Seductive as Flame Read online

  Both alarmed and filled with joy, she nodded. “Until dinner then.”

  CHAPTER 5

  PLEADING FATIGUE, ZELDA avoided teatime. The hunters hadn’t returned yet, so the company would be largely female. She wasn’t quite up to displaying the necessary indifference to Dalgliesh’s wife. Which in itself was disturbing. How should it matter? It wasn’t as though the marriage was a love match and she was trespassing on hallowed ground. Although she had crossed an unprecedented boundary by replying so impulsively to Dalgliesh’s unbelievable offer.

  When she shouldn’t have.

  Currently removed from temptation, however, logic more readily held sway, and the impossible and impractical were more easily jettisoned. Zelda took the time before dinner to put aside foolish things; she revived her more discerning sensibilities, reclaimed her equilibrium, and primarily reminded herself that she mustn’t make too much of Dalgliesh’s attentions. He was notable for amusing himself in lady’s boudoirs; this was no more than another flirtation for him. And as everyone knew, country house parties were notorious for amorous games.

  Not that she was necessarily averse to the game, nor had she entirely eschewed such playful sport in the past. On occasion she’d enjoyed the company of some lovely man for one of those lovely long weekends. Other times she’d preferred her own company. She wasn’t a slave to temptation.

  Or hadn’t been.

  Dalgliesh was different.

  Bewilderingly so.

  But a good talking to, a short nap, a leisurely bath, a gossipy maid who helped her dress and put up her hair went far to temper her mad, heady feelings and return her to a more sober reality. She’d simply accept Dalgliesh’s company for a brief dalliance, thoroughly enjoy herself on Monday, and bid him adieu with the casualness she was sure he’d prefer. A man of his sexual repute only played at love, his shocking offer in the kitchen notwithstanding. She was sure he was as relieved as she that Chris had interrupted that astonishing exchange.

  ON THE CONTRARY . . .

  Try as he might, Dalgliesh hadn’t been able to dislodge the startling concept from his mind despite deliberately staying with Chris in the nursery until it was almost too late to dress for dinner. In an effort to avoid facing the disturbing Miss MacKenzie, he’d ignored the first bell signaling that it was time to dress; he’d also ignored the second bell indicating drinks were being served. But once Chris had finished his nursery supper and was assembling an intricate puzzle, Creiggy gave Alec a searching look across the small table. “No dinner for you tonight?” she murmured.

  He was forced to at least answer, if not make a decision. “What do you think?” he said like he might have twenty years ago.

  “You must make up your own mind,” she answered like she would have then.

  “That’s the problem.”

  “She seems very nice,” his old nanny blandly said. “I like that MacKenzie hair. It’s magnificent—like a blaze of glory.”

  “As if I care about that,” he muttered.

  “She won your race. Is she really that good?”

  He smiled. “She’s good, but not that good.”

  “I thought so. That horse of yours likes to win.”

  “Zeus can afford to be polite on occasion.”

  “When you’re being polite.”

  “I had reason to be,” he gently said.

  “Speaking of those reasons, are you worried about—” She rolled her eyes.

  He didn’t have to ask whom the eye roll denoted. “It could be a problem.”

  “It never has been before.”

  “I never gave a damn before.”

  She hid her shock. “I see,” she calmly said.

  “Which is why I can’t decide if I want to go down to dinner.”

  She looked at him for a contemplative moment. “I didn’t raise a coward, my boy.”

  “It’s not me. I’m not sure I care to hurt her.”

  “Maybe you won’t.”

  “Of course I will. I have nothing to offer a woman.”

  Mercy me, there is a God. But Mrs. Creighton only said, “Your mother isn’t as fragile as you think.”

  “What if you’re wrong? Then what?” This wasn’t a new discussion.

  “Very well. But I don’t think Miss MacKenzie is breakable. She looks like a strong woman to me. She’s Scots for one thing.”

  Dalgliesh chuckled. “The woman of Achruach, you mean.” It was Creiggy’s favorite story.

