The Mad, Bad Duke

  He watched for a long time, the breeze stirring his dark hair and the tails of his long coat. His black boots were finely polished, the tops splashed with mud from his walk across the green.

  When he spoke to Alex, his voice was neutral, almost gentle. “Have you caught anything?”

  “Not yet,” Alex answered, his gaze on the water. “But you must give them time, Stepmama says. She says we’re bound to catch something sooner or later.”

  “Does she?” Alexander stepped behind Alex and looked critically at the pole. “You hold it well. A light touch, that is good.”

  “Stepmama taught me,” Alex said.

  Alexander flicked his gaze to Meagan, his eyes unreadable, then reached down and made a small adjustment to the pole with his black-gloved hand. “I did much fishing when I was a boy. Damien and I used to sneak away from our tutors to a lake in the woods.”

  “Truly?” Alex exclaimed in delight.

  “Only we knew where the lake was, or so we believed. I imagine our bodyguards followed us at a discreet distance.”

  “Did your papa go fishing with you?” Alex asked.

  Alexander waited a beat too long to answer. “He was very busy.”

  “Like you,” Alex said. “You are a very important man.”

  Alexander released the pole, but he remained staring at it, not looking at Alex or Meagan. Suddenly, he turned around and gestured for Dominic. Dominic trotted over. “Your Grace?”

  “Send for a fishing pole for me.”

  Dominic blinked. “Your Grace?”

  “A fishing pole. Swiftly, Dominic.”

  Dominic turned and galloped toward another bodyguard, bellowing in Nvengarian. The others took up the cry, calling to Alexander’s servants who waited outside the fence, who in turn bellowed to the servants nearer the house.

  A pole was brought while the three waited, Alexander silent, Meagan anxious, Alex oblivious. Alexander looked over the pole Dominic handed him, pronounced it fine, stripped off his gloves, and baited it himself.

  They fished quietly, the three of them at the edge of the puddle, while the bodyguards, the journalists, the passersby, the nannies and children in the park, and the curious residents of Berkeley Square watched the eccentric Grand Duke and his family.

  They remained there until the wind turned cold and Alexander announced that they should go inside. Meagan nodded, her hands already numb, and returned her pole to Dominic, who’d come to collect them.

  Alexander lifted young Alex to his shoulder, strangely subdued as they walked along the path and through the gates.

  The crowd parted before them like water from the bows of a ship as they exited the park. Dominic and the others held back the tide, and they walked across the square and back into the echoing foyer of Maysfield House.

  Alexander set Alex down and steered him toward the stairs. “When you want to fish again, I will arrange an expedition to a lake in the country, where you will find many fish.”

  Alex smiled happily. “Will you come too, Papa? And teach me?”

  “We will all go. I will arrange it.”

  Alex whooped and turned in a circle. He caught the hand of one of the footmen, who pulled the boy playfully up the stairs.

  “If you attend to your lessons,” Alexander said, as though remembering to be an admonishing father.

  “Yes, Papa.” Alex beamed at him with an angelic expression, then told the footman he’d race him up the stairs. The footman obliged, slowing his steps so that Alex could patter ahead.

  Alexander rested one arm on the railing and watched his son, his expression somber. That, coupled with his lack of annoyance at Meagan for taking Alex out of his schoolroom, worried her.

  “Alexander?”

  He swung to her, eyes glittering, and the love spell flared. He gripped her shoulders and kissed her, pressing her against the newel post. The kiss was possessive, his fingers biting into her flesh.

  With effort, he wrenched himself away from her, and they stared at each other, breathing hard.

  “You must ready yourself for the ambassador’s supper ball,” he said.

  “Oh, yes.” She bit her lip, thinking of the French ambassador’s wife, in no hurry to meet the woman again. “I suppose I must. If I am not well dressed, the ceiling might fall in.”

  Alexander smiled, true mirth flickering in his eyes. Then the mirth died abruptly, and he slid his fingers across her cheek. “Come upstairs with me,” he said in a low voice. “I need you.”

