The Nvengarians gave him blank stares, and Alexander, blast him, did not translate. Montmorency repeated his command in a louder voice, pointing at the door.
The footmen, understanding the gist, began to argue. Gaius furiously waved the bottle in his hands, sending an arc of wine over the polished table. The other five shouted at Montmorency, pounding fists on the table, sending the silver dancing.
Alexander returned to eating, as though a roomful of screaming, angry footman and a trembling, red-faced butler was nothing unusual. No wonder people were afraid of him, Meagan thought, fuming. He could shut out everything, a cool look in his eyes, as though the emotional frenzy of his fellow man could not touch him.
His withdrawal made Meagan more furious than ever. Without stopping to think, she snatched up his full goblet of wine, lifted it high, and poured it into his lap.
Alexander leapt to his feet, his cutlery crashing to his plate, and the footmen abruptly ceased shouting. Alexander’s thigh sported a decidedly wet stain that spread rapidly across his crotch. After one frozen moment, the footmen abandoned their argument to swoop upon him, white cloths fluttering like flags of surrender. They swarmed around him, arms and elbows waving wildly as they tried to wipe him down.
Meagan watched with a twinge of satisfaction. The man who so coolly spoke of living separate lives and of her taking lovers now glared at her in fury above the heads of his mob of footmen.
“Gaius!” Meagan shouted. Her voice broke through the frenzy, and Gaius actually turned to her, blue eyes round.
Meagan knew something about directing servants. One had to take a firm hand with Roberts or else fires did not get laid or boots polished or food lugged home from the markets. Gaius understood English much better than the others, so she singled him out as her point of contact.
“Gaius,” she repeated, pointing a rigid finger at the door. “Go!”
Gaius looked from her to Alexander. Alexander was lost behind his footmen, but she heard his growls in Nvengarian mixed with the footmen’s babble. Meagan turned her commanding gaze to a glare.
“Now,” she said.
She imagined thoughts warring in Gaius’s head, whether to stay and assist Alexander, his master, or to avoid the anger of his new mistress. Meagan met his gaze, and something in her eyes must have triggered a decision to do things her way.
He rounded on the other five footmen, shouted something in harsh Nvengarian, and swept his arm toward the door. The others drew apart reluctantly, revealing Alexander in his chair, dabbing at the stain on his trousers.
“You must go too, Montmorency,” she said, putting a note of icy hauteur in her voice. “We will ring if we need you.”
Montmorency gave her a grateful look as though these sorts of commands he understood. He drew his butler’s persona about him, though his lips trembled and his cheeks were white. “Very good, Your Grace.”
Gaius led them out, the footmen still arguing at the tops of their voices. Montmorency followed, then the shouting cut off abruptly as Montmorency swung the door shut.
Meagan drew a breath and turned around. Alexander was glaring at her, his color high, his blue eyes livid. Any moment he’d lash out at her, giving her a lecture on the dignity of her position, instructing her that a Grand Duchess of Nvengaria did not pour wine into her husband’s lap. Especially not in front of servants who would spread the story far and wide.
His dark blue trousers bore a wet patch from his knee to the join of his legs, and the cloth dangling from his hand was stained a dull red that nearly matched the redness of his face. His sash of office had twisted from his footmen’s exuberance and his medals hung askew.
Meagan pressed her hand to her mouth, barely containing her giggles. “Oh, Alexander,” she gasped. “You look so funny.”
He threw the cloth down and came at her. His look was fierce, mouth drawn, and at the last moment, she decided her best course of action was to run.
Too late. Alexander’s strong hands closed over her arms, and he hauled her to him. She landed against his chest, his impossibly tall body arching her backward, and he dragged her mouth to his for a brutal kiss.
Alexander put all his strength into the kiss, tasting her laughter and the heady, buttery flavor of the sauces she’d eaten. It was a raw, possessive kiss, meant to tell her who was Grand Duke around this house.
