“No, not today.”
“But you’re going riding.” His brows rose. “Surely not in that?” A riding habit required a sidesaddle.
Zelda twitched the hem of her skirt aside enough to show her deerskin breeches. “I’ve not lost all reason,” she said with a smile. “I’m just choosing to be a little less conspicuous.”
Sir Gavin scrutinized his daughter’s face, wondering why she was suddenly concerned with drawing attention, wondering as well why she was forgoing a hunt when she rarely did. “Come, my dear, what’s this all about?” he quietly said. “Are you avoiding Dalgliesh this morning? Is that why you’re not hunting? If he did something to displease you, I’ll—”
“No, Papa.” Zelda came to a stop. “On the contrary. I’ve been invited to Crosstrees.”
“Ah.” Sir Gavin frowned faintly. “You might want to think twice before involving yourself with a man like Dalgliesh. Rumor has it he’s left a number of broken hearts in his wake—if not more significant problems,” he cryptically added.
Did that mean Dalgliesh’s comment about giving her a baby was commonplace? Did it matter?
“I can take care of myself, Papa. Dalgliesh, no matter his disreputable ways, is less dangerous than trekking into the wilds of the world. And I’m going eyes wide open,” she added for good measure, her father’s voiced concern unusual. “It’s a lark, no more.”
His expression lightened. “I suppose you know what you’re doing. You’ve always been an adventuresome lass with courage to spare. Ye might need it with yon earl,” he added in a muted tone, lapsing into a brogue as he often did when in doubt.
“No, I won’t.”
“That may be, but dinna forget—should ye need my help, ye have but to ask.”
“He’s not an ogre, Papa.”
“Nor is he saintlike and heaven born, lass.”
She softly sighed. “Please, I’m not fifteen. Nor even twenty.”
“I’m done, lass.” Sir Gavin smiled. “Ye’re like your mother. She always knew what she wanted, too. I was lucky she wanted me,” he softly added. “But remember”—a sudden briskness entered his tone—“your brothers and I are always there for ye.”
“I don’t need protection, Papa. Really, I don’t.”
“Ah, weel, ye niver know. Dalgliesh’s wife came up to me after dinner last night. Unpleasant woman,” he murmured. “She mentioned something about her son.” Sir Gavin held Zelda’s gaze for a moment. “I wouldna let her get too near, lass. She’s a might unreliable,” he added in casual understatement. “Now then, do ye want me to make your excuses? Easy enough for me to do.”
“I already spoke to Fitz and thanked him.” She’d stopped in the breakfast room before coming out to the stables.
“Ah, then ye have yourself a nice time, lass. Dalgliesh is a damn sight better than most Anglo-Scots, I’ll give him that. And he handles a horse with the best o’ them.”
The ultimate praise from her father. “I agree. And it’s just a short holiday. I won’t be gone long.”
Sir Gavin acknowledged his daughter’s rejoinder with an indulgent smile. “Ye always were a sensible lass.”
Zelda grinned. “Someone had to be.”
Lightly grasping Zelda’s shoulder, he opened his mouth to speak, then shut it, and awkwardly patted her shoulder instead. “Mind you don’t take any high fences now, lass.” Which was as close to expressing affection as Sir Gavin was capable.
“I won’t.”
“Ye’ll stay in touch.”
“Of course. You should have good hunting today. The weather’s pleasant at least.” Zelda glanced at his waiting mount. “Golden Turk looks ready to run.”
“Ay, he’s fit and fine drawn. But we’ll miss ye, lass.”
“I won’t think of you—not once,” Zelda teasingly replied.
Sir Gavin laughed. “And so it should be, lass. You’re young and bonny and full of life.”
J
OHN HAD BEEN waiting across the stable yard, watching the pair. When Zelda walked away from her father, he followed at a discreet distance, coming up behind her only as she approached the house. “Miss MacKenzie?”
Zelda turned and smiled. “You must be John.”
“Yes, miss. I just wanted to let you know that your roan is saddled and waiting.”
“Thank you. I’ll have my luggage brought down.”
“A trap’s ready at the side entrance. One of the stable lads will drive it over. Would you like me to wait for you at the house or the stables?”
“The stables, I think.” She preferred not attracting Violetta’s notice. Although she suspected Dalgliesh’s wife was a late riser.
“Very good, miss. If you like, I could wait behind the yard and we could ride cross-country to the lodge.”
