Seductive as Flame (34 page)

“My Lord, Alec,” Zelda said, astonished he had guards to keep his wife at bay. “What a tangled mess. I marvel at your charity. How do you do it?”

He was more than willing to shift the conversation from the shooting, even if the alternative was his noxious marriage. “An arrangement like mine isn’t so uncommon,” he said, suppressing the old bottled rage automatically now after so long. “I know any number of men who’ve entered marriages of convenience.” He didn’t say noblemen weren’t required to be faithful, nor that it made marriages like his bearable. “And if you think Chris is sweet now,” he said with a fleeting smile, “you should have seen him at two.”

“I can imagine.”

“One learns to cope,” he said.

“By amusing yourself in other ladies’ beds.”

“Not anymore.” There was no point arguing about the past. “You can have that in writing if you want.”

“I just might. If nothing else, I could blackmail you with such a promise,” she lightly noted. “I doubt you’d like your reputation for vice besmirched.”

He smiled. “You must be feeling better. And for your information, I no longer have a reputation for vice.”

Her brows lifted in amused delight. “Is that so.”

“It is. I intend to be a model husband, attentive to my wife and marriage vows.”

“Must I learn to be a model wife?” she playfully inquired.

He shook his head. “You’re perfect.” Of that he was certain after screwing his way around the world the last ten years. His chin lifted. “Hear that? My men are close.” Running footsteps were audible. “And I expect Wilson will have some reasonable explanation for this monstrous mistake.”

Zelda brushed his chin with her fingertip. “You were very chivalrous to shield me with your body. I thought it exceedingly romantic.”

“I’ll be happy to cover you with my body again,” the earl sportively offered. “Hopefully soon.” Although this incident presaged the end of Zelda’s stay at Munro Park. He’d have her escorted home tomorrow.

“How soon?” she whispered.

His smile was warm, tantalizing. “Just as soon as I get rid of my men.” But he was already making plans to pay Violetta a visit as soon as Zelda was gone. Apparently, his wife didn’t understand she was no longer in a position of power.

He’d have to make that clear.

When the party of armed men reached them a moment later, Dalgliesh casually addressed his lieutenant. “Someone will have to tell Wilson to do his shooting somewhere else next time.”

Jed Green, who’d known Alec from childhood, picked up the cue. “I’ll speak to Wilson,” he said. Although he knew as well as Alec, if Wilson wanted to shoot someone, he wouldn’t miss. “It must have been a real fright for the lady.”

“Perhaps just a little,” Zelda admitted. “But I’m fine now.”

“Back to the house then, darling?” Alec’s gaze met Jed’s for a second before he turned his smile on Zelda and held out his arm.

In the guise of a bantering conversation between Alec and his men, the six guards casually positioned themselves to protect their patron and his lady on the return to the Dower House.

Dalgliesh nodded at Jed as they reached the house. “If I might see you later,” he said. “You can tell me what Wilson said.”

“Very good, sir. Anytime.”

It was an unpleasant meeting when Dalgliesh met with his men fifteen minutes later in the armory. He’d excused himself from breakfast, pleading work. Understanding the full extent of his obligations, Zelda had graciously sent him off.

Alec was feeling far less gracious. “Someone should be whipped,” he growled, taking his seat at the head of the table and glaring at his men. “Miss MacKenzie was almost killed. How the
hell
did it happen!”

“From what I can gather, boss,” Jed said, “one of the jockeys who comes here regularly disappeared right quick after the shooting. Since he was vetted, no one thought to question him.”

“Who?”

“Cummings, sir.”

“Find him. Bring him to me.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll send up a message when we have ’im.”

The earl softly sighed. “We’re going to have to increase surveillance on my wife. I thought we had enough men in the city. Apparently not.”

“Yes, sir.”

“She has to be followed wherever she goes. See that we have paid agents in every house of consequence in the city. I want to know where she goes, who she talks to, what she says. Bring in men from Warwickshire if you have to.” Another of Dalgliesh’s hunting estates.

“Any men from Crosstrees?”

Alec smiled. “Is Gordon itching for a fight?”

“He always is, sir.”

“Do as you like. I suppose he wants his cousins with him.”

