Seductive as Flame (35 page)

“You needn’t stare,” Zelda said, walking into the room decorated with four and a half centuries of weapons. “I had a fine, couthie (agreeable) holiday. I even had a proposal of marriage that Dalgliesh might actually mean. But if he doesn’t, I still had a very nice time.”

Her oldest brother, Hugh, broke into a smile first. “Don’t say ye might a’ caught the elusive earl.”

“Maybe.”

John and Robbie said in unison, grinning, “Dinna his wife mind?”

“You’ll have to ask the wee bitch yourself,” Zelda silkily replied. “He’s getting a divorce. He might actually mean that as well.”

The brothers exchanged skeptical glances. Well-favored men, they knew their way around a boudoir. Promises made were part of the game; promises kept were rare.

She smiled. “How polite you are, my darlings, but by the bye, we’ll find out whether Dalgliesh means it or not. So, tell me, how’s the shooting?”

“Damned fine,” her father quickly interposed, putting little stock in proposals of marriage from a faithless married man, preferring the subject be dropped. “And we’re right pleased to see ye home, lass, and that’s God’s truth. Come, take a seat by the fire and I’ll call up something from the kitchen. Hugh, pour your sister a grace cup to welcome her home.”

 

M
EANWHILE, DALGLIESH WAS cooling his heels in a drawing room at Munro House, his London residence he’d not entered in four years. No matter Munro House was a block long and large enough to accommodate both he and his wife, he preferred his apartment in St. James Place.

Arriving in town shortly after Zelda left, he’d discovered that Violetta was at Lady Mull’s country house and wouldn’t return until the following afternoon. He’d briefly debated accosting her at Charlotte’s but decided against making a public scene.

There’d be publicity enough soon.

He’d left Violetta a message, however, informing her that he wished to speak with her the next day at three. Nevertheless, he’d been kept waiting for—he scowled at the clock on the mantel—twenty-five bloody minutes. He was badly out of humor, insulted, not in the habit of being ignored in his own house. He couldn’t even get a servant to reply to the bellpull. Violetta had her own staff. But he paid for them all, damn the bitch. He wondered what they’d do if he fired the lot.

Since he was sober, it was only a passing thought—his sobriety a thankless state for a much aggrieved husband who preferred a drink or two or several when dealing with his wife. But this business demanded a clear head and perhaps a degree of diplomacy, so he paced instead of raising holy hell, silently fumed, and contemplated various forms of future revenge.

After another irritating and lengthy interval, which further fueled Dalgliesh’s resentment and eroded any prospect of diplomacy, a footman came to fetch him. Following the man up the main staircase and down familiar corridors, Alec was ushered into Violetta’s little bijoux of a sitting room off her boudoir by the young flunkey who, he suspected, was also warming his wife’s bed.

Although perhaps the fellow would have to get in line today, Alec noted, his expression deliberately vacant. He recognized the man seated beside Violetta on her blue damask settee.

“You know each other, I presume,” Violetta said with a flick of her fingers in Fitzwilliam’s direction. “You’re usual whiskey, darling?”

He politely said, “No,” to her grating familiarity and wondered whether his new counsel could be trusted. Fitzwilliam hadn’t wasted any time making himself at home in Violetta’s boudoir. The two were very cozily situated side by side, Fitzwilliam lounging at his ease, one arm resting intimately on the settee back inches from Violetta’s blond curls.

“The countess and I were discussing the merits of the case,” the barrister said as if reading Dalgliesh’s mind.

“Do sit, darling,” Violetta said, oversweet and smiling. “Join the discussion. I’m sure it’s of material interest to you.”

Pausing in the doorway, Alec said mildly, “I prefer standing, thank you. I’ve only come to apprise you of the full extent of my enmity and resolve. Since you’ve become an unreasonable danger to everyone I love, you no doubt know I’ve reached—”

“My goodness. Love? You mean your new Miss MacKenzie?” Violetta’s brows arched upward in scoffing derision. “How charming, darling. I thought you were only amusing yourself—again . . . as always.”

“A decision,” he finished as though she hadn’t spoken. His voice softened, as if he were saying something unimportant. “I intend to have this divorce. Over your dead body, if necessary. I trust I’ve made myself clear.”

