Seductive as Flame

by Susan Johnson

  “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to be uncivil,” he said, his smile a little lopsided and wholly disarming. “I feel like a grass-green youth, eager, impatient, bungling. In fact, I was seriously considering the possibility that you were a sorceress during my search for you because I don’t normally do things like this. Follow women. Pursue women. Sound like some gauche boy on his first assignation. So,” he softly said, “let me rephrase my question. Might I have another opportunity to spend some time with you? Private time. Very private time,” he said, sliding upright and reaching across the small distance between the chairs and taking her hand. “You fascinate me and I mean that most sincerely.” He smiled again in that boyish way that warmed his eyes. “Unlike you who prefers honesty, I’m seldom truthful at times like this. I am now. I have no idea why, but there it is.” With a gentle squeeze of her fingers, he released her hand and, shocked at his sincerity with this woman he barely knew, he sat back in his chair, mildly shaken.

  “That was very sweet.”

  He softly exhaled. “Don’t tell anyone.”

  “You don’t wish to put your prodigal reputation at risk?”

  “Christ, I don’t know. I don’t even know why I’m here.”

  “They must all be the same.”

  He looked up and fully met her gaze. “They are. You aren’t, of course, which is the reason for my discontent.”

  “If it’s any consolation, you rather stand out from the pack as well.”

  “Pack?” he said, a distinct coolness in his voice.

  “Surely you of all people aren’t going to take issue with experience.”

  He frowned. “How experienced?”

  “You’ll have to wait to find out.” His smile was instant and quite beautiful. It erased the coolness from his eyes, she noticed, and replaced it with that hot desire she’d seen when first they met.

  “You are a witch,” he whispered, “because I’m thinking about moving heaven and earth so I don’t have to wait. Name the time and place and I’ll be there.”

  “After your wife’s gone and your boy. If that’s possible,” she gently added. “I can see how you feel about your stepson. You don’t leave him often, do you?”

  He shook his head. “He’s afraid if I do.”

  She didn’t have to ask who frightened the boy after seeing Lady Dalgliesh in action. “Your wife doesn’t hunt, does she? Why did she come?”

  He should tell her it’s none of her business. With anyone else he would. “We have an arrangement,” he said, soft and deliberate. “Not much different from many noble marriages. You know how these country house parties can be carnal frolics once the lights go out. There’s someone here she favors.”

  “How do you live like that?”

  “I’d prefer not to, but”—he shrugged—“that’s the way it is.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “You needn’t be. I’m relatively inured.”

  “But constantly in need of distractions.”

  “Do you mind?” he gruffly said. “I’m not in the habit of discussing my marriage.”

  “Forgive me. I’ve spent the last ten years listening to children’s confidences. I’m afraid it’s a natural reaction—asking questions. Tell me, did they manage to unearth the fox?”

  “Not so far as I could see. I think the dogs found another scent.” How tactful she was. Unlike Violetta, he reflected when he shouldn’t. “I was off looking for you so I’m unsure of what happened. Did you know Parson Tollefson is fucking Lady Lambton? I almost rode over them.”

  “I thought everyone knew.”

  “I see I must pay more attention to gossip,” he said with a flicker of a smile. And then, obsessed or infatuated or maybe just curious for the first time in his life about something other than a woman’s willingness to fuck, he asked, “How old are you? It doesn’t matter. I just want to know.”

  “Twenty-six. How old are you? It doesn’t matter,” she mimicked. “I just want to know.”

  “Twenty-eight.”

  “You were young when you went to South Africa. I asked Fitz about you. You see, I’m equally captivated. You’re very handsome, but I expect you know that.”

  “And you’re every man’s fantasy, but I expect you know that, too.”

  Her eyes flicked to the door and she gave him a warning look.

  He wanted to say, Eat fast. I have plans, as a servant came in with their food, but he chose to be circumspect instead. And over the course of an excellent breakfast, he spoke of mundane things.

  Zelda was more than willing to enjoy her breakfast and chat about nothing.

