Seductive as Flame (8 page)

Several moments later, having covered all the conventional topics, curious about Lennox’s distinctive features, and perhaps less restrained with the whiskey warming her blood, Zelda asked, “Where do you live?”

“Cambridgeshire mostly.”

“Then where do you come from with this?” She brushed her finger up his bronzed cheek.

He smiled. “India—Hyderabad.”

“Ah—I should have known. You’re incredibly handsome, although I’m sure you know that. Why are you here charming me?” she pleasantly inquired. He was affable and urbane but not flirtatious.

“I’m on duty—very pleasant duty, I might add. I’m saving you from Violetta,” he said with a flick of his eyes in Alec’s wife’s direction. “In case she forgets her manners.”

“Oh Lord,” Zelda murmured. “Was it that obvious this morning?”

“The look that passed between you two could have powered London for a week. Also your absence at the hunt was noticed.” He shrugged. “Violetta may have heard.”

“But does she care?”

His smile was droll. “Seriously? With someone as beautiful as you? Even if she didn’t care, she’d make sure to mark her territory just for the hell of it.”

“I probably can deal with her if necessary.”

“But why should you have to when I’m more than willing to be boorish in your stead?” he cheerfully said. “By the way, I’ve never met a witch.”

She smiled. “Nor have I.”

“What about this?” He ran a finger over the rough-cut emeralds circling her neck, clearly an artifact of some ancient culture with the beaten-gold pendants dangling from each jewel.

“It was a gift from one of the Amazon headmen.”

His brows rose. “He thought you were a witch, too.”

“I think my height impressed everyone—and perhaps my hair.”

“You should touch my little Ceci and Raj for good luck.”

“I’d be happy to, although I’m not sure it would do much good.”

“Perhaps you don’t know your powers, my dear. Ah, here’s your real protection,” he murmured. Dalgliesh had abruptly left the group of women surrounding him right after Oz had touched the emeralds at Zelda’s throat. He was shouldering his way through the crowd now, looking grim.

Zelda turned to look and, against all prudence and reason, felt breathless with delight.

“I was guarding Miss MacKenzie, in case you were wondering,” Oz said as Alec reached them, full of affront.

The earl’s frown vanished. “Thank you. I appreciate your kindness.”

Oz grinned. “Miss MacKenzie thought she’d do well enough on her own.”

“Did she now?”

“I’m sure you’d know best in that regard. Au revoir, my dears.” And Lennox strolled away.

“You shouldn’t be talking to me,” Zelda said.

“You shouldn’t be blushing.”

“It would be much easier for you not to talk to me.”

One dark brow rose very slightly. “If only that were easy. I almost didn’t come down. I tried not to.”

“I debated coming down to dinner as well. So many people,” she murmured. “All interested in scandal.”

He glanced around as if in assent, when in fact, he was marking Violetta’s location; good, she was in conversation with Mytton. “You’re safe enough for a minute. Don’t move,” he brusquely said. “I’ll be right back.”

But perhaps his wife had her eye on him as well, because the moment he walked away from Zelda, Violetta excused herself and began moving toward her newest rival. She
had
heard of her husband’s absence from the hunt with this woman.

Jamie smoothly stepped into Violetta’s path, intercepting her progress. “Are you enjoying your weekend?” he politely inquired.

“Well enough. And you?” Her eyes were hostile. “I see Bella’s here.” Jamie had been Bella’s favorite lover before his marriage.

“Is she? I didn’t notice.”

Violetta sniffed. “Men—you’re all alike.” She began moving around him.

“I don’t believe you’ve met my wife,” Jamie smoothly murmured, moving a half step to obstruct her advance. “Come, let me introduce you.” A bodyguard to a prince prior to his retirement to Scotland, Jamie Blackwood was more capable than most of protecting people. Taking Violetta by the hand, he ignored her stiff-backed reluctance and, asking her a question about Mytton’s new yacht, drew her away.