  Meagan closed her eyes. She ought to point out that they had little time and should not be late to the ambassador’s ball, but she opened her eyes and nodded.

  Alexander took her hand and ran lightly with her up the stairs then down the corridor to his bedchamber, which, if anything, was larger and more sumptuous than hers. He abruptly told Nikolai to find something else to do, then he undressed her and took her twice in his deep featherbed, his strong body pinning her fast.

  He made love silently, frantically, as though he could not get enough of her, then held her close, breathing like a man who’d swum far and fast against a very strong current.

  “I am still waiting for you to shout at me.” Meagan straightened her velvet cloak and looked across the carriage at her husband as they bumped their way through crowded Mayfair streets to Grosvenor Square.

  He turned from the window, which he could not possibly see out of because the glass reflected the bright carriage lamps inside.

  “Shout?” he inquired in his low voice. “Why should I shout at you?”

  “For the fishing. For having the gall to rush into Alex’s nursery and muck about. For changing the precious schedule.”

  He turned to the window again. “I am not unhappy that you wanted to see Alex. Sephronia never did.”

  Meagan’s heart gave a quick beat. “Did she not?”

  “She never spoke to Alex. I had not expected you would wish to, either.”

  “Good lord, why ever not?” she asked indignantly. “He was her son. And so like you.” She stopped when he shot her an ironic glance. “I beg your pardon. I suppose I should not speak ill of her.”

  Alexander rested his hands on his thighs, broad fingers in black gloves. “Sephronia loved Alex, in her own way. She was proud of him, but she did not enjoy children.”

  “Not even her own? I beg your pardon again, but I cannot fathom that she not only did not want to be with him, why she did not want to be with you.” She held up her hand. “I know, I am not Nvengarian and do not understand, but she should not have done it.”

  His expression did not change. “It was a political marriage and one of mutual convenience. Sephronia did her duty.”

  He spoke matter-of-factly, but how had it been for him to know his wife preferred to find pleasure elsewhere, showing so clearly she did not love him? Likely he’d calmly gone about his business and said nothing, but how had it felt?

  “How could she not be happy to stay with you night after night?” Meagan blurted. “Was she blind?”

  He smiled faintly, his row of medals glinting beneath his greatcoat. “You flatter me.”

  “I have eyes, Alexander. I vow, you are the handsomest man I’ve ever seen, and that includes his magnificent Highness, Prince Damien of Nvengaria. All Nvengarians are handsome.” She pressed one hand to her bosom, where she’d hoped the décolletage of her gown would cover her freckles, but it was not to be. “But you, Alexander—you quite take my breath away.”

  He was silent a moment. “I wish you could mean that.”

  “I do mean it. I’ve just said.”

  One hand on his thigh curled into a fist. “When the love spell is gone, perhaps you will not.”

  “The love spell cannot change what you look like, silly. I believed you handsome months ago when I saw your portrait in the newspapers. Grand Duke Alexander of Nvengaria, ambassador from the court of Prince Damien. I could not believe any man could be quite so handsome—I thought perhaps the newspaper drawings were exaggerated. Of
course, at the time, I was quite angry with you for trying to assassinate Damien last summer, but I am no longer. That I blame on the love spell.”

  She loved the way his mouth lifted in one corner, the promise of laughter held back. “Damien and I have—how do you English say?—repaired our fences.”

  “Mended your fences. Penelope says so in her letters. I will believe it better when I see you and Damien face-to-face.”

  “I think I will be so pleased to be home in Nvengaria that I might embrace him.”

  “Let us not expect miracles.” She shivered, remembering how he’d pinned her hands above her head in his bed not an hour ago, murmuring Nvengarian phrases she still did not understand. “They call you the Mad, Bad Duke, you know. No one is ever sure what you will do next.”

  His brows drew together. “That is an English joke of some kind, is it not? The Mad, Bad Duke.”

  “I suppose it is a joke. It was said of Lord Byron that he was mad, bad, and dangerous to know. Lady Carolyn Lamb said that about him—she behaved quite scandalously, you know. I suppose whoever started that name is implying you are dangerous.” She drew a breath. “Which is true.”