  “ ‘The day I cannot keep my countenance and hold men in their place and work my will on them, that is a day you will never see,’” Creiggy softly quoted, a half smile on her lined face. “Now go and see if your MacKenzie lass can put you in your place.” She glanced at Chris. “I’ll have him ready at eight tomorrow morning. Go.”

  STERN TALKING TO or not, Zelda had been equally reluctant to face Dalgliesh, and she came down late for the drinks hour. Alec must have changed his mind, she decided; he wasn’t in the drawing room. Standing in the doorway, she saw her father near the fireplace in the midst of his cronies. She was still debating whether to walk in and if so what to drink, when Oz Lennox, splendidly handsome in evening rig, walked up, smiled, and asked, “Whiskey or champagne?”

  “It depends what kind of whiskey,” she replied with an answering smile.

  “Follow me, my dear, and I’ll dazzle you with the array.” He offered her his arm. “Come, she won’t bite.”

  “How perceptive.”

  “I had a lot of practice before my marriage. I know who bites and who doesn’t—figuratively speaking, of course,” he added with a grin. Taking her hand, he placed it on his arm. “Come, this’ll be easy. And after a drink or two, I guarantee you, nothing much matters.”

  She glanced at him, amused. “More of your practice?”

  He laughed. “An ongoing process in my case. But I have a darling wife who allows me to be troublesome at times. As I do her,” he said with a quirked smile. “I’ll introduce you later. She’s still with the children in the nursery.”

  “How many children do you have?”

  “Two—both the most beautiful children on the face of the earth, of course. Ah, here we are.” A servant stood behind a drinks table. “I’d suggest the whiskey from Locaber; it’s clear as glass, smooth and strong, and full of wonder.”

  After collecting their drinks, they moved to a quiet corner, drank the fine whiskey, and talked about the hunt, the weather, Fitz’s hounds.

  Oz was facing the door, so he saw Dalgliesh walk into the drawing room looking like he’d just come out of his bath. He was slicking his wet hair back behind his ears with a quick brushing gesture as he scanned the room. It was clear that he’d seen them, but he didn’t come over; instead, the earl grabbed a glass of whiskey from a servant passing by with a tray of drinks and kept his distance.

  Several moments later, having covered all the conventional topics, curious about Lennox’s distinctive features, and perhaps less restrained with the whiskey warming her blood, Zelda asked, “Where do you live?”

  “Cambridgeshire mostly.”

  “Then where do you come from with this?” She brushed her finger up his bronzed cheek.

  He smiled. “India—Hyderabad.”

  “Ah—I should have known. You’re incredibly handsome, although I’m sure you know that. Why are you here charming me?” she pleasantly inquired. He was affable and urbane but not flirtatious.

  “I’m on duty—very pleasant duty, I might add. I’m saving you from Violetta,” he said with a flick of his eyes in Alec’s wife’s direction. “In case she forgets her manners.”

  “Oh Lord,” Zelda murmured. “Was it that obvious this morning?”

  “The look that passed between you two could have powered London for a week. Also your absence at the hunt was noticed.” He shrugged. “Violetta may have heard.”

  “But does she care?”

  His smile was droll. “Seriously? With someone as beautiful as you? Even if she didn’t care, she’d mak
e sure to mark her territory just for the hell of it.”

  “I probably can deal with her if necessary.”

  “But why should you have to when I’m more than willing to be boorish in your stead?” he cheerfully said. “By the way, I’ve never met a witch.”

  She smiled. “Nor have I.”

  “What about this?” He ran a finger over the rough-cut emeralds circling her neck, clearly an artifact of some ancient culture with the beaten-gold pendants dangling from each jewel.

  “It was a gift from one of the Amazon headmen.”

  His brows rose. “He thought you were a witch, too.”

  “I think my height impressed everyone—and perhaps my hair.”

  “You should touch my little Ceci and Raj for good luck.”

  “I’d be happy to, although I’m not sure it would do much good.”

  “Perhaps you don’t know your powers, my dear. Ah, here’s your real protection,” he murmured. Dalgliesh had abruptly left the group of women surrounding him right after Oz had touched the emeralds at Zelda’s throat. He was shouldering his way through the crowd now, looking grim.

