Seductive as Flame (30 page)

CHAPTER 21

A
LEC TRAVELED BY private railcar, a luxury given to those of great fortune; a convenience as well, since he generally had Chris, Creiggy, James, and servants along. Two carriages awaited them at the station for Munro Park, and fifteen minutes later, they were being deposited at the Dower House—a magnificent, well-maintained Tudor structure considerably larger than most dower houses. But then the Dalgliesh wealth allowed such extravagances.

It was nearly ten o’clock, yet the main block was all alight in anticipation of their arrival; James had telegraphed ahead. Chris was sleeping in Dalgliesh’s arms. Alighting, he handed the boy to a waiting footman; Creiggy followed and hustled the man into the house.

Turning back to Zelda, Dalgliesh helped her down. “Welcome to my home, darling.” He’d never said that before, although it pleased him to say it. Just as it pleased him to know Zelda was near even though he’d be busy dealing with the newest crisis jeopardizing his mining interests.

Zelda surveyed the towering redbrick facade, its rows of windows glowing golden against the starless sky. “What a lovely home.”

“It’s comfortable,” he said in gross understatement. “Come, darling, meet my mother.” Taking Zelda’s hand, he moved forward.

The front door was open, the light from within flooding out onto the gravel drive—an inviting sight on a chill night. As was the tall, slender woman with pale hair and a welcoming smile who hurried out to greet them.

“Darling, what a wonderful surprise! We weren’t expecting you until Thursday.”

“Business, Maman. There’s always something pressing. May I introduce Miss MacKenzie. Zelda, my mother, the dowager countess, Louisa.”

“Lulu, please. No one calls me Louisa save the Queen. What a pleasure to meet you, Zelda. Do come in. I have your whiskey waiting, darling,” she said, taking Alec’s free arm as he walked toward the doorway. “By the way,” she said, looking past Alec and smiling at Zelda, “I met your father, Sir Gavin, at the Turlingham hunt years ago. A superb horseman, as you are, I hear.”

Alec must have telegraphed a short biography, Zelda thought. Nor did his mother have the look of an invalid. She was very beautiful, vivacious, and as charming as her son.

Moments later they were seated in a cozy sitting room with original linen-fold paneling, the fire on the hearth fragrant with applewood. After Crosstrees, the opulence of the setting no longer surprised Zelda. A profusion of notable paintings hung on the walls, the furniture was partly Tudor along with a luxurious mix from other centuries, the rugs underfoot were plush and thick, the tabletops strewn with a glittering display of bibelots. One sofa and several chairs were scaled to a man of Dalgliesh’s size, and he was currently lounging on a long leather sofa, his feet up, his head resting on the rolled arm, his drink balanced on his chest.

“One whiskey, Maman, and I have to meet with my office staff. They’re waiting.”

“I know. I’ve been hearing the bustle and rumors all day. Such a shame you had to cut short your hunting holiday. But Zelda and I will manage quite well without you though, won’t we, dear?”

The dowager countess was fair in contrast to her swarthy son, her eyes a brilliant green although they held a similar warmth like her son’s when she smiled. “We certainly will,” Zelda politely replied before turning to Alec. “Do go whenever you must. I’m perfectly fine.”

“John will entertain you tomorrow. I’ve offered Zelda a tour of the estate if she wishes,” he explained to his mother. “Provided the weather cooperates.”

“You forget I live in the Highlands,” Zelda said. “I’m comfortable in any kind of weather.”

“Might I suggest you ride Valour. He literally walked in eight lengths ahead at the Hardwicke Stakes. He’ll give you a bloody good ride.”

“Thank you, I will. He sounds intriguing. Do you ride—” She hesitated.

“Lulu, please. I so hate to stand on ceremony, as Alec will attest. As for riding, I haven’t of late. Alec may have mentioned, I’ve been recuperating from a beastly little illness that’s much improved now. But I’m still not quite as strong as I was.”

Zelda noticed Alec’s swift glance—instantly extinguished—light on his mother when the dowager countess mentioned her illness.

“I’ll have the kitchen pack a lunch, should you need it,” Alec said. “But feel free to arrange your own schedule.” Although he’d already sent instructions to John to keep her away from the main house where Violetta lived when she wasn’t in London or visiting friends. “I should be available anytime after seven.” He quickly tipped the whiskey down his throat and came to his feet. Setting the glass on a table, he sketched a small bow. “Until later, ladies.”

