Violetta shrugged. “It makes no difference to me if he hears.”
“It does to me. I’m not interested in theatrics or an audience or actually in anything you have to say.”
“But you are interested in my husband,” Violetta said in a poisonous murmur.
“I’m not alone in that regard,” Zelda calmly remarked. “As I understand, he’s in great demand.”
“With sluts like you.”
“A novel assertion from someone like you. Did you enjoy sex with Mytton last night?”
“Of course. Would I bother otherwise? Now then.” A steely edge entered her voice, knife sharp and biting. “I hear you’re going to Crosstrees. Don’t look at me like that. What are personal maids for if not to keep one apprised of the latest news.” Violetta spread her arms across the pillows piled behind her, deliberately showcasing the ripe plumpness of her breasts. “So taciturn, Miss MacKenzie. Apparently Alec’s not interested in you for your conversation.”
“You’ll have to ask him where his interests lie.” Surely that pose was better put to a man.
“I already know where they lie. Although you’re just one in a long line of females ready to spread their legs for him.” A wicked amusement flickered in her eyes. “Alec is quite sensational though. Physically, of course, he’s magnificent. But he has a certain genius as well, don’t you think, when it comes to, shall we say—technical flair?”
“Why are you telling me this?” Does she think I wish to share intimate specifics with her?
“In the event you thought you were the first. I didn’t know how unenlightened you were, coming from the remoteness of the Highlands.”
“Not that unenlightened,” Zelda drily said. “Unfaithful husbands are hardly rare.”
“Ah, perfect. Then I’m sure you can find someone else to warm your bed. I suggest you stay away from my husband and, more importantly, my son. For your own safety, of course.”
“You can’t be serious,” Zelda said, mildly surprised as before by Violetta’s threats.
“But I am.”
“You must be deranged or supremely foolish. Or just plain silly.” Zelda softly sighed. “This is too melodramatic for my taste.”
“As if I care what you think,” Violetta replied, oversweet and smiling. “As for my sanity, I’m quite sane. More pertinently—I’m dangerous. Disregard my warning and you’ll discover just how dangerous.”
Good God. The woman was clearly irrational or perhaps—hopefully—only angry and lashing out. “You should take up these issues with your husband.” Zelda’s voice was deliberately neutral. “I have nothing to do with the state of your marriage.”
“Oh, but you do.”
“You’re mistaken. And that, too, you should discuss with your husband. As you said, I’m only one in a long line of women he’s entertained.”
“But never flaunted.” The last word gritty and hard and exasperated.
“I’m sure you’re wrong. About that and everything else having to do with me.” But the words never flaunted echoed Alec’s admission last night and warmed her heart when she should know better. When Alec Munro was the least likely man to consider a woman more than a passing fancy.
“This isn’t a debate.” Each word was tart with temper, inflexible. “I’m not here to debate you. I’m here to tell you to stay away from my husband and my son!”
The sudden knock on the door was relief and deliverance. “The servant’s here for my luggage.” Another sane person, thank God. “I suggest you leave or I might embarrass you.”
An unpleasant trill of laughter issued from Violetta’s cherry-red lips. “You embarrass me? Impossible. But you’re unwise to ignore me,” she added, sliding off the bed and stepping into her white satin slippers.
“As you are to think you can frighten me.” Zelda turned to open the door. With a smile for the footman, she waved in the direction of the armoire. “My luggage is over there.”
As the liveried servant entered the room and moved toward her luggage, Violetta sauntered past Zelda in a whisper of silk and a fragrant whiff of perfume, indifferent to the presence of a male servant viewing her barely clothed.
“Oh, by the way,” she said over her shoulder as she strolled away. “I took your scissors to your clothes.”
Stunned, Zelda momentarily stopped breathing. Then a second later rage flooded her brain, and only enormous self-control stopped her from throttling Violetta, who was still within range. One second more and her temper had cooled enough to reconsider making a scene in the hallway. Let her go. She had more pleasant prospects before her—a holiday with a delightful man, for instance. A man of marked sexual versatility and seeming indefatigability.
