The Mad, Bad Duke

  Alexander inclined his head, still the polite host. “I will see that some swifter horses are made available to you.”

  “Thank you, that would be kind.”

  Meagan spoke through a stiff smile that hurt her face. She’d hoped to provoke him into some kind of reaction, but his expression remained neutral. A man playing cards with him would never have a chance.

  Of course Alexander had perfected the stone-faced expression years and years ago, as Egan McDonald had told her, while Meagan had never had cause to hide her emotions. He was master of the game indeed.

  “Horses are afraid of Myn,” Alex announced. He leaned over Meagan to pass his hand along the black horse’s coat. “Because Myn is logosh.”

  “The horses know he is a demon,” Alexander agreed.

  “Whereas horses are never afraid of your father,” Meagan said, shooting Alexander a significant glance.

  Alexander, damn him, didn’t take the bait. He patted his horse’s neck absently, waiting for the next thing Meagan would throw at him.

  Young Alex paid no attention. “Papa, may I ride with you?”

  Meagan saw Alexander’s expression soften the slightest bit. “Of course you may. Hold out your hands.”

  Alex obediently raised his arms high, and Alexander leaned over to scoop him out of the phaeton. Alexander’s coat brushed Meagan’s cheek, the scent of Alexander and fresh spring air washing over her.

  She wished it could be her perched in front of Alexander while he wrapped his arms around her waist. She bit her lip, wanting him so much, the love spell flaring at the one brief touch.

  Alexander helped Alex close his hands correctly over the reins, and then he gave a nod to Meagan and nudged the horse into a slow trot.

  Meagan watched them ride away, thinking perhaps it was better she stayed behind so she could see Alexander’s tall back and tight backside competently swaying with the horse’s movement.

  She thought about the letter she’d written that morning, another one of her steps toward making Alexander see reason. This spring Penelope had sent her a plainlooking pad of drawing paper, explaining that it was magic. Whatever Meagan wrote on it would reach Penelope in faraway Nvengaria in a matter of minutes. Penelope had a pad of such paper in her study and she could return the message. Prince Damien’s advisor, a small man called Sasha, had been working for months to perfect the spell.

  Meagan had not used the paper, not certain she believed in Sasha’s magic, but she thought it could not hurt to try. She penned the letter swiftly and left it where her efficient secretary would not find it.

  In the letter, Meagan had explained to Penelope that she wanted to be a good Nvengarian wife and asked that Penelope give her some guidance. Nvengarian wives, Penelope had told her, were exceptionally skilled at pleasuring their husbands in bed. Entire volumes had been written on the different ways a woman could make sure her husband had everything he wanted in the way of sexual gratification.

  Penelope had once written her a funny letter about this, and then the tone of the letter changed as she wrote that many of the techniques worked very well.

  Meagan gazed across the green at Alexander, feeling an odd catch in her heart as she watched him steady Alex in the saddle. Alexander loved his son, that was evident, with a fierceness that made everyone’s fear of him seem foolish. Alexander was a passionate and deeply caring man, and it showed as he leaned protectively over Alex.

  When father and son returned to the phaeton, Meagan smiled at Alexander, a true smile, not a challenging one. He handed Alex back into the phaeton with only a sharp look for Meagan, then bowed to them both and rode off, Alex waving. Meagan watched Alexander’s graceful body as he cantered away and couldn’t stop watching until he disappeared to the other side of the park.

  She arrived home to find that the words she’d written on the paper had vanished, and a letter from Penelope rested in their place.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “Nikolai!” Alexander shouted into the dressing room.

  “Your Grace?”

  Alexander stood in the doorway to his bedroom at three in the morning several days later. Nikolai had just tied him into a dressing gown, and Alexander had entered his bedroom, already dreading his sleep but knowing he needed it.

  Dreams of Meagan made his nights hell. In the dreams he’d begin by seducing her slowly, making her smile in a way that meant she loved his touch. Then the dreams turned ugly. He lost control time and again, ravishing her and hurting her until she screamed for him to stop. But he wouldn’t stop. He was killing her and the wildness in him couldn’t be tamed.

  So he slept fitfully and stayed far away from her during the days, making certain he took his meals out. He knew his disappearing from the house angered her, but it was far better she was annoyed with him than physically hurt by him.

  Nikolai appeared in the doorway to the bedroom looking bewildered but also a touch guilty.

  “What is this?” Alexander demanded, gesturing to the bed.

  The down covers were folded back as usual, but rose petals had been strewn all over the linens. A half-blown red rose stood in a vase next to the bed, and a handkerchief lay spread on one of the pillows.