  Zelda turned to look and, against all prudence and reason, felt breathless with delight.

  “I was guarding Miss MacKenzie, in case you were wondering,” Oz said as Alec reached them, full of affront.

  The earl’s frown vanished. “Thank you. I appreciate your kindness.”

  Oz grinned. “Miss MacKenzie thought she’d do well enough on her own.”

  “Did she now?”

  “I’m sure you’d know best in that regard. Au revoir, my dears.” And Lennox strolled away.

  “You shouldn’t be talking to me,” Zelda said.

  “You shouldn’t be blushing.”

  “It would be much easier for you not to talk to me.”

  One dark brow rose very slightly. “If only that were easy. I almost didn’t come down. I tried not to.”

  “I debated coming down to dinner as well. So many people,” she murmured. “All interested in scandal.”

  He glanced around as if in assent, when in fact, he was marking Violetta’s location; good, she was in conversation with Mytton. “You’re safe enough for a minute. Don’t move,” he brusquely said. “I’ll be right back.”

  But perhaps his wife had her eye on him as well, because the moment he walked away from Zelda, Violetta excused herself and began moving toward her newest rival. She had heard of her husband’s absence from the hunt with this woman.

  Jamie smoothly stepped into Violetta’s path, intercepting her progress. “Are you enjoying your weekend?” he politely inquired.

  “Well enough. And you?” Her eyes were hostile. “I see Bella’s here.” Jamie had been Bella’s favorite lover before his marriage.

  “Is she? I didn’t notice.”

  Violetta sniffed. “Men—you’re all alike.” She began moving around him.

  “I don’t believe you’ve met my wife,” Jamie smoothly murmured, moving a half step to obstruct her advance. “Come, let me introduce you.” A bodyguard to a prince prior to his retirement to Scotland, Jamie Blackwood was more capable than most of protecting people. Taking Violetta by the hand, he ignored her stiff-backed reluctance and, asking her a question about Mytton’s new yacht, drew her away.

  His wife had been apprised of the situation, and after she and Violetta had been introduced, Sofia immediately mentioned their many common acquaintances. She further engaged Violetta’s interest by confining her comments to several men about town both women knew. Ignoring Jamie’s faint scowl since she was comparing notes on young bucks only as a conversational gambit and specifically as a service to his cousin, Sofia lightly said, “Don’t you agree, darling. Lord Cosgrave is one of the better polo players in England.” She turned to Violetta with a smile. “Did you know Jamie played polo all over the world? Such lovely strong muscles one develops playing that game. But you know that, don’t you, since you and Cosgrove are such good friends. Jamie, dear, why don’t you get us both a little drink,” Sofia murmured. “I’m sure Violetta would adore that nice cherry eau-de-vie.”

  Left à deux with such an intriguing subject, the ladies’ conversation continued apace, Violetta was calmed, her assault diverted, and Zelda was spared.

  In the meantime, Alec pulled Fitz away from a group of his guests who were discussing the day’s hunt. “Sorry,” he said once they were away from the other men. “But dinner’s about to be served and I need a place card changed. I want to be seated next to Zelda.”

  “Do you think it’s wise?” Fitz had seen Jamie stop Violetta before she reached Zelda.

  “I don’t care if it is or not.”

  One look at Alec’s face and Fitz said, “I’ll have Neville take care of it.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  “You know what you’re doing, I presume.”

  Alec grinned. “Fuck no, but it feels good.” And turning, he strode away.

  The duke caught his butler’s eye, called him over with a nod, and a moment later Neville was detailing the duke’s instructions to an underling.

  Returning to Zelda, Alec smiled. “That went well. Now I can entertain you at dinner.”

  “You’re mad!”

  “Probably.”

  “You shouldn’t have!” She bit her bottom lip in dismay and consternation and outright alarm. He was being entirely too rash. “Promise me at least you’ll be discreet,” she said even as her pulse rate accelerated.

  “I can’t promise that.”

