Seductive as Flame

  Dalgliesh’s coat was black not red, his riding pants buff not white, his boots devoid of the pink or brown tops of the fashion-conscious hunter. But his broad expanse of shoulder was shown to advantage under his elegant tailoring, and his green foulard waistcoat was buttoned over a hard, flat stomach. The powerful thighs of a superb horseman were evident under his tight buckskins as was his virility, impressive even in repose.

  A sudden suffusion of heat she didn’t in the least wish to feel stirred deep inside her. Wrenching her gaze from his crotch, she upbraided herself for such recklessness. Good Lord . . . Dalgliesh was married, with a child—and a difficult wife. Nor did she usually respond with such madcap indiscretion to a man. In fact, never. Not that she was some virginal miss. She lived her life with considerable freedom, her independence nurtured, she supposed, by the casualness of her upbringing.

  Although no question—Dalgliesh had been offering her more than cultivated pleasantries a few minutes ago. He’d been offering her an invitation to unbridled sex.

  She’d couldn’t accept, of course. It would be the greatest foolishness to antagonize a spiteful woman like Lady Dalgliesh. Particularly in the midst of a country house party with so many people in attendance.

  Good God! Meaning what?

  If there weren’t so many people about . . . might she consider being foolish? Of course not, a little voice inside her head sternly asserted. Her father was here, for heaven’s sake, and while Papa probably wouldn’t notice with his mind rather narrowly on sport and drinking, this was hardly the venue for such rash behavior.

  Get a grip, she told herself. And with that pragmatic injunction, she turned her attention to the men’s conversation.

  She was unaware her scrutiny hadn’t gone unnoticed by the object of her attention. More practiced, however, Alec’s surveillance of the splendid Miss MacKenzie was well disguised. But he was having second thoughts about a carnal flirtation. Apparently the lady’s father was here for the hunt. He’d met Sir Gavin before, the hard-drinking Scottish baronet typical of his class: bluff and friendly, physically large in the hardy Norse tradition, his life entirely devoted to sport and drink.

  And at base, Dalgliesh reflected, he had come for the sport. Fitz’s gamekeepers were superb, his lands extensive, his hunt master the best in England.

  As for amorous amusement, there was plenty enough of that in London, he reminded himself. And had not the sudden, unexpected vision of the exotic Miss Mackenzie captivated every libertine nerve in his body, he might have more sensibly controlled his initial reaction to her.

  Furthermore, both Violetta and Chris were in residence; surely that was reason enough for restraint. Starting now, Alec decided after a glance at the clock. His ten minutes were up. Draining his glass and setting it aside, he came to his feet. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said. “We’ll see you all outside. Chris is looking forward to his first hunt.” He turned to Zelda, his smile urbane. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss MacKenzie.” There, that wasn’t so hard. It was just a matter of self-discipline.

  “Indeed, a pleasure,” Zelda replied, smiling back, ignoring the inconvenient little flutter coiling in the pit of her stomach.

  After the door closed on the earl, Fitz gruffly said, “I’ve never understood why he doesn’t divorce her.”

  “Rumors are rife in that regard.” Oz had heard the stories from Marguerite when he was spending a great deal of time in her luxurious brothel and bed. “Margo says it’s something more than the boy that keeps Dalgliesh fettered.” Oz shrugged. “I’d divorce the bitch, pardon my language, Zelda, scandal be damned.”

  “Perhaps he doesn’t wish to hurt the boy,” Jamie remarked. “The lad’s still quite young, isn’t he?”

  “About six I think,” Fitz answered. “He was two when they married.” The duke had a son who was two and was fully aware of the attachment between a parent and child. “I suspect the boy has come to depend on Alec. They’re very close.”

  Zelda looked up, her brows lifted. “The boy’s not his then?”

  “No, Violetta was a widow when they met. Or rather I should say when they became reacquainted. She’d grown up near Alec and returned after her husband died. They married rather quickly soon after Alec came back from South Africa to visit his ailing mother.”

