“A pity,” von Hohenzahl answered. “I would have liked to have a long conversation. But no matter. We will proceed more quickly if we switch into a language we both know?” He said the last in Nvengarian.
Alexander’s senses came even more alert. “Not many Austrians know Nvengarian.”
“Except the fair Lady Anastasia, eh? I envy you her, my friend. But I am puzzled—you say you married for love, and yet Lady Anastasia, she too you love, if rumor is correct?” He smiled suddenly. “Ah, but you Nvengarians, you never let that stop you. You love a wife, you love a mistress, why not have them both? And if the two ladies like each other—well, all the better.”
A growl rose in Alexander’s throat. The man was correct that Nvengarians did not have the same restrictions on their beds that the English put on theirs, but what a Nvengarian did with his paramours or his wife was his own business. To make rude hints or to mock him or his ladies was grounds for a duel, usually a deadly one involving knives or swords. No clean twenty paces and one shot each. Duels in Nvengaria were fast, bloody, and permanent.
Von Hohenzahl seated himself and removed a cheroot from a box on an octagonal table. “I admit to curiosity about the practice. While one is busy with the first lady, what does the other do? Or do you have one on each side? Or perhaps the ladies entertain each other while you are in audience?”
For an instant, Alexander wanted nothing more than to take his knife and decorate von Hohenzahl’s elegant ivory waistcoat in his own blood. Alexander’s fingers moved to his pocket where a fine steel knife with an ornamented blade rested, a pretty thing but deadly. He took a few steps toward the man, red flickering on the edges of his vision.
He imagined himself very clearly cutting deep creases in the man’s chest, the glee he’d feel doing it, the taste of the man’s blood on his fingers.
It was so real that he heard von Hohenzahl’s screams and his own animal-like snarls. Then the vision fell away, and he was standing in the middle of the carpet, his hands in tight fists, the only sounds in the room the clock ticking on the mantel and a slight sucking sound as von Hohenzahl tipped a candle toward himself to light his cheroot.
Alexander deliberately moved back, legs stiff and shaking, to the nearest sofa and made himself sit down. Von Hohenzahl glanced at him through a cloud of smoke, and Alexander swore he saw a gleam of satisfaction in the man’s eyes.
Von Hohenzahl had been goading him, wanting Alexander to lose control. The realization that von Hohenzahl knew he was logosh jolted more anger through him. Someone had betrayed him—no one knew what he was except Myn, Nikolai, and Dominic.
“I have many appointments,” Alexander said in the coldest tone he could muster. “What do you want to offer me?”
“A chance to stop Metternich,” von Hohenzahl said. “He longs to add Nvengaria to Austrian domains, as you know. After all, Austria has every bit of land leading up to your border under its protection, and Prince Metternich ever asks the question, why do you resist?”
“Because our independence is precious to us,” Alexander answered at once. “We will fight to the last man for it—preferably his last man, which he will discover if he tries to breach our mountain passes.”
“Precisely what I have told him.” Von Hohenzahl grinned and sucked on the cheroot. “But you see, my friend, I have found a way into Nvengaria. Your passes are small and defensible, that is true, but with cunning, they can be breached.”
“What way?” Alexander asked in a hard voice.
“Now, that all depends on you. I will promise you that I have not shared my research and speculations with Metternich. He has a way of taking things useful to him and discarding the person who helped him. I tire of being overlooked.”
“So you are willing to sell the information to me? Because I will reward you better?”
“You are blunt, Your Grace.”
“My wife has remarked upon the same thing. I truly am busy and wish you would reach the point.”
“Natürlich.” Von Hohenzahl smiled. “I am a businessman and would like to make a profit, but I am not a traitor to my own country. I would do nothing against the Austrian empire. On the other hand, I feel no obligation to give them information so that Metternich can control still more territory. Nvengaria is not a threat.”
“No,” Alexander agreed. Nvengarians did not want to expand. They were happy where they were, and Alexander’s and Damien’s jobs were to keep the rest of the world out.
“I will share the information with you, as a friend, so that you can take precautions,” von Hohenzahl said. “That is what friends do, you know, help each other.”
