Seductive as Flame

  “How young is young?”

  “Seventeen.”

  His brows rose into his hairline. “I wish them luck.”

  “And good health. She’s having a baby next spring.”

  “Was the marriage in time?”

  “Absolutely. They’ve been married almost a year.”

  “What do you do now that everyone’s gone?” He was surprised at his question. He didn’t, as a rule, inquire into the lives of the women he bedded other than to ask them their preferences in jewelry.

  “I’ve been traveling the past year. I just returned from Brazil. Before that I was in Constantinople, Venice; Florence is lovely in the spring.”

  “Do you travel alone or with a companion?”

  “Generally alone, sometimes with a maid, but I dislike having to accommodate someone else.”

  He didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath. With a woman of her splendor, he’d anticipated a male companion. Although the elation he felt was disturbing. “Chris likes to win at cards. Just a warning,” he said, deliberately altering the direction of his thoughts.

  “Don’t all children?”

  “I suppose they do.”

  “Didn’t you?”

  Winning wasn’t an issue in his childhood so much as surviving. His father’s drinking and explosive temper had been a constant danger. “I don’t remember,” he said, not about to discuss his troubled childhood. “And you?”

  She grinned. “Need you ask. I love to win.”

  He laughed. “Silly question.”

  “I’ll be winning on Monday, too,” she said, knowing her heart was in her eyes and not caring.

  “We’ll both win, darling,” he smoothly replied, refusing to acknowledge her look or the pleasure it gave him. He reminded himself that this was just a country house flirtation—soon over and no different from all the rest. “Here we are,” he went on in the same insouciant tone, having escorted her through the kitchen garden to the kitchen door. “Now Chris can be demanding. Let me know when you get tired of playing cards.”

  They found Chris with Mrs. Creighton and John at a table in a corner of the huge kitchen, busily playing cards. Chris looked up. “Papa! Look how much I won!” He pointed to a small pile of coins.

  “You’re getting much too good,” Alec said, affectionately ruffling the boy’s flaxen curls. “Soon I won’t be able to win against you.”

  “You already can’t!” the little boy said with a broad smile.

  Alec winked. “Maybe I’ve gotten better.” Turning to the nanny and groom, the earl politely said, “Thank you, you’ve done your duty. We’ll take over now.” Sliding his arm around Zelda’s waist, he drew her close. “Mrs. Creighton, John, allow me to introduce Miss Griselda MacKenzie. She and her fleet roan just beat Zeus and me in a race. She’s a magnificent rider.”

  The retainers both paid their respects, although afterward Creiggy regarded Zelda with a fixed gaze. Alec had never introduced one of his paramours to her. “I see you have the MacKenzie hair.” A tall, grey-haired Scots woman, stern of countenance and slightly forbidding, Mrs. Creighton met Zelda eye to eye. “That distinctive color breeds true, doesn’t it?”

  Zelda expected Lady Dalgliesh had trouble with Chris’s nanny. She wasn’t the retiring type. It helped to have Alec’s arm around her waist in the way of security. “You must be familiar with the Highlands,” Zelda said.

  “I have a second cousin who married a MacKenzie. I’ve been up that way on occasion. Alec came there with me once.” Creiggy shot him a look. “Do you remember?”

  “Of course I do. I was eight, not two. I remember perfectly.” He grinned. “You fell into the pond.”

  “I believe you pushed me,” Creiggy said with a sudden warm twinkle in her eye. Her bright-eyed gaze swung to Zelda. “Now, don’t take any guff from the impudent lad, Miss MacKenzie.”

  “I won’t.”

  “He likes to have his way too much.”

  “I’ve noticed,” Zelda said with a small smile.

  Alec rolled his eyes. “Do you mind, Creiggy?”

  “I expect you to behave, that’s all.” His old nanny’s gaze slid down to his hand gently stroking Zelda’s hip.

  “I always do,” he blandly said, not moving his hand.

  “Don’t forget I can still rap your knuckles.”

  “You’d have to catch me first,” Alec drawled. “And I don’t believe that’s happened since—”

  “Humph, impertinent scamp. Now you enjoy yourself, Master Christopher,” the nanny said, turning to her current charge. “Your Papa will send for me when you’re ready to go back to the nursery.”