“May I caution you, my lord,” Fitzwilliam interposed, his gaze heavy lidded, his lounging pose unaltered. “The lady has certain protections under the law.”

“Very limited protections, as I understand, and wholly at the discretion of the judge. Furthermore, those protections, limited or not, won’t do her much good if she’s dead.”

“Come, come, my lord. There’s no need for threats. The courts will deal with this matter in a competent manner, I’m sure.”

There was a short silence. Then in an unemotional, perhaps cynical voice, Alec said, “You must decide to whom you’re committed, Fitzwilliam.”

The barrister’s expression was equally unexcited. “Please, sir, don’t say anything you’ll regret.”

“My only regret is wasting four years of my life. It’s over, Violetta. Do what you will, say what you will, I don’t care anymore,” he said, his voice dying away at the last. Then he seemed to collect himself and his voice took on a crispness. “Just stay away from me and mine. As for you, Fitzwilliam, you’d better decide whom you’re representing.” He turned, grasped the door handle, hesitated, then turned back. “Don’t be too greedy, Violetta. I’m not in the mood. Perhaps you can help her in that regard, Fitzwilliam. I’m sure you know the usual settlement sums.”

After the door slammed on Alec, Violetta feigned a little shiver of alarm. “You see what I’ve had to deal with all these years. I’ve often lived in fear of my life. He just threatened me again. You witnessed it.”

“How terrible for you,” Fitzwilliam commiserated. “A small, fragile woman against such a monster. I’m not sure I can represent a man like that.”

“How sweet you are.” Leaning in close, Violetta ran her finger down the fine silk of the barrister’s waistcoat. “I’m sure we could come to some agreement over a retainer if you’d be willing to represent
me
. Alec has more money than he needs in ten lifetimes. And he’s always been generous. Together we could reach a comfortable settlement, I’m sure. Do you have time?”

The look she gave him was familiar and wanton and left him in no doubt what she meant by
time.
“I’m at your disposal, my lady.”

She smiled. “No scheduling conflicts?”

“None I can’t ignore.”

“How amenable you are.”

“With good reason, my lady. You’re a beautiful, fascinating woman, and I confess, you’ve always interested me.”

Her brows rose in faint query. “Have we met before?”

“I don’t believe so. But you’re the most dashing female in the beau monde. I’ve worshiped you from afar.”

She slowly smiled. “Come, darling, you’re not the type to worship anyone.”

He softly laughed. “Then may I more bluntly say, I’ve wanted to fuck you for a very long time.”

Her silvery trill matched the pleasure in her eyes. “Why wait any longer, my dear Fitzwilliam. You look like the kind of man who knows how to please a lady.”

He was. His talents weren’t exclusively devoted to the courtroom. Nor were his pleasures, although he loved to win in court, he
lived
to win in court. But he was also handsome, lithe, athletic, well-endowed, and when he rose from Violetta’s bed several hours later, he left behind a satisfied woman. And took away with him all the information he’d come for.

After a brief detour home to bathe and change, he had himself driven to Dalgliesh’s apartments in St. James. A cool, self-possessed butler of considerable consequence took his name, said, “The earl is waiting for you,” and had a footman escort him to a paneled study with a fire on the hearth and Dalgliesh seated before it, drinking.

The earl didn’t rise as Fitzwilliam approached. He only looked up and gruffly said, “What the hell were you doing there?”

“I charge more for that tone of voice.”

“Charge what you want. Answer my question.”

“I’ll have a drink first. She worked me like a galley slave.”

Dalgliesh stared at him for a fraction of a second and then burst out laughing. “But it wasn’t a complete hardship for all that, I’ll warrant,” he said, still chuckling as he handed over the bottle he held in his hand. “Glasses over there,” he said with a wave toward a drinks table. “And more liquor if you don’t like whiskey.”

“Whiskey will do, thank you,” the barrister said, taking the bottle and sinking into a large wingback chair on the other side of the hearth. “Christ, I’m exhausted.”

