Seductive as Flame (25 page)

As for the servants in attendance, since their employer’s affections had already been thoroughly discussed below stairs, they viewed their newly enamored lord and his guest with less surprise. Actually—no surprise at all.

CHAPTER 18

I
N CONTRAST TO luncheon, the earl was in a conspicuously good mood at dinner. He was charming, affable, fully engaged, offering up topics of interest, introducing bits of local gossip, conversing with grace and wit—his attentions extending to Chris, whom he entertained with several edited stories of his boyhood. All the while casually monitoring Rowan’s management of the dinner with a glance, a lifted finger, a smile. As for his lover’s comfort, he took particular pains to see that Zelda enjoyed herself. Including ordering a special champagne.

“For you, darling,” he said, looking down the length of the table to where she sat in the hostess’s chair, elegant and beautiful in her violet gown, his diamond sparkling in her cleavage. “I hope you like it.” His heated gaze could have ignited wet elm.

Zelda’s face turned cherry red. She’d never been able to overcome the inconvenience of her pale complexion.

“You’re embarrassing Miss MacKenzie,” Creiggy chided.

“I’m so sorry,” Alec blandly said.

Creiggy sniffed. “If you sounded like you meant it, it might help.”

“Should I get down on my knees?” Alec roguishly queried. “I’m more than willing.”

“Alec, please,” Zelda murmured.

His smile instantly disappeared and, sliding up from his lounging pose, he quietly said, “I’m truly sorry, dear. I’ll behave.”

James muffled a gasp.

The servants stopped what they were doing.

Even Rowan lost a modicum of his dignity.

Chris opened his mouth, then shut it as Creiggy’s fingers bit into his arm.

“There now, that’s better,” Creiggy briskly said into the silence. “I’ll have a wee dram more of that whiskey, Rowan. It’s a right fine bottle.”

From that point on, Dalgliesh was circumspect and discreet, never overstepping well-mannered convention.

His gallantry and kindness had a predictable effect on Zelda; she was even more enamored, more in love. How sweet he was, she thought, how unselfish. How utterly charming. Not that she didn’t understand that falling under his spell was the height of foolishness. That he seduced and enchanted with careless goodwill. That a man of his reputation only played at love.

Yet she was drawn to him like every other woman he toyed with, she sternly reminded herself. She must remember this Crosstrees paradise had a definitive limit. Once their holiday was over, they’d both return to their former lives.

She understood the rules.

Amorous amusements were countenanced in the fashionable world, even viewed with leniency, provided one adhered to the orthodox canons. Men, as Dalgliesh had alluded to, were allowed more freedom in their carnal amusements. Married women were expected to provide their husbands with an heir and a spare before embarking on an affaire. Unmarried females were in theory taboo; in practice, they, too, were susceptible to passion. But always, always, the end of an affaire required a civilized adieu.

The world of the haute monde was small and incestuous, socializing restricted to a narrow coterie who met at the same receptions, parties, dinners, and country house weekends. Husbands and wives, their lovers, ex-lovers, and future lovers, young ladies and gentlemen, those of a certain age who only observed the modish in their pleasures—all repeatedly rubbed shoulders or elbows or other more intimate body parts. Discretion was key, undue emotion was considered bad taste, and agonizing over a love affaire was embarrassing for everyone.

Zelda was perfectly aware of prevailing custom. Nor did she wish to be viewed as one of Dalgliesh’s lovesick discards. She refused to play such a profitless role.

In the meantime, however, she intended to fully enjoy the sweet enchantment of this rare, golden idyll. To that purpose, she upended her champagne glass, quickly drained it, and took pleasure in the sparkling bubbles sliding down her throat.

Dalgliesh had been watching her and smiled. God in heaven, she made him happy. He signaled to have her glass refilled.

In the course of dinner, James and Zelda found that they shared a cousin twice removed and exchanged stories of the globe-trotting George Hamilton. Which brought up Zelda’s globe-trotting travels, which in turn offered a further glimpse into the man she’d come to love. Alec had traveled extensively beyond Europe. He’d surveyed the diamond fields in India and Brazil, hunted in Persia and with the Bedouins in the Sahara, sailed to Antarctica, climbed in the Himalayas, and spoke six European languages and numerous African dialects from his travels on the continent. And had been to a great many places most people hadn’t.

