The Wedding Chase

by Rebecca Kelley

  “By God, Northcliffe, I’ll say what I have to say before all London.” Fleetwood’s breath reeked of cheap whiskey.

  “Robin, please.” Zel clutched her brother’s arm.

  Fleetwood pushed aside her hands. “This man cheated me out of the last of my blunt at Maven’s. When I confronted him he struck me and knifed my comrades.”

  “If memory serves me correctly, it happened a little differently.” Wolfgang spoke slowly, trying to smooth the volatile situation.

  The younger man was having none of it. “You bastard, you ruined me.” His voice swelled. “Stay away from my sister. You won’t ruin her too!”

  “Flames of hell, you fool, keep your voice down or you’ll be the one to ruin her.” Wolfgang reached for his arm. “You’ll give the gossips an unending fuel supply.”

  Fleetwood shoved him. “Keep your bloody hands off me, or I’ll strike you down where you stand.”

  “Robin, stop this. Now!” Zel yanked on his hand just as he swung wildly, and off-balance, he struck her instead of his intended target.

  Wolfgang sprang forward, pinning the smaller man to the wall, his voice little more than a growl. “Damnation! You idiot, we’ll take this outside.”

  “So you can murder me like you did your wife and most of your other relatives?”

  Several men hesitated nearby, readying to assist, but obviously unsure what role to take.

  “Robin!”

  “You should have been hung.” Fleetwood pushed futilely against Wolfgang’s shoulders. “Falls down stairs, carriage crashes, mysterious illnesses, laudanum overdoses. How many does it take to make an earl?”

  “Enough!” Wolfgang threw him at the waiting men. “Remove this gentleman, now! Hire a hack to take him home.”

  The fight died abruptly in Fleetwood. He allowed himself to be led, almost carried, from the room, silent and limp. Wolfgang whirled to Zel, who stood rigid as the marble bust that kept her upright. He slipped an arm around her waist. She didn’t move.

  “Take your hands off my person.” She hissed at him. “I do not know who is worse, my brother or you.”

  “Zel, listen to me—”

  “I am going home.” She moved out of the circle of his arm. “Where is my aunt?”

  Wolfgang grasped her shoulders. “By the spawn of Satan, you’re going to hear me out.”

  “Let me go.” She struggled to free herself. “I will not listen to you.”

  “Wolfgang, I’ll take her home.” Grandmama touched his arm.

  “No.” Shifting his grip to her upper arm, he pulled Zel toward the hallway. “I’ve no idea what your brother was talking about. I rescued him from Maven’s, nearly three weeks ago. He might have died there if it hadn’t been for me. You saw me carrying him to his room.”

  “So you are the hero. Forgive me if I fail to believe you.” She met his eyes briefly, then looked back toward the drawing room. “Lady Darlington, Aunt Diana, I am ready to leave.”

  “Why would I have bothered to take him home if I’d just robbed him?”

  “But you never told me the whole story.” Zel tried to pry his fingers from her arm.

  “No, I thought to spare you from all the nasty details.”

  “Spare me?” Her eyes threw sparks. “I am not a child needing your protection. You admitted you were not Robin’s friend, but you failed to tell me you were his enemy. You also denied knowing anything about an assault.”

  “Lucifer’s pointed tail! I said I didn’t see a bruise.” Wolfgang hauled her in closer. “And I didn’t. But I did knock him out so I could get us both out of Maven’s alive.”

  She moved her lips as if to speak, then silently stared up into his face.

  “You think me a cheat, a thief, a liar, and a murderer?” Wolfgang tightened his clasp on her arm and pulled her farther down the hall, out of the view of the drawing room. Hearing the outbreak of chatter, he knew the gossip was spreading like wildfire. But he wasn’t about to stop until she heard him out. He would leave Grandmama to quell the wagging tongues.

  “Well, do you?”

  “Do I what?”

  “Do you believe me a cheat, thief, liar, and murderer?” They were nearly at the stairs.

  “My brother may be many things, but he is not a liar.” Zel’s chin set stubbornly, unreasoning loyalty to her brother stamped on her face.

