The Wedding Chase

by Rebecca Kelley

  “My lord, she is waiting.” McDougall’s voice boomed down the hall. He had no choice but to face the dragon.

  Hecate squawked, throwing herself at his leg. “Fine protectoress you make, my feline friend.”

  Wolfgang strode into the library, brave as Saint George. “Grandmama. You shouldn’t have waited up for me.”

  “I just came in myself, and thought I would have a bit of sherry.” She motioned to the decanters on the lacquer table. “Care to join me?”

  “Brandy’s what I need.” He poured a healthy dose in a snifter, sliding onto the plush silk cushions of the low divan, an easy target for the coming attack. Hecate struck first, picking her way through the cushions and landing heavily on his lap. “Does the lecture begin now?”

  “Wolfie, you know I love you dearly, but you cannot continue in this vein. I smoothed things over, I hope, tonight.” She sipped on her sherry, watching him over the rim of the goblet. “You may care nothing for your reputation, but the girl will be ruined.”

  “I know, Grandmama—”

  She ignored him. “Zel will be rejected by some, I fear. The only thing saving her at this point is the fact so many of the ton are still on their way from Paris. And when they return we can only hope the gossip may shift and move on.”

  “You’ll help.” Wolfgang stroked the charcoal cat’s satiny ears. “I told her you’d call tomorrow.”

  “I’ll stand by her. I like her.” Grandmama leveled her piercing pewter gaze at him. “I think you like her too. More than you care to admit. But you need to stop this madness.”

  “I like her well enough, when she’s not making me insane.” He twirled the snifter, following the path of the amber liquid as it circled the glass.

  “Then marry her.”

  “I won’t remarry.” The brandy left a warm, comforting trail down his throat. “And for your information, she does not regard me as proper husband material. She seeks a henpecked worm who will do her bidding.”

  “Yes, she told me. But I know there is something between you two and you cannot deny it.” She stood, eyeing him as she poured another sherry. “You would get on very well, you know.”

  “We would get on very well for a few months, until the fire burned itself out.” He found bitterness creeping into his voice. “Then there would be nothing left except disgust, or if we were lucky, coldness. I won’t go through that again.”

  “But it’s not the same.” Grandmama walked to his chair and placed her hand on his shoulder. “She is nothing like your late wife.”

  Wolfgang shrugged off her hand. “They’re all the same, when you get beneath the fancy clothes.”

  “What have you done?” A slight quaver entered her voice. “Wolfgang, she is an innocent. How far have things gone?”

  “Grandmama, shame on you.” He took a deep drink of the brandy. “That is not a proper thing to ask of your darling grandson.”

  “Wolfgang, how far have things gone with her?” The quaver disappeared, replaced by pure, unblistered steel.

  “Not nearly far enough.” He rose and poured another drink. “She’s still a virgin, but only by the skin of her teeth.”

  “Wolfgang!”

  He gulped down the fiery liquid. “I don’t need your reproaches. All I need is this bottle and a little of my own company.” He picked up the decanter, balancing it with the cat and snifter. “Good night, Grandmama.”

  “Wolfgang, you know how alcohol affects you.”

  “Yes, it’ll only take a few more glasses and I’ll be rip-roaring drunk. Another few and I’ll happily pass out on my bed.”

  “Wolfgang John Wesley Hardwicke!”

  He ignored her, sauntering slowly out of the room.

  CHAPTER 8

  RHAPSODY

  An irregular musical composition with an improvisatory character

  Beethoven. She needed a strong dose of Beethoven. Propelled by an unusual urgency, Zel shoved open the drawing room door. Grabbing the first sheets on the occasional table, she flung herself onto the pianoforte stool and launched into an early sonata. Pounding out the notes, she thundered on at top force, ignoring any directions to soften or slow. Pianissimo and largo were not part of her repertoire today. She struck the keys, again and again, perspiration dotting her forehead and upper lip as she relentlessly hammered out the rhythm.

  Energy finally diffused, she collapsed onto the keyboard with a discordant crash, head in hands. What a hopeless bramble.