“I’m impressed,” Zelda said, lightly. “I feel quite provincial.”

“On the contrary, darling,” Alec replied, his voice smooth as honey, “you’re the most enlightened, adventuresome woman I know.” With an affectionate smile, he raised his glass to her in salute.

Zelda raised her glass to Alec; their eyes met.

A small heated silence fell.

“I’m pleased to see you children are getting along,” Creiggy said into the incandescent pause. “Now, are we all ready for dessert?”

As dessert was being served, a servant came in and whispered in James’s ear. He excused himself, and when he returned, spoke quietly to Dalgliesh, then handed him a telegram. The earl scanned it quickly, crumpled it in his hand, stuffed it in his pocket, and dismissed his secretary with a nod.

Dinner resumed as if the interruption hadn’t occurred. Dalgliesh artfully brought up the matter of Chris’s jumping lessons, after which there was no end of childish chatter over a Bavarian cream, a pineapple soufflé, macaroons, and a plum tart still hot from the oven. The telegram, as intended, was forgotten.

It wasn’t until the women and Chris were preceding the men into the drawing room where tea was being served, that Alec had an opportunity to speak quietly to James. “This situation bears watching. Keep me informed. Not that Knowles isn’t fully capable of dealing with their maneuvers. Still.”

“Judge Felden has a price,” James said, flatly.

“We just have to make sure ours is higher. See that Knowles understands that. Tell him no half measures. I’m not losing my mining claims for the price of a judge.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll see that Knowles is informed.”

“Isn’t she lovely?” At his secretary’s blank look, the earl added, “Miss MacKenzie.”

“Oh, yes, sir. Quite, sir. A stunning woman, sir.” James was stunned himself at the tenderness in Dalgliesh’s voice when he spoke of the lady. Especially since his lordship often didn’t know the exact name of the woman to whom James was supposed to send one of the earl’s customary gifts of appreciation.

“If you could monitor Knowles for me, I’d be grateful. Miss MacKenzie and I will be busy for a few days.”

“Certainly, sir.” A slender man of middle height, James hastened to keep up with the earl’s long stride.

“If an emergency comes up, by all means inform me. Otherwise, take care of things yourself.”

James Armitage, of the Yorkshire Armitages who’d lost the bulk of their estate two generations ago after a series of bad investments on the exchange, had been secretary to the Earl of Dalgliesh since the earl had come into his majority and his grandfather’s fortune at eighteen. Five years older than Dalgliesh, they’d first met when James had been suggested for the post by the Crosstrees steward. Even at eighteen, Dalgliesh had presence and no visible vulnerabilities. Because of his mother’s estrangement from his father, because he was his mother’s protector, he’d been educated by tutors at home. He was well-read, well educated, already linguistically agile in several languages. He was reticent at times—due to his experience of human nature observed at close hand in his family—but he was also disarming and eminently capable, and James had been warmly welcomed into the hospitable sphere of Alec’s company. Initially at the splendid Dower House where Alec and his mother lived, soon after in South Africa where Alec had gone to find some purpose to his life beyond resistance to his father. Now back in England again, and in all those ten years, James had never so much as seen the earl look at a woman with fondness—his family aside. Certainly, he’d never heard the earl speak of a woman in the tone of voice he reserved for Miss MacKenzie. And most startling, the earl who was normally obsessed with his businesses, mining and otherwise had said,
I’ll be busy for a few days.
It was such a departure from the norm, James momentarily questioned the earl’s soundness of mind or, at the very least, his sobriety.

Tea and liquor was served in the drawing room, and the evening continued its agreeable course. Chris was entertained with a game of cards, Creiggy playing for blood like she did, Alec cheating so Chris won anyway. He was rewarded for his efforts by his son’s gleeful jubilation, Creiggy harrumphed in defeat, and James marveled at the earl’s deft of hand. Not that Dalgliesh hadn’t honed his already formidable skills in the mining camps, where drink and gambling were the major entertainments. Still, it took a practiced eye and amazing technical skill.

Creiggy, grumbling, had her whiskey glass refilled.

