Seductive as Flame (31 page)

How could she not when she loved him beyond reason. “Yes, even if I can’t. Even if you can’t. Even if it’s impossible.”

He shook his head. “Just yes.”

Tears filled her eyes. “Then, yes.”

“There now, that wasn’t so hard,” he said with a grin. Then he kissed away her tears, made her happy in ways he’d perfected long ago, and recklessly gave himself up to the wonders of love. For a man who’d learned long ago to control his emotions, who’d managed his life with circumspection, who only took calculated risks, it was a huge sea change.

But he wanted this. And he’d have it.

One way or the other.

In the days that followed, while Alec was feverishly involved in plans to avert disaster in Johannesburg, Zelda filled her hours with riding or entertaining Chris—in the nursery, schoolroom, or at the jumps—often with Alec, who always took time out of his day for Chris. He was a conscientious, loving parent, unlike his own father or because of it. Or simply because he loved the boy.

Although Alec’s mother was often in the schoolroom with Chris, he and Zelda would also visit with her as well during the course of the day. Due to the dowager countess’s delicate health, she kept a light schedule—sleeping late, resting in the afternoon, ordering her household from her desk in her sitting room with the help of a secretary and two assistants. And while she rarely went out in society, she had a vast friendship, all of whom kept her up-to-date on the latest gossip. She was an amusing conversationalist, an excellent mimic, and an insightful observer of the human condition. But Zelda liked it best when she related boyhood stories of Alec.

“In fact,” the dowager countess said one afternoon over tea, after recounting a tale of her son’s youthful escapades with his friends and, of all things, an elephant, “once this crisis in South Africa has passed, I wouldn’t be surprised if Alec has a dinner party so some of his friends can meet you. They’re all quite entertaining. You’d like them.”

Which comments prompted a question Zelda didn’t vocalize:
Would Violetta concern herself with her husband’s dinner party?
But the dowager countess never spoke of Violetta, nor did Chris. It was almost as though she didn’t exist. Unfortunately, she did, as she’d made clear to Zelda at Groveland Chase not long ago.

But demons were verboten in paradise.

Just as lovesick inamoratas were forbidden to think of the future. It was more gratifying to live in the dream.

Alec, on the other hand, was fully intent on the practicalities, and that afternoon Fitzwilliam was seated across his desk from him.

Fulton had met the barrister as he stepped down from the carriage that had been sent into London for him since the weather was too chill for Dalgliesh’s new Mercedes motorcar and the train schedule was unfavorable. The men had chatted on the way to Alec’s study, where Fulton had introduced the earl, declined the coffee that was being served, and returned to the office, where a betting pool was generating excitement. Everyone was laying odds on how much it was going to cost the earl to shed his wife.

“I don’t care how much it costs,” Alec was saying to Fitzwilliam at the moment as though in tune with his wagering employees. “I suppose you hear that often.”

“Actually, no, I hear the opposite. Most men want to pay as little as possible.”

“Perhaps most men aren’t married to a wife like mine.”

The barrister smiled faintly. “Now that I do hear quite often. I’m assuming another lady is involved.” At Dalgliesh’s obvious surprise, Fitzwilliam added, “There generally is, my lord. Otherwise a man would continue muddling through.”

“No doubt. I, however, have come to the point where muddling through, as you put it, no longer appeals. So the question is, how quickly can you get me a divorce?”

“It’s a rather drawn-out affair I’m afraid.”

Alec held the man’s gaze for a telling moment. “I don’t want it to be drawn out.”

The barrister pursed his lips. He was a diplomatic man. That was why Wales confided in him, why peeresses whispered their secrets to him, why prime ministers sought his advice.

“I don’t know whether the courts in England operate like they do in most other countries,” Alec went on, ignoring the man’s silence, “but if they do, pay whomever you have to pay to expedite the proceedings. Money’s no object.”

Now
that
he never heard. “Maurice said you were in earnest.”

“You mean you have clients who aren’t?”

Fitzwilliam shrugged, his fine tailoring accommodating his gesture without a ripple. “Some. Not many mind you, but there’s the occasional man who’s still in love and can’t quite pull the trigger, so to speak.”

