Seductive as Flame Read online

  Chris had run ahead of them, impatient with the adults’ strolling gait, and as Zelda observed him racing up the rise toward the house, she experienced a poignant sense of déjà vu. It felt as though she’d been at Crosstrees before, in these exact circumstances—walking beside Alec in companionable silence, the autumn sun warm, the sky blue and cloudless, her feelings of content beyond measure.

  Reaching out, she took Dalgliesh’s hand, as if it were a perfectly natural gesture. Glancing up, she smiled. “Happy? I am.”

  “Very.” He smiled back, neither questioning his reply nor the ease with which he made it.

  She waved her free hand toward Chris, who was nearing the crest of the rise. “He seems to be enjoying himself, too.”

  “You’re good for him. He’s having fun.”

  “As am I. It’s nice to have a young child around again.” She grinned. “A general comment only. Nothing personal.”

  Alec smiled faintly. “I’m damned tempted to make it personal.”

  “But not entirely foolish enough to do so.”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “We shall live for the moment instead.” Her voice was blithe, full of cheer. “We shall taste all the diverse, beguiling pleasures of the flesh.”

  He laughed. “All of them? Now there’s a challenge.”

  “But a perfectly delightful one.”

  He looked at her sharply. “You know that for a fact?”

  “Don’t use that tone with me.” She jerked her hand away. “I’m not your wife.”

  “Then don’t act like her,” he snapped, the thought of Zelda with other men maddening. When it shouldn’t be, when it couldn’t be. “Forgive me,” he hastily amended, having regained his senses. “I shouldn’t have said that. Your life is your own, of course.”

  She shot him a heated look. “Damn right it is.”

  He should agree, her statement was perfectly valid. With any other woman, he wouldn’t even consider an alternative. But the world was less doctrinaire than it was two days ago, less certain, and what had always been unequivocal about the position of fuckable women in his life was suddenly in doubt. He softly exhaled, debating how to proceed, whether he wished to, in fact, whether it would be more prudent to remain silent. Or reply with some practiced flattery or mea culpa.

  “We need some ground rules.”

  Her cool voice interrupted his musing. “I don’t like rules,” he said with equal coolness.

  “Perhaps you can’t always do as you please,” she tartly said. “Everyone isn’t impressed by your wealth.”

  “Everyone meaning you?”

  “Yes,” she said, clipped and narrow eyed, quickening her pace as though to give vent to her spleen.

  “I don’t know what money has to do with fucking.”

  She snorted. “Surely you’re not that naive.”

  “Is this going to cost me then?”

  Rude and silken, the query hung in the air for a fraction of a second.

  “This is over, so this won’t cost you a farthing, you insolent prick!” She never should have come. She knew what he was like from the first. A shameless libertine, a brazen adulterer, a man with way too much money!

  Bold-faced bitch, he fumed. Pretending she had scruples. Why the hell had he invited her? He must have been deranged. Then he suddenly heard himself say, “Wait,” as if some mysterious inner voice had nullified rational thought, and grabbing her wrist, he pulled her to a stop.

  Bristling, she shook off his hand.

  He released her when he wouldn’t have had to. When he could have locked her away if he wished. When a century ago he might have without a qualm.

  She glared at him. “I dislike belligerence with my sex. This was a bad idea—my coming here.”

  Her acrid voice broke into his intemperate thoughts, and his temper flared higher because he knew what she liked with her sex, knew a good deal of what she liked. “What if I think it’s a good idea?” he silkily murmured.

  “I don’t give a damn what you think.” Her voice was peevish. “Arrogant men like you offend me.”

  Not all the time. “Perhaps I could change your mind.” Wanting what he wanted, he reined in his temper for more satisfying pursuits. For sex with the incomparable Miss MacKenzie. For several days of sex with the incomparable Miss MacKenzie.

  “Don’t bother.” A petulant sniff for good measure. “I’m not in the mood to be charmed.”

  “Then I won’t try. But I’d like you to stay.”

  Her initial surprise was replaced by a cool scrutiny. “Why?”

  “Christ, I don’t know. I wish I did. You entice me. I told you that already.” Each word was crabbed and gruff.