  “I’m too old for the nursery. Papa,” Chris vehemently exhorted, “there’s babies up there!”

  “And also some children your age, Master Christopher, don’t forget,” Mrs. Creighton said in a soothing tone. “In fact, Billy Cannadine was asking for you this morning.”

  Chris’s gaze swung up to his father. “Billy has his own knife! He let me hold it! May I have a big knife like that—pleeease ?”

  Alec glanced at the nanny with raised brows.

  “I was there,” she succinctly said.

  “Perhaps someday you may have a big knife,” Alec kindly noted. “Now how about another game of cards?”

  As the trio in the kitchen began their play, Mrs. Creighton and John walked through the kitchen door and out into the downstairs corridor. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Mrs. Creighton murmured. “Did he speak to you about Miss MacKenzie?”

  “Not a word.” John had been Alec’s groom since he was young. He and Creiggy had followed the countess and Alec when they’d escaped the main house years ago and went to live in the Dower House. They knew all there was to know about the family, and their loyalty to the earl was complete. “She’s a first-rate horsewoman though. Maybe that’s her appeal.”

  “A whole lot more than that, I’d say. Although, did you see how she was dressed? Mannish—not his usual style.”

  “A beauty though. That’s his style.” A small, slim man, he had to look up slightly to Mrs. Creighton’s greater height.

  “Still—it’s very strange. He’s never introduced one of his lady loves to us. I don’t know if I should wish him well or wonder what kind of scheming woman she might be?”

  “It makes no never mind what she is. He looks happy and he could use a bit o’ happiness.”

  “What about his wife?” Creiggy muttered. “She doesn’t want him happy.”

  “Herself has her eye on Mytton. She might not even notice. And his lordship don’t care anyways what she thinks.”

  Mrs. Creighton gave the ex-jockey a narrow-eyed look. “If Violetta’s in a pet though, she’ll take it out on Chris.”

  “Then tell his lordship. He won’t abide it.”

  “The old villainous earl has much to answer for,” Creiggy muttered.

  “And his son’s payin’ the price every day, more’s the pity,” John said with a frown. “If’n the countess rode, I’d see that her saddle cinch was cut a wee notch. With luck, the bitch would break her neck and be off in hell with the old earl.”

  “A matched pair of walking evil, those two,” Creiggy snapped.

  “His lordships seems right happy now. Maybe it’s a sign o’ better times.”

  “Pray God,” Alec’s old nanny said with a sigh.

  MEANWHILE, CHRIS WAS delighted with his new playmates. He adored his father, and a warm friendship was instantly established between Zelda and Chris when she asked him whether his pony was fast. His eyes lit up and he proceeded to explain in great detail how very fast Petunia could gallop and how just as soon as he could teach his pony to jump, his Papa would buy him his very own stallion.

  Then Zelda showed him how to play a new card game for money, he kept winning and winning, and life couldn’t have been any better for an exuberant little six-year-old.

  In the course of their play, after Chris’s winnings had piled up markedly, the cook took appl
e pies from the oven and brought them all a serving. They ate pie with Chantilly cream along with a sarsaparilla drink from the still room while Chris talked like a magpie between bites: about his favorite book about guns, his bestest friend, Thad, who could run faster than anyone, about his Papa’s big desk that he could sit at in his own chair, and any number of subjects that Zelda responded to with interest, diplomacy, and the occasional informative commentary that inevitably brought a wide-eyed look to the young boy’s eyes and the exclamation, “How do you know that when you’re a girl?”

  “I have four brothers,” she’d answered the first time and in variations on the theme the other times he’d been astonished at her knowledge of manly things.

  Having finished eating first, Alec lounged in his chair and contemplated the homey scene before him with warm satisfaction. The rapport between his son and Zelda was gratifying to see. Chris was happy as a clam, talking animatedly, his cheeks flushed with excitement, and Zelda was marvelous with the boy, engaging him in the intricacies of a new children’s card game—apparently one of several in her repertoire. She was patient in her instructions, quick to praise when Chris grasped a new concept, and openly affectionate—touching his arm or hand, ruffling his curls when he made her laugh.

