Master Zane

by Maggie Carpenter

  Educated in the finest schools in Europe and Great Britain, he was a brilliant student and excelled in athletics. As the heir to a fortune, handsome beyond measure, and from a noble family that could trace their lineage back centuries, mothers sought his company for their daughters, and young women went out of their way to win his approval. He was, by all accounts, an astonishing young man and supremely eligible.

  He had just turned twenty-one when his elderly parents passed away. Though he had loved them dearly he could grieve for only a short time; the matters of the estate required his full attention. Once again Zane De'Ville was up to the task. In the four years following their death he invested creatively, growing the fortune left to him, and he won the hearts of many by helping the poor and providing scholarships for the disadvantaged.

  But Zane De'Ville had two qualities that were tarnishing his shining halo.

  The first; he would not, perhaps could not, tell a lie.

  His honesty was unnerving. As he matured he learned to hold his tongue and simply keep his opinions to himself, but if pressed for an answer he would tell the unvarnished truth.

  The second; he possessed a decadent sexual appetite.

  He'd always known his desires were dark and different and he'd accepted his fate at an early age, but to his surprise he discovered many women adored his authority and perverse pleasures. The younger ladies refrained from fully surrendering, determined to remain intact for their marriage bed, but when he pinned them down and devoured their lips, and whispered his wicked thoughts in their ear, they would leave breathless and filled with an urgent hunger for more. It wasn't his imagination that told him so. Heartfelt notes begging for another secret rendezvous would arrive at his door, and he rarely declined the fervent invitations.

  It was when he broke the heart of one such young woman that he learned his allure could have devastating consequences. Though he cared for her, she was just one of many with whom he was spending his time, but she had fallen desperately in love. When he realized she was obsessed he'd ended their friendship, little knowing it would send her into a profound state of despair.

  Her parents banged on his door demanding he marry her, and word spread that he was a heartless cad. Not wishing pain on anyone, especially not a young woman with whom he'd shared intimate loving moments, he'd suffered a bout of deep melancholy, spending hours in a dark room reflecting on his behavior. He emerged with a new sense of responsibility about his role as a lover, and a belief that a woman's heart was more fragile than porcelain, their psyche more sensitive than their skin, and their female souls far more vulnerable than a man could comprehend. He instituted a new rule, and every woman, young or old, who crossed his threshold wanting to experience his very unique brand of hedonism, was given a short, sharp speech.

  There is no truth that is worse than a lie. I will not lie to you, not about anything. You will not lie to me, not about anything. There is no future with me. I will not marry you. You will not be the only woman sharing my bed. If you become jealous or if you start to fall in love I will sense it, and for your own benefit my door will be closed to you. It is the kind thing to do.

  With his once exemplary reputation in tatters, he'd left Paris and spent two years traveling through Europe, returning to his home for short periods of time to attend to business, though he did enjoy the company of a few married women while there. When he found himself in London he was reminded of something he already knew; many in the aristocracy were delightfully decadent, and weekends of debauchery at majestic country homes were not uncommon. He had a fondness for London and he planned to expand his business interests there, so he decided it was time to purchase a second home in Mayfair.

  After finding the ideal house, knowing it would take a few months to have renovated and decorated, he'd returned to Paris for a lengthier stay. To his relief the gossipmongers had finally moved on to other prey and life was calmer. He'd considered staying even longer, but when his Mayfair residence was ready and he returned to view the work, he loved it the moment he'd walked into the black and white diamond-tiled foyer. He was sure he'd find fresh adventures in London, but he never expected the sudden and dramatic appearance of a beautiful, drenched, frantic young woman who had literally crashed into him on the street.

  Now that mysterious, spoiled, fascinating female was seated opposite him at his dining table, and he was finding her intriguing intrusion a stimulating introduction to his new life in London.

  "Why are you staring at me?"

  She'd asked the question as she'd dabbed the corners of her mouth with the white linen serviette, and Zane thought she possessed the most kissable lips he'd ever seen. Her bright green eyes that had been flashing at him with anger just a short time before were sparkling across the table at him, and he could easily imagine them half-lidded as she moaned under his touch.

  "Because you are lovely to look at."

  She mumbled an embarrassed thank you and lowered her eyes. It surprised him. There was little about her that was shy and retiring, and her reaction seemed out of character. Was it the wine? Was she feeling unwell?

  "You seem much calmer now," he continued. "I hope you're not still dizzy."

  "Not at all, I had very little lunch and the wine went straight to my head. The meal has helped tremendously."

  "Bien."

  "Why do you say the occasional French word?"

  "Habit perhaps? I don't think about it, but now we must discuss your situation, and I hope we can do so sensibly."

  "Sensibly?" she repeated eyeing him warily. "What does that mean?"

  "No display of temper. I will tell you what I think. It's how I am, and if you disagree that's acceptable, but not if that disagreement is accompanied by anger."

  "But if I feel something I must express it. That's how I am," she declared, "so I can't promise not to get upset."

  "Then you must promise to do your best to control yourself, can you do that?"