  “Zel, the deaths of my family and my wife, that’s old prattle. I’m not a murderer.” He loosened his hold on her arm. God, he’d probably bruised her. “But I’ve never been regarded as a model of decorum, so the rumors spread. And at Maven’s, I saved your brother’s life. If anyone cheated, it was him.”

  “My brother does not cheat or lie.” She broke free but stood her ground, eyes fiercely engaging his. Wolfgang wondered whom she was trying to convince, him or herself. “And I do not understand why you feel you must persuade me otherwise. Now I will take my leave of you. Do not try to see me, do not approach me at any gathering. I want nothing to do with you.”

  “I won’t accept that.”

  “Accept it and leave me alone.” Zel turned toward the drawing room. “My family means more to me than you ever could.”

  Any hair of control he had left snapped. “Fires of brimstone, woman! You’ll come with me to Maven’s and Maven will tell you the truth.” Wolfgang grabbed her hand and strode down the stairs, towing her in his wake.

  She grasped the newel post at the bottom of the stairs. “You must be mad. I will not set foot in a gaming house.”

  “You’ll walk out of this house with me willingly or I’ll carry you out, kicking and screaming.” He pried her off the post. “Don’t you think we’ve made enough of a scene tonight?”

  “I will walk.” Zel started stiffly down the hallway. He followed, keeping hold of her hand. They cleared the front door, descending the entry steps to the drive. “Where is your coach?”

  As he scanned the street, she jerked free and bolted. He caught her within a few strides, flinging her over his shoulder, dashing the last half block to the carriage. His coachman didn’t blink an eye as Wolfgang threw open the door and tossed her inside. “Maven’s, on Lisle Street, and quickly.” She skidded across the floor, quickly regaining her feet, reaching for the opposite door. Flying up behind her, he swung her down onto the coach seat. He pulled the curtains, pinning her to the squabs with the weight of his body when she again made for the door.

  “Damnation! Quit squirming, you’re only making this harder.”

  “Then let me go, you ass.”

  “The proper Miss Fleetwood cussing?” But Miss Grizelda Fleetwood did not feel at all proper wiggling beneath him, her breasts soft against his chest, her long legs tangled with his. Fighting the arrhythmic rocking of the carriage, he held her arms to her sides, raising himself slightly, searching her face in the dim light. Her eyes met his and she stilled. He lowered his head slowly, eyes never leaving hers. She made no attempt to avoid his gaze or his approaching mouth, but parted her lips, her labored breathing matching his own.

  Zel’s lips were cool, slightly moist, pliable under the pressure of his. He released her arms, winding one of his arms about her waist, the other snaked beneath her head, bringing her closer. She stirred against him, running her hands up his back, returning the urgency of his kiss.

  Wolfgang plunged into the damp recesses of her mouth, exploring the contrasts of teeth and flesh. She nibbled at his tongue, then twined her own around his. Thrusting his fingers into her hair, he roughly dislodged pins until the thick mass fell loose into his hand. He released her mouth and buried his face in the heavy waves, inhaling deeply of the tart, spicy scent. A scent so different from the cloying floral smell many women wore. His hand at her waist inched up her side, wedging between their bodies to cup her breast. She moaned hoarsely into his ear as his thumb slid over her nipple.

  “Lakes of fire, Zel.” He whispered as he drew away from her hair.

  “Stay.” She groaned, her grip tightening around him, pulling h
im back. Wolfgang nipped gently at her lower lip, then layered kisses down her throat. Her sleeve had been pushed nearly off in the struggle, baring her shoulder. He trailed his mouth across her shoulder and down her chest as his hand tugged at her bodice, freeing her breast. Zel’s fingers tangled in his hair as his tongue slithered over the swell of flesh, circling the budding tip. He breathed softly on the wet skin, smiling at the shudder coursing through her body.

  When he drew the nub sharply into his mouth she stiffened. Wolfgang slowed, suckling more gently than any babe, kneading the smooth, surrounding mound. He could hear her faint, husky growl, feel it vibrating softly in her chest, a cat’s purr. The fabric fell away from her other breast under the steady pull of his hand. He sketched patterns in the silky curves, raking his nail slowly over the point. Her unsteady fingers tugged loose his queue, scratching the nape of his neck.

