Seductive as Flame

by Susan Johnson

  Observing the precious image of mother and sleeping babe, Zelda felt tears welling up in her throat. Since meeting Dalgliesh, she was more vulnerable to such tender scenes. Envious.

  Alec took note of Zelda’s look of longing, understood. Perhaps even agreed at some primal level. Leaning over, he kissed her cheek lightly. “Would our baby have red hair or black?” he whispered. “Your eyes or mine?”

  Blushing furiously, she looked away and quickly reached for her wineglass. But her hand was trembling so violently, she jerked it back and dropped it into her lap.

  The adults witnessing the scene were shocked.

  Dalgliesh was not a demonstrative man, nor given to tenderness.

  He was, in fact, considered by some, callous to women.

  Fortunately at that moment, Monty asked Chris in a high-pitched toddler lisp if he could see his pony, his father beside him said, “After lunch, Monty,” and the dangerous moment passed.

  Alec turned to Rosalind on his right and asked her when they planned to return to London. Not because he cared, but because his heart was suddenly thudding in his chest and he needed time to recover.

  “Not until after the New Year,” Rosalind replied in a comfortable tone, having seen that same stunned look in her husband’s eyes long ago. “Fitz likes to hunt this time of year, and we generally spend Christmas in the north. The children enjoy the outdoors. Don’t you, Sibyl?” she said to the little auburn-haired girl seated beside her in the chair brought down from the attic.

  The pretty bright-eyed girl looked up, smiled through a mouth full of bread and jam, and vigorously nodded her head.

  Jamie, however, in his cousinly capacity, viewed Dalgliesh with mistrust. Everyone knew he saw women as sport. “Are you leaving for home soon?” he asked, addressing Zelda, two places removed down the table. “You should travel with us.”

  Sofia looked at her husband in surprise. That was censor in his tone.

  Zelda welcomed the distraction from more perilous issues of babies with Dalgliesh. Although she objected to her cousin’s oversight. “Surely you’re not playing chaperon, Jamie,” she silkily rebuked.

  “I’m just asking.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “Asking what exactly?”

  “My intentions, dear,” Dalgliesh calmly said. “He has every right.”

  “He certainly does not,” she crisply replied. “Really, Jamie, you overstep. Papa knows I’m here. I told him before I left Groveland Chase.” She smiled. “So you needn’t concern yourself with my affaires.”

  “I might anyway.” A gruff rebuttal.

  “No, you certainly will—”

  “Let me assuage your concerns, Blackwood,” Alec gently interposed, holding Jamie’s gaze. “My intentions toward Zelda are honorable insofar as my circumstances allow.”

  “Which is the problem,” Jamie returned, as gently.

  “Do you two mind?” Zelda was controlling her rising temper with effort. “This is not a matter for discussion.”

  “Perhaps later,” Alec murmured with a telling glance for Jamie and a smile for Zelda.

  “No, not later,” Zelda snapped. “Not at all. Do you understand?”

  “I’m sure the childers would rather talk about puppies,” Creiggy proposed in her familiar role of referee. “Chris tell everyone how many new puppies we have in the stables.” She looked up and surveyed the table with a bland glance. “Fox terriers,” she said. “The sweetest wee things.”

  The children all started talking at once.

  Zelda offered Creiggy a grateful smile.

  Dalgliesh sat back and contemplated the charming chaos brought on by Creiggy’s helpful meddling; he’d mollify Blackwood later. And he really must see that Chris had friends to play with, he decided. The boy was clearly enjoying himself. Having spent a solitary childhood, he wished something better for Chris.

  Although in terms of better, his life had much improved since meeting Zelda. The idea of Worth’s suddenly appeared in his consciousness—foolishly perhaps. But the thought of watching Zelda while she was being fitted for a wardrobe charmed him. Perhaps he could coax her into shopping there if he promised to take her hunting at Fontainebleau.

  Then Fitz asked him whether his gamekeeper’s leg had healed, and Paris and Worth’s was summarily dismissed. Many on the staff at Crosstrees and Groveland Chase were related, the local community a tangled web of shared ancestry and kinship. Fitz’s and Alec’s families, resident in the area for centuries, had long been interested in preserving the region, both in terms of the human and animal populations.