“I’m quite willing to fire a complete artillery barrage.” Alec met Fitzwilliam’s calm gaze as calmly. “I trust we understand each other. When you speak to my wife’s counsel, I wish that point be made perfectly clear. I’ll go to any lengths to end this marriage. See that she understands that.” He lifted his hand from his chair arm and signaled his next remark with a flick of his fingers. “I don’t care to know any of the details. Do whatever you have to do.”

Fitzwilliam never missed a word or a look or a gesture in any of several languages; his understanding was acute. This unsmiling man knew exactly what he wanted and was coldly determined to get it. “Very well. I’ll file the papers tomorrow. One word of caution, my lord. The court proceedings are published. You know that, I assume.” Even the venerable
Times
devoted considerable column space to the lascivious details of divorce cases—who said what to whom, who did what to whom, every syllable spoken, every expression worn, every wild, shocking, disgusting, distressing moment revealed.

“I know,” Alec crisply said. “And I don’t care. Do you need me to sign anything today?”

Fitzwilliam reached inside his coat, fetched out a folded sheet of paper, and slid it across the desk to Dalgliesh. “The order to proceed, my lord.”

“Where do I sign—ah—I see.” Alec reached for a pen from a splendid silver ink stand—a model in miniature of his yacht. He signed without reading the document; he trusted Fulton’s judgment. “By the way,” he said, handing the paper back, “I should mention, I’ll require custody of my wife’s son. I trust that can be accomplished.”

Fitzwilliam swallowed hard. When in the past, the husband had always been given custody, since 1873 the courts were allowed to award custody as they saw fit. And in the last decade, it had become morally acceptable to grant custody of young children to their mother. Furthermore, Dalgliesh wasn’t the boy’s father, although that fact could be overlooked under extenuating circumstances. The barrister asked the crucial question. “How old is the boy?”

“Six.”

His fist closed on the paper. Fitzwilliam rarely disclosed his feelings. But this wasn’t court, nor a public setting, and the earl’s answer was devastating.

“Apparently there’s some problem,” Alec softly said, watching the barrister flinch.

“The boy isn’t yours. Is that so?”
A final check.

“Yes. But his mother’s a danger to him. He’s afraid of her. Does that help?”

Fitzwilliam’s relief was immediate, but then he didn’t like losing. “Indeed, it helps a great deal,” he said with a sudden smile, followed quickly by a slight frown. “You have witnesses who will confirm this?”

“Any number you like. The countess sees her son rarely, and when she does, he’s disturbed for quite some time afterward.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” the barrister respectfully said. “But the boy depends on you, I’m told. An advantage, my lord. And in terms of a custody suit, the boy’s fear will be of great value.” Fitzwilliam returned the creased paper to his coat pocket. “The judge will require more than hearsay, however.”

“The boy’s nanny will prove an excellent witness if it comes to that. She’s of frightening competence and keeps a definitive diary of, say—useful events. She’s a real champion for the boy.” About to go on, Alec hesitated briefly. Then having made a decision, he said, “One more thing.”

Fitzwilliam braced himself. He’d heard that phrase in that tone of voice before. “It’s best to be forthcoming, my lord. Surprises in court tend to be dangerous.”

“Violetta’s not likely to divulge this information.” Alec rubbed his cheek with his fingertips, having reached a point that he’d given four years of his life to avoid. He was about to tell a stranger what he’d long concealed. The irony didn’t escape him—he of all people taking this risk for love. “There’s another child,” he said. “It’s essential I have custody of her as well.” He went on to relay an account that, if revealed, would be tragic for people who mattered to him. As for Violetta, he’d willingly expose her depravity, he added at the end, if not for the pain it would cause his mother.

“I see,” Fitzwilliam replied, his breathing somewhat altered. “As you suggest, we won’t bring it up unless it’s absolutely necessary.” He was rarely shocked, but without question, the earl’s disclosures were lurid.

“I’ll rely on your expertise in such matters, although you understand it’s the last thing I wish the world to know. Our advantage is Violetta wishes the facts kept secret even more than I.” As for the information he’d kept to himself, there was no possibility Violetta would bring it to light. Those details, at least, would remain private. He leaned back in his chair, satisfied as far as it was possible with his life about to become even more notorious. “So everything will soon be entrain, I assume?”