After which pleasing reflection Zelda’s composure was restored enough to address the footman gathering her luggage. “A carriage is waiting at the side entrance,” she said. “A small trap, I believe. And may I say, I appreciate you arriving so promptly.”
“You’re welcome, ma’am. Sorry about your clothes,” he added, wheeling her trunk toward the door. “Everyone steers clear of Lady Dalgliesh, ma’am. In case you didn’t know.”
“Thank you for the warning.” Unfortunately, he was two encounters too late.
“Everyone feels right sorry for his lordship.”
“Indeed. I can see why.”
“Give him my best, ma’am,” the footman quietly said, walking out the door. “Tell him Ned sends his regards.”
“I shall.” Zelda was amazed how quickly rumor spread through the staff. Not that she was unaware of the below stairs conduit in every household, but still—she’d not even known Dalgliesh at this time yesterday.
It was remarkable.
She smiled. But not as remarkable as the bonny earl.
Nor as remarkable as her reckless, headstrong, utterly thoughtless, covetous, and avaricious passion for the licentious Earl of Dalgliesh, who could have given Don Juan and Casanova a run for their money.
It was totally mad, of course, for someone who’d always been sensible.
Mad, bad, dangerous, and God knows—irresistible.
TEN MINUTES LATER, Zelda and John were riding at full gallop over the colorful, autumnal downs, the air fresh in their lungs, the sun brilliant in a cloudless, blue sky, their mounts running powerfully and smoothly beneath them.
“It’s just over that yon hill, my lady!” John shouted, waving his whip westward.
“I’ll race you!” Zelda shouted back. She gave Blue his head, and the huge roan leaped forward as if he’d been standing still. “Good boy, sweet, sweet boy,” Zelda crooned as he picked up speed. She experienced the rush of pleasure she always did riding full-out, but today, with the prospect of seeing the man who made her heart sing, she felt rapturously happy as well, flushed with joy—on top of the world.
He was waiting for her.
CHAPTER 12
DALGLIESH WAS INDEED waiting for Zelda.
With a rare impatience.
A novel impatience.
A frightening impatience, if he’d allow such introspection.
But he waited with a sense of joy as well. And for a man who’d viewed the world of late as devoid of jubilation, the feeling was immensely satisfying.
As for the captivating Miss MacKenzie having wrought such a revolutionary transformation in so brief a time, Alec suspected life would return to normal once the lady left for France. In the meantime, he decided with a grin, the prospect of her company was bloody enticing.
A servant came running out of the house as he paced in the drive.
“They’re ridin’ over the last hill, my lord. Comin’ fast, Maxwell says.” Alec had a man on watch in the east tower.
“Thank you. Will you see that Mrs. Creighton and Master Chris are informed? Tell them Miss MacKenzie is in sight.” Creiggy had suggested she keep her charge in the schoolroom until Zelda’s arrival was imminent, and thus avoid the constantly asked question: Is she here yet? “And see that Rowan alerts the kitchen. We’ll be in
the breakfast room shortly.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That will be all.” He hoped to have a few minutes alone with Zelda. They’d have little privacy the rest of the day. Chris was excited about Zelda’s visit; he’d talked of little else. The earl smiled. Not that he wasn’t pleased that Chris liked Zelda; he was.
The sound of riders approaching from the east and riding hard was faintly heard at first and distant. They’d have to come up the drive or chance jumping the wide, deep ha-ha, and John had more sense than to put Zelda at risk. Or more aptly, he knew Alec would disapprove.
As the drumming rhythm of galloping horses grew louder, Dalgliesh waited, his gaze trained on the point where the drive disappeared into the shadowed forest planted by long-dead Munros. After running a fingertip over the loose tie of his cravat, he snapped his shirt cuffs into place, then raked his fingers through his hair—as if it mattered that he be well turned out for his visitor, as if he were sixteen and waiting for his first female guest.
