The Mad, Bad Duke (Nvengaria #2)(89)
The result was stunning—Meagan could not believe she looked upon herself in the long gilt mirror. A silver silk dress skimmed Meagan’s body, shimmering under a net of midnight blue. The bodice dipped low on her shoulders, the half sleeves baring her arms. A circlet of diamonds glittered in her hair that hung in long, unadorned curls. The ensemble looked simple but was in truth the result of countless machinations by Susan with the assistance of Meagan’s second maid and Mrs. Caldwell.
Meagan roamed the house—carefully so as not to muss her hair—looking over the preparations yet again. Everything seemed fine but Meagan paced nervously.
“Do not worry, darling,” Simone said, glittering with jewels Meagan had given her. “You will be the envy of all. You have this splendid house and a splendid husband and splendid diamonds, and the ball will be the best of the Season. Everyone talks about you, my dear.”
Meagan had never been shy, preferring forthright ways that often unnerved Simone, but now her heart fluttered. She was unused to being the center of attention. Meagan also worried about the ices melting and the flowers drooping and the wrong words coming out of her mouth to the wrong person. The newspapers would either pronounce her first ball as Grand Duchess a brilliant success, or they’d print scathing reports that would make her want to hide under the bed for the rest of her life.
As Meagan stood in the center of the ballroom, watching Marcus and Brutus clinging perilously to a ladder to secure a garland to a chandelier, she became aware of Alexander behind her.
She knew these days exactly when he came into a room and when he left it. Half the ballroom separated them, but she knew he stood in the doorway before she turned around.
Her hungry gaze roved his tall body arrayed in his Nvengarian coat and sash of office. Boots hugged his long legs under his formal trousers, part of his Nvengarian uniform.
Alexander had been so elusive of late, never taking meals in the house, barely speaking to Meagan when they met in public, though he showed her every politeness. Society thought them madly but tastefully in love. Only Meagan knew of the nights in bed alone when Alexander did not even bother to come home.
She knew he went out with Myn, because she saw the two of them coming and going often enough. But if Meagan ever entered a room where they spoke together, Alexander would break the conversation and leave without a word. She tried to ask Myn what was happening, but her Nvengarian was still halting and Myn pretended not to understand her.
Husbands, she thought in exasperation. Maddening creatures.
She started across the ballroom to Alexander now, expecting him to abruptly turn and depart when he saw her. If she could have dashed to block his exit without looking like a fool, she would have, but she had to settle for striding majestically toward him and hoping he did not run away.
Before she could reach him, Nikolai stepped into the ballroom and caught Alexander’s attention.
“Your Grace, there is a problem with the sword dance.”
Problem? Meagan’s heart beat faster. Two hours before her first hosted ball she did not want to hear the word problem.
She realized Nikolai spoke English, likely for her benefit. “What problem?” she demanded as she reached them.
“One of the footmen is ill.” Nikolai’s expression said that he disdained such weakness.
“I know,” Meagan answered. “Gaius. I believe he ate something that disagreed with him, and I told him to stay in bed.”
“Humph,” Nikolai said.
“He is quite ill, poor thing. Moaning piteously and very green.”
“What has Gaius’ illness to do with the sword dance?” Alexander interrupted. He would not look at Meagan, but she felt his attention touch her like a caress. Just the heat of his body anywhere near her was enough to drive her mad.
“There is no one to take his place, Your Grace. It must be an odd number of dancers as you know.” Nikolai coughed. “The others, they wished me to ask you to take Gaius’s place. Everyone knows what an expert you are at the sword dance.”
Alexander frowned. “Do not flatter me, Nikolai. I am competent but no expert.”
Nikolai looked worried. “If you do not agree, then we must cancel it. There is no one else.”
“Why not have a second person drop out?” Alexander asked. “Then you would still have your odd number.”
Nikolai looked horrified. “Ask one of the men to sacrifice his part in the sword dance? That would be too devastating for him, and I certainly cannot single out one man and dismiss him—not if I want to live to see the morning. It must be all of us or none of us.”
Meagan laid her hand on Alexander’s arm and nearly got lost in the sensation of steely muscles beneath his coat. “Do help them, Alexander. They have worked so hard.”
She felt the weight of his stare and looked up to find his blue gaze hard on her. Since the night Alexander had told her he was part logosh she’d felt a honing of his attention, his gazes becoming more focused and exacting. He looked at one thing at a time now, whereas before he’d had his mind manipulating the strings of everything around him.
At this moment he looked at Meagan with the keenness of a predator. Alexander desired her. That was fine, because Meagan desired him, but she also knew he would not give in to the wanting.
Alexander’s attention to Meagan closed like a shuttered lantern and refocused again on Nikolai.