“Excellent. Give me ten minutes or so.” She was hoping Rosalind had come downstairs. She’d like to thank her as well.
“Take your time, miss. It’s a short ride.”
The breakfast room was astir, those guests planning to hunt having their morning repast. Standing for a moment at the entrance to the room, Zelda perused the crowd, searching for Rosalind. Fitz saw her and waved. She returned his smile and wave, but with no glimpse of Rosalind, she turned to leave.
And almost walked into Oz.
He caught her by the shoulders, steadying her. “I was expecting you to go the other way.” He dropped his hands and took a step back.
“I’m afraid I was lost in thought. It’s too early.” She smiled. “Or at least that’s my excuse.”
“Always a good one,” Oz blandly remarked, rather than comment on her sleepless night; he’d briefly spoken to Fitz earlier and heard of Dalgliesh’s radical transformation. “Have you breakfasted? Would you like company if you haven’t? Or do you prefer solitude in the morning?”
“I don’t. But I’m breakfasting later.”
“Ah—I see.” He shot a glance at her spurless boots. “And you’re not hunting with us. Our loss is Alec’s gain I hear.”
“From whom?” A touch of unease colored her query.
“Dalgliesh spoke to Fitz before he left. It’s not common gossip. Nor will it be.”
“Thank you.”
“Although don’t be surprised if you see us again. Fitz said Alec invited us to Crosstrees.”
Her eyes flared wide. “He did?”
“He did. Fitz was equally shocked. Dalgliesh is normally a recluse at his hunting lodge. You have a gift, my dear,” he gently said. “I told you that last night.”
“If only I did,” she pleasantly replied. “Alec is just more susceptible to kindness with a wife like his.”
Oz’s brows arched faintly. “A multitude of women have tried to engage his interest by various means—kindness included. To no avail.” His sleek black hair fell forward slightly as he dipped his head. “I repeat, you have a gift.” He wasn’t so crude as to say beyond her obvious flamboyant sexuality, clearly something more than sex had prompted Dalgliesh to invite her into his private lair.
“Then I consider myself fortunate. Alec is extremely charming.”
“As are you, my dear. Although as a couple, you present rather more of a pagan image to my mind, a certain untamed wildness defines you both.” He smiled sweetly. “Not that I’m discounting the merits of charm.”
Zelda laughed. “Nor am I discounting the merits of wildness. Very perceptive of you, by the way. Do bring your wife when you come. I’d like to meet her.” Oz Lennox was powerfully charismatic. She’d like to see what kind of woman had captivated him.
“I will. In fact, Dalgliesh invited our children, too, so expect us to descend on you en masse
.
But not until after tomorrow Fitz was warned.” His dark brows flickered in sportive comment. “Realistically though, you’re safe from callers until after the house party breaks up on Monday.”
Zelda smiled. “I’ll tell Alec he’s safe for two days at least.”
“I’m sure he’ll be pleased.” He’d bet his banks on that. “Oh, hell, Bolton’s coming our way,” he murmured, his gaze on the rotund dandy mincing toward them. “I’ll let you escape. He’s a bore.”
“You’re too kind,” Zelda whispered.
“I have my moments,” Oz roguishly observed, and stepping around Zelda, he entered the breakfast room to intercept the viscount. “Did you win or lose yesterday, Bolton?” Oz pleasantly inquired as he met the young viscount with a penchant for vivid waistcoats, pink-topped boots, much-ringed fingers, and pungent cologne.
“Both. Care to give me odds on who misses the first fence today?”
“Hell no. That’s too easy. Crawford, of course. Unless you want to bet on when he falls.” Bolton’s conversation was limited to horses and gambling. But Oz bet on most anything, so a few minutes with the viscount wasn’t a hardship.
“Two hundred says ten minutes out.”
“Five hundred and five minutes,” Oz countered.
“Ummm.”
“Make it a thousand.” Oz owned the largest bank in India and several around the world.
“Damn you, too rich for my blood,” Bolton muttered.
Which was the point. “Come, Percy,” Oz said, putting his arm around the young viscount’s shoulder. “Let’s have a drink instead. Have you had Fitz’s smuggled brandy? It’s smooth as a young maid’s bum.”
Before long, young Bolton was cheerfully drinking Fitz’s brandy, his mind distracted from betting on a losing proposition. Excusing himself after the first drink, Oz strolled over to Fitz.
