Seductive as Flame (19 page)

Opening his eyes, he set the bottle on the table. Understanding that the situation required a conciliatory gesture, perfectly capable of humoring people when necessary—in this case, the highly motivating prospect of sinking his cock into Miss MacKenzie’s hot cunt the requisite necessity—he addressed the table at large. “I apologize. You’re right, Creiggy, I shouldn’t drink so much. And, Chris, remind me to put some money in the poor box tomorrow. I shouldn’t have cursed. Now then is my atonement complete? Is everyone happy? Are you happy, Miss MacKenzie?” he added at the last because he couldn’t help himself once he’d uttered the word that had become so relevant to his life since meeting Zelda.

“I am,” she simply said, turning pink to the roots of her flaming hair.

“Good. Do you like the apple tart? As I recall,” he softly said, referring to their breakfast in Fitz’s hamlet, “you do.” Having succumbed to temptation, he couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

“Yes. It’s excellent.”

“Good,” he said again, byzantine implication in the single word. “And is the champagne to your liking?” Lord, she was beautiful. Happiness took on a corporeal form.

“Yes.”

His gaze traveled over her black serge–covered breasts. “We mustn’t forget your wardrobe.”

Creiggy looked up from her apple tart at that.

“Please, don’t give it a thought,” Zelda whispered.

He finally noticed the extreme softness of her voice, noticed as well the rigid set of her shoulders. He was embarrassing her. He must stop. “If you’ll excuse me.” Pushing his chair away from the table, he quickly rose. “I have to finish some correspondence. Someone will see you to your room, Miss MacKenzie, when you wish to nap.”

“I know the way.”

Something in her voice stopped him midturn—a sultry undertone, undeniable and familiar. He turned back. “Are you sure?”

“Very.”

He smiled; he’d said as much in answer to her not so long ago. “I’m glad,” he said. “Pleasant dreams, Miss MacKenzie.”

The room was quiet as a tomb after Dalgliesh walked out.

Morbid curiosity, astonishment was writ large on every retainer’s face.

Conjecture lifted Creiggy’s brows.

A warm, celebratory glow melted through Zelda’s senses and effectively nullified puny reality.

“Now what?” Chris said into the hush, boyish issues quite separate from adult concerns. “I don’t have school today, do I?” He sensed a break in his routine. His gaze on Creiggy was hopeful.

“No, not today,” Creiggy affably said. “Perhaps you’d like to go to the toy shop instead.”

“Would I ever!” Chris leaped to his feet, his face wreathed in smiles.

“Then run upstairs, wash your hands and face, and I’ll meet you in the front hall. Don’t let me keep you, Miss MacKenzie,” Creiggy remarked as Chris raced away. “And I apologize for the little scene. I tend to speak my mind.”

“Alec seems relatively tolerant of plain speaking.”

“He’s remarkably patient with all of us.” Creiggy smiled. “He always has been. Now, dinner’s at seven so Chris can join us. We keep country hours at Crosstrees.”

Zelda came to her feet. “Chris is such a sweet boy.”

“They both are.”

“Yes, I know.” Zelda’s smile warmed her eyes. “It’s very agreeable here. Snug and homey. Surprising in such a grand establishment.”

“Alec dislikes pomp and pretense.”

“All this splendor aside.” Zelda indicated her sumptuous surroundings with a sweep of her hand. A room for every occasion, she thought, the breakfast room having given way to another cozy sun-filled chamber, as if the architect had planned for family meals to follow the sun. Portraits of beautiful women and large, dark men like Dalgliesh lined the walls, the gilding and handwrought paneling softened with the patina of age, a colorful, lavish carpet from Persia soft underfoot.

“Most of the artifacts are from generations past,” Creiggy said. “Although the dowager countess collects antiques and paintings on occasion. She recently bought the Van Dyck over the mantel and the small Rembrandt in the corner and that pretty chair”—Creiggy pointed—“was in the Trianon during Pompadour’s sojourn.”

“Alec’s an indulgent son.” The items were costly.

“He always has been.”

“More of his kindness.”

“Some of it born of necessity. Perhaps he’ll tell you about it.”

“I wouldn’t dare to presume.”

“But you already have. Most charmingly, my dear. Don’t take alarm.”

“Thank you then. I won’t.”