  “Devil’s damned, I want you. Now.” His lips traced a line through the valley between her breasts, trapping her other nipple in his teeth, alternately sucking and nipping. He rubbed his chin across her, the roughness of his beard stubble catching on her velvety skin. Zel arched against him, pressing her stomach into his chest, sliding her ankle along his shin and calf.

  Hellfire, she was as alive to his touch as he ever imagined she would be. Wolfgang found her hip, smoothing the slick cloth over the enticing roundness, following the curve to the firm line of her thigh. His seeking hand proceeded over her bunched skirts, discovering a stocking-clad knee. Advancing along her thigh, he pushed inside the thin lawn of her bloomers, stroking the sleek, naked flesh, higher and higher up her endless leg.

  Wolfgang stopped, breath harsh, raw, lifting his head from her breasts, suddenly wanting to see her face, needing to see the desire in her eyes, hungry for reassurance that her passion matched his own. Zel’s eyes opened, caught by the intensity of his stare. The passion was there but underscored with a vulnerability that seared him to the very marrow of his bones. A guileless promise lingered in her gaze, tentatively offering more than he ever dreamed to possess.

  The wheels hit a rut in the road, throwing his shoulder against the lightly padded back wall. Lucifer’s mater! What was he doing? He was moments away from taking her in a carriage, claiming her maidenhead on the cushions of his coach. Zel wanted him now, but the minute she came to her senses she would hate him forever. That thought disturbed him more deeply than he wished to admit. Wolfgang wanted her passion, but he also wanted the shapeless thing he saw reflected in her eyes. A portent hovering almost within his grasp.

  He eased up, balancing on the edge of the seat, one hand reaching out to straighten her clothing. Something in her face splintered. She looked at him as if he’d just materialized out of nothingness. Slapping aside his hand, she sat up, shoving him hard in the chest. Wolfgang slid off the squabs, landing with a solid thud on the wooden floor. Lifting himself gingerly, he settled onto the opposite seat, riveting her with his glare.

  “Cover yourself.” His voice grated in his throat, low and rough. “My control is hanging by a thread and this view of your delectable body is sure to snap it.” He focused his gaze on her breasts. “Now! Or I’ll do it for you.” He moved toward her. “But if I touch you again I won’t stop.”

  Zel finally stirred, looking down at her near nakedness, releasing a hoarse cry. “You animal!” She yanked at her bodice and skirts, returning them to some semblance of order.

  “Me? An animal?” Wolfgang laughed, a bleak biting sound. “Think again, my dear, if not for the noble beast before you and his admirable restraint, you would at this moment be rutting on the seat of my carriage, your precious virginity a thing of the past.”

  “You are crude.” Her face was pinched, ghostly pale, even in the dim light of the carriage. The devil’s satin knee breeches! She was going to cry, damn her. He couldn’t deal with her tears. Anger, yes. Tears, no.

  “You’re not getting out of this little excursion, so don’t use your bloody tears on me.” His voice sounded cold and harsh, even to his ears. He softened it, but it still came out no better than a growl. “We’ll be at Maven’s soon. Pull your bodice straight and smooth your skirts.” He bent over, running his hands along the floor, retrieving several of her hair pins. “Here, these are enough to tidy your hair.”

  His eyes never left her as she scrambled to make herself presentable. Zel placed the last pin when the carriage lurched to a stop. Wolfgang opened the door, jumping out before a footman could pull out the steps. He held out his hand to her. “You may walk or be carried. The choice is yours.”

  “I will walk.” He lifted her down. “I said I will walk.”

  He released her waist and clasped her arm, drawing her toward a red door. “Quickly, you shouldn’t be seen.”

  Zel smiled thinly, her voice raspy and tight. “How sweet of you to care about my reputation, what shreds may be left.”

  The door opened. “I need to see Maven.” The doorman winked at Wolfgang, ushering them inside, directing them down a narrow, unlit hallway.

  “I thought this type of establishment refused to admit women.”

  “They don’t generally admit ladies.” He paused a moment, answering honestly. “But they do allow certain women in some of the rooms.”

  Zel stopped, her voice dangerously high. “He thinks I am your ‘bit of muslin,’ I believe is the term?” She yanked free her hand. “By morning even pickpockets and footpads in the worst stews of London will refuse my company.”

