Seductive as Flame (22 page)

“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 for 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

A
T 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 too 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.”

She smiled; his arm was as unyielding as steel. “You’re so much fun. Gratifying, too, I might add—in every conceivable way.”

“The feeling’s mutual, darling.”
And wondrous and stupefying.
“But at the moment,” he said, aware of the members of his household awaiting them, equally aware that words like
wondrous
and
stupefying
were at best diversions in his hindered life, “we really have to hurry. Katy’s next door by now. See what you think of this one last item. The rest can wait.” Sitting up again, he shoved aside several of the boxes, pulled out the large box on the bottom, flipped open the lid, and hauled out a shimmering length of golden sable with a sweep of his arm. “I thought you’d like the color.”

She was speechless. It was gorgeous; it cost a fortune. It was the most extravagant gift she’d ever had. And when she met his warm, tender gaze and he said, “Try it on. Make me happy,” tears welled in her eyes.

“Darling—don’t take it if it’ll make you cry,” he whispered, brushing away the wetness that had spilled over and was trailing down her cheeks.

“Tears of happiness,” she sniffled.

He exhaled the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Tears unnerved him. No, Zelda’s tears unnerved him because he wanted nothing more than to give her the sun, the moon, and the stars for the pleasure she brought him. “Let’s see if it fits,” he quickly said, hoping to curtail her tears, his impossible aspirations, why not the passage of time while he was at it? Tossing the glossy fur around her shoulders, he lifted her into his arms and rose from the bed with an effortless strength. Carrying her over to a cheval glass in the corner, he set her on her feet, slid her arms into the coat sleeves, and buttoned up the front like an attentive parent dressing a child. Then he brushed her lips with his and, standing back, smiled. “It’s lovely. Like you.”

“Keep being this nice and you’ll never get rid of me.”

“That’s the idea.”

Her eyes flared wide.

“That’s the idea,” he softly repeated. “Although I dislike explanations if you don’t mind. Particularly with—” He broke off. “Do you suppose we could talk about this later?” Presumably when he’d recovered his wits. “Do you like the coat?”

She knew better than to press him; he labored under uncompromising restrictions. “I adore it. It’s magnificent”—she smiled—“stunning, and every other superlative known to man.” The sumptuous fur was almost weightless on her shoulders, the lining a jade green tissue silk, the golden sable tailored for riding like the coat Violetta had destroyed. “How did you find something so perfect? Especially with my height.”