  Yet she never overstepped the casual role of friend, nor asked him prying questions. Alec found that particularly appealing. So many ladies he knew wanted to insinuate themselves into his life; they would have used the boy to cultivate a closer intimacy with him.

  “There now,” Zelda said, her explanation complete. “Try counting what you have in your hand and I’ll finish my pie. Remember, the ace is worth twice as much as all the rest—here, start with these on the end.” With a quick smile for Chris, she turned to her dessert.

  And an even more satisfying scene ensued.

  One of a highly libidinous nature.

  The earl watched with rapt attention as Zelda began to eat her dessert, the simple act taking on a decidedly erotic cast. Or perhaps whatever Miss MacKenzie did was sexually arousing for him—her mere presence putting a strain on his self-control. But the sight of each spoonful of syrupy pie with Chantilly cream sliding into her mouth served as a kind of delectable foreplay. Was it unconscious or deliberate? Was she playing to an audience of one? Or was Miss MacKenzie unaware of the picture she presented?

  Not that it mattered; the result was the same.

  Shifting slightly in his chair to accommodate his rising erection, Alec briefly debated carrying her away on some flimsy pretext. Or no pretext. And if Chris hadn’t been inches away, he would have.

  As it was, he was reduced to a frustrating voyeurism and a burgeoning horniness—each ensuing transfer of the confection from plate to mouth further ratcheting up his lust. His gaze was riveted on the languid sweep of the spoon, on Zelda’s every movement, each subsequent bite ingested adding dimension to his cock. Her obvious enjoyment of the sweet pastry was a lewd tour de force: The way she slowly opened her full lips as the spoon approached, the charming way the tip of her pink tongue would suddenly appear to delicately lap up the lush concoction, the manner in which she chewed, savoring the flavors, relishing the taste, and the way she swallowed particularly engaged his interest.

  The titillating display suggested a more salacious activity to a man of Dalgliesh’s libertine propensities; he could almost feel her mouth on his hard prick. Fortunately, the table hid the huge bulge in his buckskins from public view, although the fierce, insistent ache in his cock was destroying his concentration.

  Jesus, how the hell was he going to last until Monday?

  Opportunely or perhaps inopportunely, Zelda looked up and smiled. “Isn’t the pie wonderful?”

  “Among other things,” he murmured, his voice tight with constraint, the lascivious image on the other side of the table provocative as hell. “You have a dab of cream on your bottom lip.”

  She licked her bottom lip. “Did I get it all?”

  You’ll get it all on Monday. “Almost,” he said, and reaching across the small table, he slid the pad of his index finger over her full bottom lip and scooped up the remnant of cream. “There, that’s better.” His deep voice resonated with a subtle authority, as if he had the right to monitor her appearance. Sitting back in his chair, he slipped his fingertip into his mouth, held her gaze, and gently sucked.

  “Oh God.” A spiking rush of flame-hot desire shook her to the core, and too late she realized she’d softly moaned the words.

  “Careful, darling,” Alec whispered, and quickly leaning forward, he took the spoon from her trembling hand. “Relax.” A soft breath of warning.

  Shakily inhaling, she tried to ignore the frenzied carnal urgency electrifying her senses, confounding her good judgment. There were countless people in the kitchen as well as a young boy in close proximity. This was hardly the time to succumb to overwrought passion.

  He gently touched her fingertips. “Would you like something more? A cup of tea perhaps?”

  “Thank you, no,” Zelda replied, marveling at his self-discipline, trying to govern her voice to an equal mildness. “Everything was delicious.” There, that was a suitably decorous tone. “Not that I needed any of it, but who could resist. And I don’t mean that, so kindly stop smiling.”

  “I’m just smiling in general,” he said, looking amused. “I like the cozy kitchen, the company, the lack of an audience, the domesticity. It’s all very nice. Don’t you agree?”

