Seductive as Flame

by Susan Johnson

  A hush descended in the kitchen, everyone’s thoughts on the dowager’s illness four years ago that had brought Alec home.

  “Time enough for that,” the housekeeper flatly said, fingering the cameo at her throat. “If all else fails.”

  “The flame-haired beauty might be just a passing fancy like all the others,” the hall porter cautioned. “Best wait and see.”

  “If’n she ain’t though,” said a young groom who’d just come in for his lunch. “We can always help things along.”

  A wholesale nodding of heads acknowledged his statement, and the silence lengthened as all thoughts centered on their young lord’s plight.

  Until Rowan suddenly clapped his hands. “Back to work everyone. There’s nothing we can do today.”

  “Except tiptoe by the lady’s bedroom so as not to break their rhythm,” a young lad quipped.

  “That’s enough, Matthew,” the housekeeper sharply reprimanded. “I won’t have any lewd talk about his lordship or his guest.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  But the lad beside him whispered in his ear, “As if she don’t know Dalgliesh is known far and wide for vice and debauch, lucky dog.”

  As the housekeeper’s glowering gaze skewered him, the boy quickly murmured, “I was just sayin’ that Lord Dalgliesh deserves all our help and support, ma’am.”

  “Humph. I should hope so. Now, I won’t hear any ill spoken of the earl. Do you hear? He survived a childhood that would have turned any other boy into a monster, bless his soul. And he’s taking care of his mother and that evil woman’s children with the unselfishness of a saint. So if he kicks up his heels now and again,” she said, referring to Alec’s dissipation in euphemistic terms, “he’s allowed. Is that clear?” She swung her dour gaze over the crowd. “Everyone. Clear?”

  Murmurs of affirmative echoed round the room.

  “Now off with you.” She waved her hand vigorously. “The chef and I have a dinner to deal with. His lordship must have all his favorite foods tonight.”

  AT THE SAME time her husband was randomly and perhaps involuntarily transforming his life, the Countess of Dalgliesh was having tea with the ladies at Groveland Chase. The men were still out hunting, although the afternoon light was beginning to fade, the thin grey mist outside the windows muting the landscape into blurred shapes and shadow.

  In contrast to the muted, grey day outside, the ladies lounging about the room looked like so many hothouse flowers in their colorful tea gowns trimmed and festooned with ribbons, lace, and endless ruffles. Fires crackled in the fireplaces at both ends of the sitting room, the chandeliers had been turned on, and soft-footed servants moved about the room, offering champagne and sweets to the ladies, refilling glasses, lighting cigarettes for those who partook of the Turkish weed, and taking note of Neville’s unobtrusive nods or raised finger as he directed the ritual of tea from his position near the door.

  Violetta and Bella were engaged in a tête-à-tête over champagne and a plate of plum comfits set on a table between them, their conversation predictably about men. Both were beautiful, thoroughly self-centered, and shamelessly wanton. That their fashionable milieu regarded fidelity with amusement allowed them such license.

  From a very young age, both women had learned how to use their beauty to advantage. Bella’s husband was charming and rich and involved in his own pursuits; they lived a civilized life. As for Violetta, her first husband had unfortunately gambled away a fortune, and when his life had come to an end in a fit of drunken despair, she’d been left with a young child and her husband’s mountain of debts.

  But she’d recovered nicely as everyone knew. And so Bella said with a sly smile, “Darling, your position is secure. You’re married to Dalgliesh. It can hardly matter if he ruts with that Scottish woman at midday in Piccadilly Square so long as you’re his wife. Does that MacKenzie woman affect your allowance? No. Does she affect your, shall we say, amusements? No. Does she affect your place in society? Not in the least. And really, dear, you know Alec. He’ll forget her name in a day or so.”

  “That may be, but he embarrassed me last night,” Violetta said, fretful and sulky. “You saw him. He practically hovered over that hussy before dinner, when everyone knows he’s the last person in the world to give that sort of attention to a woman.”

  “He’s just temporarily infatuated. You have to admit Miss MacKenzie has presence. And she adventures around the world. Men like that sort of exotic female. He’ll tire of her soon enough. Doesn’t he always?”