  She had been up half the night, replaying the scene in her head. Why had she allowed him to drag her to that gambling house? She should have dug in her heels and refused to leave the Warricks’. If he had acted on his threat, trying to carry her out of the house, there were any number of potential rescuers. Somewhere in the back of her mind she must have wanted to go with him and hear the proprietor’s story. Why would Wolfgang lie? But if he did not lie, then Robin did.

  Zel rubbed the aches at the base of her skull. She knew Robin was capable of lying. He would exaggerate or embellish his story, if it suited his purposes. And although Wolfgang might be a card shark and a brawler, she was somehow sure he was not the murderer Robin claimed he was.

  And his grandmother. She really was a dear creature.

  Lady Darlington should have been appalled by the goings-on last night and overjoyed to see the last of Zel. Instead she had done her best to protect Zel’s disappearing reputation, making excuses at the Warricks’, claiming a sudden illness had forced Wolfgang to take Zel home. But everyone there had heard the confrontation between Robin and Wolfgang, and how could they miss Wolfgang dragging her into the hallway? Lady Darlington’s good name would not be enough to save her now, especially if Lord Newton had seen them at the gambling house. Yet the old woman had called again this morning and would not let go of the idea of marriage. Having gotten it into her head that this was a perfect match, nothing would convince her otherwise.

  Raising her head, Zel brushed back a few strands of hair and glared at his tulips in the porcelain vase beside her. Yanking a red bloom from the vase, she crushed the fragile petals in her fist.

  She was avoiding the worst, trying to deny what happened in the coach. When she closed her eyes, she could still feel his hands and mouth on her skin. God, even the thought still burned. Her cherished self-control had vanished like a wisp of smoke in a windstorm. Wolfgang had been the one to stop, not she. He could elevate anger and desire in her to a typhoonlike pitch she would not have believed possible just weeks ago. And she hadn’t a clue what to do about it.

  Maybe she should just retire to the country. But Zel would never run from any man. And where would she find a wealthy husband in Moreton-in-Marsh? There were few eligible males in the area and none with a guinea to spare. Bath had an active marriage mart, but she had no funds to rent a house and no means of procuring introductions.

  London, with her aunt’s house and contacts, was her only choice. Maybe Wolfgang would leave. Yes, that was the answer! She would suggest it next time they met. Damn! Next time they met! How could she face him after what they had done in that blasted carriage? Maybe she could get Lady Darlington to make him leave. Zel sighed, unwillingly remembering his gentle parting kiss on her forehead and the whispered “I’m sorry.”

  “Miss Fleetwood.” Smythe poked his head in the doorway. “You have a visitor in the salon, a Mr. Fawkes. He asked first for the young master, but Mr. Fleetwood is out.” He gripped the door. “I do not like the looks of him, and you should not see him alone, but no one else is in.”

  “I will see him. Wait in the hall.” Zel placed her eyeglasses on her nose and strode down the stairs to the ground floor. Remus lunged up the basement stairs from his favorite room, the kitchen, and followed her into the salon.

  Smythe was right, the man was positively slimy. She offered him a chair, then sat on the opposite side of the small room, speaking with as much authority as she could muster. “Mr. Fawkes, my brother is not available. May I be of assistance?”

&n
bsp; He smiled, a very lizardlike expression. “You’re the one I wanted, anyway.” He eyed Remus. “Your dog tame?”

  “My dog is under my control.” Zel laid a hand on Mouse’s curly back. “Please state your business.”

  Fawkes leaned forward in his chair. “I’m here representin’ your brother’s creditors. We’re callin’ in his notes. Now.”

  “But I thought we had more time.” She pulled her spectacles off, rubbing her eyes. “My father asked for more time for me to make a good marriage.”

  “But you ain’t doin’ it.”

  “It has only been three weeks since that agreement was struck.” Her voice stretched tight but she met his eyes. “A marriage cannot be arranged in such a short time.”

  “My mates are patient men, but it’s wearin’ thin, Miss Fleetwood.” His little round reptilian eyes touched her. “You ain’t got a marriage proposal. The way I see it, you ain’t gonna pay the notes that way.”

  Zel crossed her arms over her chest. “What do you know about my marriage plans?”

  “Just that you ain’t got ’em.” He scanned her from head to foot. “Been watchin’ you, followin’ the talk of the town. You’re gonna have to work off the debts.”

