“My secretary took the measurements when I said,
She comes to about here on me.
James did the rest. Then he hounded all the vendors mercilessly today to see that everything made it to the train on time. You may thank him at dinner. He’s joining us.”
She hadn’t realized the full extent of the authority wielded by a man of his wealth, nor Dalgliesh’s casual expectation that his orders would be fulfilled. “Do you always get what you want?”
“I generally do. My marriage aside, of course,” he coolly said. “Now then, I hear Katy next door,” he added, deliberately changing the subject. “We probably shouldn’t walk in naked.”
“Am I one of your acquisitions?” She didn’t want to change the subject.
“No. Could we talk about this later?”
“What am I?” She shouldn’t ask; anyone with any sense wouldn’t.
“You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time,” he said. “Now may we get dressed? It’s getting late.”
She smiled. “How long a time?”
He looked at her, a pause, no smile. “I’d have to add it up.”
“That’s very sweet.”
“No, it’s a huge fucking problem.” He dragged in a breath, exhaled, then spoke in a normal voice. “I’m putting on a robe. I suggest you find something to wear or I’ll carry you in like that.”
Watching him walk away, she was overcome by a rush of compassion. Clearly there were unknown reasons why he suffered the indignity of a wife like Violetta, she thought, unbuttoning the coat and dropping it on a chair. Equally clearly, she had no right to meddle in his affairs. She was sensible of the limitations of their relationship; she wasn’t an innocent.
But who wouldn’t be tempted to wallow for a time in the blissful realization that
she was the best thing that had happened to him in a long time
? And who wouldn’t be tempted to revel in every pleasure, sensual and otherwise, during one’s brief sojourn in Dalgliesh’s inimitable paradise?
Certainly not she.
“Leave the necklace on.”
Roused from her musing, she looked up to find Alec, clothed in a grey silk robe, a short distance away. “Orders?” It was an automatic—trifle testy—response from a woman too long her own mistress.
“God no. But leave the necklace on anyway.”
She sniffed. “You’re impossible.”
“And
you’re
impossibly tempting,” he muttered. “God in heaven, put something on.” Spinning around, he strode away, picked up her chemise from the carpet, and tossed it at her. “If Chris wasn’t waiting, everyone else could go to hell,” he said, tautly. “They’re old enough to understand.” Scooping up her drawers a moment later, he came and set them on top of the coat. “Hurry,” he said curtly and took himself well away from temptation.
He kept his distance while Zelda donned her chemise and drawers, although the cost of his restraint could be glimpsed in the frequent clenching of his jaw. But by the time she joined him at the door to his dressing room, he’d reduced his lust to a manageable level. “Katy was supposed to find you some lingerie,” he said in an ordinary voice. “We have to remember to ask for it. Although,” he added with a small smile because he’d never been particularly saintly, “perhaps that’s not entirely necessary.”
“Under different circumstances, I’d agree. Unfortunately—”
“I have a houseful of encumbrances. Retribution, no doubt, for my many sins,” he sardonically said.
“I’m more than willing to be patient.”
His mouth quirked in amusement. “Since when?”
“Well—moderately patient. Four hours, I believe you said.”
“Or less. I’ll see that it’s less,” he brusquely amended, took her hand, and opened the door.
As they entered his dressing room, he informed Katy that they were slightly behind schedule, and if she’d deal with the fitting speedily, he’d be in her debt. Then rather than take a seat as he had last time, he took up a position across the room, rested his shoulders against the walnut paneling, and prayed for swift action on Katy’s part.
There was no safe range with Zelda half naked. It was impossible to look at her and not want her. In further effort to avoid an embarrassing erection, he focused his thoughts on his looming court case in South Africa. A problem having to do with a corrupt judicial system and rivals trying to nullify his mining claims. A serious enough problem, it turned out, to effectively curtail immediate issues of lust.
Once Zelda was fully clothed in the fashionable evening gown: the moiré skirt and velvet bodice accented by a pale rainbow of lace and ribbons at the shoulders, the low décolletage perfect foil for the purple diamond, he was able to speak in a normal tone. “You look enchanting, my dear. Thank you, Katy. Your work is masterful as always. I’m afraid we’ll need something wearable in the morning—if that’s possible.”
