether Myn was, or how he could use their partnership to his advantage. As an animal and logosh, he saw a very straightforward picture—Myn wanted Anastasia and Anastasia needed Myn.
“She has been deeply hurt,” Alexander said.
“Yes,” Myn agreed quietly. “Dimitri was my friend, but he was not good for her.”
“No.” Alexander saw everything with startling clarity. “He made Anastasia fly too high and fall too far.”
“He should have loved her better.”
Alexander stretched himself, front paws raking the ground, uncramping the muscles of his cat’s body. “When you were with Anastasia, how did you keep the logosh at bay?”
“I did not.” Myn turned his wise wolf’s face to Alexander. “The logosh is not evil or harmful. We are strong and dangerous, but that is only part of us. We love our mates and our children with tenderness.”
“You have had your entire life to practice being logosh,” Alexander pointed out, “while I have only known of it several weeks.”
“It is part of you,” Myn said. “You must let it be part of you. You cannot keep it separate.”
“The last thing in the world I want is to hurt Meagan.”
Myn’s eyes opened and closed in a slow blink. “Then let her help you. Every Nvengarian has violence inside him, as does every logosh. Nvengarians embrace violence while logosh are peaceful people until necessary. Let your love for her bring you peace.”
Alexander whuffed, a useful sound panthers made, and sat on his haunches. “The love comes from a spell that winds me to a frenzy. I want to devour her, I want …” He broke off. “The love spell does not care if I hurt Meagan.”
“Then you must look beyond the spell to what is truly in your heart.”
“Or I should break the spell,” Alexander returned impatiently. “I will hunt this Black Annie again and make her lift it.”
“I predict you will not find her.”
Alexander growled deep in his throat. “I must find her. What is in my heart is tangled in the love spell. I do not know what I truly feel.”
“You will if you look closely enough.”
“Damned logosh.” Alexander rolled to his feet. “The way I know I am half logosh is because I don’t speak in riddles. Only full logosh are as cryptic as you.”
Myn, to his surprise, gave him a wolf’s smile. “It is useful.”
Alexander loped away, back to where he’d left his clothes. He’d return to the inn where he’d taken a room and ride back to London tomorrow.
“Look into my heart,” he repeated with a cynical growl, not waiting to see if Myn followed. “I haven’t looked in so long I know I’ll not like what I find there.”
* * *
The Grand Duchess of Nvengaria’s first hosted ball was the talk of the ton for years to come for more reasons than one.
“Not your fault, darling,” Simone said days later, reading yet another newspaper story about it. “You couldn’t have anticipated … well … everything.”
It started fine enough. The footmen had swarmed through the house hanging draperies and bunting, looping wreaths of flowers through chandeliers and wall sconces. Mrs. Caldwell and Meagan had chosen Nvengarian red, blue, and shimmering gold, the colors swirling through the house like the brightest of blossoms.
Both Nvengarian and English flags hung in the ballroom, the entire theme of the party being good English and Nvengarian relations. It did not hurt, Mrs. Caldwell said, that Meagan came from a blue-blooded English family of unblemished background. Her father was not wealthy perhaps, but Meagan had breeding. And breeding of course was much more important than riches any day.
Meagan tried to believe this, knowing that half the ladies in London looked upon her as a country bumpkin in finery.
The musicians tuned in their corner of the ballroom, the butler carried bottles of wine to and fro, and the Nvengarian footmen dashed about on last-minute errands. Susan had taken one hour to dress Meagan and one hour on her hair.