“Yes, my lord.” Such redoubtable assurance came from possessing enormous wealth. One’s wishes were rarely thwarted.

The earl regarded Fitzwilliam with a polite smile. “And I can hope for an expeditious process?”

“I’ll do my best, sir, but the Court of Chancery moves at its own pace.”

“When you learn of the magistrate assigned my case, give me his name. I’ll see what I can do. There’s always friends of friends—that sort of thing,” the earl said incidentally. “It never hurts to personally put one’s case to a judge.”

No doubt when one owned diamond mines all things were possible. “I’ll see that you have the name, sir.”

“I’ll thank you in advance then. Let me know if there’s anything you need. My secretary can send it along, or should you require my personal attention, please feel free to enlist it. Is that all then?”

Fitzwilliam knew a dismissal when he heard it. He rose when Dalgliesh did, took his extended hand, and shook it. “You can expect to hear from me in a few days.”

“I appreciate your help,” Alec said cordially. “We all do.”

The coffee remained untouched, but then this wasn’t a social occasion.

After leaving Dalgliesh’s study, Fitzwilliam sought out Fulton before returning to London. He was beckoned into Fulton’s office when he appeared, asked, “Whiskey or brandy?” waved to a chair, and a few moments later, handed a whiskey.

“I’ve never seen a man so inflexible in his resolve,” the barrister said. “So defiant of obstacles.”

“I told you.” Fulton raised his glass in salute and took a seat behind his desk. “The man’s without fear. Whether inborn or learned, he never backs down. Add to that the splendid Miss MacKenzie’s allure,” Fulton murmured with a man-to-man lecherous grin. “Why wouldn’t he be resolved?”

“I’ve seen many beautiful women in my business, but never a man so willfully intent—not to mention indifferent to cost. She must be good. Perhaps the instigator of this divorce as well?” After years of handling rich men’s divorces, he held a personal bias in that regard.

“Actually, no. It’s the earl’s idea. He’s in love.” Fulton made a wry face. “He’s going to present her with a fait accompli, a marriage license, and all his earthly possessions.”

“Which are considerable,” Fitzwilliam said over the rim of his glass before downing half the liquor.

“To put it mildly.”

“Has he proposed in some fashion at least, and if so, has she accepted?”

“I believe so. Not that Dalgliesh much cares once he wants something. He’d have her if she said no.”

The barrister’s brows rose into his sleek auburn hairline. “In this day and age?”

“And with a woman who’s as independent as he, according to his old nanny, who’s a commanding presence in her own right.”

The barrister relaxed in his chair, the subtext suddenly clarified. “That’s why he wants her, of course. Kudos to the lady for playing hard to get. A brilliant move on her part.”

“Not from what I hear. I hear she’s without subterfuge.”

Fitzwilliam offered his colleague an indulgent smile. “When you’ve been in my business as long as I have, you’d understand that no woman is without cunning when it comes to marriage.” The present countess particularly came to mind. “And with a man like Dalgliesh, who can buy and sell a good deal of this country if he wishes, there’s not a woman alive who wouldn’t scheme and plot to become his countess.”

“His new countess.”

Fitzwilliam lifted one brow. “Indeed. And he’s young yet. They may be more. He can afford it.”

“You may be right. Then again you may not be. He’s in deep and I’ve known him a long time. There’s never been a woman he couldn’t walk away from. That’s not the case with this one.”

“I won’t argue the point. But I hear rumors; I pay to hear rumors. People tell me things. His wife will fight this tooth and nail.” Insofar as she can, he reflected.

“He knows that. He knows it better than anyone. He just wants results. That’s why I suggested he talk to you.”

The barrister heaved a small sigh. “In that case, I’d better hie myself back to London and get my clerks working on this. Not that the current countess hasn’t paved the way nicely with her behavior.” The law allowed a husband to divorce his wife for adultery alone; a woman needed additional reasons to sue for divorce. “The countess’s sexual conduct will be her undoing.” He raised his glass, then drained it.

“Good, because the earl wants this divorce yesterday.”