As the door closed on him, the dowager countess softly sighed. “Such a difficult time for Alec. The office has been in turmoil since yesterday. Nevertheless, I’m so pleased you came. Alec never has visitors. You’re important to him, I can see. I do hope you like my boy.”

Zelda’s blush was masked by the shadowed lamplight. “I do. He’s very easy to like.”

“I think so, of course, but then I’m his mother,” Lulu cheerily noted. “Would you like another whiskey or would you prefer champagne?” The dowager had been sipping on her champagne, although she’d drunk very little.

“I think I’ll have one more whiskey, but don’t get up. I’ll help myself.” At the drinks table, Zelda half turned to say, “I thought I recognized the taste. This whiskey is bottled in the valley next to ours.”

“I expect Alec knew that.” He had, in fact, had James telegraph a detailed list of instructions for the comfort of his guest. “Creiggy taught Alec to appreciate good whiskey. She’s Scots, you know.”

“One can’t mistake the soft burr in her voice,” Zelda remarked, returning with her refilled glass. “She has relatives not far from us.”

“Is that so? So when Creiggy and Alec were on holiday in the Highlands years ago, you might have seen them. They often spoke of their visit there. Creiggy was always good to Alec.”

“They seem to have a wonderful rapport. Even though she’s quite outspoken, he doesn’t seem to mind.”

The dowager chuckled. “I doubt she’d notice if he did mind. Creiggy has always been forthright. In fact, when I first hired her, she told me she’d insist on her own schedule in the nursery and the freedom to train Alec in her own way—with my support, of course.” She laughed. “Which she really didn’t mean. But as you see, my son has prospered under her care.”

“Indeed.”

“I was very young when I married and soon with child,” the dowager said. “I’m sure Creiggy recognized a green girl when she saw one.” Her pale brows drew together briefly at recall of her husband’s explosive temper that had come as a shock on her wedding night. Then she suddenly smiled. “I knew I needed a strong woman like Creiggy for my baby. Alec and I have been most fortunate to have her. And now Chris has her as well.”

“He’s a darling little boy. We were teaching him how to jump his pony. He’s very quick to learn.”

“And so adorable. Alec dotes on him, as do I. It’s quite wonderful to have a child in the house.”

Zelda didn’t inquire whether Chris’s mother lived in the house, but she rather thought not. Nor did the dowager enlighten her. “I couldn’t agree more,” Zelda said instead. “I raised my four brothers and sister so I’m used to having children about. In fact, I miss the tumult now that they’ve all grown. I’ve been traveling a good deal in order to keep busy.”

“Alec mentioned you’d spent time orchid hunting in Brazil. You must see my orchids.”

Good God, he’d apparently sent his mother an extensive biography. She didn’t know whether to be flattered or concerned. Did she require vetting by his mother? Did
he
require that she be vetted by his mother was more to the point. On the other hand, the dowager appeared to be extremely pleasant, and Zelda had no intention of impinging on their lives for long. How could it matter who needed vetting or why?

 

W
HILE THE LADIES chatted over drinks, Alec swiftly made his way to the back of the house where his offices were located, his thoughts on the latest catastrophe in the making. It was bad enough that he was dealing with a corrupt judicial system, now Rhodes was recruiting a militia and preparing for an insurrection in the Transvaal. The last telegram he’d received at Crosstrees had relayed the information in code. Not that he wasn’t aware of Cecil Rhodes’ vision to incorporate the Transvaal and the Orange Free State in a federation under British control. But he risked losing his mines if things went wrong—if the insurrection failed, if Germany intervened, if some jingoistic politician in London wanted to make a name for himself and hostilities escalated. Damn greedy bastards. He got along just fine with Paul Kruger, president of the Transvaal Republic.

Swearing under his breath, he shoved open the office door, came to a halt on the threshold, and quickly scanned the room. Everyone was still at their desks.

“I hear we have trouble,” Alec said.

A collective groan went up, and Fulton, his office manager, came forward to meet him, his broad face unmarked by anxiety. “Not if you want to finance your own army,” he said with a cheerful roll of his eyes.

“We may have to.” Alec shut the door behind him. “How many days do we have before these idiots go to war?”

He spent the remainder of the night with his staff, planning for every possible contingency, ordering up men and arms to protect his mining properties, sending pointed messages to various politicians, preparing for additional supplies to be brought up for his miners should they come under siege. Debating how far to publically involve himself in the imminent disaster.

