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handsome, but I expect you know that.”
    “And you’re every man’s fantasy, but I expect you know that, too.”
    Her eyes flicked to the door and she gave him a warning look .
    He wanted to say, Eat fast. I have plans , as a servant came in with their food, but he chose to be circumspect instead. And over the course of an excellent breakfast, he spoke of mundane things.
    Zelda was more than willing to enjoy her breakfast and chat about nothing.
    But it was much harder once the bland topics had been discussed and they had finished eating. When Alec had coaxed her into drinking some of the superb cider, and they were both warmed by the potent liquor, it was much harder to ignore the heated desire that had become a palpable presence in the room and, more disastrously—in their bodies.
    “Let me get a room,” he said, his voice barely audible across the debris of breakfast. “I don’t want to wait,” he said, suddenly impatient with pretense. “I’m not sure I can. There must be a room to let upstairs.”
    “I’m more selfish than that.” She glanced at the clock. “There’s very little time. We’ll be missed soon.”
    “Time enough. You’ve put me in full rut.”
    She smiled. “Perhaps the servant girl would accommodate you.”
    “I’m sure she would.”
    “Well then.” She held his insolent gaze. “Everything’s settled. I’ll see you back at the house.”
    “I could make you stay,” he whispered.
    “Not after saying what you said.”
    He exhaled softly. “Need I apologize?”
    “Not in the least,” she crisply said. “You may fuck whom you please.”
    “Except you.”
    “Let’s just say I want more than twenty inconsequential minutes of your time.”
    “Why?” He wanted her to tell him why this was happening; he wanted the words for his feelings, some explanation for this insanity.
    “Like you, I don’t know. In fact, I don’t know why I came here.”
    His heated gaze met hers. “You were waiting for me.”
    She shook her head. “I’m not sure. I often avoid the kill. Only the riding appeals to me, not the slaughter.”
    “ Maybe you were waiting for me.” He was surprised how important her answer was.
    “Yes, maybe. Are you happy now?”
    “Strangely, yes. Thank you. Although, since we’re going to postpone our—er—friendship and you’ve aroused the hell out of me, I suppose you’d be angry if I used the servant girl just to get rid of my hard-on,” he whimsically said, a half smile on his face.
    “I suppose I would. Although, what you choose to do has nothing to do with me. We only met a few hours ago.”
    “Terrifying thought,” he grumbled, feeling suddenly as if his back was to the wall.
    “The height of stupidity,” Zelda said in a voice no less afflicted. Dalgliesh was nothing but trouble.
    “I’m not sure I like feeling the way I do—unbalanced, hindered—all for a fuck.”
    “I know I don’t—particularly with a wife like yours.”
    He softly groaned. “I should get the hell up and walk away.”
    “Good idea,” she muttered.
    “Why is this happening to us?” he grumbled.
    “I have no idea. I’m normally very pragmatic. Someone in the family had to be. Papa is completely without sense unless he’s gauging the height of a—”
    “Monday,” he roughly said, interrupting her, his voice hard, his gaze scorching her across the table. “I can’t wait longer than that. We’ll go to my hunting box. I’ll think of something to tell your father. Mrs. Creighton and Chris will have to come along, but that won’t be a problem. Violetta never comes to the hunting lodge, thank God. And you’re not allowed to say no or equivocate or look at me like you’re surprised at what I’m saying. Either we’ll be together on Monday or I’ll be fucking dead.”
    “I can see why you’re in such demand with your velvet-tongued gallantry,” Zelda said, smiling widely. “I hardly know how to respond.”
    He grinned. “Sorry. I’m quite demented. But