Alexander felt a twinge of disgust. “What are you asking of me? Money?”
“No, no, Your Grace, do not be so boorish. That is for the English, so uncultured. Have you tasted their wine? It is wretched. And their women’s dress—ach, my wife would faint at such tawdriness. I am happy she chose to stay in Vienna where things are civilized.”
“You have not answered my question.”
“I beg your pardon; I did not mean to be evasive.” Von Hohenzahl sat on the edge of his chair, letting the cheroot dangle from his fingers. “What I want in return for this information that could spell Nvengaria’s end—is you.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Alexander stilled. Von Hohenzahl watched him like a cat regarding a mouse hole.
“In what sense?” Alexander asked, voice calm.
“What are you willing to give up for me? Your life? Your service? Your role as Grand Duke?”
Alexander got to his feet. “You know nothing,” he growled. “You are a grasping little man with nothing to give me. I would never pledge myself to the likes of you.”
Von Hohenzahl rose. “You would. You are key to Nvengaria, Your Grace. Not Prince Damien with his prophecy and his long-lost princess. The kingdom would have fallen apart under the old Imperial Prince if not for you. I know that. I watched. You made sure Damien had a kingdom to return to, and what did he do for you?” He smirked. “Tossed you out to watch over the boorish English as far across Europe as he could throw you. All your devotion and all your work, and your reward is exile. We are much alike, you and I.”
Alexander subjected von Hohenzahl to his chill Grand Duke stare. “I have nothing in common with you. You are nothing but a petty official in Metternich’s cabinet.”
Von Hohenzahl chuckled, not offended. “While you are the second most powerful man in Nvengaria. And yet, my friend, you need me, if you want to be restored.”
“I will not move against Prince Damien. He rules by right, and if I must remain behind the scenes I will do it. I want Nvengaria to prosper, not my own glory. That is why you and I have nothing in common.” Alexander made a show of pulling his watch from his pocket and studying it. “As you clearly have nothing to offer me, I will depart. My next appointment is an important one.”
Von Hohenzahl lost his smile and his eyes gleamed in a way Alexander did not like. “Pledge yourself to me, Your Grace. It will be easier for you if you come to me willingly now. Later, it will not be so easy.”
Alexander speared him with a look. “If you threaten me, I ensure you will regret it.”
“I make no threats, Your Grace. I only state the truth. The danger will be less if you follow me, not only to yourself, but to your pretty new wife. And your son. He is merely six years old, I believe. So very young to be in danger.”
The need for blood rose inside Alexander again. Every Nvengarian had blood lust, a trait never stamped out in the eight hundred years since his people lived in mountain tribes. He’d felt his native stirrings before, but this was different. He wanted to give in to the logosh inside him, a beast that would take control and rip von Hohenzahl apart before he could so much as scream.
Alexander saw in his mind exactly how he could do it, and knew he’d have the strength.
But Alexander the Grand Duke had been in charge longer than the logosh. He fought to cool himself, knowing that the game of politics he played
was much more important than his need to hurt von Hohenzahl. Von Hohenzahl was an amateur in the game, that much was certain. Alexander would take care of him.
He gathered his control about himself once more, using the meditation techniques Myn had taught him. “Twice since my arrival, you have tried to provoke me to rage,” he said to von Hohenzahl. “I must wonder why.”
“That you will discover, in time,” the Austrian answered. “You will remember this conversation and regret that you did not take my offer.”
“I spit on your offer,” Alexander said and strode out of the room.
Outside, Alexander summoned his own bodyguard, a man called Julius, to ride with him in the carriage. “Watch von Hohenzahl,” Alexander instructed. “I want a report on where he goes, whom he speaks to, what he does. And if I tell you to question him, employ whatever method you think would be useful. Hurt no others, but if you need to torture him a bit, I will not mind.”
Julius, a huge man with glittering blue eyes and a friendly grin, nodded. “Yes, Your Grace.”