  "Yes, I can do that."

  "I only wish to help you and this is not complicated. You have already admitted your family will be worried about you, and you don't want them to be. Agreed?"

  "Agreed."

  "You don't wish to tell me where they live or who they are, but I have a suggestion. Is there a mutual party I could visit? Someone you trust? I could tell that person you're safe and well, and they could relay the message to your family. It would give them peace of mind. Isn't that reasonable? More importantly, isn't it the right thing to do?"

  "The right thing to do," she repeated. "When you put it like that…but I need to think about this."

  "Think about what, exactly?"

  To avoid his question she reached for her glass of water. She didn't want to tell him about Anne because she liked being in his home, but most especially she liked being around him. How could she admit such a thing? If she sent him to Anne's house, Anne would point out that he was a stranger, and regardless, Flora shouldn't be staying in a man's home. Anne would insist that she be the one to offer a safe haven.

  "Flora? I asked you what you need to think about."

  "I don't want to tell you."

  "I'll let you sleep on it, but you must take some action in the morning. Your father may be a bit of a tyrant, but he is still your father, and he and your mother and brother certainly deserve more consideration."

  "I'll come up with something," she promised. "I already have an idea in my head, but as I said, I'm not ready to tell you yet."

  "But you will in the morning, won't you, Flora?"

  "Hopefully."

  A soft smile curled the edges of his lips. Flora was utterly delightful, and that she was in need of a trip over his lap made her even more appealing. Her mannerisms were charming; the way she rolled her eyes up when she was thinking, how she tilted her head to one side when she was listening to him, and the soft pink blush that crossed her creamy cheeks when she was feeling unsure. She was intoxicating, and he was fighting an uncomfortable erection.

  "Did I s
ay something wrong? You've gone quiet."

  "Not at all. You are a lovely young lady even if you can be irksome. Do you want dessert?" he asked as their plates were cleared. "I have a sweet tooth so cakes and pies are always available."

  "Yes, please."

  "Bancroft, bring us a selection."

  "Right away, my lord."

  As the servants left the dining room, Flora sipped her water, then let out a long breath.

  "Was that a sigh of contentment, exasperation, or something else?"

  "I'm not sure, maybe all those things. Thank you for taking me in. I do like it here, and I like you, Zane, even if you are difficult. You can be quite nice sometimes."

  Zane laughed out loud.

  "What's so funny?"

  "You ma chérie. I'm difficult? Mon dieu."

  "But you are. Don't you know that?"

  "I have no answer for you," he chuckled, "perhaps in the morning."

  "May I ask you something?"

  "You may ask me anything."

  "What are you?"

  "This question is confusing. I don't understand."

  "Are you a duke, an earl, what are you?"

  "Ah, I see. Title's in France are not as they are here in England. I'm sure you are aware of the great upheaval that afflicted my country."

  "It must have been dreadful."

  "It was, for some more than others. Our titles now carry little or no weight, and they're no longer associated with land ownership, but that does not preclude me from owning land, in fact, I have expanded my ownership of land considerably over the last few years."

  "But what is your title?"

  "It is unimportant."

  "Why won't you tell me?"

  "Why won't you tell me about you and your family?"

  "You're not being fair! You're just saying that to make me talk."

  "Flora, you're being childish again. I have my reasons for not wishing to discuss my title, as you have yours for not wishing to tell me who you are and where you live. If we become better friends perhaps I will tell you more, and you will tell me more."

  "Our circumstances are totally different," she declared, "unless someone is trying to force you to marry an ugly old princess and you haven't told me."

  Again he had to laugh, and as it subsided he moved his arm across the table.

  "Give me your hand," he said softly.

  "My hand?"

  "Yes, your hand."

  "But, my glove, I don't have it on."

  "I have no interest in your glove. If you don't wish to give me your hand then don't, but I would like it if you would."

  Her heart began to thump, and hesitantly she reached across the table.

  "Merci," he murmured closing his fingers around hers. "Flora, I hope we can become great friends. When you are reunited with your family I want to call on you. I want to know all there is to know about you."

  His grasp was firm, she could feel the softness of his skin and suddenly an extraordinary rush of heat flamed through her body.

  "I would like that," she managed, "I would like that very much."

  "I must warn you," he continued lowering his voice, "if we do become great friends and you are childish I will spank you. Do you accept that?"

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Zane watched the bright red flush flame across Flora's face. He'd expected it, but he didn't expect what followed. Snatching her hand from his she unceremoniously pushed back her chair and abruptly rose to her feet.

  "I agree to no such thing!" she vehemently exclaimed, "and I now have no desire for any dessert. Goodnight, sir."

  "At least you called me sir, that's a start," he said with a wicked grin. "Respect is always welcome."

  "You're insufferable!"

  "And once again you have shown your inability to control yourself. You may leave if you wish. I'm going to have some coffee and apple tart."

  "I may? I MAY?" she sputtered. "I don't need your permission, especially not after what you just suggested."

  "You have it nonetheless, goodnight."