  But heartwarming and, she suspected, rare, and at base, charmingly effective. “If you’re trying to woo me, you should get rid of that frown.” She brushed her fingertips across his furrowed brow.

  It was amazing how light a touch could give rise to such pleasure. He smiled. “How’s that? Now tell me what else I must do.”

  “As if you take instruction,” she neatly said.

  “For some reason I’m very much inclined to at the moment. So tell me. What do you want?”

  She grinned. “Is this where they usually say diamonds?”

  “If I were disposed to ask them what they want, they might.”

  “Brute.”

  “Temptress.”

  “Oh hell.” She grimaced. “We both know why I’m here.”

  His smile was angelic. “I thought the question was whether you were staying or not.”

  “Humph,” she said in quibbling chagrin. “For your information, I’m not sure I’m interested in a filthy-rich autocrat who can buy anything or anyone. Even with the incredible sex.”

  “If we’re being blunt,” he said, “I dislike wanting you so much.” He paused for a transient moment, gauging her expression, the set of her mouth, the lingering challenge in her gaze. But he’d never been fearful, when even as a boy he should have been, although his voice dropped slightly as he spoke and took on a contemplative tone. “Everything’s different with you,” he quietly said. “The world, me, the wanting, the not wanting, the raging need, the satisfaction and content—everything. I’m not sure what’s real. How something like this can happen so quickly. Whether the outrageous happiness I feel is even allowed.”

  If Chris hadn’t almost reached the house, Zelda would have thrown her arms around him and declared her undying love. But little boys didn’t take kindly to waiting, and at base, she was chary of a man with an amorous reputation of such enormity. “Why not say it’s allowed for a weekend, at least,” she said with a smile.

  “Or a week or a month.” He smiled back, feeling an inexpressible relief, feeling strangely victorious. “How long can you stay?”

  She sighed. “Not too long.”

  “Why? You don’t have to go to France. Go on the next hunt or the one after that. The season’s just begun.” An autocrat in full operating mode.

  “We’ll see.”

  He frowned. “What does that mean?”

  “It means I don’t know.”

  His frown disappeared. He’d convince her to stay. He was a confident man, pleasing women a well-honed skill. “You can decide later,” he offered, conciliatory and affable, his own plans crystal clear. “After Chris shows off his train, after lunch”—his heavy-lidded gaze was lush with promise—“I’ll see what I can do to help you make up your mind.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “I’m not interested in being fair.”

  She made a playful moue. “Despot.”

  He grinned. “Hell no—I’m thoroughly besotted. I’m also damned near out of my mind for want of you,” he murmured, his gaze flame hot.

  “Lord, Alec, don’t look at me like that. It’s hours yet before—”

  “Lunch will be served soon,” he said, a small impatience in his tone. “I sent instructions with John.”

  “But what if Chris won’t—”


  “Creiggy will see that he does.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  The unmistakable voice of authority. “How nice,” Zelda said.

  “I’ll see that it’s more than nice,” he murmured.

  She smiled. “I know you will. That’s why I came.”

  CHAPTER 14

  THEY SPENT THE next hour in Chris’s playroom, where he demonstrated all the intricacies of his train set to Zelda. The large, tabletop display resembled the area surrounding Crosstrees: The little hamlet where Alec had tracked down Zelda was reproduced in miniature; Crosstrees was replicated to size, as was Groveland Chase and the downs and woodlands between. It was an extravagant assemblage, the toy trains exact copies of contemporary railroad lines, the rural landscape faithfully duplicated, a vast number of little figures from farmers to brakemen to a field of hunters adding detail and character to the scene.

  Familiar with the tableau, Alec lounged in a comfortable chair while Chris explained all the particulars to Zelda. She appeared genuinely interested, asked pertinent questions, listened attentively, and when offered an opportunity to operate one of the trains, managed the controls deftly enough for Chris to challenge her to a race. Chris took the larger engine, Alec noted with a faint smile. But Zelda would have let the boy win, he expected, regardless.