The love spell had swamped him the moment she’d turned from the door, her face pink with anger, her starry eyes surpassing the jewels in her tiara. When she’d dissolved into helpless laughter, pressing a plump hand over her mouth, he knew he’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life.
Under him, her mouth became malleable, softening to him. She was learning to kiss well, to taste him without shame. He moved his mouth to her neck, loving the scent of her.
His very elegant first wife would never have dreamed of pouring a goblet of wine into his lap, let alone laughing at him when he tried to mop up. Sephronia had always been conscious of her poise, calculating every word before she spoke and every action before she performed it. Meagan’s spontaneity was refreshing.
“You soothe me,” he murmured.
“Then how can you think I would betray you?” She pulled away from him and gave him a disappointed look, her lips forming a near pout. “I would never take a lover, never. How could you think that of me?”
He smoothed a lock of hair from her face. “Because when the love spell is broken, you will not want to be married to me. Perhaps you will feel cheated and angry.”
He knew the truth of this. The day Meagan realized she was trapped in a marriage she did not want, she would look for a handsome gentleman to whom she could pour out her troubles. That was the way of marriages of convenience.
Alexander hoped the love spell would be over by then, because the thought of Meagan crying on another man’s shoulder, possibly in his bed, rampaged jealousy through him. He wanted to set guards around her and say, “Mine, and mine alone.”
If Meagan spoke the Nvengarian word she had tonight, completely wrong and in that seductive accent of hers, the passionate men of his country would fall at her feet, literally. Duels would be fought over her. Meagan would soon recognize her power, and she’d learn to use it.
He would not blame her. The stupid English treated her like a nonentity. She would at first be surprised at the attention she commanded and then grow to like it. She needed to learn that her power could easily be turned against her, that discretion would be her only defense.
He kissed the tips of her fingers. “I know you do not wish to speak of it, but you must promise me that you will be open about the gentlemen who court you. If one of them tries to create difficulties, I must know immediately. It will stop problems that could become disasters.”
She raised her gaze, but the look in her eyes was far from compliant. “Even if I hated you, Alexander, I would not break my vows. This is my honor you are speaking of. Perhaps things are different in Nvengaria, but in England, our word, once given, means something to us.”
Alexander thought of the dozens of Englishmen he’d met who spoke of honor in one breath and broke their words with another. Certain things seemed to be sacrosanct, such as paying a gambling debt to one’s fellows even if it meant the family went hungry, or never touching a young, unmarried miss, although a gentleman could tumble her married sisters to his heart’s content. Married women took lovers, but they’d never dare admit it in public, yet a man could speak frankly about visiting his mistress and not be considered odd. Nvengarians were much more open and honest about their affairs.
“I admit English customs confuse me,” he said. “As closely as I have studied them, the nuances are strange. For instance, the Duchess of Gower has two gentlemen lovers who service her at the same time. No one is shocked as long as it is not talked about.”
Meagan’s mouth formed a pink O. “Two? Oh, my, I wager my stepmother did not know that.” Her eyes took on the feral gleam of a woman who knew gossip another woman didn’t
. “Goodness. I wonder what on earth they do.”
The love spell chose that moment to slam him into another vision. The dining room dissolved and he knelt on a bed with Meagan against his chest, her legs wrapped around him. He was inside her, rocking her back and forth on his hips, his greedy, eager arousal stretching into her.
Behind her knelt another man, his face obscured by darkness. His hands were between Alexander and Meagan, holding Meagan’s breasts while he kissed her neck. Alexander had no idea who the other man was and was too far gone to care. The heat of their bodies, the scent of sex, and the intense feeling of losing himself in Meagan blotted out the rest of the world.
And then he was standing, cold and out of breath, back in the dining room, his hands hard on Meagan’s shoulders. She stared at him in shock, eyes wide, red lips parted, and he knew she’d had the vision too.
“Oh,” she said. “So that is what they do.”
