The Mad, Bad Duke by Jennifer Ashley
Meagan leaned her head against his chest, letting her fingers explore the fascinating part of him that made her feel so wonderful. The tip was soft like velvet, but firm and blunt, the shaft so very hot. She cupped her hand over it, stroking her fingers down the side, liking the sleek firmness of it.
Alexander leaned back on his elbows, his cock pressing upward into her hand, his eyes closing as though he was in pain.
“Am I hurting you?” she asked worriedly.
“No. Dear God, do not stop.”
He guided her fingers along him, from tip to base, then released her to do what she willed. She lightly stroked all over him, then dipped her hand down to the firm, tight balls that lifted to her.
“Ah, God,” he said, then trailed off into Nvengarian phrases.
She smiled. “Good. When you start speaking Nvengarian, I know I’m pleasing you as much as you please me.”
He opened his eyes, the blue glowing, and growled something at her. She did not understand him, so she decided to take no notice.
“You always make me feel wonderful,” she said. “I know I am likely not very skilled, but I would like it if you felt nearly as wonderful.”
His fingers threaded her hair, his breathing hoarse. She took that as a good sign and continued stroking him. Once she got used to touching his staff and the interesting flange, she lowered her head farther and touched it with her tongue.
She just brushed the tip, her tongue finding the tiny slit there. He tasted warm and dark and a little salty.
She wanted to taste more of him, but he groaned and hauled her up to him, taking her mouth in a bruising kiss.
She tried to protest. “I was not finished.”
“You are.”
He nearly threw her to the mattress, and she squealed at his abruptness. The smile had left his face, and she understood suddenly what he meant when he said she should be afraid.
No gentleness this time. He entered her with a fierce possessiveness that rendered her unable to breathe. He pinned her wrists again, not seeming to care that his body overpowered hers.
She was screaming with climax very soon after he began, but he went on and on, the heavy bed thumping into the wall.
As soon as he hit his own climax he ripped away from her and got off the bed just before his body rippled into the powerful demon that was the logosh. His eyes, enlarged, blazed blue.
Meagan screamed and scrambled against the headboard, dragging the pillows in front of her.
Alexander’s body shimmered, and he was himself again, breathing hard, his skin coated in sweat. “I cannot control it. I cannot. Damn it.”
“Be the panther again. You said you could be any shape for the rest of the world.”
He shook his head. “Do you not understand? I cannot control it around you—the Goddamned love spell will not let me…”
“Let me touch you again. You liked it when I touched you.”
She reached for him, and he backed quickly from the bed. “Stay away from me. The best thing is for you to stay away from me.”
Her heart twisted. “I do not want to.”
He pressed his eyes closed and balled his fists. His chest rose with a long breath, as though he was trying to calm himself, but he shook hard.
“Come back to bed,” Meagan begged. “We do not have to make love. We will rest, and talk, and be with each other.”
He opened his eyes and looked at her, some of the chill returning to his gaze. “I cannot simply talk to you. The love spell wants me to have you. And if I have you, I cannot control the logosh.”
“We can try.”
He was silent a long time, and she closed her mouth over her pleas. He took long, deep breaths, his skin covered with perspiration as he struggled to pull the chill mantle of Grand Duke Alexander around him again, just as Nikolai might bind him into his coat and sash of office.
“There is no need for us to be together,” he said. “I no longer have the necessity to sire an heir.”
“No longer have the necessity?” Meagan repeated, incredulous. “What do you mean, that you think of this for necessity?”
His gaze warmed the slightest bit. “I come to you for pleasure, Meagan. But it is best we do it no longer.”
He cooled, his eyes becoming closer to the chips of ice they’d been when she’d first seen him weeks ago in the ballroom at Lady Featherstone’s. He snatched up his trousers and slid them over his legs. “I will speak to Mrs. Caldwell and Nikolai about our future living arrangements.”