  “Um,” Nikolai said. “Someone has decorated, sir.”

  Alexander barely held on to his temper. “This is seduction number twenty-eight in Adolpho of Nvengaria’s Book of Seductions.”

  Nikolai considered. “Yes, Your Grace, I believe it is.”

  The book had been required reading at the temple. It could have been subtitled Three Hundred Twenty Ways to Please Your Nvengarian Mate in Bed.

  “Who gave my wife Adolpho’s Book of Seductions?” he demanded.

  “I really don’t know, Your Grace.” Nikolai looked relieved that he did not know.

  “More to the point, why was she allowed into my bedchamber to prepare it? I gave strict instructions that she was not to enter here.”

  The guilt in Nikolai’s eyes grew. “I let her in, sir.”

  Alexander absently loosened his dressing gown, his eyes on the waiting bed. “Explain to me why you did.”

  “She looked at me, sir.”

  Alexander bent a steely gaze on him. “She looked at you?”

  “The Grand Duchess, she has a way of looking, sir. You find yourself backing down, and you don’t know why. It seems absolutely wrong to disobey her.”

  Alexander relented. “Yes, I know. I’ve seen the look.” Sweet stubbornness, red hair and freckles. She was so damned hard to resist.

  “Shall I clear it away, Your Grace?” Nikolai asked.

  Alexander heard blatant reluctance in his tone. Nikolai was a romantic, as most Nvengarians were, and no doubt longed to see his master and mistress on the best of terms. Nvengarian servants were always pleased to come across their employers kissing madly in the halls.

  Alexander opened his mouth to snap at him to take it all away, then stopped. “No, leave it. She’s gone to so much trouble.”

  “Two hours she was in here, Your Grace.”

  Alexander sent him a chill stare. “That will be all, Nikolai.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” He hastily withdrew, leaving Alexander alone with his rose-strewn bed.

  Seduction number twenty-eight. Flower petals on the sheets, the room candlelit and cozy, a single red rose to signify the heart. A handkerchief just touched with the scent she usually wore.

  Number twenty-eight wasn’t meant for physical lovemaking between husband and wife. It was meant to bathe the senses of the husband and remind him of the wife when she was absent.

  He will contemplate nothing but her when awake and dream of her when he sleeps.

  As though Alexander needed impetus to dream of her. Did she believe him made of stone?

  He stripped off his dressing gown, then his nightshirt. Kicking off his slippers, he walked naked to the bed and stood looking down at it. He imagined Meagan tucked up in her own bed across the house, her red curls tangled on the pillow, a satisfied
smile on her face.

  Slowly he lifted the covers and slid between them, feeling the silk of the rose petals drift against his skin. He nestled down in the pillows and touched the handkerchief she’d left on the pillow. She’d scented it with the light, spicy perfume she preferred.

  He blew out the candles near his bed and closed his eyes, the unusual smells and textures cradling his body.

  His dreams of her that night were very erotic and in no way brutal or frightening.

  The preparations for the Grand Duke and Duchess’s ball swept Meagan into a new world. Thank heaven, she thought again and again, for Mrs. Caldwell and Simone, not to mention the eager helpfulness of her footmen, Gaius, Marcus, and Brutus.

  Mrs. Caldwell knew exactly what florists and food suppliers to bully, Simone knew exactly who should be invited and who to snub, and Gaius, Marcus, and Brutus happily ran all over London and carried things up and down flights of stairs and around and about the house without complaint.

  Being mistress of a grand house, Meagan discovered, was all about making choices. Mrs. Caldwell or Mr. Edwards presented her with lists of musicians, types of flowers, colors of bunting to drape in the ballroom, and menus of food and wine, and Meagan chose what she wanted.

  At home in her father’s house, Meagan’s choices had been pathetically simple. Roberts would stumble into a room sometime in the afternoon and blurt, “Cook wants to know if we should have mutton stew or what’s left of yesterday’s roast for dinner.”

  In Alexander’s house, Mrs. Caldwell laid down long menus in French, most listing dishes Meagan had never heard of. Simone, fortunately, knew what most of them were and what wines Meagan should order as well.

  “My first husband could be a horrible, penny-pinching miser when it suited him, but he knew a great deal about food and wine. It was only me, my dear, he admonished to practice the greatest economies. His chef could throw about the most expensive ingredients imaginable, but I had to account for every penny spent on every inch of ribbon, can you credit it? When he died I purchased a pair of extravagantly expensive gloves and wore them to the funeral.”

  Nikolai also advised Meagan, declaring that the ball should be “very Nvengarian.”

  “What does that mean, exactly?” Meagan asked in trepidation.

