Seductive as Flame

by Susan Johnson

  “I’ll see that no drawing room in London, or indeed anywhere in the civilized world, will receive you. I’ll broadcast your story to the farthest reaches of the planet: about Father and Julia; about poisoning Mother; about the man you sent to murder Zelda—I happen to have a signed confession from him. Did I mention Joe Clarke’s death? Ah—that one surprises you. You didn’t cover your tracks well enough, or rather, I had good detectives and unlimited funds. Now, I know you and Freddy get along famously. You’re both selfish to the bone. But consider—if you were reduced to Freddy’s company alone—” He shrugged, a quick dismissive lift of his shoulder. “Even you can’t fuck all the time.”

  Her expression hadn’t changed from a kind of bland interest in what he was saying. “What do I get if I agree?”

  “Jesus Christ.” An explosive breath, acid with disgust. “Was this custody writ just another extortion demand?”

  “Is.”

  Her smile was like the one he’d seen on his wedding night when his father had delivered his news; Violetta had been there to revel in her triumph. He felt the same anger and revulsion. “Don’t, Violetta,” he softly said. “Just don’t. I’m tired of this. I should just kill you and be done with it. It would be more economical.”

  “Pshaw. As if you would. And may I say, I always enjoy watching you in your role as guardian to the weak and suffering on earth. So dutiful and sweet. You certainly didn’t learn that from your father.”

  “The only thing I learned from my father was to strike first. A lesson I’ve resisted in your case for the sake of others. But you’re no longer safe. I told Mother everything. Your leverage is gone. So whether you live or die doesn’t matter anymore. No, let me correct myself. I’d prefer you dead,” he said flatly.

  Even she recognized that tone. Her chameleon face suddenly showed fear. “You’re just as brutal as your father,” she spat, wanting to draw blood, wanting to wound and hurt.

  Alec drew a short breath. “No,” he said. Although it had always been his greatest fear. But no, he wasn’t that kind of man. He hesitated for a moment, then his face set, he spoke in a voice that didn’t travel beyond the bed. “Let me repeat myself. I’m finished with you and your games. I expect your custody suit to be withdrawn. I expect you to comply with the terms of the divorce. I expect to be free of you with all due speed. No obstructions or delays, not so much as a second wasted when your signature is required on some document. Do you understand?” When he received no answer, he thought of all the evil credited to her, of the need to bring it to an end. “Just do it,” he said. “I have no more patience.”

  “I’ll be a marchioness, you know,” she defiantly proclaimed, looking him in the eye, her chin raised, her smile vaunting.

  “Is that so? Freddy, I presume?” They were both capable of performances.

  “He’s come into an inheritance,” she boasted. “A very good one. He’s divorcing his wife for me.”

  “How nice. Congratulations.” If satisfaction could be weighed, his would break every scale in the world. “You came out on top again.” One could be generous in victory. Then he walked away from the woman who’d ruined so many lives and shut the door on her. Stepping into the sitting room, he nodded at Freddy, who was lounging on Violetta’s settee. “I won’t be back,” he said, moving toward the hallway door.

  “It’s over then?”

  “She saw the error of her ways.”

  “You are persuasive,” Freddy said with a grin.

  “You’re sure you’re all right with this now?”

  “I know about Joe.”

  That brought Dalgliesh to a stop. “And even then?”

  “You wouldn’t understand. You have scruples. Some of us don’t. But I thank you for giving me my freedom,” the marquis quietly said.

  Alec lowered his voice as well. “Come to me if you need anything. You’re not obliged to risk your life by staying with Violetta. We can make other arrangements for your expenses.”

  “Jesus, Alec, do you fucking walk on water?”

  “The mood I’m in right now, I might. Thanks to you.”

  “So you’re in my debt,” Freddy said with a grin.

  “Don’t push your luck,” Alec replied with a lift of his brows.

  “I did take her off your hands.”

  “And you’re not at Park Lane anymore, not that you often were.”

  “Often enough. Too often.” Freddy raised his hands. “I surrender to your logic. We’re even.”

  “I’m poorer.”