  “What do you mean? I make little from my writing.” She stood, warily stepping behind her chair, Remus close by her side.

  “Writin’?” Fawkes laughed crudely. “I’m not talkin’ about writin’. I mean the kinda work you do on your back.”

  Hands clenched at her sides, she sucked in a rough breath. “I think you should leave.”

  He rose and walked toward her, lips curling suggestively. “We could come to an agreement. Earn you a little more time.”

  Remus growled.

  “Leave now!” Zel gripped the chair back as Mouse stepped forward and bared his teeth.

  “You’re makin’ a mistake.” Fawkes backed through the door, Remus sniffing at his legs. “Your brother’ll be in prison by week’s end.” The door slammed behind him.

  Zel dropped back into her chair. “Good dog, Mousey.” Remus laid his head in her lap. She lowered her cheek to his muzzle, whispering, “What am I to do?” Curling her legs beneath her, she pulled the dog farther onto her lap, burying her face in his shaggy coat. Lord, she was out of time and choices. She could no longer delude herself that even with more time she had the slightest chance of marrying at all, let alone finding a man wealthy enough to pay Robin’s debts. If she did not think of something now, Robin would go to prison. There was no money to pay the bribes to keep him in comfort, and she feared he did not have the kind of strength needed to survive such a place.

  “Oh, Remus. I cannot do this alone.” She sat there as minutes ticked away on the mantel clock, wetting the dog’s hair with silent tears.

  “Zelly, Smythe says Fawkes was just here.” Robin strode into the room, pulling her from the chair, surveying her swollen eyes and tearstained cheeks. “Good Lord! Did he hurt you?”

  “They are calling in the debts.” Zel clasped his hand. “We have only days to raise the money.”

  “I’d flee the country, but it won’t help. They’d still come after you and Father.” He smiled weakly. “Suppose they’ll let you visit me in prison.”

  “Robin, I will not let that happen.”

  “You’re powerless to stop it.” Robin stroked her hair. “There are things even you can’t do. Can’t take care of me forever.”

  Zel looked into the face so like her own. “There is one more thing I can do.”

  “There is nothing.…” He caught her look and gripped her hand tightly. “No, Zelly! You won’t do it.”

  “ ’Tis the only way.”

  “Won’t let you. Dammit!” Robin’s eyes narrowed as he lowered his face to within inches of hers. “You won’t become some man’s mistress for me!”

  “We can be discreet, no one will know. He has enough money to pay your debts without blinking an eye.” Zel laid her forehead on Robin’s cheek.

  He shoved her away, choking on the fury in his voice. “Northcliffe! You mean to become Northcliffe’s whore!”

  “I cannot let you go to prison. You would never survive.”

  He grasped her shoulders as if to shake her, then stopped, his eyes harder than she had ever seen them. “I’ll kill him!”

  “Robinson!”

  But he was gone, footsteps echoing in the hall, the front door banging behind him.

  Wolfgang buried his forehead in his hands as the carriage clattered along the cobbled streets. Every strike of wheels and hoofs on the stones thundered through his head, still muddled and throbbing from last night’s overconsumption of brandy.

  Hades and Satan take the woman. He’d waited at that bloody ball tonight for hours, watching the door for her arrival, wishing desperately he carried a sword to fend off the matchmaking mamas and their pasty-faced daughters. Even with his reputation, an earldom was a prize. Grandmama’s disappointment only added fuel to his growing anger.

  They had stopped in at two other parties, believing Zel may have changed her plans, but no sign of her. Wolfgang grumbled continuously about needing to get away from female company, until Grandmama had wisely sent him off to Brooks’s.

  He had sat with a few acquaintances, gulping down a glass of Brooks’s best port, feigning an interest in faro. But he had been too restive and bored with the less than stimulating company and the even less stimulating game. Newton’s vaguely hostile glances from across the room even failed to amuse. Making brusque excuses, he had finally turned in his markers and called for his coach. He would call on Zel tomorrow.