Alexander scraped her close, binding her flat against his body. “I do not want another man touching you. Not ever. Not ever. You are mine, Meagan, and I will keep every man away from you, even if I have to fight them all.”
She lifted her face, her eyes dusky. He smelled desire on her like night flowers. “But you just said I should calmly discuss my lovers with you.”
She was smiling. She knew what was in his heart, damn her. She saw straight through him, something no one, not even Sephronia, had ever done.
“To hell with what I said.” He lifted her into his arms, and she looked quite pleased about that. “I will murder any man who touches you.”
She pressed a warm kiss to his cheek. “Now that is much more satisfying.”
He knew he should leave her and let the love spell play out, and not risk stirring the beast lurking below his surface. But he wanted her and he’d been keeping himself from her and she was warm in his arms.
He carried her to the table, sweeping away silver and crystal with his strong arm, not caring when things shattered on the floor. She smiled, her eyes half closed as he set her down, not worried in the least about what he would do.
“You are the only woman who has ever dared laugh at me,” he breathed, skimming her skirt up her legs.
“It was rude, but I could not help myself. Poor Alexander.” She giggled again.
“I love it when you laugh. You can pour wine on me anytime, if it makes you look like that.”
She threaded her fingers around his neck. “You are sweet.”
“And no woman has ever dared call me sweet.”
“Then you have not met the right women. You are the sweetest man in the world, Alexander.”
Alexander began to laugh. He remembered the looks on the faces of the English king and several cabinet ministers yesterday when they’d tried to slide in a clause to a treaty that said Nvengaria would sell England its gold at a ridiculously low price. When he’d spied it among the tiny print and made his feelings known, he doubted fat George would have called him the sweetest man in the world.
“The love spell has rendered you a little bit mad, I think,” he said.
“I know that. But you are sweet. You could have had your way with me and simply left me to my ruin.”
“Instead I married you so I could have my way with you any time I liked.”
“Mmm, that sounds nice.”
He loosened the top of her silk bodice, the black net of which shimmered against her long, beautiful body, and licked from her breasts to the hollow of her throat.
She tasted like heady wine and the salt of warm skin. He’d always made love to women to sate basic needs and to pleasure them, but he’d never been elaborate. Return pleasure for pleasure, but go no deeper.
Now he wanted to do everything he’d ever thought about or read about, the wilder the better. He’d learned many ways of pleasuring when he’d studied in the cult of Eros as a young man and had only used a fraction of them. He wanted to try every single technique on Meagan and have her try a few on him. He wanted to explore new positions—for instance, on the edge of a dining room table.
The love spell made his beautiful wife perfectly willing. She kissed him happily as he pulled her skirts up to bare her hips and the beautiful warmth between her thighs. She sighed as his fingers found her mound, already swollen for him, her honey flowing over his hands.
“Remember what I said in the gardens?” he murmured. “That if I ever hurt you, you say ‘Stop, Alexander.’ And I will stop.”
“I remember. And then you made me feel the most amazing things.”
“I want to make you feel amazing things again and again. Every day and every night for the rest of our lives so that you will never want to take a paramour.”
“What about when the love spell wears off? Will you want to pleasure me every day then?”
Alexander rubbed his thumbs over her nub until she dragged in a sharp breath. “How could I not?” he asked. He kissed the fiery line of her hair. “How could I not want you?”
“Exactly why I shall never take a lover.”
He’d never let her take a lover, even if he had to shoot every man who came near her.
He hastily undid the buttons holding his trousers over his very hard erection. “Do you remember our vision of the bath chamber?”
“Oh yes,” Meagan breathed. “Do you mean the one against the pillar or the one on the bench?”
“Both. I want to do both with you. How fortunate the eccentric builder of this house had hot water pumped from a cistern to the bath chamber.”
“Quite fortunate.”
“And do you recall the one we had while riding in the park?” His staff tumbled out, swollen and ready as he thought of the vision she’d plunged him into. “Another I’d be pleased to act out, and then perhaps you can ride me.”