His wife had been apprised of the situation, and after she and Violetta had been introduced, Sofia immediately mentioned their many common acquaintances. She further engaged Violetta’s interest by confining her comments to several men about town both women knew. Ignoring Jamie’s faint scowl since she was comparing notes on young bucks only as a conversational gambit and specifically as a service to his cousin, Sofia lightly said, “Don’t you agree, darling. Lord Cosgrave is one of the better polo players in England.” She turned to Violetta with a smile. “Did you know Jamie played polo all over the world? Such lovely strong muscles one develops playing that game. But you know that, don’t you, since you and Cosgrove are such good friends. Jamie, dear, why don’t you get us both a little drink,” Sofia murmured. “I’m sure Violetta would adore that nice cherry eau-de-vie.”

Left à deux with such an intriguing subject, the ladies’ conversation continued apace, Violetta was calmed, her assault diverted, and Zelda was spared.

In the meantime, Alec pulled Fitz away from a group of his guests who were discussing the day’s hunt. “Sorry,” he said once they were away from the other men. “But dinner’s about to be served and I need a place card changed. I want to be seated next to Zelda.”

“Do you think it’s wise?” Fitz had seen Jamie stop Violetta before she reached Zelda.

“I don’t care if it is or not.”

One look at Alec’s face and Fitz said, “I’ll have Neville take care of it.”

“I appreciate it.”

“You know what you’re doing, I presume.”

Alec grinned. “Fuck no, but it feels good.” And turning, he strode away.

The duke caught his butler’s eye, called him over with a nod, and a moment later Neville was detailing the duke’s instructions to an underling.

Returning to Zelda, Alec smiled. “That went well. Now I can entertain you at dinner.”

“You’re mad!”

“Probably.”

“You shouldn’t have!” She bit her bottom lip in dismay and consternation and outright alarm. He was being entirely too rash. “Promise me at least you’ll be discreet,” she said even as her pulse rate accelerated.

“I can’t promise that.”

“You
must
!”

He shot her an incredulous look; women didn’t give him orders.

“Let me rephrase that,” she swiftly amended, knowing she had no authority over his actions. “I dearly
wish
you’d be discreet.”

“As do I, but Christ, it’s been a fucking long day of incredible self-restraint. Oh hell, I’ll try,” he quickly said at the sudden alarm in her eyes. “How would that be? Really, I’ll try,” he added, his voice soft and low.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I so dislike everyone staring.”

“They’re only looking because you’re gorgeous tonight in that green velvet gown,” he lied, knowing full well why they were staring. “Like a lovely Christmas package, I thought when I first walked in and saw you.
My
present,” he said in a husky rasp. “If I can last sixty-four hours more.”

“If I can last,” she said on a small caught breath.

His smile was instant and sweet. “Let me know if you change your mind,” he softly said. “I’m always available.”

Her fingers closed over her fan struts so hard her knuckles went white. “You’re not being helpful,” she whispered.

“Oh, yes, I am. Believe me I’m accommodating as hell. I would have fucked you this morning after breakfast if I’d not been charitable.”

“Alec, stop!” she hissed, her cheeks pinked with fear and arousal.

“Yes, dear.” His smile was pure sunshine, his world suddenly rich with promise. He may not have to wait until Monday after all.

But dinner was an ordeal even for Dalgliesh. He’d never had to curb his libido under so many watchful gazes. If it wasn’t so grueling, he would have found it amusing.

“Don’t these people have any other interests?” he whispered.

“Apparently not,” Zelda said under her breath. “Including your wife. She’s watching you.”

He’d noticed. Violetta rarely watched him. It wasn’t a good sign. Would he have to protect Zelda from her spleen? Good God, this fuck was getting complicated. Signaling a footman, he quietly said, “Keep my whiskey glass full,” and proceeded to drink his dinner.

Which in itself was alarming to Zelda, who lived in a household of four brothers and a father who enjoyed their whiskey. There was no accounting for a man’s behavior when he chose to drink instead of eat.

But Dalgliesh soon turned his attention to his dinner companion on his right and devoted the remainder of the meal to Lady Ponsonby.

He stayed with the other men when the table was cleared and the port was brought out, merely nodding to Zelda as a footman pulled back her chair and she rose to follow the ladies into the drawing room for tea and sherry. And when he came in with the other men afterward, he didn’t approach her, spending the next hour instead in the midst of one group of men or another. Not that women didn’t come up to him several times and attempt to engage his interest, but he politely declined all their advances.