  The carriage ride seemed to stretch out longer than the few blocks to Hardwicke Hall on Berkeley Square. Wolfgang massaged his temples. Why this dreadful confusion? Why couldn’t he decide what to do and do it? He knew he wanted Zel, wanted to slake his desire on that long, slender body. Yet, when he had the opportunity, when she lay beneath him, half-naked and fully ready, he had stopped. He had stopped! But had his amazing bout of restraint been appreciated? No. She had called him an animal! Wolfgang shook his head, wincing at the sudden stab of pain. Maybe he should have been a bit more of an animal and given her real cause for complaint.

  Beelzebub’s tail, she had no idea how she teased and taunted him. How thoughts of her warred in his head. How thin was the thread of his control. One of them needed to leave London. It wouldn’t be him. He had pressing matters in the House of Lords and with his business holdings. Zel could easily leave. He could send her off with Grandmama to Winchelsea. There had to be old, rich country squires by the score for her to marry in the Sussex countryside. Men she could happily lead about by the nose. He slammed a fist against the heavily padded squabs. And if they ever touched her, he’d break their goddamned hands.

  The coach lurched to a stop. Wolfgang swung open the door, leaning halfway out to chastise his coachman. “Harris, why have we stopped? Pull in the drive.”

  Gloved hands roughly seized him, yanking him unceremoniously from the carriage. Stumbling, he fell headlong into the street. He rolled to his back, narrowly dodging a blow from the caped, hooded figure hovering above him. A flash of silver shimmered in the man’s hand. Reflexively, Wolfgang reached for his own dagger, only to have his grasp come up empty. Raising his forearm, he deftly deflected the downward arc of the footpad’s knife, then whirled from a second villain’s pounce.

  “Harris!” But a quick survey of the scene showed the brawny coachman had his hands full with two more assailants. Wolfgang backed to the coach, narrowly avoiding another deadly blow.

  A fifth cloaked figure stepped out of the darkness, arms upraised, brandishing a bulky, unrecognizable weapon. Wolfgang grunted in surprise when the weapon came down hard on the shoulder of the man with the knife. The accompanying yelp of pain was punctuated by the sharp clatter of the knife striking the cobblestones. The footpad jerked about, his fist smashing Wolfgang’s new ally in the chest. The gasp of air leaving lungs had a decidedly feminine tone. Wolfgang eluded a thr
ust from the other villain, as his new companion took a crushing punch to the head. The hood of her cloak fell away as she crumbled to the ground. “Zel! My God, Zel!”

  He struck out wildly, fear and rage nearly blinding him. The sound of bone crunching told him his fist had found its home. The man hadn’t hit the street before Wolfgang was on the other villain, knuckles meeting face with unleashed fury. Two down. In one seamless movement he bent, hefted the abandoned knife, straightened, and hurled it toward one of the footpads assaulting his coachman. He smiled grimly when a cry confirmed the weapon had found its mark. The man would live, although for a few days as he nursed a wound to the shoulder, he would wish he hadn’t.

  Odds evened for Harris, Wolfgang whirled toward Zel’s still form. Stooping, he placed a shaking hand to her throat. The pulse was soft and even. His arms slipped beneath her, bringing her to his chest. Wolfgang covered the remaining distance to his house in a dead run, oblivious to any weight in his arms. He kicked at the door. “McDougall! Open up!”

  The front door cracked. Mrs. Soames peered out. “My lord?”

  Wolfgang shouldered the door, knocking the sturdy housekeeper nearly off her feet. “Get McDougall, now!”

  A booming voice preceded the big figure of his butler, and former sergeant, down the hallway. “Captain, I’m here.”

  “Check on Harris outside, then get Dr. Evers.” He strode down the hall. “Mrs. Soames, get hot water and clean cloths.”

  Wolfgang thrust into the library, laying Zel gently on the silk-cushioned settee. Perching on the edge, he pushed aside her loosened hair to examine her face, running his hand over a red splotch on her jaw. She’d have an ugly bruise, but the bone did not appear to be broken. With stubbornly slow fingers, he pulled off her cloak and placed his hands on her chest, probing the rib cage for signs of fracture or serious injury. He first skirted around her breasts, then rested one open hand over her left breast searching for the heart beat.

  Zel jerked, eyes snapping open, hands snatching his hand from her chest. “God, what are you doing?” Her face crinkled in pain as she tried to sit.