Seductive as Flame Page 3

  “As soon as you learn how to jump Petunia.”

  “I know, Papa, I know.” The little boy thumped his heels into his pony’s flanks. “Look, look how fast Petunia runs!”

  Alec watched the two ride away, his gloved hands resting on the saddle pommel, his mind preoccupied. Only when his hunter shifted his feet and snorted did Dalgliesh bestir himself and rouse from his reverie. Drawing in a deep, measured breath, he struggled to subdue his indefensible cravings. What the hell was he doing letting Chris and John go back without him? More to the point, why was he thinking what he’d been thinking. It was like looking for trouble to give in to impulse. No, not like: It was looking for trouble. And he knew better.

  He sat his mount for another indecisive moment, his gaze unfocused, knowing what he should do, contemplating instead the road to hell.

  Then with a slight shift of his weight, he smoothly turned his hunter and lightly touched his spurs to the horse’s flanks. He’d been wanting to ride with Miss MacKenzie ever since he saw her take that first fence with over a foot to spare. She was a magnificent, fearless rider—audacious and bold. The next thought was predictable, of course. Unwanted, but predictable.

  Would she ride his cock with equal boldness?

  CHAPTER 3

  WHEN DALGLIESH CAUGHT up with the hunters, however, Miss MacKenzie wasn’t with the company. He’d heard the huntsman blow “Gone to Ground” while he was still some distance off, and as he’d arrived on the scene, the master was trying to decide whether to leave the fox in peace, signal for the terriers to be brought up to dig out their prey, or move on to another covert to flush out another fox.

  He couldn’t ask anyone where Miss MacKenzie had gone—or when—without revealing his interest in her. Well aware of his reputation, he didn’t care to subject her to the inevitable gossip. She didn’t deserve it. Although if he had half a brain and a more benevolent nature, he’d leave her in peace.

  It was a casual observation only.

  He had no intention of doing so.

  He wondered briefly if she’d escaped the crowd with another gentleman? His sudden sense of umbrage was both unwarranted and unwanted, and he quickly brushed aside the lunatic feelings. How could it possibly matter if she was with someone else? Exclusivity had never been of interest to him—for which a great number of ladies were grateful.

  He didn’t have to concern himself about her whereabouts, he acknowledged. Now that he was alone, he could simply accept her absence and join the hunt. Had she not jolted every sexual nerve in his body, had not that sledgehammer blow occurred, he might have more easily allowed her to go off with some other man. As it was, the thought offended him. He chose not to question why, he simply intended to find her, and if she wasn’t alone, he’d run the other man off.

  He should have challenged his extraordinary determination.

  Had he been capable of objectivity, he might have.

  Instead, he rode the perimeter of the milling group of riders, idly socializing with his friends and covertly surveying the ground for fresh hoofprints.

  If she’d left the chase some time ago, his chances of finding her were minimal. If, however, she’d only recently ridden away, he’d likely track her down. Likely, the operative word considering the vast acres. But then logic and carnal desire were mutually exclusive, and the lady was a veritable enchantress—tall, shapely, dazzlingly lovely, with a nervy bravado that took her over the highest jumps with aplomb. That fearlessness was rare among women; or at least the women he knew. And God knows, he knew enough.

  The ground was still covered with a light frost, the sun not yet strong enough to have entirely melted it away. His scrutiny revealed three separate instances of riders having separated from the group. Which one first?

  Mentally tossing a coin, he settled on the middle track.

  A false trail as it turned out, for ten minutes later he almost ran into a couple who apparently couldn’t wait for the comforts of a bed. Fortunately, his horse had pricked up his ears in time, and the earl came to a stop well away from two of Fitz’s guests who were busily fornicating on the cold ground.

  The risqué vision should have been a lesson to him. There was nothing so ridiculous as a man with his breeches down and his bum pumping like a steam piston. What was worse, Alec recognized the pair. Who would have thought that Fitz’s parson had a letch for Lady Lambton; she was fifty if she was a day.

  The service at Groveland Chase this Sunday definitely would be of more interest than usual.