“I’ll send over a frock by seven. The necklace is perfect, isn’t it?” the seamstress added with a smile. It was apparent now why Alec had selected the violet gown.
“It is. We must thank Lucy’s fortunate taste in fabrics.” The earl pushed away from the wall. “Now if you’ll excuse us, Chris is waiting.” Offering his arm to Zelda a moment later, he took the package Katy held out to him.
“Lingerie,” she said. “You’ll find a corset in there suitable for the gown. Not Parisian but serviceable.”
“I’m sure everything’s adequate. Thank you again.”
On their return to the bedroom, Alec helped Zelda out of her gown, reminding himself all the while that he was capable of controlling his impulses. But he suggested they bathe separately; there was only so much a man could take.
Having bathed and outfitted himself in another suite with Jenkins’ admirable assistance, Alec was waiting in his bedchamber before Zelda emerged from his bathroom. He wasn’t surprised he was first on the scene. Women always took an inordinate amount of time readying themselves; not that he was about to mention that. Nor take issue with Zelda’s refusal of a maid to help her dress when he would have preferred not being involved. Instead, as she walked into the bedroom, nude and flushed pink from her bath, her curling hair pinned up in charming disarray, he sternly reminded himself he was well past adolescent impetuosity. Rising from a chair near the bed, his voice was calm when he spoke. “What can I do to help? Chris is impatiently waiting, I presume, and Creiggy insists on punctuality.”
“You don’t actually listen to her, do you?” Zelda had seen him in action.
“I try,” he said, ripping open the package on the bed and lifting out the white satin corset Katy had purchased as underpinning for the gown; they could chat about Creiggy’s position in his household later—or never. “This looks like a two-person operation.”
She grimaced; she disliked corsets as a rule. “I wouldn’t
have
to wear it.”
“You do with that neckline.”
“You know that, do you? Naturally you would,” she petulantly said before she could stop herself.
“Could we not argue about things I can’t change?” He lifted one brow in a flicker of impatience. “Time’s short. Be a dear—humor me.”
“Don’t I always?”
“
Sometimes
I believe is the appropriate word.”
“Sexually I mean.”
He smiled. “Then, yes, always—for which I’m most grateful.”
“But I still have to wear that?” She wrinkled her nose.
“Unless you prefer a gaping décolletage.”
“It wasn’t gaping badly.”
“Yes, dear,” he said with quiet resignation. “Why don’t you tell me what you want to speed up this operation. I’m ready to bargain.” In fact, he was quite ready to do anything to see that she was no longer standing nude before him. His libido was barely under control, and even if she hurried, they were going to be late for Chris. “Name your price.”
“A nap tomorrow?”
“Done.” Somehow.
As she walked toward him, he carefully focused his gaze on the wall over her shoulder and silently counted the number of deer in the landscape depicted on the century-old, handpainted wallpaper. He was on ten when she reached him, on twelve when he handed her the corset, and on fifteen when she said drily, “If this is what Katy calls serviceable, she must have been dressing courtesans in Paris.”
A comment he had no intention of responding to verbally or visually. He remained studiously counting as she bent over, adjusted her breasts into the largely nonexistent cups, and holding the boned bodice in place, turned her back to him. “Not too tight,” she said a trifle sullenly.
He finally looked then, drew in a small breath, and hoped he could do what he had to do without disgracing himself. There was something about a woman being laced into a corset that triggered every male fantasy of domination and control—crude and reprehensible as that might be. Which lewd thought required he caution himself against indulging in that little perversity when he’d not always in the past. But the circumstances were different tonight; he had responsibilities to his household—his temperamental chef most prominently. Baptiste threw tantrums if delays caused his haute cuisine to suffer, and he was worth keeping for his way with a pineapple soufflé alone. Although his superb white pepper beefsteak was a close second.
So—another smothered breath of constraint, and Dalgliesh began to swiftly lace up the back of the corset. He centered his gaze on the lacing, looking neither up nor down, Zelda’s silken shoulders and bare bottom a temptation he daren’t contemplate. In, out, in, out, pull, in, out, in, out, pull—not too much pressure. He actually congratulated himself as he finished tying the silk cording into a bow and stepped back; it wasn’t often he had the morals of a Methodist. “Is that all right?” he politely inquired. “Not too tight I hope?”
