The Mad, Bad Duke

  It had never been so adorable before.

  He’d told her the literal translation of the word, not the erotic connotation. She’d done the equivalent of a proper English lady asking to suck on a cock. No wonder his footmen had stopped in shock.

  He had not been exaggerating when he told her that every man at Prince Damien’s dinner table would climb over each other to accept her offer. But Alexander would fight them off, with sword and pistol if need be. Meagan was his.

  He leaned on his fists and drove into her, fast and hard. Their hips met, the table creaking, the remaining silver dishes rattling to the floor. He wanted to crawl inside her, to have her part of him forever.

  I don’t want this frenzy with you, he said silently, unable to form words at all now. I want it to be slow and good and loving. I want to love you. I want it to be real.

  The wildness of it danced fire on the edge of his vision. He heard his own groans of pleasure, his voice hoarse and rasping. She screamed, her brown eyes wide. He should stop, he should be gentle. He’d promised her when he’d begged her to marry him that he would attend to her every need and fulfill her thoroughly, not give her this mindless sexing.

  But he could not stop. Something else controlled his body, and he gave in to it. Need her, want her. Never stop.

  His climax hit him. His muscles bunched, and his seed shot inside her, and she moaned with release, her hips lifting to meet his.

  He dragged her to him and collapsed into a chair, holding her close. He pressed his face into her neck, not wanting to look at her. Meagan was slowly delving into the darkest parts of his mind and unearthing things he could not afford to have disturbed.

  He felt her shift as she cuddled close and kissed his cheek, tracing the pattern of the tattoo with light fingers.

  “I love you,” she whispered. She gave him another kiss, then rested her head on his shoulder. “I know it is the love spell making me tell you that, but it feels good to say it.” She gave his biceps a little squeeze, her voice bearing a smile. “I love you, Alexander.”

  At her low words, another frenzy hit him. Alexander set her on her feet and dragged off his coat to put over her torn bodice, then scooped her into his arms and made his way to her bedchamber. There he stripped her and himself and made love to her in the deep featherbed until they both fell into dark slumber.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Alexander woke in the garden, naked, blood streaming from deep scratches on his chest. Nikolai and Dominic stood several paces from him, watching him warily.

  This time the panic did not come, because he knew what was happening to him. “The logosh is a part of you,” Myn had said. “You must embrace it or it will devour you.”

  He could feel the beast wanting to get out and not knowing how.

  “Sir?” Nikolai said, a waver in his voice. “We should get you back inside. Her Grace might wake.”

  The last thing Alexander remembered was Meagan snuggling down beside him after their last wild bout of lovemaking. She’d murmured “good night,” and rested her head on his shoulder, arm around his waist. Trusting.

  “What did I do? Did I hurt her?”

  “No, Your Grace,” Nikolai said. “You came down from your wife’s chamber and ran outside.”

  “What else?”

  “You didn’t have any clothes on, for one,” Dominic added. The big man’s face was grim. “You said strange words and you scraped at yourself as you ran. And your eyes…”

  “What about my eyes?” he rasped.

  “They—glowed,” Nikolai said. “Your Grace. They got bluer and kind of wider.”

  “I see.” Alexander tried to gather his usual control about him like a shielding mantle, but he could not quite master it.

  Dominic nodded. “I saw it too.”

  Alexander exhaled, raising his head to the darkness. Clouds layered the sky, but he could feel the moon behind them glowing silver and bright.

  “Who else saw?” he demanded, the cool tones of Alexander the Grand Duke returning.

  “No one, sir,” Dominic replied. “Everyone else had gone to bed. We followed you out.”

  “And the Grand Duchess?”

  Nikolai shook his head. “I looked in on her, sir. She did not wake.”

  “Thank God for that.” Alexander rubbed his hands over his arms, his blood cooling. “I want both of you to keep these incidents quiet, do you understand?”

  “Of course, sir.” Nikolai sounded shocked Alexander would even ask. Dominic gave a stoic nod.