He shook away the adolescent memories and momentary unease. Zelda was a wild, impetuous woman. They were both long past juvenile games. And the reason he’d invited her and she’d accepted was unequivocally adult.
There. Sanity restored. His head came up, the thundering hoof beats closer now. They were very near. Very.
A second later, the horses and riders exploded out into the open where Capability Brown had manicured nature into acres of exquisite vistas, the thoroughbreds racing neck and neck, the horsemen careening headlong around the final curve of the drive, both whipping their mounts to more speed.
Zelda was laughing, even John was smiling—a rarity.
But Miss MacKenzie wore conventional female riding garb today, black, severe, tailored. Nor did any flame-red hair blow in the wind, her unruly hair tied back and barely visible beneath her black homburg. Although she rode astride as usual, rode full tilt as usual, with her customary madcap recklessness. In fact, she almost came out of the saddle as she leaned forward to press her cheek against her roan’s neck and urge him on. The brim of her hat caught on the bridle, tilted askew, flew off, and sailed away. Then her hair came loose, unfurled in a silken blaze, and as Blue took the lead and rocketed toward the house, she whooped in delight.
Alec smiled. Ah—now there was the woman who’d matched him in wildness last night. No conventional female in conventional riding garb, but an untamed, headstrong beauty with prodigal, insatiable desires and a body, as he well knew, made for pleasure.
And she was his for the next few days.
If he lived, he whimsically reflected.
She was riding straight at him.
Unmoving, his booted feet fixed on the raked gravel of the drive, he watched the distance between them swiftly narrow.
He trusted her horsemanship. Or maybe he trusted her horsemanship, he corrected with no more than a dozen yards separating him from a half ton of racing horseflesh.
At the last second, with uncanny intuition, Zelda hauled Blue to a brilliant, rearing, plunging, back-on-his-haunches stop. Gravel flew, flailing hoofs churned the air, tore up the drive, and horse spittle from heaving lungs sprayed far and wide in a warm, wet trajectory.
Smiling faintly, Dalgliesh wiped the spittle from his face with a swipe of his hand and watched Zelda leap to the ground while Blue was still curveting and chopping the air. Landing lightly, she flew toward him, her long skirts leaving a trail in the gravel.
He smothered a grunt as she hurtled into his body. Then he closed his arms around her and felt like he had almost from the first with her . . . joyful. “You’re damned good, darling.” His smile was teasing. “I live to see another day.”
“I was in . . . a hurry,” she breathlessly said, returning his smile. “I haven’t seen you—it seemed like . . . forever!”
“It was forever.” He raised his wrist enough to see his watch over her shoulder. “Almost two hours. What took so long?”
“This and that.” She dragged air into her lungs. “Packing—the usual.”
Something in her voice, perhaps the sudden tension in her body contradicted the casualness of her words. “Jesus,” he said, half under his breath. “What did Violetta do now?”
“It doesn’t matter.” She lightly brushed the graceful curve of his bottom lip with the pad of her index finger. “Don’t give it a thought. I’m here now.”
“God, I’m sorry.” His nostrils flared. “Again,” he added on a soft exhalation. He glanced up. “Thank you, John.” The groom was leading away the horses. As his gaze returned to Zelda, he grimaced, wondering how many more times he’d have to apologize for his damned wife. “She ordinarily never gets up before noon. Still, I should have waited for you. Protected you.”
“I’m fine—really,” Zelda replied. “She doesn’t frighten me. And we have more pleasant things to consider,” she added, her smile sunshine bright. “You”—she tapped his chest—“and me alone for an entire weekend.”
My God, she was understanding. “In terms of full disclosure, darling—no, no,” he quickly interjected as her eyes flared wide. “Don’t be alarmed. I have no skeletons in my closet.” Or none to concern you. “It’s only that we don’t have the weekend completely to ourselves. In fact,” he noted with a nod in the direction of the house, “I believe the small impediment to our privacy has arrived.”