  He felt at ease. He’d only met her yesterday, but somehow her presence offered him a much-needed respite from all the inconvenient demands that circumscribed his life. He had no idea why, nor was he likely to overintellectualize his feelings. Women served a certain function in his life, and while Miss MacKenzie was well outside the norm when it came to females he fucked—she was more delightful in a number of ways—he was too jaded to have expectations. Nor did his situation allow him to contemplate more than a few days of amusement. A prospect, however, that filled him with delight. She was really quite amazing—sexually and otherwise.

  For instance, here she was comfortably at play with a boy of six, the two of them head-to-head in conversation, Chris animated, talking fast, Zelda nodding in agreement, smiling from time to time. She had perfect instincts and the necessary warmhearted temperament to indulge childish whims. And not just childish whims, he pleasantly recalled. Zelda didn’t just make Chris happy, but himself as well.

  And once lunch was over, she’d make him very happy indeed.

  A shame he couldn’t have her for himself alone.

  A novel thought for a man who wasn’t averse to sharing the ladies in his life, nor generally interested in anything but brevity in his amorous affairs.

  How juvenile, he thought. As if life allowed such pretty fantasies. He dismissed visionary ideals for less auspicious reality, although reality at the moment was extremely fine with his picturesque houseguest in full view.

  In boots, leather breeches, and a short black jacket, Miss MacKenzie’s ripe, shapely body was a delectable sight to behold. She seemed indifferent to her appearance, at ease in her unconventional garb. One of her many charms, he thought, that nonconformist attitude to the world. As for his reaction to her charms—they were predictable and unfortunately, at the moment, impractical. He consoled himself with a quick glance at the clock and the knowledge that his irksome celibacy would soon be at an end. An hour, perhaps . . . or less and he’d be assuaging his lust.

  There. Everything was nicely compartmentalized and entrained.

  A short time later when a servant came up to announce luncheon, Dalgliesh rose from his chair with a casualness bred in him from a young age. He rarely showed his feelings. “Time to go,” he said with a polite smile. “Should I turn off the main switch?”

  “Do we have to go? I’m not hungry yet.” Chris looked at his father with an imploring gaze. “I want to play some more.”

  “You may have a tray brought up if you wish.”

  “Can Miss MacKenzie stay with me? I haven’t shown her all the fueling stations yet or how the engine fire box turns real red when it gets hot or—”

  “I’m afraid Creiggy’s waiting for us,” Alec gently interposed. “You know how she likes us to be on time.”

  “May we come back later and play?” His father’s warning was sufficient. Creiggy was a stickler for punctuality.

  “Certainly.”

  “When?”

  “We’ll have to see.”

  “When you say we’ll have to see that means no,” the young boy grumbled. “And I want to play with Miss MacKenzie some more.”

  Good God, his son was a rival for Zelda’s attention. “Why don’t we come back before dinner and play with your trains? How would that be?”

  “What time?”

  Alec recognized that dogged little jut to his son’s chin and offered certainty. “Why don’t we say half past six. Miss MacKenzie was up late last night at the Grovelands’. I believe she’s going to nap this afternoon. Isn’t that right?” He turned to Zelda, his expression choir-boy innocent.

  “I was rather planning on it,” she said, trying not to turn cherry red. Not succeeding.

  “Then half past six it is,” the earl noted. “Allow me to escort you downstairs, Miss MacKenzie.” He offered her his arm with studied nonchalance. Restraint was the order of the day. A constant in his relationship with Zelda. An ordeal for a man of unfettered principles when it came to sex. But then he didn’t bring his inamoratas home, nor introduce them to his son—or, more saliently, to Creiggy—so he’d never been obliged to curb his libido before.

  Although the strain was beginning to tell—rationalizing aside—and luncheon proved difficult. Zelda was too close, too enticing, too explicitly sexual. Alec resorted to the time-honored expedient of drink in lieu of conduct unbecoming a gentleman.

  As for Zelda, she found Dalgliesh’s presence beside her the most lurid of aphrodisiacs. The scent of his cologne was pungent in her nostrils, his soft breathing audible, his smallest movement triggering a discernable jolt to her senses. Without the distractions of the playroom, she was susceptible to every shifting nuance of his body, making her even more keenly aware of the imminent pleasures in store for her after lunch.

  Unaware of the edgy tension, Chris busily chatted with the footmen, who treated him with casual affection. Creiggy appeared immune to the undercurrent of nerves, tucking into her food with seeming disregard for her surroundings.