  “I do. It’s charming—a comfortable interlude in a busy day.” It helped her composure that he spoke so casually, lounged in his chair so casually, dealt with women in his life so casually; a warning there. “And thank you as well for the opportunity to meet your son.” Her gaze fell on Chris’s bent head as he was busily counting his cards. “It reminds me of—” Unexpectedly, tears welled in her eyes. “Forgive me.” She sucked in a quick breath and blinked away the wetness, blaming her restive nerves for her vulnerability. “It’s just a bit of nostalgia,” she said, able to speak with a degree of tranquility once again. “I’d forgotten what a pleasure it is to be with a youngster. I do so enjoy children.”

  “I could give you one,” he said, a teasing note in his voice.

  She smiled faintly. “Wouldn’t that be nice.”

  In that small, hushed moment, with the cooks cooking and the heat and smells of the kitchen wafting around them, with busy servants everywhere and the small boy between them counting his cards, an impromptu exchange of two short audacious phrases cataclysmically altered their well-defined lives.

  It was as if a key turned in a lock and suddenly a door opened and they stood on the threshold of a bright new world of staggering possibility.

  Then, taking a small breath to rid herself of irrational hope, Zelda calmly said, “Nice but impractical, my dear Dalgliesh.”

  “But not impossible.” He was a man of great wealth and with it great power, and suddenly, without reason, he wanted this. He sat very still, his large hands resting lightly on the table, and then he slowly turned them over palms up in silent offering. “You decide,” he said, this man who’d never thought about a child of his own before, nor asked a woman for anything. “Just think about it,” he whispered, rash and reckless, ignoring the world, the entire universe.

  “Papa, Papa, look! I have the right number! I won again!”

  A small, sticky hand holding a fan of cards was shoved in Dalgliesh’s face, reality intruded, and with it the clashing discord of his life.

  “If you men will excuse me,” Zelda lightly said, refusing to let her voice quiver, refusing to break down over something so foolish. “I remembered a matter I must see to.” She abruptly came to her feet, escape utterly essential before she lost control.

  “Can’t it wait?” Chris exclaimed. “Tell her, Papa, tell her it can wait!”

  “Miss MacKenzie has family here, Chris. She can’t spend all afternoon playing with us.” He’d been saved from the very edge of the precipice.

  “Why not? Can
’t they take care of themselves?”

  “I’d love to stay, Chris,” Zelda said. “Perhaps tomorrow.”

  Chris’s lower lip projected in a pout. “For certain?”

  What was certain was that she’d indeed like to play with his father until the end of time. What was less certain was whether the profligate Earl of Dalgliesh, who amused himself with a great many women, would agree. “Why don’t I try. How would that be?”

  “She must try, mustn’t she, Papa! Tell her, tell her!”

  “If you’d like, Chris, we could go riding tomorrow without the hunters. Perhaps Miss MacKenzie would agree to join us?” Alec said, as if he’d not just stepped back from the brink, as if he wasn’t completely crazed. “She’s a very good rider. She could teach you a thing or two about jumping. And we could all have lunch somewhere.”

  Chris’s eyes swung up to Zelda. “Please, please come! I want to learn how to jump. I’ll be ever so good, I promise!”

  “We’d both like you to come,” Alec said, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he uttered the word come. “Say you will.” He could no more relinquish her company than he could stop breathing—or fucking—which saner thought mitigated his disquiet. “Why don’t we say eight. Is that too early for you, Miss Mackenzie?” He’d have her all day.

  How could she refuse when she was being offered unalloyed bliss? “I’d love to,” she said, relegating reason and logic to the black void, her happiness tied to this man who’d been a stranger mere hours ago.

  “Well, then, that’s settled,” he blandly said. “We’ll meet you at the stables at eight. We could walk you upstairs if you like.”

  “No, no, please don’t—that is . . . I’m quite capable of finding my way. Don’t get up!” she cried as Dalgliesh made to rise. He’d proclaim their friendship before everyone, damn his recklessness.

  “It’s easy to find your way, Papa,” Chris artlessly said, immune to the emotional tumult. “The stairs go right up into the dining room. Come, Papa, show me how to count the picture cards.”

  “I’ll leave you to count cards, Dalgliesh. Until tomorrow.”

  “I’ll see you at dinner.” It was an ultimatum no matter how softly spoken.