“Future living arrangements…”
He lifted his shirt from the pile and put it on, turning away at the same time. “This is driving me mad, and seeing you makes it worse. I will not risk hurting you simply to sate my own pleasure.”
Tears stung her eyes. “What am I to do?”
“You have your duties,” the Grand Duke said to her. “For now, that will have to do.”
He turned abruptly and strode to open the heavy door and step into the shadows of the hall. She saw him lift his hair out of the way of the shirt before he shut the door and was gone.
Meagan sat back on the bed alone, her heart aching. He was trying to shut her out as certainly and firmly as he’d closed the door. She knew the love spell drove him mad—it drove her mad too. But they should find the answer together; they should think of a way to conquer the logosh together. Her father and mother and now her father and Simone had always done things as a family, and she knew no other way.
Living arrangements? What the devil did he mean? Would he be so cruel as to send her away? And where would he send her? All the way to Nvengaria? Or back to Oxfordshire with her father?
Hurt laced her and she pressed her face to her bent knees. He’d never wanted this marriage; he’d been tricked as thoroughly as Meagan had. He’d tried giving in to the love spell, and now he was going to banish it by closing her off from him.
Meagan lifted his sash of office from the floor and held it against her bare body. The stiff gold threads scratched her skin as she kissed it and pressed it to her face.
She cried for a while, releasing the pain, and then she sat lost in thought. Alexander might want to avoid her or send her away, but Meagan had never been one to bow her head in obedience, at least not without a fight. Her father had taught her that if a request was not reasonable, she should question it, not follow blindly.
She hugged the sash and remembered his lessons, letting ideas trickle through her head. She wiped her eyes, her hardheaded confidence returning.
The Grand Duke might have stood up to the old Imperial Prince of Nvengaria, he might have stood up to slavers and opium sellers in his home city, he might have stood up to von Hohenzahl and his thugs, but he had never stood up to Meagan Tavistock when she undertook a campaign to make a person see reason.
Poor Alexander, Meagan thought, trying to bury the worst of the hurt deep inside her. He would not know what hit him.
She kissed the sash of office and smiled a shaky smile.
Meagan began her campaign the next day—or rather, later that morning when Susan ventured in to rouse her.
Meagan opened heavy eyelids and screwed them shut again at the broad sunshine coming in through the windows. She’d fallen asleep twined in the sash, which now lay twisted beside her on the pillows. After her long night and the hard lovemaking this morning, her head throbbed and her eyes were sandy.
“I have just ze zing for you,” Susan said. She removed the sash with a knowing smile and helped Meagan don a dressing gown. “A fine beverage that will pick up your spirits something wonderful.”
The beverage, whatever it was, was truly remarkable. It looked rather greenypurple when Susan brought it to her, and Meagan sipped it doubtfully, but within a second or two, fire sparked through Meagan’s every limb and her eyes opened fully.
“Merciful heavens! What is this?”
Susan winked one brown eye. “A family secret. My mother, she was something of a potion mixer.”
Meagan
Mrs. Caldwell entered the room just as Susan put the finishing touches on Meagan’s costume. “Breakfast is ready, Your Grace,” the housekeeper said briskly. “In the dining room.”
Meagan smiled, beginning step number one of her campaign.
“The dining room is rather large and dark for a morning meal, Mrs. Caldwell. Have it served in the little morning room at the back of the house. The windows light it nicely and the view of the garden is pleasant.”
Mrs. Caldwell raised her brows but gave a nod. “As you wish, Your Grace. In that case, breakfast will commence in the morning room in a quarter of an hour.”
Susan giggled as Mrs. Caldwell bustled out. Meagan pretended to be cool and collected, but her heart raced, her nerves tingling with her audacity.
The morning room was much more intimate than the enormous dining room. She and Alexander would have to sit quite close together at the little table she’d seen in there when she explored the house yesterday. They would eat and have conversation like husband and wife, discussing what they would do that day. She would ask nothing more of him today, just the breakfast as a couple.