  Nikolai stood stiffly in her private sitting room, his hands behind his back, the afternoon sunlight catching his dark hair. “We should show these English people how a ball is done. Have all the Nvengarians in the house perform the traditional sword dance. It is very exciting.”

  Anything to do with Nvengarians and swords tended to be exciting, but perhaps not in the way a Mayfair hostess would want it to be. “Sword dance?” she repeated. “How many are skewered during this sword dance?”

  Nikolai laughed, eyes sparkling. “Only the bad dancers are skewered, and only if they make a mistake. The sword dance takes much skill and to see it performed is the greatest pleasure.”

  “It sounds—um—lovely.”

  “We all are trained in the art of the sword dance from childhood, even His Grace. But you and His Grace will perform the traditional dance of the married couple, of course, the dance of the lord and lady.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know this dance.”

  “No matter. His Grace will teach you.” His expression took on a faraway look. “I well remember the balls of my former master and mistress. Guests would come from miles around, every baron and count and duke in the land. A hundred and one men would perform the Nvengarian sword dance, and the maidens would dance together, and the married couples would twirl, all in colors like butterflies. Ah, it was a sight to see.”

  “This was the philandering baron whose wife later took a knife to him?” Meagan asked.

  “Yes.” Nikolai nodded. “He was not a good man, but he did know how to host a ball.”

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

  Egan McDonald, it turned out, had to teach Meagan the traditional Nvengarian lord 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 abruptly leave London on an errand to a diplomat’s country house.

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

  Meagan’s heart squeezed whenever she thought of Alexander. He had not shouted at her about seduction number twenty-eight, but nor had he acknowledged it. Nikolai had told her that Alexander had slept in the bed, but he’d put on his clothes 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 McDonald paid a call, handsomely dressed in a black coat, loud plaid kilt, boots and lawn shirt, she told him of the dance dilemma.

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

  They went up to the ballroom, which was flooded with sunshine, the weather this week being soft and warm. “And where is your 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 donna 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 sharp glance. “Doesna he, now? Maybe I’ll have to have a talk with our Alexander.”

  “No. Egan, please do not. Forget I said anything. I am just maudlin and have a headache and am out of sorts.”

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

  “Now then,” Egan said, and began his dancing instructions.

  The dance started with the couple standing side by side and facing opposite directions. “Your arm goes around the front of my waist like so, and my arm goes around yours.” His strong hand rested on her hip. “Then we reach up and clasp each other’s other hand, 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 ye say. And ‘tis 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 swept her into the dance. She’d been terrified of him and intrigued by him and so much in lust with him she thought she’d collapse at his feet.

  She 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 like 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, the heat of his lips when he’d first kissed her.

  Her face flamed. “I beg your pardon.”

  “Donna worry, Meagan. 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 kind, 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 asking questions.

  The dance was intricate. The couple moved clockwise with a shuffling step, the
n each spun around, clasped each other’s waist again 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.

  “Ye go on like that in the same steps, until man and lady are right close together. Alexander can show ye how close. And then ye go through the steps again, this time faster.”

  He swung her around. After a few tries, she got the hang of turning and grabbing his waist just as he grabbed hers, their hands meeting exactly. They sped up, and Meagan laughed with the exuberance of it.

  They turned swiftly, Egan’s kilts flying as much as her skirts, and she 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, but the blue of his eyes glittered.

  “Afternoon, Your Grace,” Egan said cheerfully. “I was just teaching Her Grace some steps to a Nvengarian dance.”

  “So Mrs. Caldwell informed me.” Alexander did not move, remaining fixed in place as though he’d been nailed there.

  Egan bowed to Meagan and lifted her hand. “Perhaps ye’d take over? This dance is best done between man and wife.”

  Meagan held her breath. She longed to dance with Alexander, longed to feel his hands on her waist, his hip pressed to hers. Surely he’d seethe that Egan had the temerity to dance the lord and lady’s dance with Meagan. He’d rush to her, glare at Egan and snatch Meagan’s hand, maybe growling protectively.

  Instead, Alexander made a stiff nod. “No. You carry on.”

  Disappointment hit her like a kick to the stomach, and on the flood of pain came anger. She wanted to storm across the room to her stone-faced husband and kick him in the shins. If Egan hadn’t been standing next to her, she would have.

  Instead she swept Egan a haughty curtsey. “Thank you very much, Egan. You have been most helpful.”

  She held her head high and marched across the ballroom, past Alexander, and out the double doors. Alexander turned to mark her passing, and she saw the flash of fury spark through his eyes. That was all the emotion he betrayed, and she knew she had to be content with it.