Seductive as Flame Page 10

  As the silence lengthened, a servant’s giggle in the hallway outside was magnified in the hushed room. A mounting tension filled the air.

  Zelda opened her mouth to speak, thought better of it. Dalgliesh was unlikely to respond to a woman’s plea.

  Restless, his nerves raw, Alec fought against an unspeakable lust that had taken up occupation in his brain and wouldn’t be evicted. Wouldn’t respond to reason or sanity, or calls to conscience and duty.

  He swung around, patent repulsion on his face. “You must be a witch, damn you!” His gaze was fierce, sullen. “I always look forward to leaving after—”

  “A night of fucking?” She could be rude, too.

  He scowled. “Call it what you like.”

  “You know what I’d like to call it, but you wouldn’t approve.” Although perhaps she wasn’t alone in her obsession, she thought—Dalgliesh’s black look aside. “Look,” she said, trying to mitigate what could only be an embarrassing revelation for a man like Dalgliesh, “I’m as mystified as you about this—us—this curious predicament.”

  “Predicament?” His expression was contemptuous. “You’re fucking up my life!”

  “I could say the same of you,” she tartly retorted. “I’m not in the habit of dissolving into a puddle of love just because I’ve had incredible sex. I’m not that scatterbrained. As a matter of fact, I’m not scatterbrained at all.”

  “You’ve had incredible sex before?” he growled.

  “Are you even listening?”

  “Have you?” Edgy and querulous.

  She came up on her elbows, her scowl matching his. “Not this good. You’re the best. Satisfied?”

  Restive and disturbed, his mind in tumult, he didn’t answer. “I’ve never had anything like this happen to me.” His voice was harsh with disgust. “Never.”

  “Feeling something beyond lust, you mean.”

  He couldn’t pretend not to know what she meant. “Yes,” he muttered. “That.”

  “You’re not alone, if it’s any consolation.”

  He stared at her, moody and obstinate. “I’m not looking for consolation. I’m looking for a way out.”

  “Then you should go.”

  “Damn right I should.”

  She sat up in a surge of temper. “I have no intention of begging you to stay, if that’s what you want,” she snapped.

  “A pity,” he drawled.

  “Life is full of disappointments.”

  “Spiteful bitch.” Amusement suddenly glittered in his eyes and his mouth twitched. “Christ Almighty—what am I going to do with you?”

  “You seemed to know what to do last night. So many times I lost count.”

  He didn’t speak for so long she thought she’d been too flippant.

  Breathing quietly, his feelings locked away, he stared at her.

  She stared back, never self-effacing or timid, too long a woman of independence to give way to a man. Also, the view was particularly fine, if truth be told.

  Dalgliesh was leaning against the door, barefoot, bare chested, sleepy eyed, his dark hair disheveled, his state of undress testament to a night of excess.

  A powerful, unmistakable sensuality marking the man.

  A quiet authority as well.

  As if he knew he had but to beckon and she’d come.

  He adjusted his shoulders slightly against the solid door, a small compensatory gesture perhaps to offset his irresolution. Then, deaf to reason and intellect, he gave voice to his capricious will. “So . . . what are we going to do?”

  Tamping down her wild jubilation, Zelda forced herself to speak calmly. “We?”

  He looked startled, as if she’d coined a new word, as if he’d not uttered the pronoun seconds before. “Did I say that?”

  She smiled. “I’m afraid so.”

  “Christ, I’m losing my mind.” Dropping his shoes, he pushed away from the door, crossed the room with his long, easy stride and, reaching the bed, stood motionless for a moment, thoughtfully regarding her.

  Unnerved by his scrutiny, she felt a sudden compulsion to clarify her position. “I’m not asking for anything beyond simple sex.”

  He smiled. “Or not so simple. But yes, I know.”

  “Stay or go. It’s up to you.”

  “I know that, too.”

  She gazed up at him, her violet eyes guileless. “I shouldn’t have mentioned the word love. It was stupid, like your—”

  “That’s not up for discussion.”

  “Well, neither is love from now on. How’s that? Better?”

