Seductive as Flame (29 page)

Baptiste and his army of subordinates had, on Creiggy’s orders, outdone themselves in offering children’s fare in colorful display: macaroni formed into rabbit shapes with olives for eyes; buttered bread cut into star shapes and spread with pâté or jam; cheese balls piled high into a pyramid topped with a spray of succulent red grapes; huge strawberries from the hothouse; rice pudding with raisin faces; little decorated cakes in every color of the rainbow. Meanwhile, the adults partook of a tour de force of haute cuisine from Dalgliesh’s masterful chef, who was beside himself with joy at the prospect of an actual luncheon party in the house. The earl never entertained.

It was a noisy gathering with the children, adults, and even the nursemaids seated at the table. The parents were immune to the raucousness. They all subscribed to a hands-on approach to parenting, unlike many in the aristocracy, who preferred their offspring remain in the nursery until such a time as they were capable of making intelligent conversation.

Zelda found herself not at all embarrassed, instead delighted in the circus atmosphere. It reminded her of past mealtimes at home with all the children talking at once. Although, the babies particularly drew her attention—Oz’s Raj in his mother’s lap, dark like his father, plump and happy, even at three months riveted by the activity around him. Jamie’s boy, Davey, was walking at ten months and a handful even for his father, who was trying to keep him from crawling up on the table to get a closer look at the spectacular pyramid of cheese. Fitz’s Sibyl had her mother’s coloring, and while only a month older than Davey, sat quietly next to Rosalind in a high chair and daintily ate her bread and jam without smearing her fingers or face. A meticulous child, Zelda thought, smiling faintly; she’d find the world more messy than she’d like. Although with competent parents like hers, she’d likely have the talent to fix whatever needed fixing.

Meanwhile, the two toddlers, Monty and Celia, were chattering like magpies to Chris, who, beaming, was serving as their youthful authority.

Dalgliesh observed the alien scene with good-natured complacency, his arm laid along the top of Zelda’s chair, his fingertips idly brushing her shoulder from time to time. He was pleased that she was enjoying herself, that he could do this for her.

At his direction, she’d been placed beside him. He liked her near—liked the scent of her, the lingering warmth from her body, the knowledge that she was his. Not that he’d discussed his proprietary instincts with her. Nor would he.

Oz’s daughter, Celia, sat on her father’s lap while she ate. An incongruous sight, any of his former companions in vice would have reflected. But Oz wasn’t only a fond father but a fond husband as well, his attention to Isolde who sat beside him one of undisguised affection. Raj had fallen asleep like babies do—his eyelids fluttering once, twice before he’d abruptly dozed off.

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 opportunity 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.

 

I
N 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.