Twenty minutes later, Meagan seated herself in the sunlit room and spread her napkin across her lap. Gaius, Marcus, and Brutus began their dance of serving her food and drink, bumping into each other as they went to and fro in the small room. Meagan waited serenely, pretending not to notice.
Once Meagan’s plate was covered with eggs and slices of ham and buttered toast, the footmen stood back and beamed at her, waiting for her to begin. Alexander’s place across the little table remained stubbornly empty.
Her heart sinking a little, Meagan scooped up her first bite. The food was scrumptious, as were all the meals served in Alexander’s house, but Meagan scarcely tasted it.
“Has His Grace breakfasted already?” she asked. “I believe I instructed Mrs. Caldwell that I was to be awakened so that His Grace and I would take our morning meal at the same time.”
Brutus and Marcus, not understanding, looked bewildered and anxious. Gaius, the only English speaker, straightened importantly. “His Grace does take breakfast the same time as you today.”
Meagan stared at the empty place across the table. “Does he? Is he invisible?”
Gaius frowned a moment, then grinned when he understood. “No, not invisible. He eats in the dining room.”
“But I instructed Mrs. Caldwell to set up breakfast in this room.”
Gaius nodded fervently. Marcus and Brutus copied him, clearly having no idea what was being said. “Yes, breakfast to be served to Her Grace in the morning room. His Grace ordered that he would eat in the dining room.”
Meagan threw down her napkin, smearing eggs onto the tablecloth. “Oh, for heaven’s sake.”
The three footmen jumped out of the way as she leapt to her feet and strode past them, her skirts swishing.
Meagan’s heart pounded as she hurried around the gallery to the double doors of the fearsome dining room. They stood closed, barring her way, the heavy walnut panels telling her to scuttle back to her place in the morning room and leave well enough alone. She set her mouth, thrust the doors open, and strode inside.
Sitting calm as he pleased at the head of the table was Alexander, restored to Grand Duke finery. His sash of office, untwisted and showing no signs of being in bed with Meagan, rested in a perfect angle across his chest.
“Alexander,” she said in indignation.
He looked up at her, eyes cool but with a spark of answering determination in their depths. “Good morning, Your Grace.”
She approached the table, confidence in her campaign weakening under his stare. “I meant that both of us should breakfast in the morning room. Together.”
He lifted one dark brow. “Did you? I am afraid the staff misunderstood.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “Oh, did they?”
“I believe they did.”
She studied him, his hair tamed once more into its sleek queue, the ruby earring in place, his hand steady as he held his fork at his plate.
He returned her look, not challenging but watchful. She could bite her lip, turn around, and run away, but she was not yet ready to surrender.
She beamed a sudden and sunny smile on him and leaned down and kissed his forehead. “Well, no matter. Do have a lovely day, Your Grace. Enjoy frightening the king.”
His body stiffened at her kiss, but the hot look in his eyes when she straightened up told her everything. He wanted her. Holding himself in his Grand Duke persona at that moment was taking all his strength.
“Today I will begin plans for a grand ball to be held here,” she continued. “The duchesses are correct; I should begin my duties as society hostess. I will have my stepmama help me; she will so enjoy that. I will ask Mrs. Caldwell to keep you informed of the arrangements, and Nikolai will add it to your schedule.”
“Meagan,” Alexander said under his breath, his tone warning.
Meagan backed up a step and made a quick curtsey. “Ta ta, Your Grace. I look forward to seeing you when our schedules next coincide.”
Making herself turn around and not look back at him, she sped from the room, her slippers whispering, and did not stop until she’d returned to the morning room, followed by the startled but steadfast Gaius, Marcus, and Brutus.
She dropped into her chair, blowing out her breath. Step one complete.
She found then that she was shaking too hard to eat and had to ask Susan to mix her another draught of the healing elixir.
Meagan began her preparations for the ball at once. Mrs. Caldwell was pleased at the prospect of opening the house to the public and helping Meagan be a hostess for the ton to admire.
