Sweet as the Devil (41 page)

Authors: Susan Johnson

BOOK: Sweet as the Devil

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The subject of thrusters came up next—riders ready to jump anything in sight with no care for the hounds. It was agreed that the men would all do what they could to restrain the louts. Riders of that ilk could raise havoc with the dogs by throwing them off the scent or worse: a pack worth thousands of pounds could be seriously damaged if ridden over.

Everyone in the room was experienced in the field. Oz had first hunted in India with leopards as coursers, Jamie had ridden to hounds in Hungary and on the Continent, particularly with the Empress Elisabeth, who liked to surround herself with handsome, world-class horsemen. Fitz and Zelda had hunted since childhood here and abroad.

Consumed with her own thoughts, Zelda only half listened to the conversation. Comfortably ensconced in a large, down-cushioned chair, she sipped her drink and tried not to stare at Dalgliesh. But he was murderously handsome, dark as a gypsy with sleepy, bedroom eyes, his hunter’s gaze shuttered now that he was lounging relaxed in his chair, his brandy glass resting on his chest. His legs were stretched out before him, his hard, muscled body of unusual height—that height particularly attractive to a woman as tall as she. He didn’t wear correct hunting dress—nor did anyone in the room; she was among men who shared her disdain for conformity. Or perhaps like she, they rode for pleasure, not to parade their pretensions or wealth.

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 hadn’t known, but 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 harddrinking 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 had been 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 same age as Monty is now.” Fully aware of the attachment between a parent and child, the duke quietly said, “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 is now 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 Orange River diamond discoveries were first 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 have 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 is 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.

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