“I don’t expect to find out. I’m generally more sensible than impulsive. Had I not been,” she said with a flash of a smile, “I would have married Johnnie Armstrong when I was fifteen and let Da raise the children himself.”
“I’m sure your father appreciates what you did.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t. He didn’t even notice.”
A fact impossible to refute. “Is this where I say you’ll get your reward in heaven?” Jamie facetiously noted.
“I’ll be getting it long before that,” Zelda sportively replied as she came to her feet in a ripple of glossy fur. “I’ve enjoyed this chat, gentlemen. I’ll see you all in the field.”
After she was gone, Oz raised his glass in homage. “There goes a dazzling and engagingly candid woman. If I didn’t adore my wife, I’d envy Dalgliesh.”
“Perhaps there won’t be anything to envy,” Jamie retorted with exacting precision.
Oz looked at him from under his lashes, his dark gaze amused. “Such cousinly anxiety. If she wasn’t related to you, I’d bet a thousand Dalgliesh doesn’t last the weekend.”
“I agree,” Fitz said. “Which means we’ll have to shield Zelda from Violetta’s sharp claws. We’ll take turns holding the bitch at bay.”
“Ah, what delightful entertainment’s in store,” Oz murmured. “A quixotic seduction, a snarling wife, a possible pursuit and retreat.” He looked up. “Will Dalgliesh actually refuse her?”
“I doubt it,” Fitz said.
“Hell no, he won’t,” Jamie muttered. “Who would with a wife like that?”
CHAPTER 2
Z
ELDA WAS ALREADY mounted and waiting in the drive with a score of other hunters when the earl and his stepson rode around from the stables. The young boy was flushed with excitement, his glance darting back and forth from his pony to the earl riding at his side. He was a slender child, fair of face and hair—like his mother, Zelda thought. And as the pair brought their mounts to a halt on the verge of the gathered horsemen, Dalgliesh leaned down, gently touched the boy’s shoulder, and spoke to him quietly.
It was a charming picture, the large powerful man, dark as sin, treating the boy with such open affection. A rarity with men, more rare in public with curious gazes at the ready and gossip the lifeblood of society—with the state of the earl’s marriage well-known. Then the boy said something in return that made the earl laugh, and she felt a little unwonted tug at her heart.
Having raised five children, she understood those small sweet moments in a child’s life that were neither sensational nor dramatic but were magical nonetheless. She abruptly looked away. She refused to cry over some sentimental nonsense that had nothing to do with her. Or if it did, she wouldn’t allow herself to wallow in self-pity, if that’s what this sudden fit of distemper represented.
She’d sacrificed her youth for her siblings, but she’d never regretted it. Her brothers and sister were all grown, healthy, and happy, Francesca recently married to a boy she loved. And while her father was a kind, loving man in his fashion, he would have been utterly incapable of fathering his brood—other than in the hunting field. That he knew, and when it came to sport, he’d raised a family of distinguished horsemen and first-rate hunters who loved the outdoors. Furthermore, Scots to the bone, he’d instilled in his children a taste for fine whiskey and French wines.
Everyone had their particular areas of expertise, she understood, nor was Papa any different than most country gentlemen she knew who drank hard and spent every waking hour in the saddle.
She looked across the assembled riders to where her father sat his mount, surrounded by a group of his friends. The men were partaking of the stirrup cups servants were passing around and guffawing over some drollery. Sir Gavin looked up, caught her eye, and waved, his smile warm and affectionate. Then a companion drew his attention and he turned back to the company of his friends.
Moments later, the hunt master led the riders down the drive and out into the fields, the whippers-in set to work, the pack was soon in full cry, and the chase began. Any little incidental regrets Zelda harbored instantly gave way to a more familiar and transcendent exhilaration. She loved the high hedges and fast turf, the excitement of a bruising ride and soaring jumps, the feel of a good, sound, high-couraged hunter under her running smooth as silk. She felt invincible, happy, in her element—irrepressibly free.
Some people rode to hunt; she hunted to ride. She adored the thundering pace, the clean, fresh air, the ecstasy of flying leaps and perfect landings. There wasn’t an obstacle she and her mount couldn’t soar over with room to spare. The thrilling sensation of being tested physically and mentally, of tempting fate at every jump, of riding full-out was wondrous and indescribable and quite effectively banished Dalgliesh and his son from her thoughts.
