growled, “Haven’t you something better to do? Mytton must be waiting for you somewhere. Go and find him.” He swung her around and gave her a push. “Stay out of my life.”
His voice was so harsh and cold, Zelda wondered that their marriage endured. Divorce wasn’t out of the question if one had money.
The earl watched his wife flounce off, waited until she was out of sight, then turned to Zelda. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am,” he said. “I saw her leave the room with Mytton. I thought you were safe.”
A moment of shock. “Safe?”
Alec lifted his shoulder in the faintest shrug. “She’s a spiteful woman, ruthless, coldhearted . . .” His voice trailed off. “I’m sorry,” he quietly said. “About her, about this, about every fucking thing.”
Zelda chose her words carefully. “The possibility of any further relationship between us appears more difficult than I anticipated.”
“I understand.” His voice held a certain flatness.
“Your wife’s obviously upset. I was under the impression your marriage was an informal arrangement.”
“It is. I have no idea why she confronted you.” Unfamiliar with the role of supplicant, he couldn’t bring himself to explain his marriage with any specificity—nor could he for other reasons as well. As for Violetta—no explanation would suffice for her rudeness. “Are you all right? She didn’t—”
“No, I’m fine. She surprised me, that’s all.” In any number of ways, but she wasn’t about to detail them to the woman’s husband. “But under the circumstances, perhaps we shouldn’t continue our friendship.”
“I don’t blame you.” He’d half expected it. “You shouldn’t have to deal with Violetta’s abuse.” He paused, opened his mouth to speak, and changing his mind, said instead, “If you’ll excuse me, I have to check on Chris. Violetta may have upset him. I apologize again. I should have been more vigilant.” He bowed faintly. “She shouldn’t be back. Sleep well.”
Zelda watched him until the shadows in the dimly lit corridor swallowed him up. For a moment more, she stood in the hallway—indecisive and bewildered, feeling a profound sense of loss.
Then she turned, opened the door, and entered her room.
“I’ll undress myself,” she said to the waiting maid. “I won’t be needing you tonight. And I’ll take breakfast downstairs in the morning.” She just wanted to be alone, now and later—without servants to intrude on her solitude. She was deeply unhappy. When she shouldn’t be. When she hadn’t even known Dalgliesh existed this time yesterday.
How very strange life could be.
Convoluted and inexplicable.
Wretched for no good reason.
Dropping into a chair by the fire, she stretched out her legs and studied the toes of her green silk slippers as though the answer to her emotional quandary lay in the gleaming silk. Or in the glowing fire, she mused as her gaze lifted to the small blaze on the hearth.
But no answer arose in the dancing flames, nor in her heart or mind.
Only the wanting remained, keen and avaricious, rash, desperate.
And stubborn.
CHAPTER 6
“P APA, IS THAT you?” A frightened little voice.
“Yes. I’ll be right there.” Alec had been talking softly to Mrs. Creighton outside Chris’s bedroom door. He further lowered his voice. “John will drive you in the morning. I’ll be over to the hunting lodge as soon as I make my excuses to Fitz. And thank you again for fending off Violetta.”
“The lad heard her though. He was shaking when I went in afterward. You really have to do something about that woman,” the nanny murmured, a stubborn jut to her jaw.
“I know. Not tonight, though.” Turning away, Alec pushed open the door to Chris’s room. “Can’t sleep?” the earl sympathetically inquired. “Would you like a story?”
Chris soon dozed off as he always did when Alec sat with him and told him a tale about knights or pirates or animals that talked. But after the