  “Fuck if I know,” he said when his idea of better had to do with Zelda locked away in his bedroom at Crosstrees until he fucked himself to death. Deprived of that option, shackled in a vicious marriage, frustrated and resentful, tantalized beyond sanity, he abruptly leaned over and, gripping her shoulders, revolted against circumstance. His kiss was vastly different this time—not casual, but fierce, deep, his hands on her shoulders leaving bruises, a kind of desperation fueling his ardor. Abruptly shoving her onto her back, he followed her down, forcing her thighs wider, settling between her outstretched legs, his erection insistent and hard, his mouth ungentle, his brute urgency redress for the anarchy savaging his brain. “Can you feel this?” he growled against her mouth, grinding his trousered cock against her sex. “Tell me.”

  “Yes, yes . . .” Sliding her fingers through his thick hair, she whispered, “It’s heavenly.” Zelda welcomed his wildness, her own passions unrestrained and explosive, all the insuperable difficulties momentarily effaced by flame-hot lust and forbidden love. By the feel of him in her arms, the sweet taste of him on her lips, his desperate wanting heady and provocative—like a powerful drug coursing through her veins.

  And as always, swift and predictable, as if he was her aphrodisiac of choice, soon—headlong and impatient—nothing mattered but orgasmic fulfillment.

  Her familiar small whimper was a stark clarion call to sanity, the sound jolting Alec back to harsh reality, reminding him of what she wanted, of what he mustn’t do. Of the price he’d eventually pay for ruining her life—and his. Jerking upright, he leaped from the bed.

  “Damn you!” Zelda shrieked, lunging for him, missing as he sprang away. “Don’t you dare leave me like this!”

  “Jesus, hush!” He shot a glance at the door, half expecting someone to come running.

  “I’ll scream if I want,” she hissed.

  “I shouldn’t have—” Spoken to you yesterday, followed you at the hunt, come anywhere near you.

  “But you did, you did, you did, damn you! Oh God, oh God . . .” Falling back in a sprawl, flushed, nude, shuddering, she shut her eyes briefly against the violent, throbbing ache pulsing between her legs.

  “I’m sorry.” His voice was low, tormented. “But the servants are everywhere,” he said, trying to sound reasonable. Making excuses.

  “Lock the door.”

  “Lady Melville may have heard you.” He wasn’t sure Zelda cared; he’d have to care for both of them. “She thrives on scandal.”

  “Screw Lady Melville.”

  “I don’t believe that’s possible,” he drawled. “I have my standards.”

  Zelda giggled. “Oh hell,” she muttered, pushing herself up against the pillows. “You’ve talked me out of it now.”

  “I have others to consider or I wouldn’t have to talk you out of anything,” Alec gently said, relieved and not relieved, his brain in chaos. “Unfortunately my life is—” At a loss for words, he half lifted his hand.

  “What it is. I understand.” Her smile was properly agreeable; she had no claim on his time or person. “Although you’ve seriously disrupted my life, too.” Her smile widened. “Perhaps witchcraft is involved after all.”

  “Or fairy dust,” he said with a faint grin.

  “Better yet,” she lightly replied, conscious of the obligatory civilities, of men wanting to leave and women left behind. Of the inherent inequities in amorous liaisons. Particularly with
a man like Dalgliesh.

  “Perhaps we’ll meet at another hunt,” Alec said, not inclined to prolong the misery.

  “I’m sure we will.” She felt as though someone else was mouthing the lie—someone more gullible.

  “Then I’ll say au revoir rather than good-bye.”

  “Yes, au revoir.” She was as capable of good manners as he.

  It was over, she thought, watching him walk away.

  Another brief flirtation for an unprincipled, wildly adept lover of women.

  It was a form of sport for him.

  While she wasn’t sure she’d ever be the same, if such absurdities actually existed beyond the perimeters of poetic license.

  He abruptly stopped midway to the door, and her breath caught in her throat. She watched him slowly turn. She watched his nostrils flare as he drew in a deep breath. She watched him slowly exhale, her heart beating like a drum.

  “Come with me to Crosstrees.”