Alexander’s heart pounded as he reviewed the interview with von Hohenzahl. He thought of Meagan and the pleasing way she’d snuggled against him in bed last night. He pictured some Austrian thug with his hands around her slender throat, and rage twisted through him.
“Tell Dominic to put as many men to guard the Grand Duchess and my son as it takes,” he said. “No one is to approach them without my clearance. No one. Do you understand?”
Julius looked concerned, but asked no questions, as usual. “Yes, Your Grace.”
Alexander made himself sit back and look out the window at the passing sights of Mayfair. He wished he had the power to scry in stones like the mages did in Nvengaria, so he could watch Meagan no matter where she was. As much as he hated the thought, he needed to stay away from her. That damn love spell was too distracting, and who knew how he’d hurt her if he shifted to logosh in her presence. But at the same time he disliked not knowing exactly where she was and what she was doing at that precise moment.
“Fishing?” Young Alex’s tutor stared at Alex’s schedule as though the word had somehow crept onto it without his notice. “The Grand Duke said nothing about fishing, Your Grace.”
The tutor, a youngish man with thin limbs and a sallow complexion, was Nvengarian but spoke English expertly and looked as though he’d never lifted his nose from a book in his life. He’d gaped in astonishment to see the new Grand Duchess sashay into the schoolroom on the third floor late that afternoon and begin asking about Alex’s curriculum.
“His Grace’s ideas on education are a bit lacking,” Meagan said. She gave Alex a sly wink, and the boy looked back at her, wide-eyed.
The tutor gasped. “His Grace—lacking?”
Meagan studied the schedule she held in her hand. “Latin on such a perfect fishing day should be outlawed. You have canceled his ride in the park, and Alex needs some sort of fresh air. Fishing is perfect.”
“But it is raining,” the tutor pointed out, looking triumphant. Meagan could hardly dispute the rain.
“It has lightened, and the fish will be biting. At home in Oxfordshire, my father and I would have had our poles out and dangling over the river long before this. Alex’s father is busy, so I will take him.”
“Take him?” the tutor exclaimed. “You?”
Alex followed their speeches, his head going back and forth as each spoke.
“Yes, of course, me,” Meagan retorted. “I am his stepmama. I can certainly take my own stepson to Hyde Park for a bit of fishing.”
“Hyde Park? His Grace will never allow it. Not as far as Hyde Park.”
“It is not all that far, and we will go in the carriage,” Meagan said. “He was to have riding lessons in Hyde Park in any case.”
The tutor played his trump card. “His Grace will be very angry.”
Alex winced, hope dying on his face.
Meagan tried to picture Alexander shouting at her for presuming to interrupt his son’s lessons, but when she thought of Alexander, all she could envision was him crushing kisses to her lips after she’d poured wine all over him and lifting her to the table and making wild love to her.
The dratted love spell would not let her remember anything but the way his eyes went dark when she raised on tiptoes to kiss him, the gentleness of his touch when they lay down to sleep. She could not think of him without wanting to touch him, to feel his strength under her fingers, to taste his lips on hers.
It was so very, very distracting. She’d tried to pay Black Annie a surprise visit earlier today, much to her servants’ distress because the journey to the Strand was not on her schedule. The visit had proved fruitless, Black Annie having conveniently stepped out just before Meagan arrived. The cherubic maid said she’d no idea when Black Annie would return, and Meagan had gone away to keep her other appointments.
Meagan had then spent hours undergoing the scrutiny of other ambassadors’ wives at the Duchess of Cranshaw’s garden party. Except for the fact that Meagan’s stepmother had once been married to a baronet and that her best friend was now Princess Penelope of Nvengaria, Meagan had nothing in common with them, and they made certain she knew it.
Only the Duchess of Cranshaw’s support and the fact that Meagan held the title of Grand Duchess kept her from rushing home in fury and distress. But she was a diplomat’s wife now, which meant she could not say what she thought and walk away in a huff. A diplomat’s wife had to be, well, diplomatic. She supposed she’d learn to take their rebuffs, which were couched in the politest possible terms. Insufferable women.