  Alec, who never watched the clock, watched the clock, drank his lunch, and came to the conclusion that the phrase time stands still was not simply poetic license.

  Zelda tried to eat, tried to keep from looking at Dalgliesh, tried to think of something other than her impending gratification—and in this instance, failed miserably. Lost in lustful contemplation, she ate without tasting, drank Dalgliesh’s vintage champagne with no more regard than she would water, and viewed each dish set before her with the mild surprise of someone coming awake.

  The numerous servants exchanged telling glances as they served the various courses to a largely silent table, Chris’s boyish chatter notwithstanding. The staff all knew that the earl had never invited a lady to Crosstrees. Seeing him essentially mute and drinking hard suggested he may have regretted his impulse. The lady was equally speechless, a far cry from the usual flirtatious coquettes favored by the earl. Below stairs gossip being what it was, Dalgliesh’s lovers were well-known and much discussed.

  As for Creiggy, none dared speculate why she chose not to speak. She was a force to be reckoned with in the household. Best not try to decipher her mood.

  And so the strained atmosphere persisted until a servant happened to lean in too close to refill Zelda’s champagne glass.

  Startled, she recoiled, squealed.

  Creiggy looked up.

  Alec glanced her way.

  Chris grinned.

  And Zelda turned bright red.

  “I’m afraid I was daydreaming,” she quickly explained. “I tend to do that when I’m tired. Not that I’m particularly tired—well perhaps just a little, what with the hunt yesterday a
nd the busy evening at the Grovelands’—not that it was especially busy,” she swiftly added, not wishing to allude to her evening with Dalgliesh, “but perhaps just—”

  “A day of hunting would make anyone tired,” Creiggy kindly interposed to mitigate Zelda’s embarrassment. “I’ve never understood the attraction of putting one’s life at risk when one could enjoy the scenery from the comfort of the terrace windows and avoid those treacherous fences. Pass Miss MacKenzie one of those apple tarts, William. They’re a specialty of the chef, my dear. You must try one.”

  Alec smiled his thanks to Creiggy. He didn’t dare look at Zelda again. Instead, he pointed at his empty glass.

  His old nanny said, “That’s your sixth whiskey,” and waved off the servant who’d jumped to comply to the earl’s gesture.

  “Surely you’re not counting my drinks?” Alec softly said.

  “I always do.”

  “Well stop.” He pointed at his glass again.

  “It’s not a remedy.”

  “Thank you for the advice,” he coolly said and jabbed his finger at his glass.

  The servant didn’t budge, deterred by Creiggy’s sharp gaze.

  Alec glanced over his shoulder. “May I remind you who pays your wages, Henry.”

  “You do, sir.” But the man didn’t move.

  “God almighty.” Spinning around in his chair, Dalgliesh plucked the bottle from the footman’s hand.

  “Papa swore!” Chris cried. “You’re not supposed to, Papa!”

  “Hell if I can’t.” Pulling out the cork and tossing it aside, he raised the bottle to his lips and drank deeply.

  “Papa swore again!” Chris’s gaze flicked back and forth between his father and Creiggy. “You owe money to the poor box, Papa. Doesn’t he, Creiggy?”

  Leaning his head against his chair back, Dalgliesh briefly shut his eyes. This was what came from inviting an extravagantly sensual creature like Miss MacKenzie into his life. Complete chaos. And the most glorious, mind-fucking pleasure as well, he thought—that prodigal exception effectively vindicating all else.

  Opening his eyes, he set the bottle on the table. Understanding that the situation required a conciliatory gesture, perfectly capable of humoring people when necessary—in this case, the highly motivating prospect of sinking his cock into Miss MacKenzie’s hot cunt the requisite necessity—he addressed the table at large. “I apologize. You’re right, Creiggy, I shouldn’t drink so much. And, Chris, remind me to put some money in the poor box tomorrow. I shouldn’t have cursed. Now then is my atonement complete? Is everyone happy? Are you happy, Miss MacKenzie?” he added at the last because he couldn’t help himself once he’d uttered the word that had become so relevant to his life since meeting Zelda.