Seductive as Flame (37 page)

Christ, was it possible that he was about to be released from the punishment of his life?

CHAPTER 27

A
LEC AND JAMES were back at Munro Park a cold hour later, the open automobile damned chilly in December—but fast. James had been briefed on all that had transpired that day and given numerous tasks to complete prior to Alec’s departure for Scotland in the morning.

Most importantly, a telegram for Zelda announcing his arrival.

Two men had been left in Inverness to serve as messengers between the telegraph office and the MacKenzie estate.

Soon after his return, Alec entered his mother’s sitting room, where she and Chris and Creiggy were having tea. It was finally time to give his mother an account of the conspiracy of silence under which they’d all lived.

Creiggy must have sensed what was about to transpire or perhaps servant’s gossip had preceded him. But she found reason before long to take Chris back to the schoolroom. Alec offered her a grateful smile as she left.

Alec set down his drink, uncrossed his legs, and leaning forward, rested his forearms on his knees. “I don’t know how much you’ve heard from the servants, but I wanted you to know I’ve fallen in love.”

“With Miss MacKenzie. Everyone knows,” the dowager countess said with a smile. “Congratulations, darling. I’m so pleased.”

“I’ll be getting a divorce. One that could turn out to be very nasty.”

“I understand, dear. It seems to me most divorces are—or at least all the court proceedings one reads in the papers suggest so.”

“Mine might be worse.” A cool, bloodless statement.

Her pale brows lifted ever so slightly. “And you’re worried about me.”

He softly exhaled. “Yes. I want you to know all the sordid details before you read them in the papers. But the possible shock to you concerns me.”

Her smile was affectionate. “I survived quite a few years with your father before you were old enough to understand what was happening. You’ll find I’m relatively strong.”

“So Creiggy tells me. She’s been urging me to speak to you for some time.”

“As you know, Creiggy’s always right.” His mother reached across the small distance that separated them and touched her son’s hand. “Tell me now. I promise not to faint away.”

As he talked about his father and Violetta, little Julia, and the illness that had almost taken her life, the dowager countess said, “Oh my,” once and, “My goodness,” twice and “Is that so?” in a chill voice he’d never heard before. When he finished, he sat back, ran his fingers through his hair, and softly exhaled. “That’s everything,” he said, his wary gaze trained on his mother’s face.

“That’s quite a lot, isn’t it?” she softly noted, drawing in a deep breath. “And you’ve taken on all these grave difficulties to spare me distress.” She smiled ruefully. “You’ve been much too good to me while I’ve selfishly neglected your happiness. You never should have married. Certainly not because of me.”

He would have done more to save her life. “It was my decision alone,” he kindly said. “I wanted Chris as much as you. I still do. Marrying Violetta wasn’t that much of a hardship.”

“Of course it was,” his mother quietly said, understanding what it was to suffer under the yoke of a brutal marriage. “I’m filled with guilt.”

Alec smiled. “Don’t say that in front of Creiggy. She’ll see that you do penance in any number of ways.”

“And so she should.”

His mother’s voice was anguished. “Nonsense. You’ve been the best of mothers. I couldn’t have been more fortunate. Remember, you were the one who urged me to go to India, who wrote to the viceroy, saw to it that I had an appointment to his staff. If not for that, I never would have seen South Africa.” He grinned. “So I owe you millions, Mother dear. There’s no need for regret.”

The dowager countess restlessly twisted a ring on her finger, then looked up and met her son’s gaze. “I know you’re trying to make me feel better. But, tell me, are you truly happy now?”

“I couldn’t be happier. The sun shines for me alone.”

She breathed more freely. “I’m so glad, darling.” Then she frowned slightly. “Does Miss MacKenzie know what you told me?”

“Some of it—not all. I’ve avoided the worst of it.” Just like he’d avoided enlightening his mother on his day’s activities.

“Have you spoken to her of a divorce?”

His smile broke. “Yes. She doesn’t believe me.”

“Darling, what woman would with your reputation?”

“I agree. Which is why I’m going to Scotland in the morning to convince her of my sincerity. James is busy arranging things as we speak.”

“I’m so pleased for you.” Leaning over, she took his hand and smiled. “I’ve heard that love is quite wonderful.”