  “The strumpet’s not only fast and loose, she’s utterly brazen.” Violetta schooled her face to a mendacious apprehension. “She actually threatened me, you know.”

  “My heavens! What did you do?” Exchanging lovers and husbands was normally done with well-bred urbanity. Everyone understood the rules.

  “Naturally, I walked away. I was terrified,” Violetta said with a little dramatic shiver. “Who knows what the fiendish bitch might do?”

  “Well, she’s gone now,” Bella said with a shrug of indifference. “And so much the better, if you ask me. She didn’t appear to have any conversation. I tried to talk to her once after dinner and she barely replied.”

  “The Highlands are hardly the place to learn fine manners.”

  “I doubt Alec’s interested in her manners,” Bella sardonically noted.

  Violetta’s fine nostrils flared, feeling the slight. It was humiliating that Alec had so brazenly played court to a woman. Especially when he was notorious for avoiding all but the most idle flirtations. Everyone had noticed his arresting interest in Miss MacKenzie. “I want her to pay,” Violetta bitterly declared, the shift in her domestic affairs unacceptable. “And I intend to see that she does.”

  “I understand your frustration, darling. You’re angry. But don’t we all want what we want? I came to this godforsaken place hours from civilization in the hope that Jamie had tired of his wife. It’s been over a year, and she’s been breeding for a good deal of that time. I thought he’d be looking for other playmates by now. Alas, no. And she’s actually nursing their son. Did you know that?” The blond beauty made a face. “I can’t imagine that can be attractive. You’d think dripping breasts would be rather messy, if not completely off-putting to any thought of passion.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I had a wet nurse for Chris.”

  Bella smiled faintly. “A sensible woman. Speaking of sensible, darling, rather than dwell on revenge, why not enjoy Freddy’s company. He obviously adores you, and God knows he’s in no hurry to return to his wife. Who would? Have you seen her?” Countess Minton made a little dismissive gesture with her ringed fingers. “Plain as a sparrow, no breasts, and thin as a rail. A shame his father had the ill fortune to invest in that railroad venture in Argentina. With Freddy’s good looks and title, he could have had an heiress without the taint of the steel mills. As for Dalgliesh, darling, really you must count your blessings. He allows you carte blanche. What more could you want?”

  Violetta couldn’t say what she really wanted. She’d learned very young not to do that. It frightened people. “I’m sure you’re right,” she sweetly said. “Alec does allow me freedom.”

  “And an unlimited allowance,” Bella pointed out.

  “Yes. He’s very generous.”

  “Come, now, enough useless spleen. They say it’s harmful to one’s looks—frowning. I prefer being amused. Do let’s put our heads together and see if we can deduce who’s father to Cressidia’s coming child. It’s not her husband. Everyone knows he’s incapable.”

  “With women.”

  “That’s what I meant. So then—who tops the list?”

  Violetta answered, gleeful and vivacious, but behind her bright smile and convivial reply, she was planning her revenge. On her husband. On the woman who’d disrupted the habitual pattern of his life, and in so doing—hers. She didn’t believe for a minute that this was just another sexual romp for Dalgliesh. If it had been, he would have remained at the Chase f
or the weekend, he would have treated Miss MacKenzie with his usual indifference. He never would have taken the time to warn her off like he had last night.

  And he’d warned her and Freddy both—in no uncertain terms.

  She knew what he was capable of, too; she’d taken his threats to heart.

  But she also knew that she wouldn’t allow her title of countess to be put in jeopardy. She’d worked too hard for that coronet. “Oh, really? Bunny Lisle? Do you think so?” Violetta gave her full attention to Bella. “Even when he already has that little family in the country with that actress or singer or whatever she is? I rather prefer Max Baring as candidate for father. He and Cressidia were seen together in her husband’s box at the opera. And they weren’t listening to the music.”

  And so teatime continued, the two ladies blandly exchanging malice, drinking champagne, then more champagne. Bella gossiped about the latest on-dits from London. Violetta listened with half an ear, automatically responding to the tittle-tattle, when in fact, she was planning on leaving in the morning. She couldn’t wait until Monday. She had much to do.