  After a time, the party removed themselves to the stables so the children could play with the puppies, and once everyone was focused on the wee fox terriers, Dalgliesh took the opportunity to draw Jamie aside into a vacant stall.

  “I understand your concern for Zelda,” he quietly said. “I’m not unaware of my reputation. But she’s not like the rest.” He took a small breath; he didn’t, as a rule, apologize for his behavior. “As for my plans, I haven’t told her yet, or rather talked to her about them,” he corrected himself and was rewarded with an understanding grin from Jamie. “I’m hoping to however.” And he went on to explain his intentions. “So you see,” he said, pausing a second before continuing, “the situation is going to be difficult in any number of ways, not the least of which is persuading Zelda to agree.”

  “She may not. Or she may not, yet.”

  “I understand, but I want her with me. I’m not a patient man.”

  “I don’t know Violetta particularly well, but she doesn’t appear tractable.”

  “She’s anything but,” Alec brusquely said.

  “I believe this is where I say if there’s anything I can do to help.”

  Alec smiled. “Violetta’s not likely to listen to you any more than me.”

  “I meant in other ways. I know people who can say, nudge someone along. I can do as much myself, if it comes to that.”

  Dalgliesh knew Jamie’s history as a mercenary. The men met in their clubs over drinks from time to time. Blackwood had almost died saving Sofia from a murderous thug not long ago. Alec also knew he wasn’t about to mention what Violetta had done to his mother. It would open up a scandal he’d been at great pains to conceal. “Thank you, but I can manage Violetta. And if I must, I’ll send Zelda home until I can resolve the situation.”

  “Your marriage, you mean.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re serious then.”

  “I find that I am.” The earl smiled wryly. “I have no idea why, but I’ve given up trying to deal with this logically.

  “Love does that to you.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “And now you know.”

  “Do I?”

  Jamie laughed. “Ask any of us here—we men at least—and you’ll find that your feelings aren’t unique. We all questioned what love was—stupidly, I might add. In fact, it was Sofie who came looking for me in Dalmia—for which I’m eternally grateful. So I sympathize with your skepticism. I was willing to die for Sofie and yet couldn’t recognize why.”

  “Perhaps we’re not schooled in such feelings.”

  “Apparently not,” Jamie sardonically noted. Then he smiled. “Although the resulting revelation is without parallel in terms of pleasure.”

  “Amen to that—the pleasure part.”

  Jamie frowned. “She’s my cousin.”

  “Of course. I apologize.”

  “I’d prefer your apology take the form of dispatching your wife.”

  The tone in which Blackwood said dispatching gave Alec pause for a fleeting moment.

  “Legally I meant.” Jamie recognized Alec’s hesitation.

  “Of course. Although the price of Violetta’s leaving is going to be a helluva lot more than she’s worth.”

  “But not more than Zelda’s worth.”

  “Agreed. Although I’d appreciate your discretion until I’ve arranged my affairs. I don’t want to give Violetta an opportunit
y to prepare a defense.”

  “Naturally. You have my word.” Jamie grinned. “Best of luck with Zelda. She’s going to give you trouble.”

  Alec hadn’t revealed all he planned to do—only enough to relieve Jamie’s concerns. Nor did he disclose what he was willing to do should Violetta prove difficult. Blackwood wasn’t alone in his capacity for violence. One didn’t survive the mining camps—where drink was a way of life, tempers were volatile, where claims were often disputed at the point of a gun, and people were willing to die over a diamond—without certain skills.

  Skills that Alec had been forced to acquire as his father’s son.

  IN THE END, it was Alec’s escalating commerce in telegrams that won him his way with Zelda.

  After their guests departed, another telegram was delivered, the message so disquieting that he went utterly still for a moment. Recovering, he folded the small sheet with one hand and slid it in his pocket. “A slight problem. Nothing untoward,” he said, then smiled his usual smile.

  “It’s more than that.” Zelda held his gaze, hers concerned. “Is it your mother?”