“It is, Maman,” he softly said, wishing she hadn’t had such a comfortless marriage, wishing she’d felt the same joy. She was still beautiful, pale, and fragile; what would her life have been if she’d not been married off by her family for all the wrong reasons? Then knowing how she loved children, he said to cheer her, “Zelda and I hope to start a family soon. In fact—”

“You’d better see to a swift divorce,” she advised with a sparkle in her eyes, releasing his hand and sitting back. “You know how the servants talk. Your avid interest in Miss MacKenzie kept the kitchen all achatter. I believe there’s various bets concerning any number of events apropos you and Miss MacKenzie that are keeping the servants entertained.”

Alec groaned.

“We all wish you great joy, darling. The staff would walk over fire for you. As for the scandal of the divorce, I know I can speak for everyone—let the papers print what they like.”

“You can be sure they will, if they have the chance,” Alec muttered. “On the other hand, my counsel, Fitzwilliam, is being paid to keep me out of court. One can but hope.”

“It doesn’t matter in the end, darling. Nothing matters so long as you’re happy. I’m completely indifferent to scandal.” She smiled again. “That shouldn’t be a surprise.”

He laughed. “What was I thinking?”

Her eyes were luminous with delight. “What indeed? And now we must see that little Julia comes to visit, if you don’t think John and Lily would mind?”

“They wouldn’t in the least. Julia and I are good friends.”

“Life takes strange turns, does it not?” the dowager countess said in a musing tone. “But I think we’ve found a generous foothold on happiness now or contentment or—”

“Love. For me, it’s love.”

And his newfound love marked him in many ways.

Cheered him like a perennial explosion of spring.

Gave him physical joy that stole his wits and reason and heart and emptied him of despair. He was grateful to his marrow.

CHAPTER 28

E
ARLY THE NEXT morning, at Munro Park’s private rail station, the door on Dalgliesh’s stable car had just clanged shut. The skittish horses had nearly escaped and their sweating grooms breathed a sigh of relief now that the earl’s pricey bloodstock were finally in their stalls aboard the train.

The conductor was standing on the platform, his watch in hand, generously paid not to notice they were behind schedule thanks to the earl’s high-strung thoroughbreds. Dalgliesh, having eventually stepped in to calm his hunters, was now mounting the stairs to his railcar, and the conductor allowed himself his own sigh of relief. Keeping the London and Northwestern Railway waiting for over forty minutes was, of course, the prerogative of extremely wealthy aristocrats like Dalgliesh, but Mathieson also had to accommodate his superiors. Fortunately, the earl’s man had handed over enough large bills to placate the rail authorities from here to the ends of the earth. Still, it was with pleasure that he heard the door to the earl’s private car shut with a thud. Mathieson nodded to the engineer, who’d had his head hanging out the engine window for the last half hour.

When the red-faced footman in livery came racing down the platform, screaming the earl’s name, Mathieson briefly considered putting his boot out, tripping the man, jumping onto the train, and waving the engineer on.

Alas, the plutocracy still ruled the world despite Labor’s inroads in the last two elections. With another sigh, Mathieson signaled the engineer to wait.

The footman wasn’t in the earl’s private car for more than five seconds when Dalgliesh could be seen leaping to the platform and dashing toward his chauffeured car still idling near the station.

James quickly followed his employer, explained to the conductor that the horses had to be unloaded, the private cars detached and shunted onto the siding. He apologized for the nconvenience—giving no reason—then dispensed more large bills.

Five minutes later, Alec strode into the entrance hall at the Dower House and into a highly charged atmosphere. Two uniformed constables were planted squarely in the middle of the hall, stubbornly unmoving even while Fulton, surrounded by numerous staff was as stubbornly refusing them entrance.

“We’re here on the court’s business and we ain’t movin’ until we sees the Earl of Dalgliesh.”

“I’m Dalgliesh.” Alec handed his coat to a servant.

The two policemen spun around at his words, both red-faced and pugnacious.

Alec stared at them coolly. “State your business.”

“We’re here to deliver a writ for custody of one Christopher Clarke.”

“Get out.”

“We’re here on official business!” One of the constables waved a folded paper he held in his hand. “This here writ says the boy comes with us!”

“Get out or I’ll throw you out.” Dalgliesh was beside himself with rage. “Now.”