“You deserve a bonus for services rendered. Add whatever you wish to your fees. And I await your pleasure once you’ve rested and drunk your fill.” Coming to his feet, Dalgliesh strolled over to the drinks table and carried back two more bottles. “I’ve a feeling we have something to celebrate,” he said with a grin. Sitting down, he leaned over, placed one bottle by Fitzwilliam’s chair, uncorked the other, and lifted it to his mouth. “By the way, what’s your Christian name.”

“Francis.”

“Well, Francis, let’s drink to my freedom.”

“Your freedom in due time, my lord. Even though your wife incriminated herself rather conclusively this afternoon, the case still needs to be presented to the court. Nothing is guaranteed. An unsympathetic magistrate, a counter suit, some unanticipated technicality. Things can go wrong.”

“I understand. But by and large, Violetta’s case is indefensible, don’t you agree?”

“Particularly should you disclose the more sordid details.”

“If I have to, I will. I haven’t told you yet of her plot to murder Zelda. We found and interrogated the man she hired. He signed a confession.”

“She wants Miss MacKenzie dead, not you?”

“Yes. She wants
me
to live a very long life. For if my cousin inherits, she’d have to survive on her dower stipend.” His lashes drifted downward. “That’s hardly pin money for Violetta.”

“She said you were generous.”

“Out of indifference, not kindness. Although, if you plan on seeing her again,” Alec said with a faint smile, “I wouldn’t recommend going in unarmed. Nor would I eat or drink anything.”

“Consider me warned. So tell me about this man she hired. Is he still in your custody?”

Alec nodded. “She’s looking for him though. She has men staked out at his apartment.”

“Did
she
pay him or did someone else?”

“Her personal footman paid him. You saw him—the large, good-looking fellow. Very young. I imagine he’s delighted to be allowed in her bed from time to time—not that a bed’s required for Violetta, as you no doubt discovered.”

Fitzwilliam’s brows rose. “Indeed.” He slid down on his spine and exhaled softly. “Forgive me, my lord, but I’m fagged. Ask me what you wish and I’ll try to answer. If I fall asleep, shake me awake.”

“Finish your drink, then go home and sleep. We can talk tomorrow.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“It’s for me to thank you,” the earl graciously replied. “You’ve apparently not only gained valuable information, you’ve renewed my faith in humanity. I wasn’t quite sure what to make of you when I saw you lounging in Violetta’s boudoir.”

“I’m very dependable, sir. I pride myself on my loyalty.”

“Good. Get me this divorce and I’ll make you a very rich man.”

“I’m already rich.”

“Would you like me to buy you a title, then? I know the chief whip, Akers-Douglas. Not that you have to be a personal friend anymore. The tariff for a peerage is common knowledge.”

“Which, of course, makes it less valuable.”

“You don’t want one?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Well, it’s yours if you wish. Or anything else you’d like. Let me know.” He was prepared to pay handsomely for results.

“If we win, I’ll decide.”

“I always win.”

“As do I.”

Dalgliesh smiled. “Well, then, it’s just a matter of you deciding if you want to be a peer of the realm or not.”

After discussing the details of the case, the men parted on good terms, Fitzwilliam returning home to his solitary bed, Dalgliesh staying up late, drinking and coming to terms with the remarkable changes in his life. With the temporary aberrations and the future ones, with all the curious
startling
changes. With the even more curious obsessions, when all his grown life he’d relied on detachment as his means of survival.

Because all his grown life, he’d understood that he was irredeemably alone. Not that he didn’t have a mother who loved him, and Creiggy, of course, and the servants who were like family. But even when young, when they’d finally left the main house and taken up residence in the dower house, he’d found himself the master of the establishment. His mother, never strong, had given up the struggle to save her marriage and had retired to her music and books. Her love for him was unconditional, but when strength was required or special skills to forestall his father’s inroads, it had been left to him to face the storm. He was big for his age and capable—thanks in large part to Creiggy’s stout training—and he’d managed his difficult, disputative, drunken father more times than he cared to remember.

Ultimately, whether here or in South Africa, whether large or small, his decisions had always been his own. And now, for the first time, the purpose of his life had expanded beyond caretaking and business and estate governance.

He’d found love. Or love had found him. The quiet misery of his life had been forever altered, and he wished to protect this newfound joy at all costs. For a man who’d always guarded his privacy from outside intrusion, he was in awe of the breathtaking intimacy of love.