  “I know you are loyal,” Alexander said. “But there are those who would exploit the knowledge to gain power over me or Nvengaria.”

  Both men nodded. They understood about spies and intrigue. From what Myn had told him, von Hohenzahl and a flunky had met in a tavern in Wapping to discuss Alexander, though they’d been maddeningly vague about why they wanted him. They’d said he was their “secret weapon” against Nvengaria, which made Alexander fear that von Hohenzahl already knew the Grand Duke was part logosh.

  How can he know? Alexander wondered. He had no answer to that. Von Hohenzahl had even sent men to watch Alexander’s house. The men were easy to spot and Alexander let them watch, instructing his own men to follow them. Von Hohenzahl was wasting his money.

  More troubling was Anastasia’s behavior. Myn had gone to her to translate the conversation he’d overheard. Myn had then reported it to Alexander, but Anastasia had not mentioned one word of it, and he was not certain why. She played her own games and was not always on Alexander’s side.

  “Where is Myn?” he asked abruptly. “I want to talk to him.”

  “Disappeared again, sir,” Dominic answered. “I last saw him this morning, after you came back from getting married. No one’s seen him since.”

  “Damn.”

  Nikolai gave a little cough. “Are you ready to go back, sir? I’ll fetch water to wash you up.”

  “Yes.” Alexander clenched his hands. “I will sleep in my chamber, not my wife’s.”

  With regret, he thought of her bed, a warm nest with Meagan in it. She’d smell of her perfume and lovemaking, and he wanted to sink back into her warmth and lose himself. But the thought that his logosh side might emerge and hurt her bothered him.

  “Let us be quiet about it. See that she does not wake. And when Myn returns, send him to me immediately. Even if I am asleep.”

  “Yes, sir,” Nikolai said.

  The two men flanked him as they walked back to the house, Alexander stepping inside with regret. It had felt so right to be out in the darkness. A small part of the garden that remembered its wildness called to him, urging him to remember his wildness, too. Myn had told him that the memory lapses occurred when the logosh in him tried to take over, while the Alexander part of him tried to regain control by blotting out the memory of shifting.

  They moved through the silent house, Nikolai catching up a candelabra to light their way upstairs. Alexander found he didn’t need the light. He could clearly see every molding, every garish gilding in his lavish hired house even without the flame from Nikolai’s candles dancing on them.

  Dominic returned to his duties of guarding the house and Nikolai escorted Alexander to the bath chamber and left him to soak.

  Sitting up to his neck in the steaming water, Alexander recalled the first vision he’d had of Meagan, the two of them naked and wet and enjoying each other against one of the monstrous marble pillars. How wonderful it would be to open his eyes and see her sliding into the bath with him, her red hair curling with the steam, her smile wide and welcoming.

  His erection began to lift. He’d never get enough of her, never. The love spell was killing him, and yet he never wanted it to leave. To lose her now would be one of the most difficult things he’d ever faced.

  He heard a soft step and opened his eyes, but it was not Meagan. Myn stood on the other side of the steaming bath, his rough clothes a startling contrast to the very formal wear of Alexander’s servants.

  My
n said nothing, his blue eyes nearly glowing in the steam-filled room. Alexander hauled himself out of the bath and reached for his dressing gown.

  “Myn, I want you to teach me. Teach me about being logosh. Teach me how not to hurt Alex and Meagan.”

  Myn regarded him silently for a moment or two, those eyes missing nothing. Then he gave the faintest nod. “Yes.”

  Meagan decided, in the morning, that something had to be done about the garden. She viewed it from her window as Susan laced her into another gown, this one a dark golden silk.

  Like the house, the garden was ostentatious, attempting to imitate a huge formal French garden in one-tenth of the space. The result was short, tight walks of yew hedges, ridiculous topiary, and an actual maze in the middle of the garden with four turns in it.

  “Would it not look more inviting with roses and a small lawn and one path and benches along the way?” Meagan said as Susan clasped a string of emeralds around her neck. “One could not have a garden party as it is now, because half the guests would be hidden behind shrubbery, the other half lost in the toy maze.” She smiled. “I will have to consult His Grace, of course. I will discuss it with him at breakfast.”