  CHAPTER 17

  AT HALF PAST five there was a light knock on the dressing room door.

  Dalgliesh glanced down at Zelda sleeping in his arms and spoke in a voice calculated to reach his valet’s ears with minimum shock to Zelda’s. “Thank you, Jenkins.”

  Zelda stirred.

  “It’s nothing, darling. Sleep.” For a few minutes more. Then they had to get ready for Katy, Chris’s playtime, and dinner. Life went on no matter how unquenchable one’s desires. He smiled. Not that he had any complaints concerning his insatiable appetite for the lady. A streak of good luck, he’d say.

  He should have wakened her; there was still much to do. But she was soft and warm in his arms; he felt at peace—a pleasant sensation for a man who hadn’t known much peace. Or it could just be orgasmic surfeit drugging his senses, he thought with another smile. And that had nothing to do with luck.

  But however agreeable it was to let the minutes slip away, as six o’ clock approached, their commitments could no longer be ignored. Bending his head, he touched his lips to Zelda’s forehead. “Duty calls, darling.”

  “Ummm.” The silky sweep of her lashes fluttered upward, then fell.

  Her low throaty murmur resonated in all his susceptible, oversexed pleasure centers. A shame they were under time constraints. He sighed. But they were. “Ten minutes before your dress fitting. Nine minutes, fifty-five seconds, fifty-four, fifty-three—”

  Zelda groaned.

  “I have a present for you if it helps.”

  A shake of her head, eyes still shut.

  “You’ll like it. It’s not diamonds.”

  Her lashes slowly lifted and she looked up, amusement in her gaze. “Is there a woman who could resist a remark like that?”

  He grinned. “Exactly my point. And for your information, I don’t buy jewelry for women. You’re the first. So my feelings are very fragile,” he shamelessly asserted. “Pray don’t trample them.”

  She laughed. “Liar. But I promise to be gentle.”

  “I’m relieved,” drawled the man known far and wide for his indifference to tender emotion.

  “While I’m divinely happy.” How could she not be after the past hours with Dalgliesh, who had set out to please her, who always left enamored women in his wake. “Pray tell me not to be so juvenile.”

  “Be anything you want, sweetheart. I’m happy, too,” he said with practiced charm and an open, generous smile. “And we’ll make each other happier in about”—he glanced at the clock—“four hours. But at the moment, we’re pressed for time.” Sitting up with fluid grace and finely tuned muscle, he tossed the ivory silk quilt aside and lifted her into a seated position. “So what do you want to see first?”

  She grinned. “First?”

  “I told you I was besotted,” he said, sliding from the rumpled bed. “Didn’t you believe me?”

  “No.”

  He shot a teasing glance over his shoulder as he strode away, unashamedly nude, splendidly male, casually libertine. “Maybe you will after you see what I bought you.”

  “How did you manage in such a short time?” It was a woman’s question. She wanted to know why he’d done what he’d done, what he thought and felt, every little emotional nuance motivating him.

  “I have a telegraph line to the house. An efficient secretary. The London train comes into Crosstrees Station at half past four. That’s about it.” A man’s answer.

  While she’d gleaned nothing from his reply, his thoughtfulness couldn’t be faulted. She, on the other hand, had considered only her own pleasure in coming to Crosstrees. “I feel guilty.” She bit her lip. “I should have brought something—at least for Chris.” A small courtesy gift from a guest was customary. “I apologize.”

  Dalgliesh stopped, half turned, a fleeting look of surprise on his face; women in his world took not gave. “Don’t be silly. Your visit is gift enough for Chris. He’s thrilled. As for me, you brought me something I hadn’t known existed. Joy. And that, my dear”—he caught himself; he’d safeguarded his emotions too long to expose himself completely—“is like the chimera of myth,” he finished lightly. “Now shut your eyes and prepare to be amazed.”

  When he opened his dressing room door, a smile lit his eyes. His valet was a man of orderliness and precision. A number of boxes were neatly piled on a table, in an ascending order of decreasing size. And the smallest at the top was a distinctive ivory white, holly wood box from Fabergé.