Toward dawn, he and Fulton were the last men left; everyone else had gone off to bed. Maurice—mention the name at your own risk—Fulton was lying on the conference table in the middle of the room, his hands under his head, a whiskey bottle at his side. An ex-sergeant in Her Majesty’s grenadiers, Fulton was a large man like Dalgliesh, with iron nerve and the instincts of a coldblooded killer. Both of which had come in handy more than once in South Africa. Alec and Fulton had prospected together and survived a scrap or two or ten. Standing back-to-back, they could take on a platoon, in fact, had once out in the bush and lived to tell the tale.

Alec’s feet were parked on his desktop, his head rested against the pleated leather of his chair back, a silver flask held loosely in one hand. A hint of exhaustion softened his voice as he spoke. “Can this be handled without my sailing south, or must I carry the message in person? I’d prefer not going.”

Fulton turned his head. “Knowles can take care of it.” He smiled at his employer. “I saw her. I can see why you wouldn’t want to leave England.”

A slight widening of Alec’s eyes. “You saw her?”

Fulton grinned. “Had to see Rhodes’ competition for myself.” Alec hadn’t responded to all the earlier warning telegrams save for a repeated,
Keep me posted.
“Your wife’s going to froth at the mouth.”

“She has already. Which reminds me. I need more guards on the premises.”

“Good idea. I’d suggest a good barrister, too.”

Alec’s gaze narrowed. “For?”

“For your divorce, of course. Don’t tell me you brought this ravishing woman to your home only to ravish her. You could have done that anywhere. Or left her at Crosstrees.”

The flask halfway to Alec’s mouth was checked. “You know that, do you?”

“Let’s just say I’ve watched you roger your way around the world, and not once have you invited one of the little coquettes home to meet your mother.”

“I suppose you have a barrister in mind,” Dalgliesh drawled before putting the flask to his mouth and drinking deeply.

“Damn right. No one better than Fitzwilliam. He’s the biggest gun of the day, the best hatchet man in the business, a real human hawk in court. And he has charm aplenty. He can even charm the mirthless, pigheaded Queen.”

“How’s he in bed?” Alec asked, snapping the lid back on his flask. “Violetta prefers to be charmed in bed.”

“He’s a dedicated lecher and self-confessed amorist who doesn’t mind doing a little business in the boudoir if it comes to that.”

Alec laughed. “Christ, he’s perfect. Do you get a finder’s fee?”

“Of course. A fair exchange, n’est-ce pas?”

“Hell yes. Send him a message. Have him come up.”

“When?”

“As soon as possible. I’ve finally reached the end of my rope.”

“No, you finally found someone who mattered.”

“Yes. I did. Which reminds me.” Dropping his feet on the floor, Dalgliesh stood and nodded at his cohort. “Wake me if you have to. Otherwise, I’ll come down in a few hours. You’d better get some sleep, too. God only knows what these greedy pricks will do next.”

CHAPTER 22

T
HE FOLLOWING DAYS were lovely and bewildering and unthinkably sad for Zelda because she knew eventually her season in paradise would end. Alec was sweetly solicitous, coming to her whenever he could, making excuses to everyone when he shouldn’t be leaving to see her and did anyway, making love to her with a kind of feverish impatience, with tenderness, with explicit lust and disarming affection. Insisting she stay when she talked of going. Telling her he was going to divorce his wife and marry her. That said near dawn one morning when he’d finally come upstairs to bed.

Pushing herself up on her elbows, Zelda gazed at Alec, who was rapidly stripping off his clothes. “Is that a proposal?”

“A proposal?” Preoccupied with Knowles’ last wire, he wasn’t sure what she meant. He paused in his unbuttoning.

“A marriage proposal.”

Ah—enlightenment
. “Yes, as a matter of fact it is. Say yes.” He went on unbuttoning his trousers. “Make me a happy man.”

Her heart was beating like a drum, but she was a woman first. “Might you be a bit more romantic?”

“Sorry, darling. Everything’s in chaos right now. Now, then,” he briskly said, kicking aside consideration of Knowles’ message along with his trousers and moving toward the bed, splendidly nude and aroused, “I’d be honored and delighted if you’d consent to be my wife, my love, my partner, my friend.” Pulling aside the covers, he lowered himself between her legs with practiced finesse, slipped his hand under her elbows so she tumbled back, and bending his head, brushed her lips with his. “I promise to adore you forever. I promise to make you happy. I promise to give you babies. Say yes. You have to say yes.” He was focused now, his heart in his eyes.