Alec grinned and spoke to her under his breath, “He’s only six. He has plenty of time to learn about losing.”

She sniffed. “I’m not so sure some people have ever learned that lesson.”

“Learned what lesson?” Chris chirped.

“It’s more blessed to give than receive,” Alec mildly said. “Isn’t that right, Creiggy?” He glanced at her, mischief in his eyes.

“Indeed. Listen to your father. He’s a right religious man.”

After another game that Chris won, thanks to his father, Alec and Zelda accompanied the boy up to the nursery, tucked him into bed, read him a story, and sat with him until he fell asleep.

Traversing the maze of corridors from the nursery to Alec’s apartments, the swish of her skirts an accompanying whisper of sound, Zelda glanced up at Dalgliesh with a quizzical lift of her brows. “How old were you before you won a hand of cards against Creiggy?” She’d watched the interplay between the nanny and her former charge with interest.

“Five. But then I had an Italian tutor who’d sharpened his German with a year at the casino in Baden.” He smiled. “And Creiggy annoyed him—as you can see she might.”

“Your mother didn’t mind you gambling at so young an age?”

“She probably didn’t know. She was busy matching wits with my father at the time. Later she chose to ignore him. But it was early days in their marriage, and she still labored under the illusion he might be redeemable. So Creiggy and my tutors were given free rein. You’ll have to meet Maman someday. She’d like you.”

“She’s better then? Fitz said she’d been ill.”

He glanced at her, a sudden sharpness in his gaze. “Ill? I suppose you might say that,” he said, sarcasm soft in his words. “She almost died.”

“I’m sorry. Fitz didn’t mentioned that.”

“He wouldn’t have known. Here we are.” Not about to discuss his mother’s ailment, he opened the door to his suite, bowed her in, and shut the door behind them. Neither had slept much the night before, the day had been busy as well, carnally and otherwise; Zelda had almost fallen asleep twice in the nursery. As they walked through the sitting room to his bedchamber, he graciously said, “If you’re tired, darling, I won’t bother you.”

She stopped and turned. “I’m not
that
tired. Are
you
tired?” Oh God, he was bored already and she was acting like every other infatuated woman he knew.

“I’m never that tired,” he said, taking her hands and drawing her into his arms. “In fact, I want you every hour of the day and night. It’s amazing and mystifying, but altogether delightful.”

Her world having righted itself again, she gazed up at him with open adoration. “I find it terrifying, wanting you the way I do.”

“No, darling. It’s heaven on earth.” His smile warmed his eyes. “And I’m the least religious man in the world.”

She laughed. “So I’ve wrought some miracle.”

“Or I’m in favor with the gods for the first time in my life. Either way, I’m pleased. More than pleased. We’ll cancel Fontainebleau, stay at Crosstrees, and enjoy these celestial pleasures.”

“We?” A playful arch of her brows.

“You can’t go.”

She wasn’t so foolish as to believe him. “I have to, of course.”

He smiled. “You can try.”

“I won’t tonight, at least.”

“Then I must endeavor to entertain you so you won’t go at all.”

“How nice,” she murmured, sliding her hands up the lapels of his evening coat, then higher, cupping his face in her palms. “How exactly does this entertainment begin?”

It began with Alec making sure Zelda had what she wanted, along with her choice of a thousand variants on pleasure he’d learned and knew and executed with ease. In time, he undressed her and then himself while she lay sprawled in bed, trying to catch her breath, watching him with avidity and affection, with her perpetual impatience. “I don’t suppose it would help to say don’t scream so loudly,” he said, grinning as he approached the bed once again.

“I’m so sorry.” She didn’t sound sorry at all; she was smiling. “Am I embarrassing you? Would you like to gag me?”

A wicked gleam entered his gaze. “Would you like to be tied up? Is that what you’re saying?”

So the devil would have looked in the Garden of Eden, she thought, offering sweet temptation. “I’m not sure.”

“Should I decide?” He had already.

She shook her head.

“No, I shouldn’t decide, or no, you don’t wish to be bound?” He was stripping a braided tieback from the bed curtains.

“What are you doing?”

“I thought it was obvious,” he said, moving to the next corner of the bed.