“I suggest you leave before Chris returns. He’s going to insist you come along if you’re still here, and I can’t guarantee you’ll get away without a fuss.”

Zelda dipped her head in acknowledgment. “I understand. I had four younger brothers. Until dinner then.”

If she was a betting woman, which she was, Creiggy thought, watching Zelda walk away, she might be tempted to wager a tidy sum on the possibility that Miss MacKenzie had seriously breached Alec’s long-standing defenses.

That the bonny lass happened to be a beautiful, intelligent, equestrian Scotswoman was more than a body could have hoped for.

She was a veritable gift from the gods.

She even dressed like an Amazon.

Leaning back in her chair, Dalgliesh’s old nanny smiled. It almost made one believe in the wee folk.

CHAPTER 15

O
N ENTERING HER bedroom, Zelda shut the door and smiled at the man lounging on her bed. “I was hoping you’d be here.” She moved toward him, unbuttoning her jacket as she went.

“Did you doubt it?” His tone was easy; sex a constant in his life.

“I wasn’t entirely sure when you mentioned correspondence.”

“A polite lie. I barely made it through lunch.”

She grinned. “Is that what you call drinking half a bottle?”

“I call it hell on earth. All I could think about was being alone with you. Here, let me help you.” He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

“How much time do we have?”

“Oh Christ.” An almost imperceptible sigh. “I forgot. Mrs. Drewe is waiting for us.”

She didn’t ask who Mrs. Drewe was; she didn’t care. “Let her wait.”

“It won’t take long.” His voice was gentle, conciliatory as he came to his feet. “A brief detour, no more.”

“Postpone whatever it is.”

She was very close, inches away, looking up at him, her violet gaze hot, impatient. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, debating. Then he took her hand. “I’d rather not.” Both out of courtesy and because he had a mind to see her in something other than pants. But he didn’t say that. “Give me ten minutes. That’s not so long.” Without waiting for an answer, he pulled her toward the door to his dressing room.

“I don’t want to,” she protested. “Really—I don’t.” She tugged on his hand. “Alec—I’m not sure I can wait!”

He heard the breathlessness in her voice at the last and came to a stop. Turning back, he took pains to speak calmly. “Ten minutes, no more, darling, and after that I promise you can have anything you want.”

“Sexually you mean.”

“Of course.” He smiled faintly. “Although ask for anything. You’ll find me very agreeable.”

Her gaze narrowed slightly, resentment in her glance. “This Mrs. Drewe must be damned important.”

He swallowed a grunt. Good. She was less breathless now, back to her usual willful self. Keep talking. “Katy—Mrs. Drewe—is our seamstress at Crosstrees. She’s very good. She trained at Worth’s. And while I adore you in your breeches, I’d adore you more in a gown this evening.”

“But need we do this now?” Although timing was no longer the primary issue; it was the warmth in Dalgliesh’s voice when speaking of this seamstress. Worth’s in Paris? They didn’t employ plain women.

An escalating argument implicit in her pettish tone, his in contrast was soothing. He wished to avoid a contest of wills. “Humor me, darling. You might even see something you like. Please?” And without waiting for a reply, he shoved open the door and hauled Zelda into his dressing room before she could dig in her heels. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Katy. Lunch took longer than I anticipated. Allow me to introduce Miss MacKenzie. Zelda, Katy.” He dropped Zelda’s twitching hand rather than engage in a public struggle. “I see you’ve found some things,” he pleasantly said, hoping to divert his sulky companion’s attention. Several doors of the mirrored wardrobe lining the walls were open, and dresses had been hung on the interior hooks. “More than I thought possible. Good work.”

“Mrs. Elliot was happy to accommodate you. Lucy Winthrop will just have to wait for a few of her gowns, she said. She finds Lucy more annoying than usual since Harry got his knighthood, so it was no imposition. And you know Mrs. Elliot’s always been partial to you. Her exact words were, ‘Alec is
such
a dear boy.’” The seamstress grinned. “Naturally I agreed.”

Alec grinned back. “And why wouldn’t you?”

“Why indeed?”

“Actually, she’s a great friend of my mother,” Dalgliesh explained, with a glance for Zelda. “I’m simply included within Mother’s charitable sphere.”

Meek as a lamb.
I doubt it,
Zelda thought. Mrs. Elliot had worked for him before, she expected. And Mrs. Drewe—all rosy-cheeked and smiling—was a pretty country maid fresh as the dew. And damned friendly as well. She’d bet one of her hunters that little Katy and Alec were
more
than friends.

