The Wedding Chase

by Rebecca Kelley

  Zel drank quickly and pushed herself off the cushions, snorting indelicately. “I do not know which is worse, the medicine or the pain.”

  He took the goblet, placing it and the vial on the table, then helped her to her feet. “The coach should be back now, but first we must seal our bargain.”

  “Oh?” She surveyed his face with narrowed eyes.

  “With a kiss, of course.”

  Zel laughed, then groaned. “You can give me a little kiss if you keep your hands to your sides.”

  “Then you’ll have to kiss me.”

  She leaned forward and pecked his cheek. “There.”

  “No. That won’t do. I want a real kiss. Put your hands on my shoulders and kiss my lips.” Seeing her hesitation, he added, “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

  Her hands went slowly to his shoulders.

  “Now that doesn’t hurt, does it?”

  Zel shook her head. Standing on tiptoe, she met his lips with a pressure both gentle and firm. Expecting her to pull away immediately, Wolfgang felt a wave of pleasure when she softly nibbled at the corner of his mouth. He didn’t move or breathe as her hands slid up his neck and into his hair where it hung loose at his nape. A shudder coursed through him when her tongue touched his lower lip. She stopped, stepping backward, hands falling to her sides. Her voice was low and shaky. “You are impossible.”

  “Me?” He moaned. “You did the kissing. All I did was enjoy it.”

  Zel took another step back, suddenly loosing her balance. Hecate squawked. Wolfgang grabbed for Zel as she fell into a life-sized statue in the corner. She twisted in his grasp, latching onto the statue to steady herself. Hanging on to one of its many arms, she gasped. “What in God’s name is this?”

  Taking her arms, he pulled her gently to him. “Steady. I have you. Don’t reinjure yourself.” He stroked her back, whispering in her ear. “You’ve just thrown yourself into the arms of Kali, goddess of dreams and death.”

  She shivered. “Take me home.”

  Wolfgang released her and snatched her cloak from a nearby chair. Swinging it around her shoulders, he slipped his arm through hers. “I’d carry you to the coach, but I might hurt your ribs more.”

  “I can walk by myself.” She held herself erect with obvious effort. “My spectacles, where are they?”

  “They weren’t on your nose when I brought you in. I’ll send a groom out to look for them, when I get back.”

  The laudanum worked fast. Zel slumped against him, fully asleep before the carriage had gone a block. He slid his arm around her shoulders, drawing her securely to his chest, resting his cheek against her hair. For all her intelligence she sometimes seemed a little lacking in common sense. Tonight she showed no sense at all. Imagine coming to his rescue against a knife-wielding ruffian, armed with nothing but an overly heavy reticule. But she was accustomed to protecting others. She spent her life and energy watching over her family and ill-used women. Had anyone ever taken care of her?

  CHAPTER 9

  MELODY

  A sweet or pleasurable sequence of sounds

  “What is he thinking, calling so early? Why, ’tis not even nine.” Zel pointed out the unadorned blue muslin day dress. “That one will do, Maggie.”

  “Mrs. Stanfield and the young master are still abed.” Maggie helped her out of her old lawn night rail. “You’ll not be having your bath?”

  “I will try to bathe later.” She tugged at the bandages around her chest and eased her head through the neck of the wash-worn chemise, surprised at how sore her ribs were. Even her jaw still ached. She would not have slept without the laudanum.

  Perching on the wobbly stool by her dressing table, Zel watched Maggie pull a stocking up her leg. “He needs to learn that the world does not revolve around him. You should have heard him last night, ordering me about, insisting I see the doctor. He practically forced me to take laudanum, and accept his escort home.” Wincing, she tied the garter as Maggie held out the other stocking. The bottom was threadbare, but could sustain a few more wearings before requiring darning. Unfortunately, Aunt Diana’s treasure trove of gowns had contained no accessories or undergarments. “He even asked if I had permission to be out on my own!”

  “Men do act that way, Miss Zel. Maybe they can’t help themselves.” Maggie held the gown as Zel stood and carefully slipped her head and arms through the openings. Zel had given up convincing Maggie that calling her by only her Christian name was acceptable. “Miss Zel” was better than “Miss Fleetwood.”

  “They need to be taught differently.” Zel smoothed the skirt as Maggie efficiently tied the fastenings. “Do you know he did not even thank me for coming to his rescue?”

  “ ’Twas probably a blow to his pride to have a woman disarm his attacker.” Maggie finished the last tie. “Should I style your hair or just wind it at your neck?”

  “Wind it loosely.” She sat straight on the stool as Maggie quickly wound and pinned her hair. “If it looks a little sloppy that will be fine. Northcliffe knows I am no fashion plate.”

  The pins all in place, Maggie walked to the armoire, pausing at a lower shelf. “Your blue or white slippers?”

  “The blue.” Zel sighed loudly. “I wish I could stay angry at him, but he seemed sincerely concerned about my well-being.” She plucked at the bodice. “I really do not know what possessed me to pounce on that footpad.” She tucked a stray lock of hair under the loose knot, but it escaped back down her neck. “I saw him attacking Wol—Lord Northcliffe and I jumped in without thinking. I seem to be doing that often, of late. