Seductive as Flame Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  CHAPTER 1 - Groveland Chase, November 1894

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  Berkley Sensation Books by Susan Johnson

  Praise for the novels of Susan Johnson

  “Susan Johnson is the author of some of the best—the very best—books in historical romance.”

  —All About Romance

  “A lusty tale.”

  —Night Owl Reviews

  “Susan Johnson is a queen of erotic, exciting romance who soars to new heights with each novel.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “Johnson delivers another fast, titillating read that overflows with sex scenes and rapid-fire dialogue.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “A spellbinding read and a lot of fun . . . Johnson takes sensuality to the edge, writing smoldering stories with characters the reader won’t want to leave.”

  —The Oakland (MI) Press

  “Smart . . . sexy . . . sensuous . . . [Her] books are legendary!”

  —Robin Schone, USA Today bestselling author

  “Sensually charged writing . . . Johnson knows exactly what her devoted readers desire, and she delivers it with her usual flair.”

  —Booklist

  “Fascinating . . . The author’s style is a pleasure to read.”

  —Los Angeles Herald-Examiner

  “Flat-out fabulous, sexy [novels] so textured they sometimes compare . . . to the phenomenal Judith Ivory.”

  —All About Romance

  Berkley Sensation Books by Susan Johnson

  HOT PINK

  HOT LEGS

  HOT SPOT

  FRENCH KISS

  WINE, TARTS, & SEX

  HOT PROPERTY

  GORGEOUS AS SIN

  SEXY AS HELL

  SWEET AS THE DEVIL

  SEDUCTIVE AS FLAME

  TWIN PEAKS

  (with Jasmine Haynes)

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

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  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  SEDUCTIVE AS FLAME

  A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / December 2011

  Copyright © 2011 by Susan Johnson.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions. For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN : 978-1-101-55245-2

  BERKLEY SENSATION®

  Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

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  CHAPTER 1

  Groveland Chase, November 1894

  THE DUKE AND Duchess of Groveland were entertaining at their hunting lodge in the West Riding. The original party had been small, although more guests had arrived yesterday, and tomorrow the local squires and farmers would come out for the day’s hunt. As was often the case with country house parties, those invited arrived with unexpected companions. Charlie Bonner, for instance, had come with his wife, who neither rode to hounds nor liked the country. “Sorry Fitz,” Charlie had murmured with a grin for his host. “I couldn’t shake off Bella.” And surprisingly, Lord Dalgliesh had brought his wife. They barely spoke. But her young son had wanted to see a hunt, someone said, and Lord Dalgliesh doted on the boy.

  Not that all aristocratic marriages were as ill conceived and regrettable, although love matches were a rarity in the haute monde. Long-held custom in the fashionable world had always viewed matrimony as a business transaction and marriage settlements as a means of enhancing family wealth, prestige, or bloodlines. Should anyone be looking for love, that was available elsewhere.

  Naturally, there were exceptions to prevailing custom. Three of those exceptions were currently having coffee and brandy in a sitting room off the terrace. The Duke of Groveland and his friends, Lords Lennox and Blackwood, were having an early morning eye-opener while waiting for their beloved wives to come down for breakfast.

  “To family.” With a smile, the duke raised his cup. “May our tribes increase.”

  “A pleasant endeavor,” Oz Lennox murmured. “I’ll drink to that.”

  Jamie Blackwood lifted his cup. “We’re fortunate, all of us.”

  “Indeed. To kind fate,” Oz said softly and drained his drink.

  A small silence fell, each man fully conscious that life was uncertain, a gamble at best. They all understood how impossibly long the odds had been against meeting the women they loved in the great vastness of the world. How bereft their lives would have been had they not.

  Into this contemplative moment a striding figure intruded, sweeping past the long span of French doors. The woman was tall, with magnificent flame-red hair, the spectacular lynx coat she wore equally resplendent.

  Fitz smiled as she disappeared from sight. “Rumor has it she’s a witch.”

  “In more ways than one,” Oz drawled, pushing himself upright in his chair in sudden interest. “What?” He shot his friends a grin. “I love my wife, but I’m not dead. Did you see those flashy spurs? I’ll bet she’
s a wildcat in bed.”

  “And you should know,” Fitz waggishly noted.

  Oz cast a sardonic glance at his friend. “Please—as if either of you were Puritans before you married. Hell, Fitz, you had Willery’s bountiful daughter sizing you up under Rosalind’s eye last night at dinner. I thought she might lean over just a little more and let her plump, quivering breasts spill over on your plate. And Bella practically ate Jamie alive while we were having drinks in the drawing room.” He shot a look at James Blackwood, who’d spent years standing stud to not only Bella but a great many other ladies. “Did you have to make amends to Sofie afterward? She didn’t look happy.”

  “Bella’s always been difficult,” Jamie coolly replied. “Sofie understands.”

  “I beg to differ,” Oz drolly said. “I know Sofie. She doesn’t understand at all.”

  “Let’s just say I was able to atone for Bella’s sins. Satisfied ? And the enticing Zelda happens to be my cousin, so mind your manners.”

  Oz grinned. “You’re kidding. Zelda? What a perfect name for a bodacious lady witch.”

  “Her name’s Griselda, so relax,” Jamie muttered. “And the gossip about witches arose because she’s recently returned from the jungles of Brazil with some native artifacts she chooses to wear. She’s no more a witch than you or I.”

  “She raised all her younger siblings when her mother died, didn’t she?” Fitz commented.

  Jamie nodded. “All five of them.”

  “So witch and earth mother,” Oz waggishly noted. “Every male fantasy.”

  Jamie gave his friend a warning glance. “Fucking behave.”

  “Or?” Oz’s grin was brilliant.

  “Or I’ll tell Isolde you’re lusting after my cousin,” Jamie silkily returned.

  “And I’ll tell her I’m not.”

  “Screw you,” Jamie muttered.

  “I’m afraid I’m no longer available,” Oz sweetly replied. “My wife doesn’t approve.”

  The stunning apparition suddenly hove back into view, arresting the raillery. Coming to a stop at one of the doors, the flame-haired woman opened it and stood for a moment on the threshold, her tall form limned in golden sunshine.

  The extravagant lynx coat fell to her ankles, her flamboyant hair was untamed and wind tossed, her long, slender legs buckskin clad, her booted and spurred feet firmly planted. While a faint smile graced her lovely mouth, mild query arched her dark brows. “Am I intruding?”

  “No, not at all. Do come in, Zelda,” Jamie quickly offered, rising from his chair along with the other men. “You’re up early.”

  “It’s not that early. Hullo, everyone.” The rowels on her spurs jingled quietly as she walked in and shut the door. “Father and I’ve been out riding since dawn,” she said, turning to the men and stripping off her gloves. “Although I seem to have lost him somewhere between here and the stables.”

  “No doubt he stopped to talk to someone.” Sir Gavin was everyone’s friend. “You know Fitz,” Jamie observed. “And this is Lord Lennox. Oz, my cousin, Zelda MacKenzie.”

  “A pleasure,” Oz said, moving forward and putting out his hand. “You must tell my wife where you found your coat. It’s magnificent.”

  “Thank you.” He had a very lucky wife, Zelda thought, shaking his hand, and he must care for her or he wouldn’t have mentioned her in his first breath. “A wonderful tailor in Edinburgh made this for me. I can give you his name if you like.”

  “I would.” Oz’s smile was boyishly warm. “You weren’t here last night.”

  “We came in very late.”

  “Would you like a drink?” Fitz interjected, because Oz charmed without even trying and Jamie had warned him off. “We’re drinking our breakfast.”

  “Fitz has smuggled brandy so it tastes much better,” Oz said, shifting slightly to include his friends in the conversation. “I recommend it.”

  “Perfect. Just what I need. And may I compliment you on your jumps, Lord Groveland,” she added, turning to her host. “They’re wicked. I’m looking forward to the chase.”

  “I can’t take credit for the hedges. They were planted long ago. But I’ve added an obstacle or two over the years to make the run more interesting. Please, have a chair. I’ll get your drink.”

  Zelda was shoving her gloves into her coat pocket and Fitz had turned to the drinks tray when the door to the hallway suddenly opened and a large, dark-haired man walked in. “Morning, gentleman.” The Earl of Dalgliesh advanced into the room. “It’s a perfect day for hunting—frost, crisp, cold. You couldn’t have ordered any better weath—” His cool blue gaze suddenly fell on Zelda and a warmth entered his eyes. “Good morning, ma’am.” A connoisseur of beautiful women, he automatically surveyed her as he strode toward her—taking in her glorious face and form, the exotic garb, particularly the tight buckskins that left nothing to the imagination. He’d never seen a woman dress like that in public. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said, bowing slightly as he reached her, looking down at her with a beguiling smile. “Dalgliesh at your service.”

  “Alec, allow me to introduce my cousin.” Jamie moved closer to Zelda, Dalgliesh’s interest apparent and his reputation such that female relatives required protection. “Alec Munro, may I present, Griselda MacKenzie, Sir Gavin’s daughter.”

  “A pleasure, sir.” Zelda smiled and put out her hand.

  Grasping her fingers lightly, Alec brought them to his mouth and brushed her knuckles with his lips. For a lingering moment, he held her fingers in his warm, cupped palm before releasing her hand. “I haven’t seen you before.” His voice was velvet soft, lazy with provocation.

  But his gaze wasn’t lazy; it was predatory, like an animal on the scent. “My father and I are down from Scotland,” Zelda replied, half breathless under the unmistakable lust in his eyes, the warmth of his hand still tingling on her skin; her heart was suddenly pounding.

  Their eyes held for a moment—pale blue and amethyst—and a flurry of ripe, unguarded expectation shimmered in the air. Hotspur and graphic.

  Alec recovered first because he wasn’t given to blind impetuosity. “You’ve been out riding, I see,” he smoothly said.

  “Yes, I was just telling Lord Groveland what lovely acres he has.” Zelda, too, had regained her composure. “Have you hunted here before?”

  “He has several times,” Fitz said, stepping in to diffuse what was clearly a volatile encounter. “Alec has a hunting lodge in the neighborhood. Come, both of you, please have a seat. I’ll see to the brandies and coffee.”

  “There you are, Alec!” a female voice vexatiously exclaimed, the high, sharp cry shattering the faint hush of carnal ambivalence. “I’ve been searching for you everywhere !”

  Five pairs of eyes swivelled toward the open doorway.

  A fashionably gowned, diminutive blond woman dressed in crimson cashmere stood dwarfed by the lofty doorframe, her frown marked. “Christopher was wondering when you were coming back.”

  “I’ll be up in ten minutes.”

  “Would you like coffee, Violetta?” Fitz politely inquired. He couldn’t very well not ask. Although her husband offered her no welcome.

  “No, thank you. I have to go back and calm dear Christopher.” Lady Dalgliesh’s smile held a hint of melancholy. “He’s such a high-strung little boy. You won’t make him wait long, will you, Alec?”

  “No.” Soft and dismissive.

  “You shouldn’t have run off like that,” she scolded, either not noticing her husband’s dismissal or not caring. “Chris was upset to find you’d gone off. But I’ll do my best to console him until you return.”

  The earl’s jaw clenched. “Mrs. Creighton’s more than capable of consoling him.”

  “Really, Alec,” Lady Dalgliesh said with a sniff of disapproval. “I don’t know why you insist on that woman. She’s so common.”

  “Chris likes her. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” the earl said, a dangerous edge to his voice.

  The small woman hesi
tated fractionally, then with a toss of her blond curls, she crisply said, “Very well, don’t be late,” and flounced off.

  Dalgliesh exhaled quietly before turning to the others. “Please forgive the drama. Violetta always enjoys making a scene. A large brandy for me, Fitz. No coffee.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive,” Fitz calmly said. “Please, everyone, sit. One large brandy coming up. How about you, Zelda?”

  “Just two fingers of brandy please with coffee.” She took the chair Jamie offered her.

  Once everyone was seated and their drinks were in hand, the talk turned to hunting, the discussion focused initially on Fitz’s hunting pack. Ten generations of Moncktons had succeeded in breeding the fastest pack of hounds in England with the nose, voice, and stamina to handle the coverts and bogs natural to the area. Yorkshire was the most sporting part of Her Majesty’s dominions, the county where fox hunting had been first established.

  The subject of thrusters came up next—riders ready to jump anything in sight with no care for the hounds. It was agreed that the men would all do what they could to restrain the louts. Riders of that ilk could raise havoc with the dogs by throwing them off the scent, or worse: A pack worth thousands of pounds could be seriously damaged if ridden over.

  Everyone in the room was experienced in the field. Oz had first hunted in India with leopards as coursers, Jamie had ridden to hounds in Hungary and on the Continent, particularly with the Empress Elizabeth, who liked to surround herself with handsome, world-class horsemen. Fitz and Zelda had hunted since childhood here and abroad.

  Consumed with her own thoughts, Zelda only half listened to the conversation. Comfortably ensconced in a large, down-cushioned chair, she sipped her drink and tried not to stare at Dalgliesh. But he was murderously handsome, dark as a gypsy, with sleepy, bedroom eyes, his hunter’s gaze shuttered now that he was lounging relaxed in his chair, his brandy glass resting on his chest. His legs were stretched out before him, his hard, muscled body of unusual height—that height particularly attractive to a woman as tall as she. He didn’t wear correct hunting dress—nor did anyone in the room; she was among men who shared her disdain for conformity. Or perhaps like she, they rode for pleasure, not to parade their pretensions or wealth.