  Wolfgang pushed her through a door and barked. “Sit down. No one saw us. The doorman is the soul of discretion and Grandmama will take care of things back at the Warricks’.”

  “That relieves my mind considerably.” Zel glared at him, arms folded under the breasts he had just so passionately kissed. She looked around the garish gilt-and-scarlet room, a room dominated by an overlarge bed. “I prefer to stand.”

  Maven’s long nose edged around the door frame, followed by his bright, piercing eyes. “Captain, you require something?”

  “Come in and shut the door.” Wolfgang slammed the door as soon as the man cleared the threshold. “This is Miss Fleetwood. You remember her brother and the incident several weeks back?”

  “Yes.” Maven sniffed. “I remember all too well.”

  Wolfgang stalked to the window and parted the curtains to watch the carriages move on the dark street outside, then turned back to Maven. “Will you kindly tell the lady what happened?”

  “As you wish, my lord.” Maven raised his nose another inch. “Young Mister Fleetwood was in his cups and having difficulty with a few of my rougher customers.” He nodded toward Wolfgang. “Lord Northcliffe dashed to his rescue, leaving quite a mess behind, I must say.”

  “But what of Northcliffe cheating or attacking my brother?” Zel met Wolfgang’s eyes with a fierce glare, daring him to interfere.

  “I know nothing of cheating, ma’am. But I believe Fleetwood resisted help, and Northcliffe struck him to enable them both to leave the room without sustaining further injury.”

  “But the cheating?” She persisted.

  “As I said, I know nothing of cheating.”

  “Maven, you know I don’t cheat.” Wolfgang gritted his teeth. “Tell the lady I don’t cheat.”

  “He doesn’t cheat, ma’am.”

  “Thank you, Maven.” He walked to the door, escorting the tall, thin man out, then turned to Zel. “See!”

  “I see nothing, except you perhaps failed to pay an adequate bribe.” She moved toward the door. “You did not get a very credible story.”

  “What the hell do you mean?” he snapped. He was beside her in two strides. “How could I bribe him? I didn’t plan to bring you here tonight.”

  “Oh?”

  He wanted to shake that calm look from her eyes. “Damn you.” Wolfgang gripped her arms. “You wouldn’t believe the prime minister himself, would you?”

  Zel smiled prettily. “Are we going to his house now?”

  “I’ll take you h
ome. This was a fool’s errand.” He looked pointedly at the bed. “Unless you’d care to stay and finish what we started in my coach?” He laughed harshly as she hustled out of the room, then silently followed her into the hall.

  The doorman nodded and swung wide the door. “Short stay, my lord?”

  “We completed our business quickly. Devil it! It’s Newton.” Wolfgang jerked Zel around, pushing her against the wall. “Quiet. Keep your head down.” He felt her squirming and pressed his body hard to hers, holding her motionless, capturing her lips with his until Newton’s footsteps receded down the hall. “Come quickly and quietly.” He hauled her out of the gambling hell, propelling her rapidly to the waiting coach.

  Wolfgang flopped onto the seat next to her. “Imps of Satan, I hope he didn’t recognize you. This isn’t one of his usual haunts.”

  “What would he do?”

  “Maybe nothing, maybe … I don’t know.” He shifted on the squabs. “But there’s no love lost between him and me. He may be willing to hurt you to get at me.”

  “Please take me home.” Zel sat very still, her voice low, jagged at the edges.

  “We’ll be there in minutes.” He placed his hand lightly over hers where it lay in her lap, surprised when she didn’t pull away. They continued to her home in silence. His behavior had certainly not been top form tonight, but at the moment she appeared too worn to judge him ill.

  When he lifted her down from the carriage, he rested his hands gently at her waist, bending down to brush his lips across her forehead. “I’m sorry. My grandmother will call on you tomorrow.” He watched the little butler usher her through the front door.

  Wolfgang climbed back into the carriage, and the coachman smoothly entered the line of slow-moving conveyences. He rubbed at his temples. Not top form? Lucifer’s misbegotten! Grandmama would have his head on a pike.

  His hopes that Grandmama would have retired for the night were dashed when his big, square Scottish butler met him at the door. “Her ladyship wishes to see you in the library.”

  “McDougall, tell her I got, past you and went to bed.”