A pink blush stole over her cheeks. “I am not certain how to do that.”
“I will teach you. I will teach you so many things, my Grand Duchess.”
He eased her thighs apart and positioned himself in the lovely place between her legs that was open and ready for him. She went rigid, but with longing that was obvious as she wriggled her hips toward him.
“What about the vision of the second man?” she whispered. “The one we had a few minutes ago.”
“Nvengarian husbands sometimes bring in a third party for their wives,” he answered. “Or the wives bring one for their husbands.” He kissed her and lifted her buttocks to slide himself into her. “But we’ll keep to two in our bed, Meagan. We will have plenty to do with just the two of us.”
Whether she heard and understood, he didn’t know. Her head fell back as he penetrated her, her eyes dimming as want took over her body.
Rain pattered on the long windows at the end of the room; candle flames hissed as they met liquid wax. Meagan closed her eyes, her lips parting in desire, ringlets of red hair spilling down her neck.
Everything about her made him want her with animal-like insanity. The way her hair curled about her forehead, the cool tips of her fingers on his cheekbones, the glow in her brown eyes of a woman wanting a man.
He ought to go slowly. Their other encounters had been quick and harsh, his lust too strong to quench. She deserved gentleness.
But she awoke such a fierceness in him. He was losing the iron control under which he’d held himself since the day his father died. He’d always believed that love and trust meant betrayal. Alexander had turned a smooth face to the world and suppressed the rage deep inside.
Meagan, with her soft smile, her gentle brown eyes that could suddenly flash with mischief, the nononsense way she talked, was steadily prying away the boulder under which the real Alexander hid.
He drew her mouth up to his and kissed her with hard thoroughness. Her desire smelled good, and it tasted good in her mouth. Either his sense of smell and taste had sharpened or she projected her needs to him, maybe both.
He should have let her go to her room and have her maid slowly undress her and put her to bed. He could slide between the
sheets later and strip off her nightrail or leave it on to preserve her modesty. That was how husbands went to their wives in England.
In Nvengaria, woman and man played many games with each other, but none involved tamely coming together for the act itself. He did not want the act. He wanted Meagan, whole and his, her clothes in shreds, her naked body warm in his arms. Whether they were under the covers on the bed or on the window seat made no difference to him.
Her eyelids heavy now, cheeks flushed, she clung to him. He kissed her flesh, nibbled her and suckled her neck, loving the smell and feel of her. His medals pressed her breasts, the sash of office rubbing her skin, imprinting her as his own. Mine, his thoughts snarled in Nvengarian. All mine.
She watched him with soft eyes, parting his coat, her fingers tracing the interlaced tattoo ringing his biceps. He’d gotten the tattoo from a man he’d met in Greece during his Grand Tour, who’d learned the art from a Chinese man. The strange, smooth design had some significance that the Greek had tried to explain and Alexander did not understand. “Two lives,” the man had said. “Duality. I chose it because I sensed this in you.”
Alexander had gotten the tattoo as part of his hidden defiance against the old Imperial Prince. No one saw it but himself and his valet, and his lovers, who thought it made him dashing. Sephronia had never mentioned it.
Meagan traced the patterns with the tips of her fingers, her featherlight touch erotic.
Nestled inside her, his erection began to pound, the intensity of her closing around him driving him into mindlessness. This is what it is like to come home.
The animal in him took over and poetry went to hell. He drove into her, loving the cries of pleasure that escaped her mouth. He would make her his, make her belong to him, damn the spell, damn Nvengarian customs, damn that he was Grand Duke.
He wanted it to be her and him, man and woman. “You and me,” he croaked in Nvengarian. “This is you and me.”
She didn’t understand him. God, when she’d turned her innocent eyes on his footmen and said that very naughty word, he thought he’d fling her to the floor and take her right there. She thought he’d taught her the word wrong to make her a laughingstock, but he’d truly forgotten how much trouble the English had with pronunciation. Any nuance was lost on them.