  “But happier.”

  “You’re right. We’re even.” Alec lifted his hand in a brief wave and a moment later he walked out into the hall.

  Fulton pushed away from the wall and kept pace with Alec through the corridors of Munro House, down the stairs, and out the door.

  He didn’t speak until they were outside. “Should I hire another train?”

  Alec shook his head. “I’d prefer the morning express. It’s faster. We’ll go tomorrow. I think I’ll take Chris with me. Just to be safe. We boys can go north hunting,” he pleasantly said.

  “Among other things.”

  “Among other things,” Alec murmured, a smile forming on his lips. “Oh, Christ, I forgot to send a telegram explaining my delay.”

  CHAPTER 29

  AFTER THEIR RETURN to Munro Park and after Alec’s mother and Creiggy had been reassured in terms of Chris’s custody, Alec excused himself and immediately went to his office to have a telegram sent to Zelda.

  So sorry. Family emergency. Will arrive on express train tomorrow.

  His messenger delivered the telegram to the MacKenzie porter two hours later. But unfortunately, it arrived too late. Zelda, along with her grooms, had ridden into Inverness very early that morning. Too excited the night before to sleep, she’d risen at dawn and left.

  He was coming; he’d said he would and he was! Glory, hallelujah, and smiles for the universe. She was in love—wildly, blissfully in love!

  Her best friend Janet Grant was having breakfast in bed when Zelda swept into the room, bursting with patent good cheer and blithe spirits.

  Janet smiled back. “Something very good must have happened. What ungodly hour did you leave home?”

  “Half past five. I couldn’t sleep. He’s coming today, really and truly! Can you believe it?” she breathlessly intoned, not expecting an answer. “My, that looks good.” Having reached the bed, Zelda contemplated her friend’s breakfast tray and helped herself to a plump little pastry. “I forgot to eat.”

  “I’m hungry.” The pretty brunette put her hands over her tray. “Ring for my maid and get your own.”

  Zelda was already striding toward the bellpull. The women had been friends from childhood.

  “I don’t suppose I need ask who he is?”

  “I don’t suppose you do, unless you weren’t listening last time I was here.” Zelda jerked on the embroidered pull and turned around. “We’ve been apart five whole days.” Her smile was one of blinding happiness. “Did I mention he misses me dreadfully?”

  “How lovely. For you, for him, for everyone.” Bubbling over with breathless wonder, Zelda had already shared news of her new love the day after her return from Munro Park. Janet had never seen Zelda giddy as a schoolgirl—even when a schoolgirl. And they’d always shared the intimate details of their lives. She’d taken great pains that day, however, not to let fall the fact that Dalgliesh’s reputation for debauch was well-known in Inverness. He had a hunting lodge in the Highlands, and his hunting hadn’t been confined to four-legged prey.

  But Zelda was so ecstatic over Dalgliesh’s visit that Janet served as benevolent listener all that day while Zelda talked and talked, over breakfast, then lunch, while they played with the children in the nursery later that afternoon. Janet marveled at the incredible change love had wrought in her friend. She was no longer the dégagé woman who turned down suitors with bland politesse. No longer a woman who found her raison d’être in exploring strange, exotic l
ocales around the world. Nor a woman who embraced casual passion but never love. And if the delight of her heart had been anyone but Dalgliesh, Janet would have unreservedly rejoiced at the news. But Dalgliesh was married. He also bedded women with careless charm and total lack of involvement. And he was married.

  Janet offered only one friendly warning before Zelda left—suitably couched she hoped in casualness: Enjoy the delicious earl, but don’t forget men will be men.

  Zelda frowned. “Is Johnny giving you trouble?” In her joyous mood, she was immune to the personal nature of the warning.

  “No, no, not that kind of trouble. It’s only that he’s forever out hunting with his friends.” She had to say something.

  Zelda knew Johnny Grant; he enjoyed the company of men like so many of his class. Whether hunting, golfing, fishing, or drinking. “You should go with him sometime.”

  Playing her part, Janet wrinkled her nose. “I prefer the comforts of home.”