Meagan brought Simone in to help for several reasons. First, Meagan knew her stepmother would be hurt beyond measure if she were not at least consulted about the ball, and Meagan did not want to begin her married life by shutting out her family. Second, Simone was a walking Debrett’s Peerage. She knew everything about everyone who was anyone.
Next Meagan consulted with Mr. Edwards to compare her schedule with Alexander’s. She made a few revisions in both, much to Mr. Edwards’s distress. “We need not mention these to His Grace,” she said, smiling.
The secretary tried to protest, but Mrs. Caldwell unexpectedly came to Meagan’s aid. “I find the changes excellent, Your Grace. His Grace will be happy to spend more time on family matters.”
For all her briskness, Mrs. Caldwell was a romantic at heart. She’d had a happy marriage that produced three daughters who were now happily wed themselves.
Mrs. Caldwell highly approved of Meagan spending time with young Alex, and showed her a newspaper drawing of Meagan, Alexander, and little Alex standing on the green in the middle of Berkeley Square, solemnly fishing from a puddle.
“The eccentric Nvengarian First Family,” the journalist had written, then went on to speculate what they did behind the closed doors of the opulent mansion.
“Absolute rubbish,” Mrs. Caldwell said, her smile broad. “Every father in the ton will be plagued by his son to take him fishing in puddles. You are an Original, my dear.”
“Is that good?” Meagan asked in trepidation.
“They will admire and envy you for it, believe me, Your Grace. You will be famous.”
Meagan tried to be glad rather than worried.
Her scheme continued that afternoon when her schedule originally said she would ride in Hyde Park in a landau at the most fashionable hour. She’d changed it to driving a pony phaeton with Alex by her side at a much earlier hour. Her four hulking bodyguards rode nearby as usual, making her conspicuous in the extreme, but that couldn’t be helped.
She pleased Alex by letting him drive a little bit of the way, showing him how to hold the reins between his fingers. Alex proved competent with horses
Meagan’s heart missed a beat as she watched the tall body of the approaching rider, his firm legs guiding the horse, his hands quiet on the reins.
“Papa!” Alex waved, losing hold of the reins, which Meagan rescued before the horses could take advantage and run—or more likely, stop and refuse to budge.
She wondered whether Alexander would simply turn his horse and ride the other way, pretending not to see his son waving madly at him. The park was by no means empty. Early afternoon riders were exercising mounts or enjoying quiet drives before the rest of the ton would descend on the Rotten Row and crowd them out.
Alexander must have decided not to give them something to gossip about. He continued to ride toward the phaeton without missing a beat. Meagan’s hands were slick with sweat inside her gloves by the time he slowed the horse and turned it to walk beside them. The bodyguards, both his and Meagan’s, dropped behind to give them some privacy.
Alexander was a handsome man on a horse. His riding breeches hugged taut thighs, black boots encased his firm calves, and gloves outlined the sinews of his hands like a second skin. He rode hatless, as did all Nvengarians, his black hair shining in the spring sunshine.
He bowed slightly in the saddle, his eyes cool. “Your Grace. Alex.”
“Good afternoon, husband,” Meagan said brightly. “How pleasant to find you here at this hour.”
“Yes, an amazing coincidence.” He eyed her steadily, black lashes barely flickering.
Alex, unaware of any nuances, leaned toward him. “Hallo, Papa. Stepmama is letting me drive the horses. She says they are too quiet and should be taught to move their lazy fat bums.”
Meagan fixed a smile on her lips. “Perhaps the mares are a bit too gentle for me.”
Alexander gave her a polite nod, just as he would to a guest who complained of a lack of fresh linens. “I beg your pardon, I had heard you were timid with horses.”
“Indeed, I am skittish of stallions such as yours, or those named Lucifer or Thunderbolt. But I do believe a few snails passed Alex and me on the way down the lane.”