  Picking up the serried packages, the earl reentered the bedroom, kicked the door shut behind him, and bore his gifts to the first lady to occupy his bed. Not that he viewed Zelda in those terms; he was conditioned against such dramatic symbolism. “You can open your eyes,” he said, setting the stack on the bed, taking a seat beside her, and pointing. “Start with this one.”

  Zelda recognized the white wooden box as well. “You shouldn’t have.” She cast him a playful, coquettish look from under her lashes. “Was that demure enough?”

  She wasn’t even remotely demure, with her tousled hair and breathtaking beauty, with her sporting blood and wild passions. “If I was looking for demure, I wouldn’t have invited you to keep me company.”

  She grinned. “I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”

  “Of the highest order, my dear, believe me.” In fact his secretary had said that morning with what could only be characterized as shock, Are you sure, sir? when Dalgliesh had dictated his detailed list of items. It was an unprecedented event; Dalgliesh had always delegated his gift-giving to his secretary with a casual, Send whatever you think appropriate. “Open it,” Alec said, tapping the box in Zelda’s hand. “I’m not exactly sure what they sent.”

  “Who handles Fabergé here?” Zelda asked, unfastening the gold clasp.

  “A dealer I know. I order Fabergé cigarette cases in my racing colors through his shop. He usually has a few Fabergé items on hand.”

  Zelda lifted the lid on its gold hinges, drew in a small breath, then turned to Dalgliesh. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured, running her finger over the polished stone. “It’s even the right color.” A lapis lazuli miniature hunter with diamond eyes and gold bridle and saddle was nestled in white velvet; a Fabergé specialty—animals created from semiprecious stones.

  “I didn’t know what Beckworth had in stock. I just ordered a horse.”

  “And Lady Luck was on my side.” She leaned over and kissed him. “You shouldn’t have, but thank you.”

  Giving presents should always be like this, he thought, feeling pleased and gratified, basking in the sunshine of her smile. “Here’s the one that’s not diamonds.” Taking the wooden box from her hand, he held out a green leather jewelry case.

  She opened it and gasped.

  It gave him pleasure to hear her sharp intake of breath, his satisfaction quite out of proportion to the small utterance. “Try it on.”

  “It’s t
oo much.” She met his gaze and held it. “Seriously, Alec, it’s outrageously too much.”

  “Nonsense.” Coming up from his lounging pose, he lifted out the single strand of large pearls from which a sizeable violet-hued pendant hung. “It’s only an amethyst.” It was, in fact, an extremely rare, extremely large purple diamond. He’d seen the piece displayed in the window of a Mayfair jeweler not long ago and, recognizing its value, he’d suspected it had remained unsold.

  Slipping the pearls around Zelda’s neck, he locked the jeweled clasp and leaned back to survey the stunning piece and the stunning lady in whose impressive cleavage the diamond nestled. “It’s the same color as your eyes. Although not nearly as beautiful.”

  “You’re spoiling me.” Zelda touched the large tear-shaped jewel. “Really, Alec, I shouldn’t accept something so fine.”

  “You have to.”

  She lifted her brows at the casual authority in his tone. “Or?”

  “Or I won’t let you climax again,” he lazily drawled. “And we both know how much you like to come.”

  “Maybe I don’t need you,” she smoothly countered. “Have you thought of that?”

  He grinned. “Bet?”

  “So I’m captive to my lust? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Pretty much. Look, darling,” he gently said. “We both are. I’m only teasing you. I could no more leave you than you could resist your desires. We’re prisoners to this”—his smile was indulgent and sweet—“glorious insanity. So why not enjoy it? We’ll worry about tomorrow, tomorrow. Wear the necklace as a token of my affection. It would please me. Now before I sink into a stew of maudlin sentiment,” he said on a small exhalation, “open the other boxes. Katy should be here soon, and after that Chris’ll be waiting.”

  “So I must hurry?”

  He grinned. “As I recall, you do that well.”

  She punched him in the arm.

  “Ow, ow! Ow!”

  “You didn’t even feel it,” she playfully rebuked.

  “I might have. Maybe I did.” He grinned. “I’m sure I did.”