  “As I recall, you also prefer your husband’s talents in bed. In fact, I believe you married him for those.”

  “You’re right,” Janet said with a grin. “I’ve no complaints there. He gives me every attention I crave.”

  “He’s faithful?”

  “There’s no question he is.”

  “Then you’re a silly goose to want every minute of his time.”

  The topic of faithfulness was too fraught with danger apropos the Earl of Dalgliesh. Janet changed the subject. “You must bring your darling Alec to visit when he’s here,” she said, sincerely wishing all the best for her friend despite the daunting odds.

  “I don’t know how long Alec can stay, but if there’s time, we’ll come. And thank you for listening to me rave on like some lovesick lunatic. You’re a dear. And look, the train will be into the station soon. I really must go.”

  Her heart racing, Zelda took her leave. Soon, soon, she’d have Alec back!

  And she had some special news for him.

  Very special news.

  Too special to even share with her best friend.

  Twenty minutes later, with the winter wind whipping their coattails and nipping at their cheeks, she stood beside her groom, Sandy, and watched the train empty without any sign of Alec. Going to the station master, Zelda made enquiries. But he knew nothing about a private railcar or the Earl of Dalgliesh.

  She shouldn’t have been so quick tempered. Really, it was one of her worst shortcomings—her temper. There must be some reasonable explanation. There better be, damn him!

  The head groom had known the laird’s eldest daughter from the cradle. One look at her face as she spun away from the window in the station and he was glad Preston was with the horses. The boy wouldn’t have known what to do. He, in turn, moved out of reach.

  Zelda noticed him moving back two steps and scowled. “Good God, Sandy,” she muttered. “Have I ever hit you?”

  “No, miss.” But he could see her gloved fingers flexing on her quirt stock, and he’d seen her lash out at her brothers often enough to take heed. Not that she hadn’t had good reason; the boys had been a wild bunch—still were.

  “Damn him to hell!” At her outburst, a few straggling passengers turned to stare but didn’t long withstand her chill regard. They quickly looked away, although the men by and large considered the red-haired, tantrumish beauty swathed in velvety black astrakhan damned tempting even with the quirt in her hand. “I should have known!” Zelda raged. “What was I thinking? That he was going to change?” A low seething litany of expletives followed, hissing through the frosty air. After which, she said, bitterly, “There’s nothing for it but to go back home.”

  “Now?”

  “Of course now,” she snapped, as if the road home wasn’t a treacherous track with the winter rains. As if the sun hadn’t set an hour ago. As if heavy clouds didn’t obscure the moon.

  Sandy wasn’t concerned for himself, but Sir Gavin would have his hide if anything happened to his bonny daughter. “Are you sure, miss?”

  Her frown deepened. “Don’t I look sure?”

  She looked like she was ready to hit someone. “Yes, miss.” But he hoped like hell the horses didn’t lose their footing on the quagmire of a trail.

  “I have to send a telegram before we go. I’ll meet you at the horses.”

  A clipped, curt, woman-scorned tone of voice to which Sandy knew better than to reply. The servants were au cou-rant with everyone’s business, including who was going to get Miss Zelda’s scorching telegram.

  To whit—a short time later, James walked into Alec’s office, interrupting his conversation with Fulton.

  Alec looked up, took note of his secretary’s face and the telegram he held. “What? Another catastrophe?”

  “That’s for you to say, sir,” James guardedly replied.

  Alec took the offered missive and swiftly scanned it.

  Long ride for nothing. I’m sure you have a perfect excuse. Don’t bother. I hate excuses.

  Alec groaned.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” James said. “Would you like to reply?”

  “I’d better. The telegram to Miss MacKenzie went out this morning, right?”

  “Shortly after eleven, sir.”

  “It reached her home?”

  “At two, sir.” The men had telegraphed on their return to Inverness. On Dalgliesh’s particular orders.

  “What the hell went wrong?”

  “Do you want the men to ride up tonight and find out?”

  Alec eyed his secretary. “Do I detect a note of discouragement in your voice?”