  Quietly reversing course, he rode back to the clearing where the fox had gone to ground and found the hunters had ridden off. Apparently, the hounds had picked up another scent.

  A troublesome little voice surfaced, chiding him for having lost his wits over some unknown woman. Although one of the stable lads had mentioned in a tone of unmistakable fascination that Miss MacKenzie was a witch—a concept he was tempted to give credence to because he was trying to decide which of the two remaining tracks to follow when he shouldn’t. When he’d never chased after a woman before.

  Not that handsome men of wealth and title ever had to exert themselves in that regard. Rather the opposite was the case. As was the world’s fawning servility to great wealth like his.

  Although he doubted Miss MacKenzie would prove obsequious.

  Part of her temptation he speculated.

  He was tired of fawning women.

  Alas, route two proved equally unsuccessful, ending in a farmyard where the tracks stopped at a hitching post to which a rather ordinary hack was tied.

  On his second return to the clearing, he more seriously questioned his dogged compulsion. He should return to the house rather than pursue this reckless path. Or so said his rational intellect. His less rational emotions however sensed something indefinable and novel in Miss MacKenzie. Something beyond her wild beauty and wilder horsemanship.

  Impossible, of course. A woman was a woman was a woman no matter how novel or splendid. Long a cynic of the human condition, he considered amour no more than a self-indulgent distraction—as it was for the ladies who shared his libertine pursuits.

  All of which caused him to view his sudden departure from habit with distrust and a mild bemusement.

  On the other hand, he’d not felt such naked craving in years.

  Why the hell was he even questioning his motives?

  TWENTY MINUTES LATER, he rode into a pristine little hamlet. Fitz was a generous landlord who afforded his tenants not only a good living, but exemplary housing and subsidized tradesmen. The main thoroughfare sported a public house with a small stable adjacent, a blacksmith shop, a school, a mill by the river, a small dress shop, a greengrocers, a tobacco shop, and a bookstore. And as fortune would have it, Miss Mackenzie’s magnificent hunter was being brushed down outside the stable.

  Riding up to the livery stable, he swung down from the saddle and gave his reins to a young boy who ran up. Handing him a coin, he said, “Zeus could use some oats and water and a wipe down. Here’s another,” he added, dropping another coin into the boy’s hand, “if you tell me where the lady is who rode in on that horse.” He nodded at Zelda’s blue roan.

  “She went for a cup o’ tea.” The lad jerked his thumb at the pub.

  Struck with a rare sense of exhilaration, Alec shoved his hand in his pants’ pocket, pulled out a gold sovereign, tossed it to the boy, and strolled off.

  His eyes like saucers, the boy cried, “Thankee, sir!” to the earl’s back.

  Alec lifted his quirt in acknowledgment as he walked toward the picturesque Tudor-style pub of timber and wattle. A few moments later, he dipped his head as he entered the low doorway, stood upright, and scanned the sunlit room. The publican stood behind the bar, his expression curious but friendly, several patrons who were enjoying their breakfast ale openly stared, and a pretty barmaid came bustling up with an admiring glance for the very large, very handsome lord.

  “I’m looking for a lady,” Dalgliesh remarked with a polite sm
ile as he stripped off his gloves. “I saw her horse outside.”

  “Aye, the lady what wears men’s pants.” But the servant girl’s eyes were twinkling, her voice lighthearted. “The highborn do be a bit eccentric.” She jabbed her finger at a closed door to Dalgliesh’s right. “In the parlor, she be. Who should I say is callin’?”

  “She’s a friend. You needn’t announce me.” He shoved his gloves into his coat pocket. “Bring me a brandy and coffee, if you will though.”

  “She said exactly so. Are ye out on the hunt, too?”

  “Yes.” You might say that. After another polite smile, he turned and moved toward the closed door, conscious that every eye in the room was following him.

  Uncertain of his welcome, he didn’t knock, but pressed down on the wrought iron latch, pushed open the door, bent to clear the lintel, and entered the small sunny parlor. His head almost brushed the low rafters so he took care as he bowed faintly. “May I join you?” he asked, shutting the door behind him.