  His eyes flickered. “I met Byron—he traveled briefly to Nvengaria before he went to Greece. I thought him portly and full of himself.”

  Meagan suppressed a giggle. “Apparently, he was quite the ladies’ man. All the women chased him.”

  Alexander looked skeptical. “They read his poetry, perhaps, and wove romantic stories about the man who wrote it. I also heard he preferred young men.”

  “I have no idea. Papa would never let me read Lord Byron’s poems.” She shot him an impish grin. “But I did anyway, under the covers at night. Papa said they were lewd.”

  “She walks in beauty, like the night,” Alexander said softly.

  Meagan stopped. The words, spoken in his low, silken voice, caught at her heart. “What did you say?”

  “It is a poem of his. Very apt, I think.” The darkness in his eyes held her. The love spell chose that moment to remind her of how his tongue had felt when he licked her between her breasts in his bed.

  His gaze skimmed the silk gown that bared her shoulders and the soft mound of her bosom, and the diamonds that rested against her white skin. Alexander leaned forward and drew his gloved fingers along her neck, caressing the line of freckles.

  “Alexander,” she said longingly.

  The carriage slowed, then jerked to a halt.

  “Ah,” Alexander said, disappointment in his voice, “we are here.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  An hour later, Alexander pretended to listen to a Prussian count complain about everything English and let his thoughts be pulled to Meagan.

  He knew, though she stood all the way across the vast room and not in his direct line of sight, that she’d raised a wineglass to her lips and smiled over it, that her apricot-colored gown clung to her shoulders and breasts like a stream of water, that her warm red hair swept upward to reveal her long, kissable neck, with the faint smattering of freckles that embarrassed her.

  He wanted to taste them again, to run his tongue over the uneven line of line of faint dots, the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

  How did I live before I knew this woman?

  He ought to stay away from her. Encounters like the one this afternoon had their merits—he’d made love to her quickly, and then she’d hurried from the room, throwing a smile over her shoulder as she’d gone. If he did not linger too long with her, perhaps everything would be all right. But he wanted to bury himself in her and not come out. When he was with her, love spell or no, he was complete. In his entire life, he had never felt so whole.

  He wanted to be next to her now, his arm around her, letting every man in the room know she was under his protection.

  He half turned to watch just as three gentlemen joined the small group of ladies to whom she chatted, obviously demanding introduction. His blood burned. He’d known it would happen, that once Meagan’s beauty was revealed to the gentlemen of the ton, they’d be smitten. She had not taken very seriously his discussion that she would be approached by men who wanted a paramour and that she had to be careful whom she chose.

  “Ah,” the Prussian ambassador said, interrupting him. “There is Lady Anastasia Dimitri. You would never find such beauty in an English woman. The pure Germanic strain is best, I have always thought.”

  Alexander looked across the ballroom to where Anastasia had entered on the arm of the French ambassador. She spoke perfect French and, by the look of things, had entranced the ambassador.

  “Excuse me,” he said and began moving across the room to her. Heads turned as he went, people anticipating a scandal and readying themselves to enjoy it.

  Alexander stepped in front of Anastasia and bowed. “My lady.” He took her hand and pressed a kiss to it, then nodded to the ambassador. The Frenchman inclined his head with poor grace.

  “There is a waltz beginning,” Alexander said, “and none dance it better than Lady Anastasia Dimitri.”

  The French ambassador understood the message and stiffly handed Anastasia over. He moved off to look after his other guests, and Alexander took Anastasia to the middle of the floor and pulled her into a waltz.

  “Alexander.” Anastasia laughed as they began to whirl. She continued in Nvengarian. “You have just fed the ton delicious scandal. Taking your mistress out for a waltz not only in front of your wife but before you have danced with her. They will feed on it for some time.”

  “Good. I do not need them chattering about my real purpose.”

  “Your wife might disagree.” She shot a look at Meagan, who followed Alexander’s movements on the floor with a rather wistful expression on her face.