Chris had broken away from Creiggy and was running toward them, screaming and waving his arms.
Dipping his head, Alec put his mouth to her ear. “I have to share you today,” he murmured. “But tonight you’re mine.”
His warm breath on her skin triggered hot, graphic memory, and she shivered as vaulting desire streaked through her senses. “I may not last that long,” she whispered.
He groaned. “Don’t say that. You have to, we have to. Chris will be underfoot all day.”
“I know. I knew that. It’s just that you in close proximity compromises my good intentions. Does he take a nap?” Her gaze was playfully beseeching. “Give me hope.”
“He doesn’t, but perhaps I could bribe him.” With Zelda close, his restraint was questionable.
“Or perhaps Creiggy could be bribed.”
Sooner expect virtue be corrupted. “I’ll think of something,” he said with a reassuring smile.
“You’re incredibly sweet.” Rising on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek.
His libido took note of the upward ascent of her soft, shapely body, of the scent and feel of her, of the interminable hours before nightfall. “I don’t know about sweet, but I should be able to outsmart a six-year-old. Fingers crossed,” he added with a grin. “He argues about everything.”
“Creiggy might be easier to persuade.”
“True. She likes that I’m happy. “
Zelda fluttered her eyelashes in coquettish play. “I could make you happier.”
He laughed. “Now there’s potent spur to improvisation. Consider a nap time in the offing. Ours. My word on it.”
“You’re so-o-o loveable,” she purred. “And I mean it in the most benign way, so you needn’t panic.”
“I’m not panicking.” But his shuttered gaze cleared, his sudden smile dazzled. “You’re extremely loveable as well—in the same benign way,” he said with exquisite grace and charm. “Now brace yourself. Here comes your smallest admirer.”
But Dalgliesh scooped up Chris before he barreled into them, and holding him, gently directed, “Now mind your manners and greet Miss MacKenzie properly.”
“Good morning, Miss MacKenzie,” the little boy dutifully pronounced in his high, piping voice. “I’m pleased you could come for a visit.” He glanced at his father, who gave him an approving smile and set him on his feet.
“Now you may ask what you’re dying to ask,” the earl kindly said.
“Might we, I mean if you don’t mind,” Chris exuberantly exclaimed, “would you and Papa show me how to jump Petunia”—another quick glance up at his father, who nodded—“after breakfast?”
“Of course, I’d be happy to help. And I’m a very fast eater,” Zelda added with a wink.
“Yahoo! I mean, thank you so much, Miss MacKenzie,” he amended under the watchful eye of Creiggy, who’d arrived after a more sedate progress down the drive.
“Welcome to Crosstrees, Miss MacKenzie,” Creiggy said, with a lilt in her voice. “I just won five shillings from the footman. He didn’t think you’d stop that brute of a horse in time.”
Zelda smiled. “Blue minds well. I trained him myself.”
Creiggy shot an amused glance at her employer. “There’s a warning, my boy. Not that most men couldn’t use a bit of training. Some more than others,” she added with a lift of her brows.
“You mean to say there were deficiencies in your tutelage ?” Dalgliesh drawled.
“Let’s just say some pupils are more mule headed than others.”
“I’m sure Miss MacKenzie can correct whatever faults I may have.”
Zelda smiled. “Naturally, I’d be delighted to try.”
“And I’d be delighted to let you try,” the earl replied, all suave grace and roguish charm.
“Now, now,” Creiggy drily said with a glance at her youngest charge and a warning glance for his father. “We have a busy day before us.”
“As you see, Miss MacKenzie,” Alec sardonically said, “I pay to have my conscience constantly on duty.”
“If you had a conscience of your own, my lord,” Creiggy said with equal sarcasm, “my diligence would be unnecessary.”
“You’re an idealist, Creiggy. I’m a nobleman. I don’t need a conscience.”
“Humph. Do unto others, my boy.”
“Don’t tempt me, Creiggy,” he softly said.