The same couldn’t be said for the earl, who couldn’t help but admire Miss MacKenzie’s brilliant, nervy riding. She rode like a Tartar, with short leathers, loose reins, and a forward seat. A bold rider over the jumps no matter their height, her balance was superb, her hands impressive, her center of gravity matching the forward thrust of the jump. And her flame-red hair was impossible to miss in the field, as was the color of her flying coattails.
But she very quickly rode out of sight.
Since Chris couldn’t manage the jumps, they were reduced to going through the gates instead of over them, nor could his pony match the swift pace of the field. But regardless Miss MacKenzie was no longer visible, Alec couldn’t so easily dismiss the bewitching lady from his thoughts.
Bloody hell.
Bloody, bloody hell.
In an effort to dissuade himself from behaving impulsively, he punctiliously reminded himself of all the reasons Miss MacKenzie was currently beyond the pale; the word
currently
unfortunately both inadvisable and opportunistic. Bloody hell again. But seriously, she was unmarried and with her father—either of which should have warned him off; together they were formidable impediments.
It wasn’t as though there weren’t other women here, safely married women, who would welcome him into their beds. Country house parties were famously rife with conjugal infidelity. He suspected Violetta had insisted on coming along because Lord Mytton was on the guest list. Not that he cared so long as she conformed to the rules established before their unnatural marriage. Which reminder of unadulterated misery always served to blacken his mood—the last four years ones of blighted hope and disillusion. Save for the fact that his mother thrived because of young Chris. The boy had brought joy into both their lives.
His groom had accompanied them in the event Chris tired before the fox was brought to ground. It was impossible to gauge the length of the chase or how long the wily fox would last; a run on occasion went on ’til dark.
As they came to a stop on the top of a windy hill, the field of riders barely visible in the distance, like any six-year-old after an hour in the cold and wind, Chris said in a reedy little voice, “Papa, I’m tired.”
“Should we rest for a time and then go on?” the earl asked, perfectly willing to accommodate the boy. “Or would you like John to take you back to the house?” A question mildly put but pregnant with possibility.
“I don’t want to hunt anymore. I’d rather see the new puppies in the stables. May I, Papa?” the little boy asked, his expression hopeful.
“Of course.” The earl glanced at the groom. “If you’d be so kind, John, the puppies first.” He turned to Chris. “Afterward, I expect the cook can find you some of that cake you liked at tea yesterday.”
A wide smile appeared. “May I have two pieces?”
“I’m sure you may,” Alec replied with an answering smile. “John knows the cook, don’t you, John?”
“She’s my cousin, Master Chris. We’ll both have two pieces of cake.”
“Yahoo!”
How simple life was at six, Alec thought.
“I want to stay in the kitchen until you come back. Please, may I?” The boy’s brow was suddenly creased with worry.
“Certainly,” Alec gently said, reminded that Chris’s life wasn’t so simple after all with a mother like his. “We’ll have John send for Creiggy. She’ll play cards with you.”
Chris’s cheeks flushed with excitement. “For money?”
Alec smiled. “Only a very little. Get some extra change from the butler, John.”
“Yes, sir. We’ll make sure to wait for you in the kitchen.” The groom spoke in an undertone at the last.
Alec nodded. “I don’t foresee a problem with the other guests arriving today. I expect
everyone
,” he said with significant emphasis, aware that Violetta had risen much earlier than usual, “will be busy with their own amusements.”
“Very good, sir.” John took the pony’s reins. “Come, Master Chris, we’ll go find the puppies.”
“I had a very nice time on the hunt, Papa,” the little boy said, remembering his manners.
“I’m glad you did. Perhaps next time it won’t be so cold. Now, if you get sleepy before I return, have Creiggy find you somewhere to nap.”
“I’m too old to nap,” the little boy protested, drawing himself up very straight in the saddle. “I’m six and a quarter.”
“I forgot,” Alec kindly said. “Of course, you’re entirely too old to nap.”
“Look, Papa, I can turn my pony myself.” Chris tugged the reins from the groom’s hand. “See? I’m getting better.”