  Zelda frowned. “How did you find me?”

  No fawning there, nor—as expected—any obsequiousness. “It wasn’t easy,” he said in vast understatement. How cool she was sitting there, brusque and unaccommodating—and bloody alluring, her long, shapely legs crossed at the ankle as she lounged in a chair by the window, her notable breasts visible for the first time with her coat discarded, the supple leather of a form-fitting deerskin waistcoat drawing attention to her ripe curves. “But I had good reason to be persistent,” he said with a small smile.

  “I know your reason. I should send you on your way.” He hadn’t moved, but there was nothing of the penitent in his posture. Rather a kind of patient assurance characterized his careless stance.

  “Why? We’re both of age.” A hint of amusement underscored his words.

  “You’re blunt, Dalgliesh.”

  He smiled. “I only meant we needn’t concern ourselves with propriety in this private parlor since neither of us are adolescents.”

  “Allow me to doubt your explanation,” she sardonically murmured. “Issues of propriety aside though, you have a reputation.” She wasn’t sure she wished to be amused by a man whose name was a byword for casual debauch. “I’ve been warned off by my cousin.”

  “I thought you were the one with the reputation,” he said as if she’d not rebuked him. “Aren’t you supposed to be a witch?”

  “I thought that’s what they called your wife.”

  He threw back his head and laughed uproariously. “Christ,” he murmured some moments later, a smile still lingering in his eyes. “You’re a brazen little piece.”

  “I’m not little. As for brazen, I could say the same of you. Tell me why you’re here?” His wife apparently wasn’t a problem, nor was his confidence. She was curious how or whether he’d ask.

  “The truth?”

  “I prefer it.”

  “You entice me.”

  “From what I hear, all women entice you.”

  “Not like this.” He blew out a small breath, unnerved by his sudden truthfulness. “Although by and large,” he said, restlessly tapping his quirt against his boot, feeling the need to nullify his unwitting disclosure, “honesty is rare in these situations.”

  “Speak for yourself. I prefer the unromantic truth. Isn’t that what we’re talking about? Sex not romance?”

  His brows rose. “Are you always so frank?”

  “Generally. It saves my time and patience. I deplore prevarication. And you of all people even suggesting a private parlor might be of concern is laughable. The upstairs maids at Groveland Chase are all hoping you’ll give them a tumble this weekend. The girl who helped me dress this morning was quite explicit in her enthusiasm.”

  He stood very still for a moment, then flicked his quirt in a rudimentary gesture. “May I sit?”

  She smiled for the first time. “Have I thrown you off your pace?”

  “Perhaps a little,” he said.

  “What if I said you may not sit?”

  He took note of her small equivocation, took pleasure in it. “Naturally, I’d remain standing.”

  “For how long?” But she was smiling, too.

  “For as long as you wished, of course,” he said. “A gentleman always gives a lady what she wants,” he softly added and was gratified to see her cheeks flush. “And consider, Miss MacKenzie, I’ve been looking for you for over an hour, so you might at least offer me a chair. We could talk about horses rather than sex, if you like. That flashy hunter of yours for starters.”

  “He is rather lovely, isn’t he?”

  “Rare, I’d say. You don’t see that color often.”

  “Oh very well,” she said with a sigh. “Please join me, Dalgliesh. We’ll compare horses.”

  But he took notice of her quick intake of breath as he approached and knew she was responding to him, knew she was feeling what he was feeling—had known it from the moment they’d met.

  As he took a seat in a chair next to hers and dropped his quirt on the floor, the door opened and a servant girl entered with his coffee and brandy. “Would you like breakfast?” he casually asked, relaxing in his chair, back on familiar ground with a woman wanting him. “I didn’t eat much this morning.”

  “I can always eat,” Zelda replied, immediately blushing a deeper pink at the inadvertent sexual innuendo.

