Free Seductive as Flame by Susan Johnson Page A

was alarming to Zelda, who lived in a household of four brothers and a father who enjoyed their whiskey. There was no accounting for a man’s behavior when he chose to drink instead of eat.
    But Dalgliesh soon turned his attention to his dinner companion on his right and devoted the remainder of the meal to Lady Ponsonby.
    He stayed with the other men when the table was cleared and the port was brought out, merely nodding to Zelda as a footman pulled back her chair and she rose to follow the ladies into the drawing room for tea and sherry. And when he came in with the other men afterward, he didn’t approach her, spending the next hour instead in the midst of one group of men or another. Not that women didn’t come up to him several times and attempt to engage his interest, but he politely declined all their advances.
    A fact that didn’t go unnoticed.
    Zelda marveled at his finesse. None of the ladies left angry. He must have left them hopeful, she pettishly thought when she shouldn’t. When she had absolutely no right to take issue with other women in his life. When Monday was appearing increasingly distant and unmanageable.
    How in the world was she going to last ’til then? Could she?
    She’d found a chair in the corner of the room in order to avoid conversation, but her solitary position actually left her more open to male overtures—all of which she courteously rebuffed. Until she finally said for the last time to an importuning man, “Thank you, but morning comes early. I want to be ready for the hunt,” and rising to her feet, she walked over to take her leave of her hostess. With a polite smile, she thanked Rosalind for a lovely evening and quickly escaped.
    Or almost escaped.
    She found Violetta waiting for her outside her room, her gown of black lace festooned with crystal beads shimmering in the half light, the diamonds at her throat and ears glittering.
    Her eyes were glittering, too—with malice.
    “I don’t want you talking to my son,” Violetta said in a deadly whisper. “I don’t want you anywhere near him. Not this weekend or ever!”
    “Do I know you?” Zelda calmly said, not intimidated by a woman half her size, unmoved as well by threats from anyone—large or small.
    “I’m Lady Dalgliesh, you bitch!”
    “Ah—I’ve met your husband then.”
    “Stay away from him, too,” Violetta snapped. Dalgliesh never flaunted his inamoratas; he kept his private life private. This woman was a disagreeable change in the status quo.
    “You should probably talk to your husband about that,” Zelda casually said. “I’m not sure he takes orders from you. I know he doesn’t from me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s been a long, tiring day.”
    As Zelda reached for the doorknob, Violetta slapped her wrist with her fan. “I’m not finished with you yet,” she acidly said.
    Zelda glanced at her wrist, then at Violetta. “I wouldn’t do that again if I were you.” She’d grown up with four very large brothers she’d had to wrestle to the ground on occasion in their youth. This woman was inconsequential in size and in every other way.
    “You don’t frighten me, you slut,” Violetta said with venom in her voice and gaze. “Stay away from my husband and son or you’ll be sorry.”
    “ I’m sorry this conversation is even taking place,” Zelda softly said, tempted to slap the stupid bitch silly. Lady Dalgliesh was the last person to expect fidelity from a husband with her intemperate life. “Now get out of my way or I’ll make you get out of my way.”
    “If you touch me, I’ll scream,” Violetta hissed.
    “Good Lord,” Zelda muttered. “Are you drunk?” Then she heard running footsteps behind her, saw Violetta’s gaze narrow, and resentfully thought, Just what I need. To be caught in the middle of a domestic spat .
    “That’s enough, Violetta.” Coming up to his wife, Dalgliesh grabbed her arm and, rapidly altering the coarse, explicit words racing through his brain,