  His voice was so low she had to strain to hear it. “Are you sure?” Good Lord, since when was she a martyr?

  “No, does it matter?”

  “Not to me,” she quickly replied, feeling very unmartyr-like, feeling as though the world was suddenly bathed in eternal sunshine. “I might have come anyway.”

  She saw the flickering surprise, then the shuttered look, and knew she’d made a mistake.

  “On second thought, it’s probably not a good idea,” he coolly said.

  “Am I allowed to disagree?” He didn’t answer for so long, she almost blurted out, Please, please, please let me come!

  A protracted silence ensued while Dalgliesh debated the pressures of his domestic affairs against the rash impulse prompting him to invite a woman he barely knew to his hunting box. Crosstrees had always been his refuge from the world, far from pursuing females and contentiousness. On the other hand, he told himself, rather than admit to anything more, sex with the fascinating Miss MacKenzie—pursuing or not—was powerful incentive. “Oh, hell,” he finally said, “I’d like you to come.”

  She couldn’t say, I know. “I was hoping you’d change your mind,” she mildly replied, not wishing to alarm him again.

  He laughed. “You would have come with or without an invitation, wouldn’t you?”

  “I’m not sure. Probably not. Although”—she smiled—“you’re much too accomplished to willingly relinquish after one night.”

  His teeth flashed white in a smile. “So I’m to serve as stud until you’re sated.”

  “If it wouldn’t be too much of an imposition.”

  He hesitated, habits of a lifetime difficult to ignore. “No,” he said somberly, “you’re no imposition. But”—his gaze clouded over again—“Chris comes first.”

  “Of course. I’ll stay out of sight if you prefer.”

  “God no. He likes you. I heard nothing but boyish adulation after you left the kitchen.”

  “Well then, I’ll be on my best behavior.”

  “And I’ll be on my best behavior in bed.”

  She smiled. “There’s no need for you to behave.”

  “I didn’t mean that.”

  “Oh good, because I’m quite looking forward to whatever that entails.”

  “Christ, stop or I won’t leave, and we’ll scandalize everyone by not coming downstairs for a week. Consider, darling,” he warned, “I’m long past redemption. You might prefer less notoriety.”

  “I may not care.”

  “Your father might,” he drily said. “Now then”—his voice took on a crispness—“why don’t I have John stay behind to escort you to Crosstrees.” He smiled, affable and at ease, the vexing issues having been cavalierly set aside. “I look forward to showing you my stables.”

  She had what she wanted. She was more than willing to accommodate Dalgliesh’s change of subject. “Are you leaving soon?”

  “As soon as I change clothes and thank Fitz for his hospitality. Don’t worry, I won’t mention you.”

  “I’m not worried. Say what you like. Or would you rather be discreet?”

  “It might be wise, not for my sake but for yours. Violetta can be vindictive.”

  “In that case, I’ll concoct some story for public consumption. As for Papa, I’ll tell him the truth. He understands my life’s my own.”

  “Would you like me to speak to your father?” Good God, what was he thinking?

  “How sweet,” she murmured. “But unnecessary.”

  “Because you do this often?”

  His scowl was back in place; she found it quite charming. “No, because I never do this. Papa’ll be pleased I’m enjoying myself.”

  “Forgive me. That was uncalled for.”

  “I like your jealousy.”

  The word shocked him, but before he could think of a reasonable reply, the redoubtable Miss MacKenzie rose from the bed like Venus rising from the sea and sent shock waves through his nerve endings.

  “I suggest you leave, darling,” she said with a flicker of a smile. “Or I might be tempted to make you stay.”

  Fuck if she couldn’t, he thought, surveying her voluptuous form that he’d tasted, caressed, screwed every imaginable way. He shot a glance at the clock on the mantle.

  She noticed and opening her arms, playfully winked. “Staying or going?”

  “Why don’t you breakfast at Crosstrees instead?” he silkily replied. “We won’t be interrupted.”

  “Is that what you’d like?” A honeyed tone, a gentle sway of her hips.

  Her plump breasts quivered with the movement, his randy cock swelled higher, and lust took on a powerful life of its own. “Don’t play the tease,” he said, raspy and low. “Or I’ll carry you out of the house like that.”