“I just saved the Earl of Norbury a thousand pounds,” Oz drawled, dropping into a chair beside his friend.
“Damn puppy’s going to beggar his father,” Fitz drily said.
“At least not this morning. Did you see his waistcoat? It’s blinding.”
“Fortunately I didn’t. Better yet, I haven’t seen Violetta.”
Oz slid into a lazy sprawl and smiled. “Let me do the honors if she appears. There’s something about women like Violetta that bring out the devil in me.”
“No scene.”
Oz’s eyes widened, his gaze unblemished innocence. “I’ll be the soul of discretion.”
Fitz snorted.
“Ah, ye of little faith. Women like me.” Oz gave his friend a wicked grin. “I might have to turn down an invitation into Violetta’s busy bed, for all you know.”
“Whose bed?” Jamie came up behind Oz and ruffled his hair.
“Dear Violetta’s, of course,” Oz said breezily. “I’m thinking about letting her seduce me.”
“Isolde might take a dim view of that.” Jamie pulled out a chair at the table, sat, and nodded at the brandy bottle near Fitz.
“And well she should if I were in earnest.”
Taking the bottle Fitz shoved across the table, Jamie uncorked it. “What the hell’s going on?”
“Oz wants to have some sport with Violetta. Personally, I’d steer clear of the bitch. Why look for trouble?”
Since Jamie had spent most of his adult life in dangerous situations, having relinquished his former occupation, he was averse to looking for trouble. “Isn’t she relatively inconsequential?” he said, pouring brandy into a cup.
Oz laughed. “Violetta would castrate you for such a slur.”
“She could try,” Jamie drily said over the rim of his cup. He’d left a good number of dead bodies in his wake. “Really, how can she matter?” He tipped the brandy down his throat.
Oz shrugged. “Good question.”
“With Zelda and Dalgliesh both gone, perhaps you’re right,” Fitz said.
Jamie looked up from refilling his cup. “Gone?”
“Dalgliesh is and—”
“Zelda’s following shortly.” Oz nodded toward the doorway. “I just met her in the hall.”
Jamie pursed his lips. “I hope she knows what she’s doing.”
Oz arrested his hand, holding his cup of brandy midway to his mouth. “She’s happy. Visibly so. Tell him Fitz about Dalgliesh’s novel and startling attachment,” he directed, carrying the cup to his mouth.
“The man’s smitten, at least,” Fitz recounted. “Zelda seems pleased as well. Whether Alec’s passion transcends the purely sexual, however,” he added with a jaundiced gaze, “is highly uncertain.”
“Uncertain?” Jamie said with asperity. “To whom is it uncertain with
his
record? I’ll give him three days at the most.”
“I’ll say a week. The showy Miss MacKenzie could bring a corpse to life.” Oz shot a glance at Fitz. “What do you think? You talked to him.”
“I’ll split the difference. Five. He’s not a man interested in permanence.”
“The state of his marriage a case in point,” Oz said with a grin. “Shall we say, a thousand on our estimates?”
After which the conversation quickly turned to other wagers won and lost. The three men of wealth enjoyed all the vices common to affluent aristocrats—save one. They loved their wives and families, were in fact, devoted to them.
In that regard, they most felicitously broke with precedent.
CHAPTER 11
G
RATEFUL FOR OZ’S intercession, Zelda was making her way through the maze of corridors toward her room. Since Rosalind would visit soon, she needn’t track her down this morning.
With freedom beckoning, or more to the point, Dalgliesh in all his glory, she only nodded or smiled at those she met, not wishing to stop and exchange pleasantries with paradise awaiting her at Crosstrees. She was actually giddy with excitement, a tingling anticipation agitating her senses, her feelings so rare she refused to even consider Dalgliesh’s faithlessness and profligacy, nor the tenuous nature of his liaisons. This was a carpe diem weekend—no more—and heedless and unapologetic, she intended to revel in it.
She’d packed earlier; a simple process for one who often traveled alone. But she needed a footman to transport her luggage downstairs. As she passed down the last corridor to her room, she met a sturdy young man balancing a breakfast tray on his shoulder and asked him to come for her luggage once he’d discharged his task.
Now then—one last survey of her room to check that she’d left nothing behind, and she was off for a weekend of wanton frolic with a man who gave new meaning to the phrase
sexual gratification
. At the moment she didn’t even begrudge him the practice required to school his body to such virtuosity. Especially with the heat of passion already beginning to warm her blood.