“See here, you can’t refuse a court order!” the older of the constables sputtered. “I don’t care who you are!”

“I know who I am and I’m refusing your writ, and if you don’t leave this instant, I’ll see that neither of you will continue in your present profession for another day. Is that clear? IS THAT CLEAR?” Alec’s voice rattled the chandelier overhead. With a glance at Fulton, he grabbed one of the constables and frog-marched him to the door, the second following behind in Fulton’s harsh grip.

Two footmen swept the double doors open and, seconds later, Her Queen’s constables were picking themselves up off the drive.

“Lock the fucking door.”

A footman sprang to obey Alec’s snarl.

“Have my car brought around to the back,” Alec ordered to no one in particular in the mass of retainers, then taking Fulton’s arm, he led him away.

Ten minutes later, after two cryptic phone calls to avoid the prying ears of the telephone operators—the first to Fitzwilliam, the second to Tom Reeves—Alec turned to Fulton. “Neither said anything to anyone. There’s always Freddy, of course, but I don’t think he’s that stupid. He knows if he alludes to my fostering his marriage proposal to Violetta, he won’t get a penny.”

“So the bitch did it on her own,” Fulton muttered.

“So the bitch did,” Alec said, each word reeking with contempt. He glanced at the clock. Eight. Since it wasn’t yet noon, Violetta would still be in bed. “Come with me,” he said to Fulton. “Armed.”

Less than an hour later, Alec and Fulton arrived at Munro House. They swept past the few servants who were up in an establishment unfamiliar with early morning hours, took the stairs at a run, and came to a stop outside Violetta’s apartment.

“Guard the door,” Alec said. “Shoot anyone who tries to get in.”

“Anywhere special you want me to shoot them? Just checking,” Fulton said with a faint smile, having stood side by side with Alec in more than one ticklish situation in South Africa.

“Somewhere that doesn’t trigger a murder indictment. She’s not worth it.”

“Keep that in mind yourself,” Fulton cautioned. “Tempting as it may be.”

Alec nodded, although he was thinking the temptation might be too great after what she’d just tried to do. Chris was terrified of her; Fulton said Creiggy had spirited the boy away the moment word of the constables had reached her.

“Take a breath or two, boss.”

Alec’s gaze swung to Fulton, and after a pause, he grinned, breathed deeply, and said, “Better?”

“Not really. Just don’t shoot her.”

In his current mood, another evasive nod was the best he could do. Then, he pressed down on the ornate levered handle, pushed open the door, and entered Violetta’s silent sitting room. Crossing the plush carpet, he passed into the bedroom, strode to the windows, threw open the drapes, and moving to the foot of the bed, waited, flint eyed and unsmiling as the occupants bestirred themselves.

When Violetta’s drowsy gaze fell on him, she frowned, pushed herself up on the pillows, and indifferent to her nudity, theatrically lifted her brows. “It’s damned early, Alec.”

Ignoring her nakedness as well as her remark, Alec said in a low, suppressed growl, “What the fuck did you think you were doing?”

“I told her not to do it. I told her you’d come,” Freddy quickly interposed. He was aware of Alec’s grim reputation for violence after all the stories about his battles with his father and those in South Africa over mining claims that were bloodshed first and bargaining later. Brushing his fair hair from his eyes, sitting up, Freddy held Alec’s gaze for a telling moment, offering up his innocence. “She wouldn’t listen.”

“A shame.” Then Alec turned to his wife and regarded her for an unhurried moment. “You’ve caused me a great deal of trouble, Violetta,” he finally said, “but this time you’ve gone too far.” He kept his breathing even and his voice, although his eyes held a weariness of spirit that always overcame him at the sight of her. “The boy’s only six and frightened to death of you. You’re his mother. You should care even just a little. But you don’t, do you?” he said in an almost inaudible tone. He looked bleak for a moment, like a man who’d seen too much cruelty. “So then,” he brusquely said, as if having made the decision he’d been avoiding for four long years, he could now shed any semblance of equanimity, “If you want war, Violetta, you’ll have war. To the last one standing, to the bitter, bloody end. You might want Freddy to leave,” he went on in that same curt tone. “You might not want him to hear what I have to say. It might ruin your fucking image.”