A fact that didn’t go unnoticed.

Zelda marveled at his finesse. None of the ladies left angry. He must have left them hopeful, she pettishly thought when she shouldn’t. When she had absolutely no right to take issue with other women in his life. When Monday was appearing increasingly distant and unmanageable.

How in the world was she going to last ’til then? Could she?

She’d found a chair in the corner of the room in order to avoid conversation, but her solitary position actually left her more open to male overtures—all of which she courteously rebuffed. Until she finally said for the last time to an importuning man, “Thank you, but morning comes early. I want to be ready for the hunt,” and rising to her feet, she walked over to take her leave of her hostess. With a polite smile, she thanked Rosalind for a lovely evening and quickly escaped.

Or almost escaped.

She found Violetta waiting for her outside her room, her gown of black lace festooned with crystal beads shimmering in the half light, the diamonds at her throat and ears glittering.

Her eyes were glittering, too—with malice.

“I don’t want you talking to my son,” Violetta said in a deadly whisper. “I don’t want you anywhere near him. Not this weekend or ever!”

“Do I know you?” Zelda calmly said, not intimidated by a woman half her size, unmoved as well by threats from anyone—large or small.

“I’m Lady Dalgliesh, you bitch!”

“Ah—I’ve met your husband then.”

“Stay away from him, too,” Violetta snapped. Dalgliesh never flaunted his inamoratas; he kept his private life private. This woman was a disagreeable change in the status quo.

“You should probably talk to your husband about that,” Zelda casually said. “I’m not sure he takes orders from you. I know he doesn’t from me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s been a long, tiring day.”

As Zelda reached for the doorknob, Violetta slapped her wrist with her fan. “I’m not finished with you yet,” she acidly said.

Zelda glanced at her wrist, then at Violetta. “I wouldn’t do that again if I were you.” She’d grown up with four very large brothers she’d had to wrestle to the ground on occasion in their youth. This woman was inconsequential in size and in every other way.

“You don’t frighten me, you slut,” Violetta said with venom in her voice and gaze. “Stay away from my husband and son or you’ll be sorry.”

“
I’m
sorry this conversation is even taking place,” Zelda softly said, tempted to slap the stupid bitch silly. Lady Dalgliesh was the last person to expect fidelity from a husband with her intemperate life. “Now get out of my way or I’ll make you get out of my way.”

“If you touch me, I’ll scream,” Violetta hissed.

“Good Lord,” Zelda muttered. “Are you drunk?” Then she heard running footsteps behind her, saw Violetta’s gaze narrow, and resentfully thought,
Just what I need. To be caught in the middle of a domestic spat
.

“That’s enough, Violetta.” Coming up to his wife, Dalgliesh grabbed her arm and, rapidly altering the coarse, explicit words racing through his brain, growled, “Haven’t you something better to do? Mytton must be waiting for you somewhere. Go and find him.” He swung her around and gave her a push. “Stay out of my life.”

His voice was so harsh and cold, Zelda wondered that their marriage endured. Divorce wasn’t out of the question if one had money.

The earl watched his wife flounce off, waited until she was out of sight, then turned to Zelda. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am,” he said. “I saw her leave the room with Mytton. I thought you were safe.”

A moment of shock. “Safe?”

Alec lifted his shoulder in the faintest shrug. “She’s a spiteful woman, ruthless, coldhearted . . .” His voice trailed off. “I’m sorry,” he quietly said. “About her, about this, about every fucking thing.”

Zelda chose her words carefully. “The possibility of any further relationship between us appears more difficult than I anticipated.”

“I understand.” His voice held a certain flatness.

“Your wife’s obviously upset. I was under the impression your marriage was an informal arrangement.”

“It is. I have no idea why she confronted you.” Unfamiliar with the role of supplicant, he couldn’t bring himself to explain his marriage with any specificity—nor could he for other reasons as well. As for Violetta—no explanation would suffice for her rudeness. “Are you all right? She didn’t—”

“No, I’m fine. She surprised me, that’s all.” In any number of ways, but she wasn’t about to detail them to the woman’s husband. “But under the circumstances, perhaps we shouldn’t continue our friendship.”