  “Marry in haste, repent at leisure,” Oz murmured. “Although not in my case,” he added with a grin. Oz had married Isolde after having known her only a few hours. “I’m happy to say, I’m the exception.”

  “None of us had a long courtship,” Jamie pointed out with a smile for his cousin.

  Zelda shrugged. “Hardly a requirement if you find someone compatible.”

  “You didn’t meet anyone in the Brazilian jungle, I gather,” Jamie teased.

  “They were all rather short. The native tribes,” she added. “And while the local landowners were charming enough, I’m afraid I towered over most of them as well. Not that I was actually interested in a permanent stay in Brazil. I’d miss the children.”

  “Zelda was on an orchid-hunting expedition in Brazil,” Jamie recounted to his friends. “You came back with some precious specimens I hear.”

  “Yes.” Zelda smiled. “I won’t bore you with the catalogue, but suffice it to say, the conservatory will soon be awash with colorful blooms.” Then she said for no good reason or perhaps for entirely reprehensible reasons, “Why South Africa?”

  None of the men so much as blinked an eyelash; they’d all spent considerable time in dalliance prior to marriage. In fact, the three men together held the distinction of having serviced a record number of women here and abroad.

  Jamie glanced at Fitz. “You know more about Dalgliesh than we do. Explain South Africa.”

  “It was an accident, as I understand,” Fitz began. “Having left after a pitched battle with his father—they had a long history of strife—Alec was on his way to India and decided to stop in Cape Town. The new Transvaal diamond discoveries were coming to light, and he invested in a small mining venture that made everyone a fortune. He returned to England when his mother took ill. Happily, she recovered, although his father died soon after. Alec and his father were in a heated argument apparently when the old earl collapsed. He lingered on for a few days, unable to speak or move.” Fitz shrugged. “Alec’s father was a brute. No one mourned his loss.”

  “Is Dalgliesh’s mother alive?”

  “Yes, although she’s in uncertain health. Alec remains in England because of her, I suspect, and, of course, for Chris. He and the dowager countess both adore the boy.”

  “Why did he marry?” Zelda asked, her gaze searching. “He and his wife seem incompatible—although many aristocratic couples are, I suppose.”

  “No one knows why they married,” Fitz replied. “There were rumors of a stillbirth, but he’s never spoken of it, nor has she. A word of advice, dear, and I mean it most kindly. I saw how he looked at you. He has a reputation for profligacy.”

  Zelda smiled. “I’m warned. And coming from profligate men such as yourselves”—she scanned the handsome group—“I’ll take your advice to heart.”

  “Formerly profligate,” Oz corrected with a flashing grin.

  “Just take care, my dear,” Jamie gently said. “Dalgliesh is known to break hearts.”

  “I was mostly curious about him, that’s all,” Zelda casually replied. “Thank you for the abridged biography, Fitz. His wife was so bloody unpleasant, I just wondered what sort of man would marry a woman like her.”

  “The entire world wonders,” Oz drawled.

  “Should you find out why,” Jamie pointedly said, knowing Zelda for a purposeful woman, “you might wish you didn’t know.” His cynical view of the world had been tempered by a loving wife, but not entirely suppressed. He knew better than most that men were imperfect at best and occasionally reprehensible.

  “I don’t expect to find out. I’m generally more sensible than impulsive. Had I not been,” she said with a flash of a smile, “I would h
ave married Johnnie Armstrong when I was fifteen and let Da raise the children himself.”

  “I’m sure your father appreciates what you did.”

  “I’m sure he doesn’t. He didn’t even notice.”

  A fact impossible to refute. “Is this where I say you’ll get your reward in heaven?” Jamie facetiously noted.

  “I’ll be getting it long before that,” Zelda sportively replied as she came to her feet in a ripple of glossy fur. “I’ve enjoyed this chat, gentlemen. I’ll see you all in the field.”

  After she was gone, Oz raised his glass in homage. “There goes a dazzling and engagingly candid woman. If I didn’t adore my wife, I’d envy Dalgliesh.”