  Pulse racing and feeling trembly Flora stormed from the room. The extraordinary fluttering in her stomach had burst to life, and though she was aghast at his outrageous condition, she couldn't deny there was a part of her that found the scandalous suggestion tantalizing. In fact, everything about him was tantalizing. She was tantalized by his compelling chocolate eyes, his walk, his hair, his wide shoulders, his everything. When he'd wrapped his fingers around her naked hand she thought she might faint, and when he'd told he would spank her if she was childish, a searing heat had surged through her body and she'd felt a flood of moisture between her legs. Marching up the stairs and down the hall to her room she burst through the door and began to pace. Her body was shaking, her heart was pounding, and she felt completely undone.

  "What's wrong with me?" she muttered. "It's him. He's some kind of warlock, or vampire, or sorcerer. He's put a spell on me. He must have. I need a drink, I need something. No! What I need is to figure out what to do about all this."

  A gentle tapping on her door startled her from her thoughts. For a fleeting frightening moment she thought it might be him, but then decided he wouldn't softly knock.

  "Who is it?"

  "Mrs. Davis, my lady. Do you need help?"

  "Yes, I wish to undress and go to bed."

  "You look upset," Mrs. Davis said as she entered. "Are you unwell?"

  "I had too much to drink, and I desperately need to rid myself of my confounded corset so I can breathe."

  "Let me unlace it for you. I don't suppose the wine helped you remember anything."

  Flora paused. The woman would hear Zane call her by her real name. She may as well tell her. There was probably no harm in it.

  "Yes, actually, I remember that my name is Flora."

  "Flora? How extraordinary," Mrs. Davis declared as she helped Flora out of her dress. "Your real name is Flora and his lordship has been calling you Fleur."

  "It is a bit strange."

  "If you'll forgive me saying so, it sounds like fate."

  "Fate? How do you mean?"

  "Of all the people in the world you could have bumped into during that awful storm, it was his lordship. One could call it an accident, but for him to give you the name you were christened by, the French version though it may be, sounds like fate to me. You two were destined to meet. That's how I see it, my lady."

  Flora couldn't help but smile, and as her corset came off, and Mrs. Davis helped her on with the warm nightgown, she let out a heavy sigh.

  "There you are," Mrs. Davis said warmly. "I'm sure that feels better."

  "It does, but Mrs. Davis, why have you suddenly starting calling me, my lady?"

  "I should have from the start and I apologize for not doing so. It's obvious to everyone that you are a lady. His lordship believes that too."

  "How do you know that?"

  "He mentioned it to Bancroft, and Bancroft passed it along to me. I'm embarrassed that I neglected to refer to you that way earlier."

  "You had no idea who I was," Flora said sweetly. "I didn't even know who I was. Please don't give it another thought."

  "That's very kind of you I'm sure. Will that be all my lady?"

  "Actually, no. Would you please bring me some apple tart and coffee?"

  "Of course. Right away."

  As the housekeeper left, Flora ambled across to the window and gazed out at the night. To her delight she could see a dusting of snow under the streetlamp. She loved the snow, and as she thought about Mrs. Davis's suggestion that she and Zane had been destined to meet a soft smile crossed her lips. The threat of a spanking, however, was continuing to haunt her, and she was feeling the need to slip her fingers between her legs and rub herself. Perhaps she would later, but there were far more pressing matters on her mind.

  Zane had been right when he'd said her family should be told she was safe. She had no desire to worry her mother or George, but a good dose of concern was exactly what he
r father needed, certainly enough so he'd stop pressuring her to marry the German prince. What was so important about her marrying royalty anyway? She was starting to become angry again and that wouldn't do. She needed a clear head! Turning her attention to the exquisite painting of the beautiful dapple grey horse, she took a long deep breath. It worked. She could feel the unwelcome irritation begin to subside, and a moment later a knock at her door told her Mrs. Davis had arrived with her pie and coffee.

  "Come in," Flora called, moving to her bed and settling under the covers.

  "Here you are my lady," Mrs. Davis said happily, walking in and placing a tray on Flora's lap. "It's one of his lordship's favorites. The cook bakes it with cinnamon, sugar, and a squeeze of lemon."

  "Thank you, it smells delicious."

  "Will you be wanting anything else, my lady?"

  "No, Mrs. Davis, thank you. I'll eat this then go to sleep."

  "Very well my lady. I'll see you in the morning."

  "Goodnight, Mrs. Davis."

  As the housekeeper closed the door, Flora began to eat her pie, but the comment about the morning sent her back to thinking. The tart was delicious, and as she devoured the warm apples and tasty crust an idea began to take hold. By the time she was scooping up the last of the pastry crumbs she was smiling broadly. She knew exactly what to do. Zane De'Ville would be very surprised come breakfast time. Very surprised indeed.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  After he'd finished his dessert, Zane had locked himself away in his study. The tasks before him required his uninterrupted attention. Though he'd been in his new home almost a week he was still organizing his documents. He'd purchased a desk much like the one he had in his study at the chateau, and he had worked tirelessly for over two hours making sure everything was where it should be.