“I expect so, sir.”

“Have Fulton arrange for supplies, weapons, billeting.”

“He already has, begging your pardon, sir.”

Dalgliesh laughed. “I should have known. But no more mistakes, hear? That was too bloody close for comfort. The lady is going to be my wife.” He scanned the men seated around the table. “She’s to be protected from Violetta’s malice. I’ll need a full complement of men to escort her to the Highlands tomorrow. Everyone well armed.”

“Consider it done, sir.”

Alec grimaced. “I haven’t told her yet that I’m sending her back.” He softly sighed. “A word of warning. You may have a sulky lady on your hands on the trip north. Treat her delicately. Do anything she wants”—his brows rose—“within reason.”

CHAPTER 25

T
HAT NIGHT, ALEC took special care to indulge Zelda’s desires with a professional artistry and an obsessive regard for sensation, and she responded to him as she always did, with unprofessional passion and generosity. And much later as she lay in his arms, sated and blissfully content as intended, he gently broached the subject of her departure.

An unexpected business emergency in London had come up, he said. Another crisis—a minor one, but he had to attend to it. Some politicians needed added inducements to support his cause, some required an additional dose of courage to resist Rhodes, both of which he was to personally dispense. He didn’t know how many days the meetings would last, he explained. He knew she didn’t care to be seen with him in London, although she was certainly welcome. Unfortunately, he didn’t know whether he’d have time to entertain her. Perhaps she might like to go home for a short while. He’d come for her just as soon as he could. A week—two at the most.

Lies, lies, and more lies.

She, in turn, pretended to believe him. He was gracious, at least, in sending her away. So she smiled and nodded and agreed and said all that was required of a well-behaved lover about to be discarded.

She wondered afterward how she’d managed when his first words had struck her like a punch in the gut. Perhaps facing down bandits in Mongolia or headmen in the jungle had schooled her not to blink or move a muscle or show emotion. Perhaps it was sheer obstinacy that carried her through. She refused to dissolve into tears—not with a man who viewed women as disposable. In any case, she doubted he’d be moved by female tears.

Their good-byes in the morning were exquisitely polite.

His smile perhaps was more practiced than hers, but then he’d had more opportunity to use it in situations like this, she decided. He, on the other hand, didn’t know what to think; he’d never felt such a wrenching sense of loss.

The dowager was gracious as ever. As though her son had women in residence at Munro Park on a regular basis.

Chris was consoled by his father’s explanation that Miss MacKenzie would return soon. A fiction, Zelda observed, but Dalgliesh knew best how to deal with his son. As for Creiggy, her civility couldn’t be faulted; small wonder from the woman who’d taught Alec his manners.

Everyone’s conduct was proper enough for a levee at court.

By the time they reached the private rail station at Munro Park, however, Zelda’s smile was stiff and brittle, her nerves on edge, her heart near to breaking—only poetically, of course. In reality, it kept obstinately thudding along without regard for her anguish. She fought to keep her tears at bay, her breathing quickening under the strain, only sheer will stemming the tide.

What saved her—quite by chance—was the size of her escort lined up on the platform. She was first shocked, then astonished. “So many men,” she said on a small caught breath, her maudlin concerns eclipsed by the staggering number of men-at-arms loosely deployed in rows under the bright morning sun.

“Most of the men are on their way to Crosstrees for the holidays.” Only a partial lie. “The others will see you safely home.” Dalgliesh smiled. “And tell me where to find you again. The tracks through the Highlands can be obscure.”

She didn’t dissemble as well or perhaps found suave urbanity more difficult with the huge lump in her throat. “Thank you”—her voice broke—“for all your kindness.”

“The pleasure was mine.” Ignoring her stricken look, he held out his hand, his demeanor relaxed. “Come, I’ll help you inside.”

After entering the parlor of his private car, he introduced her to the waiting staff. He spoke to each retainer with a casual familiarity, made them laugh, dismissed them after a few moments with polished grace. “If you wish for anything,” he said, turning to Zelda, “you need but ask. Soames is in charge inside, Jed outside. They have instructions to indulge your every whim,” he added with a faint smile.