Many of them regarded faraway, tiny Nvengaria as insignificant, which made her very angry on Alexander’s behalf. Perhaps Nvengaria was not as large as France, but its people had a huge, indomitable spirit. She’d told the Parisian ambassador’s wife so, earning herself a long stare through a lorgnette.
She’d returned to Alexander’s ostentatious house, angry at it for mocking her simple upbringing in a happy family. She’d changed into a walking dress and marched to the third floor, demanding Nikolai to show her the way to the nursery.
Now she lifted her chin and faced down the tutor. “I will explain to His Grace. You will not be blamed.”
“You do not know His Grace,” he muttered.
Meagan ignored him. “Alex, would you like to go fishing with me?”
Alex slammed his Latin grammar shut and sprang from his seat. “Yes!”
Meagan held out her hand. She was surprised at the rush of feeling she had when he wrapped his small fingers around hers. She grinned and squeezed his hand. “Then let us go find some fishing poles.”
She did not, in fact, take him all the way to Hyde Park. She decided, after one look at the horde of journalists gathered outside the house, that they needed to be more private, so she led Alex to the park in the center of Berkeley Square.
The park was a huge oval that ran the length of fifteen or more houses. Inside its wrought-iron fence were trees and greens and walks for the residents of the square, who alone possessed keys.
Dominic and his men surrounded them as Meagan and Alex walked across the busy square. The journalists struggled to keep up, even more passersby joined to see what was happening, and quite a large crowd followed them to the gates of the park.
Once inside, Meagan and Alex had a small respite, except for the Berkeley Square residents who’d decided to see what they were up to. The journalists hung over the gates, taking down every move the eccentric new Grand Duchess of Nvengaria made, and passersby climbed up next to the journalists, avidly curious.
“Why have we come here?” Alex asked. “There are no lakes or rivers.”
“No.” Meagan stopped on the path. “But there are puddles.” She pointed to a wide, flat sheet of water, made by this morning’s torrential rain. “A perfect place to learn.”
Alex eyed it doubtfully. “Will there be any fish?”
“One never knows,” Meagan said. “Here, I will show you how to fix yo
ur hook.”
Alex was an excellent pupil. He had never fished before, he said solemnly, though he had read about it. She took up a brand new pole that Nikolai had been hastily dispatched to obtain and showed Alex how to string the pole and how to put a wriggling worm on the hook. Then she showed him how to stand right at the edge of the water and flick his wrist gently to lower his hook to entice the fish.
Alex, his black hair wet with rain, copied her movements precisely. He was like Alexander, she realized. Alexander liked to show perfection to the world, no flaw or chink in the wall surrounding him. The love spell had surmounted that wall, letting Meagan alone see the real man. Others feared him only because they could not see his heart.
Or perhaps, she thought with a sigh, the love spell had rendered her overly sentimental.
The journalists called questions from the fence. Some of them shouted rather questionable remarks about a lady holding a long pole, which thankfully Alex did not understand. Dominic, however, glowered at them and told them what he would do to them if they didn’t take themselves off. Since Englishmen of the lower classes were not easily cowed, they shouted right back at him, hinting at what they did to foreigners what thought they were better than them.
Oh lud, Meagan thought, pretending to focus on the fishing. Tomorrow the Times could very well read, Her Grace the Grand Duchess of Nvengaria Incites a Riot in Berkeley Square Over the Question of How Well She Grips a Pole.
The shouting died away and things fell eerily silent. Meagan knew before she looked up, before she heard his boots crunching gravel on the path, exactly who approached.
Alexander walked toward them in a dark blue greatcoat, his head hatless, as was custom for Nvengarians, black hair sparkling with droplets of rain. He did not smile at her and his blue eyes were as watchful as ever.
Alex raised his head and saw his father. “Hallo, Papa.” He waved as Alexander neared them. “Stepmama is teaching me to fish.”
Alexander stopped, taking in Meagan, the puddle, the fishing poles, and the lines disappearing into the water. Meagan expected his eyes to grow chill, for him to instruct Dominic to escort his wife and son back to the house at once.
The Mad, Bad Duke Page 17