“Indeed you are,” the earl agreed.
“Soon, you’ll need a larger horse,” the groom generously suggested.
“Papa said I can have a stallion, didn’t you, Papa?” the little boy called out over his shoulder as the pony turned.
“As soon as you learn how to jump Petunia.”
“I know, Papa, I know.” The little boy thumped his heels into his pony’s flanks. “Look, look how fast Petunia runs!”
Alec watched the two ride away, his gloved hands resting on the saddle pommel, his mind preoccupied. Only when his hunter shifted his feet and snorted did Dalgliesh bestir himself and rouse from his reverie. Drawing in a deep, measured breath, he struggled to subdue his indefensible cravings. What the hell was he doing letting Chris and John go back without him? More to the point, why was he thinking what he’d been thinking. It was like looking for trouble to give in to impulse. No, not
like
: It
was
looking for trouble. And he knew better.
He sat his mount for another indecisive moment, his gaze unfocused, knowing what he
should
do, contemplating instead the road to hell.
Then with a slight shift of his weight, he smoothly turned his hunter and lightly touched his spurs to the horse’s flanks. He’d been wanting to ride with Miss MacKenzie ever since he saw her take that first fence with over a foot to spare. She was a magnificent, fearless rider—audacious and bold. The next thought was predictable, of course. Unwanted, but predictable.
Would she ride his cock with equal boldness?
CHAPTER 3
W
HEN DALGLIESH CAUGHT up with the hunters, however, Miss MacKenzie wasn’t with the company. He’d heard the huntsman blow “Gone to Ground” while he was still some distance off, and as he’d arrived on the scene, the master was trying to decide whether to leave the fox in peace, signal for the terriers to be brought up to dig out their prey, or move on to another covert to flush out another fox.
He couldn’t ask anyone where Miss MacKenzie had gone—or when—without revealing his interest in her. Well aware of his reputation, he didn’t care to subject her to the inevitable gossip. She didn’t deserve it. Although if he had half a brain and a more benevolent nature, he’d leave her in peace.
It was a casual observation only.
He had no intention of doing so.
He wondered briefly if she’d escaped the crowd with another gentleman? His sudden sense of umbrage was both unwarranted and unwanted, and he quickly brushed aside the lunatic feelings. How could it possibly matter if she was with someone else? Exclusivity had never been of interest to him—for which a great number of ladies were grateful.
He didn’t
have
to concern himself about her whereabouts, he acknowledged. Now that he was alone, he
could
simply accept her absence and join the hunt. Had she not jolted every sexual nerve in his body, had not that sledgehammer blow occurred, he might have more easily allowed her to go off with some other man. As it was, the thought offended him. He chose not to question why, he simply intended to find her, and if she wasn’t alone, he’d run the other man off.
He should have challenged his extraordinary determination.
Had he been capable of objectivity, he might have.
Instead, he rode the perimeter of the milling group of riders, idly socializing with his friends and covertly surveying the ground for fresh hoofprints.
If she’d left the chase some time ago, his chances of finding her were minimal. If, however, she’d only recently ridden away, he’d likely track her down.
Likely
, the operative word considering the vast acres. But then logic and carnal desire were mutually exclusive, and the lady was a veritable enchantress—tall, shapely, dazzlingly lovely, with a nervy bravado that took her over the highest jumps with aplomb. That fearlessness was rare among women; or at least the women he knew. And God knows, he knew enough.
The ground was still covered with a light frost, the sun not yet strong enough to have entirely melted it away. His scrutiny revealed three separate instances of riders having separated from the group. Which one first?
Mentally tossing a coin, he settled on the middle track.
A false trail as it turned out, for ten minutes later he almost ran into a couple who apparently couldn’t wait for the comforts of a bed. Fortunately, his horse had pricked up his ears in time, and the earl came to a stop well away from two of Fitz’s guests who were busily fornicating on the cold ground.
The risqué vision should have been a lesson to him. There was nothing so ridiculous as a man with his breeches down and his bum pumping like a steam piston. What was worse, Alec recognized the pair. Who would have thought that Fitz’s parson had a letch for Lady Lambton; she was fifty if she was a day.