  “I have explained things to Meagan, and she understands. She is intelligent.”

  Her brows arched. “High praise from a man who does not suffer fools gladly.”

  “My wife is no fool.” He felt a surge of pride, which was not lost on Anastasia. But though she had a teasing twinkle in her eye, he sensed her watching him carefully, thoughts whirling behind the words she spoke. “But then, neither are you. Please explain to me why you did not come to me with the conversation Myn overheard and asked you of.”

  He felt her miss a step of the rhythm. “Myn obviously told you. I thought you did not need to hear it from me.”

  “I pay you, Anastasia, precisely to learn about conversations like the one von Hohenzahl had in a tavern in Wapping. Myn needed you to translate the Viennese dialect, which I do not know. I waited for you to speak to me of it, and you never did. You have avoided me for weeks.”

  “Because I did not think it important.” Her eyes were worried.

  “I think it vastly important, and so do you. Smile at me, people are watching.”

  Her face was strained, but she forced her lips into a smile.

  “That is better,” he said.

  He found this role so much easier to play, the Grand Duke unraveling intrigues surrounding Nvengaria, rather than the man under a love spell wondering what had happened to him. “Now tell me what game you are playing or I will waltz you out to the terrace and throw you over the balustrade.”

  Anastasia’s bosom rose with her breath. She knew he was capable of carrying out the threat. “Good lord, Alexander, he called you his secret weapon against Nvengaria. I needed time to think on that, to discover whether you were in league with von Hohenzahl to take your revenge on Damien. You met with von Hohenzahl today, I know.” Her smile hardened. “If you have any intention of betraying Nvengaria, I will stop you even if I have to kill you. And you know I will do that.”

  “I’d expect no less of you. I’ve already told von Hohenzahl to go to the devil. If you believe I would do one thing to jeopardize Nvengaria, you do not know me. I would remove Damien only if I thought it was best for Nvengaria. Neither you nor von Hohenzahl understand my motives.”

  “Can you blame me? No one understands you, Alexander.”
She spoke in exasperation and also fear.

  He smiled. “Meagan does.”

  Anastasia stared at him, then her gaze softened. “You truly care for her.”

  He shrugged. “It is the love spell. Which is why I do not waltz with her. If I did, I would take her off and ravish her. Best that I keep the length of the room between us.”

  Anastasia glanced at Meagan again. “She certainly looks at you with affection. She is a sweet girl, Alexander. Do not hurt her, I beg you.”

  “I have no intention of hurting her.”

  She gave him a sharp look. “If you are toying with her, using her to further your own schemes, I will never forgive you. She isn’t one of us, and she does not understand our world.”

  “I do not want her to understand it.” Alexander swung Anastasia in the waltz so he could keep his gaze trained on Meagan. His wife chatted easily with the gentlemen around her, and his blood heated with jealousy. “I want her as she is, innocent and trusting.”

  “Then she will never last if you take her to Nvengaria.”

  “You were innocent and trusting in Nvengaria,” Alexander said. “You never lost your innocent wonder, I remember. Not until Dimitri died.”

  Her eyes clouded. “I do not want to speak of Dimitri. Let us return to von Hohenzahl. What do you intend to do?”

  He sensed the grief in her as usual when her husband was mentioned, but he sensed something new too, a sharp worry he hadn’t seen before.

  “I want you to help me against von Hohenzahl,” he said. “Pretend to be a loyal Austrian, help me make certain he is nothing more than a nuisance.”

  She made a moue of distaste. “He is unsavory, and he has made it clear that he wants me. I have done things I am ashamed of to gain information, but von Hohenzahl disgusts me.”

  “Even so, he has made threats against Meagan and Alex, and I want him rendered impotent.”

  Anastasia gave a short laugh. “Interesting choice of words, Alexander. I—”

  She broke off, her face draining of color as her gaze fixed on something behind him. Alexander turned in the dance, but he saw nothing behind them but the long row of windows leading out to a terrace and ladies and gentlemen of the ton standing nearby.