  But it was much harder once the bland topics had been discussed and they had finished eating. When Alec had coaxed her into drinking some of the superb cider, and they were both warmed by the potent liquor, it was much harder to ignore the heated desire that had become a palpable presence in the room and, more disastrously—in their bodies.

  “Let me get a room,” he said, his voice barely audible across the debris of breakfast. “I don’t want to wait,” he said, suddenly impatient with pretense. “I’m not sure I can. There must be a room to let upstairs.”

  “I’m more selfish than that.” She glanced at the clock. “There’s very little time. We’ll be missed soon.”

  “Time enough. You’ve put me in full rut.”

  She smiled. “Perhaps the servant girl would accommodate you.”

  “I’m sure she would.”

  “Well then.” She held his insolent gaze. “Everything’s settled. I’ll see you back at the house.”

  “I could make you stay,” he whispered.

  “Not after saying what you said.”

  He exhaled softly. “Need I apologize?”

  “Not in the least,” she crisply said. “You may fuck whom you please.”

  “Except you.”

  “Let’s just say I want more than twenty inconsequential minutes of your time.”

  “Why?” He wanted her to tell him why this was happening; he wanted the words for his feelings, some explanation for this insanity.

  “Like you, I don’t know. In fact, I don’t know why I came here.”

  His heated gaze met hers. “You were waiting for me.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not sure. I often avoid the kill. Only the riding appeals to me, not the slaughter.”

  “Maybe you were waiting for me.” He was surprised how important her answer was.

  “Yes, maybe. Are you happy now?”

  “Strangely, yes. Thank you. Although, since we’re going to postpone our—er—friendship and you’ve aroused the hell out of me, I suppose you’d be angry if I used the servant girl just to get rid of my hard-on,” he whimsically said, a half smile on his face.

  “I suppose I would. Although, what you choose to do has nothing to do with me. We only met a few hours ago.”

  “Terrifying thought,” he grumbled, feeling suddenly as if his back was to the wall.

  “The height of stupidity,” Zelda said in a voice no less afflicted. Dalgliesh was nothing but trouble.

  “I’m not sure I like feeling the way I do—unbalanced, hindered—all for a fuck.”

  “I know I don’t—particularly with a wife like yours.”

  He softly groaned. “I should get the hell up and walk away.”

  “Good idea,” she muttered.

  “Why is this happening to us?” he grumbled.

  “I have no idea. I’m normally very pragmatic. Someone in the family had to be. Papa is completely without sense unless he’s gauging the height of a—”

  “Monday,” he roughly said, interrupting her, his voice hard, his gaze scorching her across the table. “I can’t wait longer than that. We’ll go to my hunting box. I’ll think of something to tell your father. Mrs. Creighton and Chris will have to come along, but that won’t be a problem. Violetta never comes to the hunting lodge, thank God. And you’re not allowed to say no or equivocate or look at me like you’re surprised at what I’m saying. E
ither we’ll be together on Monday or I’ll be fucking dead.”

  “I can see why you’re in such demand with your velvet-tongued gallantry,” Zelda said, smiling widely. “I hardly know how to respond.”

  He grinned. “Sorry. I’m quite demented. But happy. A rare feeling of late.”

  “Then I’m happy, too.”

  His smile was wickedly roguish. “Happy enough to let me use that servant girl for five minutes—two minutes?”

  She hit him squarely in the face with the remnants of a scone. “Behave or I’ll go home on Monday.”

  “No, you won’t. I won’t let you.”

  “Oh, ho, is that a challenge?”

  “No, just fact. I’ll truss you up, if necessary, and carry you away.”

  “My God, Alec,” she whispered, a flood of longing melting through her body in a hot, lustful wave. “I’ll die before Monday.”

  He liked that she called him by name. He liked that she was as frantic as he. He liked that he felt happy after so long. He discovered, too, that he possessed a chivalry hitherto unknown, that he was willing to disregard his throbbing cock to please her. “Let’s go riding. It’ll take our minds off this oppressive need for restraint.” She was right, too, about waiting; he wanted more than twenty minutes with her. “We’ll see if you and your showy roan can keep up with Zeus and me.”