  “I’m happy to hear it.” Her blush was alluring to a man who couldn’t remember when last he’d seen a woman blush. Most of the women he knew were long past such innocence. He turned to the servant girl who was placing his cup on a table beside his chair. “What can the kitchen offer us this morning?”

  “Porridge, eggs, bacon, fresh scones and apple tart, and some rare fine apple cider, if you like. The apple harvest was right good this year.”

  Dalgliesh glanced at Zelda and said with punctilious politesse now that they were no longer private, “How does that sound, Miss MacKenzie?”

  “Very fine, Lord Dalgliesh.” She, too, was capable of good manners in public. “And another cup of this.” She pointed at her cup.

  “I’ll try the apple cider,” Alec said. “And all the rest as soon as may be. I’m starved.” Sliding down in his chair as the girl left the room, he looked at Zelda from under his impossibly long lashes and, accomplished at putting women at ease, urbanely said, “I didn’t have time to eat. I had to help get Chris ready. He was so excited at the prospect of his first hunt he couldn’t stand still. Have you ever tried putting a pair of riding boots on a child’s limp foot?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact. Many times.”

  “You have children?” His urbanity yielded to a soft tone of avid interest.

  “Would it make a difference if I did?”

  “Of course not.”

  His smile was fatally attractive. She felt its warmth clear down to her toes and in other less innocuous places. “Sorry to disappoint you,” she dulcetly said, knowing what he’d been thinking. “I raised my five younger siblings when my mother died. I’m not promiscuous like you. As for one little boy’s limp foot, that’s paltry stuff. Try five pairs of feet and a father outside bawling for us to hurry before the dogs go wild.”

  He laughed. “I’m suitably chastened. Are any of them here with you?”

  She shook her head. “They’re all grown. My only sister is married and the boys are now men, with the exception of Duncan, who’s at school in Edinburgh.”

  “You look too young to have done all that.”

  “You mean I don’t look haggard after raising five children?”

  “I mean you look eighteen,” he said with gallantry and charm.

  “No, I don’t, but thank you.” She inclined her head. “You look as though you’ve done this once or twice before.”

  He smiled. “How does one look after that?”

  “A certain jaundice in your eyes, an insolence, too. Do women ever refuse you?”

  He hesitated. They didn’t, of course.

  “Ah—there’s my answ
er.”

  “Does it make a difference?”

  “Not as much as your wife does.”

  His expression changed, the nonchalance stripped away. “Are you looking for a husband then?”

  “Not particularly. I meant she looks dangerous. I’m not sure I wish to take on a woman like that for nothing more than an amorous romp.”

  “She won’t know.”

  Zelda’s smile was sardonic. “Care to make a wager?”

  “Then let me say she won’t care.”

  “You don’t know women as well as you think, my lord.”

  “Unfortunately I know her,” he said, icy and cool.

  “Perhaps we could do this some other time instead.” Zelda accepted her outrageous attraction to him, and wanted, also, strangely, to comfort him from the misery of his marriage. “I don’t mean to be coquettish. It’s just that the circumstances aren’t convenient. My father’s here. Not that he has jurisdiction over my life at my age, but still, he’s here. And seriously, your wife is a real stumbling block.”

  “We could go to my hunting box.” He watched her with a skeptical neutrality, wondering if she wanted something more or what she wanted, because women always did.

  “We’d be missed if we left Groveland Chase.”

  “I don’t care if we are.”

  “Yes, you do. I saw you with your stepson this morning. He’d notice if you went missing.”

  “Jesus,” he softly muttered, sliding lower on his spine. “Are you my bloody conscience?”

  She smiled faintly. “He’s important to you. I could tell. In fact, I had a small sentimental lapse looking at you two together this morning on the drive. I expect I was missing my siblings.”

  “I saw you, too.” A gruff, reluctant admission. “It was all I could do not to ride over and talk to you.”

  It shouldn’t have mattered, but it warmed her heart. “I’m trying to be sensible about this. You interest me. There, I said it. But I’m not interested in making a spectacle of myself this weekend.”

  “When then?”

  “For someone notable for his amorous skills, that was rather crude.”