  “You wouldn’t,” she nervously said.

  “In a minute.”

  Her sportive intent gave way before Dalgliesh’s cool gaze, and a second later he heard the key turn in the bathroom lock.

  Good idea, he thought.

  He stood motionless for a few moments, allowing his erection to subside enough to traverse the halls without calling attention to himself. Or calling undue attention. His state of undress was likely to attract notice.

  As luck would have it, he reached his room without meeting anyone save a few servants who knew better than to stare. After bathing and dressing, he went in search of his host.

  Dalgliesh found Fitz alone in the breakfast room reading the morning paper, a cup of coffee at his elbow.

  Fitz looked up as the earl walked in; he set aside his paper. “You’re up early. Or knowing you, you probably haven’t slept.”

  “As a matter of fact, I haven’t.” Alec moved toward the buffet. “Thanks to kind fate.”

  “Fate?” Disbelief colored the duke’s tone.

  “Why so amazed?” Alec said over his shoulder.

  “Because I’ve known you a long time,” Fitz bluntly retorted. “You don’t believe in fate.”

  “People change.” The earl turned from the buffet with a cup in one hand and a coffeepot in the other. “Myself included.”

  “Indeed,” Fitz murmured. “Does this fate of yours have a name?”

  Alec grinned. “So cynical, my friend.” Reaching the table, he set down the coffeepot.

  “Realistic,” Fitz drawled. “If you recall, I changed your seat for dinner. You also disappeared rather early. Claremont was hoping for a high-stakes game.”

  “Then I saved him some money,” Alec blandly remarked, dropping into a chair. “I’m sure his father’s grateful.”

  Fitz watched the earl fill a cup, quickly drain it like a man requiring sustenance, refill it, and repeat the process. “Why don’t I have a servant bring you some food?” The duke waved to summon one of the many footmen lining the walls.

  Alec put up a hand to forestall him. “I’m having breakfast at Crosstrees.”

  “You’re leaving?”

  “Yes. Change of plans.”

  “Will your wife take issue?”

  “She al
ready has.”

  The duke’s brows rose. “Violetta jealous? I’m surprised.”

  “Not as surprised as I.” Dalgliesh pushed his empty cup aside in a small, restless gesture. “Since Violetta enjoys scenes and I don’t, I’m leaving to avoid any public spectacles.”

  Fitz looked amused. “You’re not leaving alone, I presume.”

  “No, Chris will join me.”

  “Not Zelda?”

  Dalgliesh shot him a startled look.

  “Your pursuit of her last night was rather blatant,” Fitz pointed out. “Why don’t I make some excuse to the others for you two?”

  “For my part I’d say yes, but I’m not sure what Zelda wants said. She’s rather cavalier about this.” Alec frowned. “Is she always so . . . well—independent?”

  “Jamie knows her much better than I, but to my knowledge, her independence, as you put it, doesn’t generally extend to licentiousness. Is that what you wanted to know?”

  “Christ,” the earl grunted, sliding lower in his chair. “Am I that transparent?”

  “Out of character, I’d say. But then Zelda’s an amazing woman.”

  Dalgliesh’s gaze took on a sudden belligerence. “How the hell would you know?”

  “Relax. Jamie’s her cousin. He’s talked about her.” If Fitz didn’t know better, he might have thought Dalgliesh was actually emotionally involved with the lovely Zelda. But past history rather put that notion to rest.

  “Forgive me for taking offense, but I’m obsessed at the moment. Don’t look at me like that. I find it incomprehensible, too. With luck, the feeling will quickly pass.”

  “It generally does,” Fitz urbanely said. “But I wish you joy in the interim. There’s pleasure in that kind of madness. As for your and Zelda’s departure, I believe I’ll plead ignorance.”

  Alec grinned. “Always a safe choice.” Sitting upright, he pushed his chair away from the table. “I’m off,” he said, coming to his feet. “Zelda will follow with John. She’s promised to help teach Chris how to jump his pony.”

  “There’s no one better. She’s a spectacular rider.”