  “Perhaps there won’t be anything to envy,” Jamie retorted with exacting precision.

  Oz looked at him from under his lashes, his dark gaze amused. “Such cousinly anxiety. If she wasn’t related to you, I’d bet a thousand Dalgliesh doesn’t last the weekend.”

  “I agree,” Fitz said. “Which means we’ll have to shield Zelda from Violetta’s sharp claws. We’ll take turns holding the bitch at bay.”

  “Ah, what delightful entertainment’s in store,” Oz murmured. “A quixotic seduction, a snarling wife, a possible pursuit and retreat.” He looked up. “Will Dalgliesh actually refuse her?”

  “I doubt it,” Fitz said.

  “Hell no, he won’t,” Jamie muttered. “Who would with a wife like that?”

  CHAPTER 2

  ZELDA WAS ALREADY mounted and waiting in the drive with a score of other hunters when the earl and his stepson rode around from the stables. The young boy was flushed with excitement, his glance darting back and forth from his pony to the earl riding at his side. He was a slender child, fair of face and hair—like his mother, Zelda thought. And as the pair brought their mounts to a halt on the verge of the gathered horsemen, Dalgliesh leaned down, gently touched the boy’s shoulder, and spoke to him quietly.

  It was a charming picture, the large powerful man, dark as sin, treating the boy with such open affection. A rarity with men, more rare in public with curious gazes at the ready and gossip the lifeblood of society—with the state of the earl’s marriage well-known. Then the boy said something in return that made the earl laugh, and she felt a little unwonted tug at her heart.

  Having raised five children, she understood those small sweet moments in a child’s life that were neither sensational nor dramatic but were magical nonetheless. She abruptly looked away. She refused to cry over some sentimental nonsense that had nothing to do with her. Or if it did, she wouldn’t allow herself to wallow in self-pity, if that’s what this sudden fit of distemper represented.

  She’d sacrificed her youth for her siblings, but she’d never regretted it. Her brothers and sister were all grown, healthy, and happy, Francesca recently married to a boy she loved. And while her father was a kind, loving man in his fashion, he would have been utterly incapable of fathering his brood—other than in the hunting field. That he knew, and when it came to sport, he’d raised a family of distinguished horsemen and first-rate hunters who loved the outdoors. Furthermore, Scots to the bone, he’d instilled in his children a taste for fine whiskey and French wines.

  Everyone had their particular areas of expertise, she understood, nor was Papa any different than most country gentlemen she knew who drank hard and spent every waking hour in the saddle.

  She looked across the assembled riders to where her father sat his mount, surrounded by a group of his friends. The men were partaking of the stirrup cups servants were passing around and guffawing over some drollery. Sir Gavin looked up, caught her eye, and waved, his smile warm and affectionate. Then a companion drew his attention and he turned back to the company of his friends.

  Moments later, the hunt master led the riders down the drive and out into the fields, the whippers-in set to work, the pack was soon in full cry, and the chase began. Any little incidental regrets Zelda harbored instantly gave way to a more familiar and transcendent exhilaration. She loved the high hedges and fast turf, the excitement of a bruising ride and soaring jumps, the feel of a good, sound, high-couraged hunter under her running smooth as silk. She felt invincible, happy, in her element—irrepressibly free.

  Some people rode to hunt; she hunted to ride. She adored the thundering pace, the clean, fresh air, the ecstasy of flying leaps and perfect landings. There wasn’t an obstacle she and her mount couldn’t soar over with room to spare. The thrilling sensation of being tested physically and mentally, of tempting fate at every jump, of riding full-out was wondrous and indescribable and quite effectively banished Dalgliesh and his son from her thoughts.

  The same couldn’t be said for the earl, who couldn’t help but admire Miss MacKenzie’s brilliant, nervy riding. She rode like a Tartar, with short leathers, loose reins, and a forward seat. A bold rider over the jumps no matter their height, her balance was superb, her hands impressive, her center of gravity matching the forward thrust of the jump. And her flame-red hair was impossible to miss in the field, as was the color of her flying coattails.