  He almost said yes, expecting she’d be more sympathetic, more likely to come with him. But he didn’t for a variety of reasons, none of them necessarily virtuous. If it would have helped, he would have lied through his teeth to keep Zelda with him. But Knowles was beside himself, his panic came through even on paper, and Alec knew he’d have to deal with a new crisis immediately when he reached home. So he answered with a half truth. “An approaching court case in South Africa requires my attention.”

  “It must be serious.”

  “I’m afraid so. My mining claims are being challenged, and with them, my mines, of course. I have to go home.”

  “To South Africa?” She couldn’t disguise her alarm.

  “No. To Munro Park. I have a fully staffed office there. I’d like you to come with me. Once I deal with this issue, we could go hunting at Fontainebleau, if you’d like. Please, say you will.”

  Having thought she might never see him again should he sail for South Africa made it very much easier to say yes. “I’d like that, if you think it’s quite all right.”

  He wanted to say whatever he chose to do was quite all right; men of wealth made the rules. But he was well mannered and said instead, “I’m sure it is. Chris will be as pleased as I.”

  “Will your mother approve?”

  Had she ever disapproved of anything he’d done? “She’ll be delighted.”

  “You’re sure now.”

  “I’m positive. Although I’ll beg your pardon in advance. This difficulty will demand my full attention at first. John could take you riding and show you Munro Park.” He smiled. “You’ll enjoy my stables. Two Derby winners and a Newmarket Stakes winner, along with fifty other thoroughbreds. Take your pick.”

  “How can I refuse?” she lightly said.

  “How indeed, and I’ll entertain you at night once the offices close in Johannesburg.”

  “Then, naturally, I most eagerly agree.”

  She thought afterward that she should have been more reserved, not so impetuously willing. But South Africa had frightened her badly. And even knowing she must leave Alec some day, she couldn’t quite bring herself to give him up just yet.

  CHAPTER 21

  ALEC TRAVELED BY private railcar, a luxury given to those of great fortune; a convenience as well, since he generally had Chris, Creiggy, James, and servants along. Two carriages awaited them at the station for Munro Park, and fifteen minutes later, they were being deposited at the Dower House—a magnificent, well-maintained Tudor structure considerably larger than most dower houses. But then the Dalgliesh wealth allowed such extravagances.

  It was nearly ten o’clock, yet the main block was all alight in anticipation of their arrival; James had telegraphed ahead. Chris was sleeping in Dalgliesh’s arms. Alighting, he handed the boy to a waiting footman; Creiggy followed and hustled the man into the house.

  Turning back to Zelda, Dalgliesh helped her down. “Welcome to my home, darling.” He’d never said that before, although it pleased him to say it. Just as it pleased him to know Zelda was near even though he’d be busy dealing with the newest crisis jeopardizing his mining interests.

  Zelda surveyed the towering redbrick facade, its rows of windows glowing golden against the starless sky. “What a lovely home.”

  “It’s comfortable,” he said in gross understatement. “Come, darling, meet my mother.” Taking Zelda’s hand, he moved forward.

  The front door was open, the light from within flooding out onto the gravel drive—an inviting sight on a chill night. As was the tall, slender woman with pale hair and a welcoming smile who hurried out to greet them.

  “Darling, what a wonderful surprise! We weren’t expecting you until Thursday.”

  “Business, Maman. There’s always something pressing. May I introduce Miss MacKenzie. Zelda, my mother, the dowager countess, Louisa.”

  “Lulu, please. No one calls me Louisa save the Queen. What a pleasure to meet you, Zelda. Do come in. I have your whiskey waiting, darling,” she said, taking Alec’s free arm as he walked toward the doorway. “By the way,” she said, looking past Alec and smiling at Zelda, “I met your father, Sir Gavin, at the Turlingham hunt years ago. A superb horseman, as you are, I hear.”

  Alec must have telegraphed a short biography, Zelda thought. Nor did his mother have the look of an invalid. She was very beautiful, vivacious, and as charming as her son.