She had to bite back the comment on the tip of her tongue; she didn’t think he was included in her whims. “I can be quite selfish, then,” she lightly said in lieu of breaking into a torrent of tears.

“Feel free, darling, to be anything you wish.”

“Thank you again, for everything. I had a very nice time.” There. She could be dégagé, too, if she put her mind to it.

“I don’t suppose there’s a telegraph office near your home.” He was perhaps not completely dégagé.

She shook her head.

“Or a telephone.”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Then I’ll send a messenger to warn you when I’m coming.”

She almost believed him; she very much wanted to believe him. “I’d like that,” she said, unable to keep her voice steady at the last.

The helpless pain in her eyes almost made him change his mind and carry her off the train. He could lock her away at Munro Park, strengthen his patrols, keep her safe. He could assemble an army to guard her. But his mother had almost become a casualty within the confines of her own home. He dare not take the risk, no more than he dared kiss Zelda good-bye. If he touched her, he was lost. “You’ll see me soon.” He found it difficult to keep his breathing even. By conscious will, he summoned a smile, then turned and quickly left.

He stood on the platform as the train pulled away, not noticing the cold wind or how tired he was, touched by a sadness he’d not felt before. Wishing he hadn’t had to send her home. Wishing Violetta hadn’t forced his hand. Wishing there wasn’t always a price to be paid for every joy.

Her face pressed against the window, her eyes brimming with tears, Zelda watched him until his figure diminished to nothingness. Then he was gone. Perhaps forever.

She had no way of knowing.

She also didn’t know if she even dared hope for a future with a man like Alec, who was much sought after by women and unrestrained in his amusements. She knew men often said what they didn’t mean, that honesty was particularly elusive at the conclusion of an affaire.

Still, hope springs eternal, someone of roseate disposition once said. She sighed. With a profligate like Dalgliesh? Perhaps not. Although, if nothing else, the bonny earl had become the yardstick by which every future lover would be measured. She smiled. Damn though, he was going to be difficult to replace. On the other hand, he’d given her an abundant supply of glorious memories—a veritable encyclopedia of sybaritic delight. Partial recompense at least for her loss.

On the journey north, as promised, everyone was the soul of courtesy. Zelda had but to incidentally mention something she liked and it appeared as if by magic or someone saw to it that the train was stopped and the item fetched for her. Two lady’s maids were aboard to serve her, as well as a chef, three footmen, and the redoubtable Soames. Jed Green, who was in charge of the troop, checked in from time to time to see that she lacked nothing. She could have been traveling royalty with the size and charitable intent of her retinue.

But what she liked best during her journey were the times when Jed would talk about Alec. He’d take the whiskey she offered, sit for the time it took to drink it, and answer her questions. He wasn’t averse to recounting incidents from Alec’s youth. The men had grown up together at Crosstrees and were friends. But when it came to answering questions about Alec’s adulthood, Jed was more circumspect. There were always women in Alec’s life. He was a man who attracted female attention.

When they disembarked at Inverness, a smaller troop accompanied Zelda on the last leg of her journey, the danger having diminished with the increasing distance from London. Although, aware of what the lady meant to Alec, Jed took no risks. His twenty men were well armed and vigilant.

Zelda’s father came hurrying out to greet them as the cavalcade rode into the yard, his eyebrows flying up at the size of her escort. Sir Gavin offered Dalgliesh’s men the hospitality of his house, but Jed graciously refused, explaining that the train was waiting for them at Inverness.

“It takes a wee bit o’ cash to hold up a train that long,” Sir Gavin noted a short time later as he and Zelda entered the baronial manor with its imaginative Renaissance architectural details overlaying the original fifteenth-century castle.

Zelda smiled. “Dalgliesh has more than a wee bit, Da. Are the boys home?”

“Aye. I saw them riding into the stable yard just as you arrived. Come, take your ease and tell us of the doings in the south.”

As Sir Gavin ushered Zelda into the large sitting room, with its fine painted ceiling where the family gathered in their leisure, her three brothers turned from the hearth. They were ranged before the huge fireplace that was large enough to roast an ox, their faces ruddy from the outdoors, their hunting plaids damp on their shoulders, their boots muddy from tramping the hills. They each had a horn cup of whiskey in hand.