With the reason behind such an array of gowns accounted for, Katy addressed Zelda with a polite smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss MacKenzie. Crosstrees doesn’t often have company.”

Was she being warned off?
“The pleasure’s mine,” Zelda replied with forced civility and the barest of smiles.

“Did John find someone to watch the children?” Best to clarify Katy’s status with that coolness in Zelda’s voice.

“Liz came over, thank you. The children like her.”

Whose children?
Zelda suspiciously wondered when it was no business of hers if Dalgliesh had by-blows by the dozens.

Now a frown. “I hope Will’s feeling better. Katy’s husband,” Dalgliesh offered in an attempt to erase the frown. “He sprained his ankle badly.”

“Will’s nicely on the mend. We’re most grateful to you for sending the doctor over. By the way, I have orders to especially thank you for the whiskey,” Katy added. “Will’s the sweetest dear, but he’s not used to being home all day with the children underfoot.”

“Especially with your wild bunch. They’re darling children but hellions, as you well know. Katy and Will have five youngsters under ten, my dear. Miss MacKenzie raised four brothers and a sister, Katy.” His gaze swivelled back and forth between the women. “You two could compare notes.”

Katy smiled at Zelda. “I’ll bet you never had enough sleep.”

“Not when they were young. Someone always stayed up late or woke up early.”

“And one eats porridge and one don’t, and one likes eggs and one don’t.”

“And none ate stewed fruit,” Zelda said with a real smile, her jealousy of Mrs. Drewe having dissipated when she’d spoken of her husband with such affection. It hadn’t been enough that she was married; not with Dalgliesh’s amorous record.

“Don’t even mention stewed fruit,” Katy said with a laugh. “You’d think I was trying to poison them.”

“Sometimes if you disguise it with a large amount of Chantilly cream, they—”

Katy shook her head. “I tried.”

Feeling that fences had been nicely mended, the earl interrupted. “Since I have orders to expedite this fitting”—he tapped his wristwatch and smiled—“might we find something that can be pressed into service for dinner tonight?” He frowned slightly. “You may have already heard. Violetta destroyed Miss MacKenzie’s clothes at Groveland Chase. Hence, our dilemma.”

“Liz mentioned it. Dreadful thing. I’m so sorry, Miss MacKenzie. She’s a wicked person, she is. I doubt our village gowns can make up for those you lost. But perhaps—”

“They’ll suit for now, Katy. We can shop later in London”—Dalgliesh glanced at Zelda—“or Edinburgh.”

His use of the word
we
as well as the allusion to shopping later was inexpressibly sweet. Although Zelda cautioned herself about misinterpreting a few casually uttered phrases. “Anything will do,” she graciously said. “So long as it’s quickly done,” she added with a pointed glance at the earl.

He looked amused. “You see, Katy, I have my marching orders. We’ll settle for one gown now. After you fit it, the other frocks can be altered without us.”

Us again, Zelda noted. How perfectly lovely.

And sheer folly, of course, to inject undue meaning into the earl’s words.

Having effectively silenced the bluebirds of happiness singing in her brain, Zelda pointed at a long-sleeved, high-necked wool gown. “I like that one. It looks cozy and warm.”

“I’ve had central heating installed, darling. Pick something more elegant for evening.”

She looked at Dalgliesh, one brow arched. “Am I being overruled?”

“Of course not. We’ll take the green wool, Katy.”

“Do other women allow you to speak for them?” Zelda inquired in gelid accents.

The earl grinned, put his fingers to his mouth, and made a locking motion.

“Thank you.”

“You’re entirely welcome.” With a polished bow, Alec wisely took himself away to one of a pair of leather chairs, where he sat, slid down on his spine, stretched out his booted feet, and made himself comfortable.

“Troublesome man,” Zelda said with a sniff.

He didn’t answer; he only smiled. Women liked the last word.

Zelda turned to Katy. “Is he always so overbearing?”

Since Katy had never seen Alec with a woman at Crosstrees and the rumors of his amorous liaisons suggested they were primarily physical, she rather doubted he’d ever aspired to anything other than sexual proficiency.

“Acquit me, darling,” Dalgliesh gently said. “I humbly yield to you in all things.”