  Moments later they were seated in a cozy sitting room with original linen-fold paneling, the fire on the hearth fragrant with applewood. After Crosstrees, the opulence of the setting no longer surprised Zelda. A profusion of notable paintings hung on the walls, the furniture was partly Tudor along with a luxurious mix from other centuries, the rugs underfoot were plush and thick, the tabletops strewn with a glittering display of bibelots. One sofa and several chairs were scaled to a man of Dalgliesh’s size, and he was currently lounging on a long leather sofa, his feet up, his head resting on the rolled arm, his drink balanced on his chest.

  “One whiskey, Maman, and I have to meet with my office staff. They’re waiting.”

  “I know. I’ve been hearing the bustle and rumors all day. Such a shame you had to cut short your hunting holiday. But Zelda and I will manage quite well without you though, won’t we, dear?”

  The dowager countess was fair in contrast to her swarthy son, her eyes a brilliant green although they held a similar warmth like her son’s when she smiled. “We certainly will,” Zelda politely replied before turning to Alec. “Do go whenever you must. I’m perfectly fine.”

  “John will entertain you tomorrow. I’ve offered Zelda a tour of the estate if she wishes,” he explained to his mother. “Provided the weather cooperates.”

  “You forget I live in the Highlands,” Zelda said. “I’m comfortable in any kind of weather.”

  “Might I suggest you ride Valour. He literally walked in eight lengths ahead at the Hardwicke Stakes. He’ll give you a bloody good ride.”

  “Thank you, I will. He sounds intriguing. Do you ride—” She hesitated.

  “Lulu, please. I so hate to stand on ceremony, as Alec will attest. As for riding, I haven’t of late. Alec may have mentioned, I’ve been recuperating from a beastly little illness that’s much improved now. But I’m still not quite as strong as I was.”

  Zelda noticed Alec’s swift glance—instantly extinguished—light on his mother when the dowager countess mentioned her illness.

  “I’ll have the kitchen pack a lunch, should you need it,” Alec said. “But feel free to arrange your own schedule.” Although he’d already sent instructions to John to keep her away from the main house where Violetta lived when she wasn’t in London or visiting friends. “I should be available anytime after seven.” He quickly tipped the whiskey down his throat and came to his feet. Setting the glass on a table, he sketched a small bow. “Until later, ladies.”

  As th
e door closed on him, the dowager countess softly sighed. “Such a difficult time for Alec. The office has been in turmoil since yesterday. Nevertheless, I’m so pleased you came. Alec never has visitors. You’re important to him, I can see. I do hope you like my boy.”

  Zelda’s blush was masked by the shadowed lamplight. “I do. He’s very easy to like.”

  “I think so, of course, but then I’m his mother,” Lulu cheerily noted. “Would you like another whiskey or would you prefer champagne?” The dowager had been sipping on her champagne, although she’d drunk very little.

  “I think I’ll have one more whiskey, but don’t get up. I’ll help myself.” At the drinks table, Zelda half turned to say, “I thought I recognized the taste. This whiskey is bottled in the valley next to ours.”

  “I expect Alec knew that.” He had, in fact, had James telegraph a detailed list of instructions for the comfort of his guest. “Creiggy taught Alec to appreciate good whiskey. She’s Scots, you know.”

  “One can’t mistake the soft burr in her voice,” Zelda remarked, returning with her refilled glass. “She has relatives not far from us.”

  “Is that so? So when Creiggy and Alec were on holiday in the Highlands years ago, you might have seen them. They often spoke of their visit there. Creiggy was always good to Alec.”

  “They seem to have a wonderful rapport. Even though she’s quite outspoken, he doesn’t seem to mind.”

  The dowager chuckled. “I doubt she’d notice if he did mind. Creiggy has always been forthright. In fact, when I first hired her, she told me she’d insist on her own schedule in the nursery and the freedom to train Alec in her own way—with my support, of course.” She laughed. “Which she really didn’t mean. But as you see, my son has prospered under her care.”

  “Indeed.”

  “I was very young when I married and soon with child,” the dowager said. “I’m sure Creiggy recognized a green girl when she saw one.” Her pale brows drew together briefly at recall of her husband’s explosive temper that had come as a shock on her wedding night. Then she suddenly smiled. “I knew I needed a strong woman like Creiggy for my baby. Alec and I have been most fortunate to have her. And now Chris has her as well.”