  “Yes, sir. Jed said the road was almost nonexistent at the end. And in the dark?” The import was clear.

  Alec sighed. “Very well. No sense in risking life and limb. I’ll make my apologies to Miss MacKenzie when I see her tomorrow.”

  After James walked out, Fulton offered his employer a broad grin across Alec’s desk. “An apology. Now, there’s a first for you. I wish I could be there to see it.”

  “Very amusing. Perhaps you could come along and I’ll send you in first to take the initial artillery rounds.”

  “If only my full attention wasn’t required here to see that your mines aren’t blown away by Rhodes’ inept militia, should it come to that,” Fulton drawled.

  Another groan as Alec slid into a disgruntled sprawl. “Jesus, being in love requires some major adjustments.”

  “You mean you can’t just walk away and forget their names?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean,” the earl said with fastidious malcontent.

  A small pause developed. Lengthened.

  “On the other hand,” Alec grudgingly noted, finally breaking the silence, “the advantages far outweigh the disadvantages.” He shoved himself upright in his chair and smiled faintly. “I actually like her name and, more to the point, her. And that’s a much more consequential first, my dear Fulton.”

  “Well then, boss, it seems some bowing and scraping are in order tomorrow.”

  “Christ, I suppose so.” Alec grinned. “How exactly does one do that?”

  CHAPTER 30

  AS IT TURNED out, he had to learn on the fly, for the moment he was announced the following evening and entered Sir Gavin’s sitting room, four pairs of male eyes and one female’s looked up and glowered at him as if he were the devil incarnate.

  Or perhaps it was because of his mud-caked boots and breeches. Not that a coating of mud wasn’t a small price to pay for surviving the perilous roads. But whatever the reason for the manifest displeasure, he decided, advancing into the room, it was up to him to dispel it. He smiled his very best smile that had been known to assuage the mistrust of obstinate men, jealous women, and pious martinets—the sadly dull Queen included.

  “Allow me to apologize most profoundly for all the trouble I caused yesterday. I have a very good explanation, although, under the circumstances,” he added as the frowns remained in place and no one moved in their chairs, “I understand an apology is hardly eno
ugh to redeem myself.”

  “Damn right, it isna enough. She dinna get home until near ten, I’ll have ye know,” Sir Gavin growled, the drink in his hand sloshing over the rim in his indignation. “It was a bloody dangerous ride.”

  He didn’t need that fact pointed out to him with the state of his clothes, and his horses still nervously curvetting in the yard. “I’m so very sorry. I’m afraid my telegram must have reached you too late. But the emergency I referred to in my telegram had to do with my son, Chris. May I sit down—ah, well, let me explain it to you.” Standing here. “Just as the train was leaving the station yesterday morning, I received news that two constables were at my door serving custody papers. My—er—soon-to-be ex-wife had sued me for custody of Christopher.”

  He heard Zelda’s sharp intake of breath, felt his suit might be in the way of prospering, and quickly went on. “Naturally, I immediately returned to the house and sent the constables on their way. Without the boy,” he added, his nostrils flaring at the memory. After a nearly imperceptible pause, he said in the temperate tone he was exercising before the—newly adjusted—four and a half accusatory stares, “At that point, it was imperative that I go to London.” He wasn’t going to mention Violetta again. “It took some time to resolve the issue, but in the end, the custody suit was dropped, my son was safe, and I was able to return to Munro Park. But by then, it was too late to resume my travel plans.” He finally looked directly at Zelda, who sat in a chair beside her father, looking more pale than he remembered. “I’m so very sorry.” He spoke as if only she were in the room, his brows slightly drawn. “If there’s any way I can make amends for the distress I caused you, please tell me. That you risked those trails at night alarms me no end. It was my fault entirely,” he said to a woman for the first time in his life. “Everything was my fault,” he added very, very softly, not sure he hadn’t lost her forever, thinking too that this must be how it felt standing before a firing squad. But then he went on because he’d learned long ago that it was necessary to take risks. “If I might, I’d like to fetch Chris. He’s waiting in the entrance hall. And a six-year-old’s not very good at waiting.”