  Although she already missed home, she looked forward to her first breakfast with Alexander. She’d speak to him about redoing the garden while he ate his toast and drank his coffee and looked over his newspaper. She could smile at him, sending him a secret reminder of the passion they’d shared the night before, while the oblivious servants refilled their cups and took away plates.

  She understood now why ladies wanted to be married. The cozy sharing of a life with someone was much to be desired.

  “His Grace breakfasted some time ago,” Mrs. Caldwell said, entering the room. “He is now on his way to Carleton House.”

  “Oh.” Meagan’s domestic vision burst into dribbles of disappointment. “Why did no one wake me? It is only gone nine. I certainly could have risen to take breakfast with him.”

  “He instructed that you were not to be disturbed,” Mrs. Caldwell said. “But if you desire to know when he will leave each morning, I have brought you his schedule for the week.”

  She handed Meagan a sheaf of papers covered with tiny writing. “Goodness,” Meagan said, scanning the columns of dates, times, and places. “We shall never have a meal together at this rate.”

  “His Grace is quite busy,” Mrs. Caldwell said, but with a note of sympathy. “If you like, I will instruct his secretary to compare his schedule with yours and overlap some time.”

  The cozy scenes of husband and wife enjoying each other’s company faded and vanished. But Meagan was determined to have some of it. “We can at least begin our day with breakfast together. Please make sure I am awake and ready to meet him each morning.”

  “Very good, Your Grace.” Mrs. Caldwell gave a decided nod, as though she approved of Meagan asserting her wishes. “Your own breakfast awaits you in the dining room, and I am afraid you have quite a lot of correspondence already. Mr. Edwards will go over it with you along with your appointments for the day.”

  Meagan exhaled, feeling the weight of being Grand Duchess descend on her. “I suppose we’d better get on with it, then. Lead the way.”

  She blushed as she entered the formal dining room, remembering how Alexander had sent a rain of silver to the floor as he’d lifted her to the table to make love to her. The servants must have known exactly what had transpired when they came in to clean up. She’d told Alexander she loved him, but she wasn’t sure what he’d made of that. Ignored her, she hoped.

  The table held almost as much silver and porcelain this morning as it had last night, even though she was eating alone, and a light breakfast at that. An overflowing pile of folded cream-colored letters lay to the right of her place, and Mr. Edwards, with a plain cup of coffee before him, had already begun sorting them and making notations in a book.

  Gaius, Marcus, and Brutus waited eagerly to serve her. As they had the night before, they pulled out her chair and offered her a napkin with a dramatic flourish.

  She discovered that Mr. Edwards had already scheduled her to pay calls on the wives of other ambassadors this morning. A garden party and a dinner had already been set up in her honor this afternoon, and she’d attend both. Then a ride through Hyde Park in her new carriage—she could invite a friend to ride with her, preferably someone highborn such as Lady Featherstone or the Duchess of Cranshaw.

  After Hyde Park, Meagan would make ready to attend supper at the French ambassador’s house and meet Alexander there.

  “I feel a bit sick to my stomach,” Meagan said, setting down her cup of chocolate. “Perhaps I am coming on with a cold and should not leave the house today.”

  Mr. Edwards gave her a smile that hinted at a bit of kindness, and told her she would do just fine. “I will coach you how to greet each of the ladies and what to say to them—or I should say, what not to say to them. There is always the safe topic of the weather.”

  “The weather. Yes.” Thank God for England’s weather. House parties would end in disaster if not for the refuge of discussions about the weather.

  “What about Alex?” Meagan asked as Mr. Edwards went on opening correspondence and making notes. She’d seen nothing of the boy since he was led upstairs by his nanny yesterday, and she’d not heard a peep from the floor where he lived. In her experience, quietness in a boy of six was not usual.

  Mr. Edwards gave her a blank look. “Alex?”