  “You must!”

  He shot her an incredulous look; women didn’t give him orders.

  “Let me rephrase that,” she swiftly amended, knowing she had no authority over his actions. “I dearly wish you’d be discreet.”

  “As do I, but Christ, it’s been a fucking long day of incredible self-restraint. Oh hell, I’ll try,” he quickly said at the sudden alarm in her eyes. “How would that be? Really, I’ll try,” he added, his voice soft and low.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “I so dislike everyone staring.”

  “They’re only looking because you’re gorgeous tonight in that green velvet gown,” he lied, knowing full well why they were staring. “Like a lovely Christmas package, I thought when I first walked in and saw you. My present,” he said in a husky rasp. “If I can last sixty-four hours more.”

  “If I can last,” she said on a small caught breath.

  His smile was instant and sweet. “Let me know if you change your mind,” he softly said. “I’m always available.”

  Her fingers closed over her fan struts so hard her knuckles went white. “You’re not being helpful,” she whispered.

  “Oh, yes, I am. Believe me I’m accommodating as hell. I would have fucked you this morning after breakfast if I’d not been charitable.”

  “Alec, stop!” she hissed, her cheeks pinked with fear and arousal.

  “Yes, dear.” His smile was pure sunshine, his world suddenly rich with promise. He may not have to wait until Monday after all.

  But dinner was an ordeal even for Dalgliesh. He’d never had to curb his libido under so many watchful gazes. If it wasn’t so grueling, he would have found it amusing.

  “Don’t these people have any other interests?” he whispered.

  “Apparently not,” Zelda said under her breath. “Including your wife. She’s watching you.”

  He’d noticed. Violetta rarely watched him. It wasn’t a good sign. Would he have to protect Zelda from her spleen? Good God, this fuck was getting complicated. Signaling a footman, he quietly said, “Keep my whiskey glass full,” and proceeded to drink his dinner.

  Which in itself was alarming to Zelda, who lived in a household of four brothers and a father who enjoyed their whiskey. There was no accounting for a man’s behavior when he chose to drink instead of eat.

  But Dalgliesh soon turned his attention to his dinner companion on his right and devoted the remainder of the meal to Lady Ponsonby.

  He stayed w
ith the other men when the table was cleared and the port was brought out, merely nodding to Zelda as a footman pulled back her chair and she rose to follow the ladies into the drawing room for tea and sherry. And when he came in with the other men afterward, he didn’t approach her, spending the next hour instead in the midst of one group of men or another. Not that women didn’t come up to him several times and attempt to engage his interest, but he politely declined all their advances.

  A fact that didn’t go unnoticed.

  Zelda marveled at his finesse. None of the ladies left angry. He must have left them hopeful, she pettishly thought when she shouldn’t. When she had absolutely no right to take issue with other women in his life. When Monday was appearing increasingly distant and unmanageable.

  How in the world was she going to last ’til then? Could she?

  She’d found a chair in the corner of the room in order to avoid conversation, but her solitary position actually left her more open to male overtures—all of which she courteously rebuffed. Until she finally said for the last time to an importuning man, “Thank you, but morning comes early. I want to be ready for the hunt,” and rising to her feet, she walked over to take her leave of her hostess. With a polite smile, she thanked Rosalind for a lovely evening and quickly escaped.

  Or almost escaped.

  She found Violetta waiting for her outside her room, her gown of black lace festooned with crystal beads shimmering in the half light, the diamonds at her throat and ears glittering.

  Her eyes were glittering, too—with malice.

  “I don’t want you talking to my son,” Violetta said in a deadly whisper. “I don’t want you anywhere near him. Not this weekend or ever!”

  “Do I know you?” Zelda calmly said, not intimidated by a woman half her size, unmoved as well by threats from anyone—large or small.

  “I’m Lady Dalgliesh, you bitch!”

  “Ah—I’ve met your husband then.”

  “Stay away from him, too,” Violetta snapped. Dalgliesh never flaunted his inamoratas; he kept his private life private. This woman was a disagreeable change in the status quo.