  But she very quickly rode out of sight.

  Since Chris couldn’t manage the jumps, they were reduced to going through the gates instead of over them, nor could his pony match the swift pace of the field. But regardless Miss MacKenzie was no longer visible, Alec couldn’t so easily dismiss the bewitching lady from his thoughts.

  Bloody hell.

  Bloody, bloody hell.

  In an effort to dissuade himself from behaving impulsively, he punctiliously reminded himself of all the reasons Miss MacKenzie was currently beyond the pale; the word currently unfortunately both inadvisable and opportunistic. Bloody hell again. But seriously, she was unmarried and with her father—either of which should have warned him off; together they were formidable impediments.

  It wasn’t as though there weren’t other women here, safely married women, who would welcome him into their beds. Country house parties were famously rife with conjugal infidelity. He suspected Violetta had insisted on coming along because Lord Mytton was on the guest list. Not that he cared so long as she conformed to the rules established before their unnatural marriage. Which reminder of unadulterated misery always served to blacken his mood—the last four years ones of blighted hope and disillusion. Save for the fact that his mother thrived because of young Chris. The boy had brought joy into both their lives.

  His groom had accompanied them in the event Chris tired before the fox was brought to ground. It was impossible to gauge the length of the chase or how long the wily fox would last; a run on occasion went on ’til dark.

  As they came to a stop on the top of a windy hill, the field of riders barely visible in the distance, like any six-year-old after an hour in the cold and wind, Chris said in a reedy little voice, “Papa, I’m tired.”

  “Should we rest for a time and then go on?” the earl asked, perfectly willing to accommodate the boy. “Or would you like John to take you back to the house?” A question mildly put but pregnant with possibility.

  “I don’t want to hunt anymore. I’d rather see the new puppies in the stables. May I, Papa?” the little boy asked, his expression hopeful.

  “Of course.” The earl glanced at the groom. “If you’d be so kind, John, the puppies first.” He turned to Chris. “Afterward, I expect the cook can find you some of that cake you liked at tea yesterday.”

  A wide smile appeared. “May I have two pieces?”

  “I’m sure you may,” Alec replied with an answering smile. “John knows the cook, don’t you, John?”

  “She’s my cousin, Master Chris. We’ll both have two pieces of cake.”

  “Yahoo!”

  How simple life was at six, Alec thought.

  “I want to stay in the kitchen until you come back. Please, may I?” The boy’s brow was suddenly creased with worry.

  “Certainly,” Alec gently said, reminded that Chris’s life wasn’t so simple after all with a mother like his. “We’ll have John
send for Creiggy. She’ll play cards with you.”

  Chris’s cheeks flushed with excitement. “For money?”

  Alec smiled. “Only a very little. Get some extra change from the butler, John.”

  “Yes, sir. We’ll make sure to wait for you in the kitchen.” The groom spoke in an undertone at the last.

  Alec nodded. “I don’t foresee a problem with the other guests arriving today. I expect everyone,” he said with significant emphasis, aware that Violetta had risen much earlier than usual, “will be busy with their own amusements.”

  “Very good, sir.” John took the pony’s reins. “Come, Master Chris, we’ll go find the puppies.”

  “I had a very nice time on the hunt, Papa,” the little boy said, remembering his manners.

  “I’m glad you did. Perhaps next time it won’t be so cold. Now, if you get sleepy before I return, have Creiggy find you somewhere to nap.”

  “I’m too old to nap,” the little boy protested, drawing himself up very straight in the saddle. “I’m six and a quarter.”

  “I forgot,” Alec kindly said. “Of course, you’re entirely too old to nap.”

  “Look, Papa, I can turn my pony myself.” Chris tugged the reins from the groom’s hand. “See? I’m getting better.”

  “Indeed you are,” the earl agreed.

  “Soon, you’ll need a larger horse,” the groom generously suggested.

  “Papa said I can have a stallion, didn’t you, Papa?” the little boy called out over his shoulder as the pony turned.