How affable he was when she was sulky. How silly she was, too, to grumble over such nonsense as a corset when he showered her with gifts and boundless pleasure. When she was where she most wanted to be. “Not too tight at all. You’re an excellent lady’s maid. And forgive my petulance,” she said, turning around, arms outstretched and smiling. “What’s next?”
Lock the door and lose his chef.
There was no other answer with the showy, quintessential image of ripe, succulent womanhood scorching his retinas. Zelda’s large breasts, pushed high into soft, fleshy mounds were still quivering slightly from her swiveling turn. Her tightly laced waist was even more slender—male power perhaps measured in its reduction—while her sumptuous form was molded by the corset into a fashionable hourglass shape.
The resplendent totality was a triumph of fuck-me femaleness.
And if he wasn’t horny enough already, the curved base of the corset served as perfect frame for her gleaming pubic hair—intentionally he assumed. And to powerful effect.
When he didn’t answer, she glanced downward and whispered, “Oh my.”
“Indeed.” His voice was barely audible, his gaze like hers significantly placed. Then his glance lifted, and raising his hands, he lightly caressed her nipples available to the touch with only a small scallop of satin supporting her upthrust breasts. “A slight change in schedule, darling,” he said, his voice husky and low as he gently stroked her turgid nipples. “If that’s all right with you.” A cultivated, meaningless addendum.
“Just so long as I have this,” she said on a caught breath, gripping his erection through the fine wool of his trousers, his fingers triggering every salacious nerve in her body, “inside me.”
He began propelling her backward toward the bed; an answer of sorts.
“We’ll have to apologize to . . . everyone.” A portion of her brain was still marginally functioning beyond her fierce desire.
He heard her through the white heat of lust, dismissed her comment out of hand, his brain focused on consummation, his cock ramrod stiff and in command. As he shoved her down on the bed with one hand, he was unbuttoning his trousers with the other. Driven, relentless, his gaze opaquely intent—as if he saw only her or, more likely, didn’t.
Perhaps someone less sexually greedy might have noticed his benighted gaze and taken alarm, but Zelda’s attention was riveted on Alec’s nimbly moving fingers, her world view narrowed to the partially unbuttoned trouser placket from which his rampant cock would emerge. She was softly panting, her body already wildly throbbing, as if she’d become a nymphomaniac overnight. As if through some masterful wizardry Dalgliesh had turned her into a fervent sexual devotee, eager, compliant, frantic for his touch, willing to do
anything
to feel him inside her.
If she wasn’t so frantically aroused, she might have had misgivings about so servile a role. But she was at his mercy, her impossible cravings swamping even issues of female independence. “Hurry, hurry, hurry,” she pleaded, wiggling upward on the bed to make room for him. “Hurry!”
One of his trouser buttons suddenly stuck, and for a flashing second, Alec debated ripping it off. Then it slid free and he sucked in a horrified breath. Christ, since when had he become desperate for sex?
“Alec!” Zelda wailed, trembling, wanting what she wanted, desperation in her case an uncritical compliment. “For God’s sake!”
Wrenched from his calamitous thoughts, he quickly reset his priorities, a familiar coolness entering his eyes. “Give me a second,” he said with a practiced smile, freeing the last few buttons on his underwear. “There now.” His cool gaze was directed at her as he extracted his erection from his clothing and measured its length with a fingertip. “Is this what you’re waiting for?”
Like they all did and he knew it. “Bastard,” she hissed, hot tempered and hot-blooded and not sure which took precedence.
He looked amused. “I feel confident you might overlook that. Am I right?”
No matter how softly spoken, it was a challenge.
She glared at him. “Am I supposed to beg?”
“Did I say that?”
“That’s what you meant.”
He shrugged. And didn’t move. And waited.
It was for her to decide. Although her raging desires and newfound addiction rather put her at a disadvantage. Particularly with his towering cock, splendid and imposing against the dark fabric of his evening clothes. “Forgive my outburst,” she said. “I’m a bit on edge.” She smiled then, and her voice drifted lower, turned sultry. “If you’d be so kind as to
accommodate
me, I’ll endeavor to accommodate you, then we’ll accommodate each other. You know the drill.”