  “Keep up?” She flashed him a defiant look, her cravings blunted by the tossed gauntlet; racing was in her blood. “A hundred says I beat you back to the stables. Make that two hundred.”

  “Five hundred says you don’t.”

  She abruptly came to her feet. “Anytime,” she briskly said.

  With a father like his, he’d always protected his mother. He saw to Chris’s care now, too, and his business interests and the many people who worked for him, but he’d never felt such edifying virtue before as he did in rescuing Miss MacKenzie from her avaricious desires. He hadn’t known he was capable of such sexual benevolence. Realistically he still might deviate from the path of virtue, although fortunately he was slightly less aroused with his mind on horses. “May I call you Zelda?” he asked, rising from his chair. “Considering.”

  She was reaching for her coat and turned. “Considering what?” she lightly inquired.

  “Considering I’ll be making love to you soon. Although if you prefer Miss MacKenzie, I’m more than willing to oblige you in that regard.”

  “As long as I oblige you, you mean,” she said with a grin.

  “We’ll oblige each other,” he softly said, walking over to help her with her coat. Taking the light fur, he stood behind her and held it as she slipped her arms into the sleeves. Settling it on her shoulders, he drew her tumbled hair away from her neck with a sweeping fingertip and, bending, kissed her nape. “Now, go,” he brusquely said, giving her a shove toward the door. “Or I’ll fuck you on this table.”

  She came to a stop.

  “Don’t you dare,” he muttered and, taking her hand, dragged her to the door, opened it, and pushed her through. “One of us has to be mature about this,” he said, giving her a sidelong glance. “And I see it’s going to have to be me.”

  She watched him flirt with the barmaid as he paid their tick and felt a strange warm glow standing next to him, as though his mere presence brought her joy.

  She wasn’t so silly as to read anything more into their rapport than that he was charming and she was willing to be charmed. She understood why he had a reputation for the ladies. He was impossible to resist. And if not for the evil eye and vicious tongue of his wife, she wouldn’t even think about waiting until Monday.

  CHAPTER 4

  ZELDA’S HUNTER WON by a nose, the ride back a wild, close-run race, the horses flying over the ground with their ears flat back on their heads as though they understood the competitive nature of their riders. Both horses were tiring at the end, but Zelda’s blue roan took the last fence with gutsy courage and brought her into the drive a half second before Zeus.

  They were laughing as they reined in their horses, intoxicated by the breakneck speed, the risky jumps, their well-matched equestrian skills.

  Zelda glanced at Alec as they rode toward the stables. “You didn’t let me win, did you?”

  “Hell no. You almost didn’t win.”

  “You needn’t pay the wager.” She shot him a grin. “It was such a glorious ride, I should pay you.”

  “And have it said I reneged on a bet? Not likely. Why don’t I bring your winnings to your room,” he suggested only half in jest.

  “Don’t you dare.”

  He grimaced. “Are you really going to make me wait until Monday?”

  “Send your wife home and I won’t.” Zelda laughed. “You should see your face. Are you never thwarted?”

  “You forget, my dear, I’m thwarted every day of my married life,” he drily said.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

  “I know what you meant. And there, no, I’m never thwarted. Now I’ve made you angry again. Could we talk about horses? It’s the only subject we can safely discuss.”

  “Until Monday.”

  “Thank you. I needed that. Don’t be alarmed if you see me drink myself into oblivion tonight. I’m in a vile mood.”

  “I understand.”

  “I’m sure you don’t. But that, too, would be a useless discussion.”

  They’d ridden into the stable yard and two lads came up to take their horses. Dismounting, Alec walked over to Zelda and held up his arms.

  “People might see,” she whispered.

  “Fuck ’em.” He was feeling the burden of his marriage more intensely than usual. “I’m waiting,” he brusquely said at her continued hesitation.