  “Yes, Alex. His Grace’s son and heir. Alexander does see him from time to time, does he not?”

  Mr. Edwards’s expression cleared. “Ah, you wish to see his young grace’s schedule. I have it here.” He rifled through his books and pulled out a sheet of paper. “Here we are.”

  “Alex has his own schedule?”

  “His Grace wishes his son to have the most rigorous education possible, as young Alex will be Grand Duke one day.”

  Meagan ran her eye down the list of subjects Alex would be taught this morning: history, Latin, politics, French, geography, and English grammar.

  “Good heavens.”

  At least he was allowed to leave the house on occasion, if only for lessons in riding and fencing. However, the entry “walk in Hyde Park” at eleven o’clock had been marked through.

  “Because of the rain,” Mr. Edwards explained as Meagan returned the paper.

  The rain looked fairly light to Meagan, barely spattering the windows, but the day was gray and heavy and the rain could turn to torrents. “It seems much for a boy of six. And I noticed no entries for seeing his father.”

  “His Grace makes time to talk with his son several times a week and check his progress,” Mr. Edwards said. “His Grace is…”

  “An important man. Yes, so many people have told me.”

  Meagan then and there determined to have a talk with Alexander about young Alex. Alexander would no doubt raise his brows in cool surprise that she thought he was anything but an exemplary father, but she knew Alexander loved his son. She saw it in his eyes. Why, then, did he ignore him so much?

  She took a bite of buttered toast. “I note there is no entry for chatting with his stepmother, either.”

  “Ah, no, I see there is not. I will consult the Grand Duke about scheduling you an appointment if you wish.”

  “No need. I will consult the Grand Duke myself.”

  Mr. Edwards gave her a hesitant look. “His Grace is rather busy.”

  “Make me an appointment with him, then,” Meagan said, exasperated. She threw down the toast. “I believe I am finished with breakfast.”

  “Very good, Your Grace. Perhaps, then, you will start on your correspondence.”

  He picked up a stack of at least a hundred letters and piled them high in front of Meagan’s plate. Her eyes rounded, her mouth went dry, and her sturdy resolution to keep her new duties from controlling her began to crumble.

  Breathing a tiny sigh, she put out her hand and picked up the first one.


  “You are an interesting man, Herr Alexander. I have been looking forward to this meeting.”

  Otto von Hohenzahl clasped Alexander’s hand, narrow rings on each of his fingers. His handshake was firm, his eyes clear blue and ingenuous. Von Hohenzahl was a tall man with graying hair, a trim physique, and a round red face. He smelled of cheroot and beneath that a touch of acrid perfume.

  Decadent, Alexander thought. A hedonist who likes his pleasures—wine, food, cheroots, women. Alexander also added intelligent as he sensed von Hohenzahl sizing him up in return.

  “I must congratulate you on your nuptials,” von Hohenzahl said, releasing Alexander’s hand and smiling a sly smile. “So surprising it was, to learn that the Grand Duke had taken a young English miss with no title or fortune as his bride.”

  Alexander shrugged. “I fell in love.”

  “Mein freund,” von Hohenzahl laughed, “is that any reason to marry a woman?”

  “I believe it is.” Alexander let his voice cool. Von Hohenzahl shot him a startled look, then smoothly let his laughter die.

  “Ah, well, it is your second marriage. In a second marriage a man can be indulgent if he has used his first marriage well. You have a son and heir; why not enjoy yourself?”

  “Yes.” Alexander did not want to sit in the proffered chair in von Hohenzahl’s surprisingly tasteful sitting room. The Austrian had taken a townhouse in Curzon Street furnished for the Season, as he’d explained when Alexander arrived.

  There was nothing wrong with the house or the sitting room, which was decorated in hues of yellow, but Alexander’s senses, heightened since his logosh side had begun pushing its way to the fore, smelled something unsavory behind the fresh paint and the slight dust in the carpet. He could not place it, but he did not like it, and he decided to be very, very careful.

  “I have a busy afternoon ahead,” he said. “Many appointments that will not wait.”