  There was bitter challenge in his words she dared not oppose; he was perfectly willing to make a scene. Quickly throwing her leg over the pommel, she slid from the saddle into his waiting arms.

  He held her hard against his body for such a long time the stable lads turned red-faced and averted their eyes. His gloved hands were firmly clamped at the base of her spine, his rigid erection was pressed into her stomach and, blushing with embarrassment as well as from her body’s arousal—his rampant cock a spectacular invitation to pleasure—Zelda finally hissed, “Alec, for God’s sake, stop!”

  He looked up, startled, then dropped his hands. “Sorry.” He took a step back. “We need our quirts, don’t we?” he said in a normal tone of voice. “And your coat.” She’d decided to tie her coat behind her saddle before their race.

  “I’ll get it,” Zelda quickly said.

  “The lady needs her coat and quirt,” the earl ordered, indicating the garment with a flick of his finger. He turned back to Zelda. “I’ll leave you here.” He took his riding crop from one of the lads. “Chris is waiting for me in the kitchen.” He needed to get away. Brute lust was fueling his senses, and he had no experience with sexual restraint or female resistance.

  “Do you mind if I come with you to see Chris?”

  Fuck yes, I mind.

  His expression was hard as nails. “I’m sorry,” Zelda apologized, her heart beating against her ribs with his caustic gaze on her. “That was overly intrusive, wasn’t it?”

  She looked very young with her cheeks flushed, her hair in disarray, her violet gaze mortified. Although everything else looked ostentatiously adult—her lush body in her tight riding pants and leather vest, her open-necked blouse that made him want to slip his hands inside and feel the warmth of her skin and the ripe softness of her breasts. “You’re not intruding in the least,” he said, when she was disrupting his entire life and he was powerless to resist. But his voice was a courtier’s voice, smooth and affable, adjusting to circumstances without pause. “I’m sure Chris would like to see you. He’s horse mad, too.”

  “Thank you.” Less capable of silken politesse, her voice was quietly earnest.

  “You’re entirely welcome,” he replied, polished and suave. He glanced at the stable lad holding out Zelda’s
fur coat. “Send it up to the house.” Then his gaze swung back to Zelda and he dipped his head. “Shall we?”

  As they walked away, Zelda said, half under her breath, “I didn’t want to leave you. I’m sorry. How tiring this must be for you.”

  “Not in the least. We should be safe enough in the kitchen,” he mildly said, preferring less unnerving earnestness. He was already in deeper than he’d like, racked with indecision, struggling against a disturbingly violent lust.

  “I envy you your calm. I’m impulsive by nature and also not as practiced as you.” She smiled. “Perhaps I can learn.”

  “No, don’t learn,” he muttered, chafing memory prompting his tone. “Practiced women I know by the score.”

  “And you’re looking for something different.”

  “I’m not looking for anything.” The naked, unsimple truth.

  “But I just fell into your lap.”

  “Not yet.” His instant smile was a triumph of audacity over good judgment. “But I’m hopeful. So screw it all,” he added apropos nothing and everything. Then he reached out and took Zelda’s hand because he couldn’t stop himself, because his craving for her wasn’t completely sexual, because he felt an incomprehensible joy. “Seventy hours to go.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “Can we do it?”

  “We have to,” she said like she did in her frank way. “It won’t be forever.”

  “It’ll just seem like forever,” he gruffly said. “But since have to isn’t in my vocabulary, I’d recommend you lock your door tonight.”

  “Consider me warned.”

  “Do you play cards? Chris is learning.”

  He was deliberately changing the subject. “Of course,” she said with equal tact, glad in a way to be distracted from her outrageous feelings. “What else is there to do on cold winter nights with five bored children? They didn’t like to read, not even Francesca.”

  “Your sister who’s married?”

  She nodded. “She was young but insistent, and it was either that or Papa having to go over to the Elliots next door with a shotgun. Not that Ian was against marriage. Everyone just thought they were too young.”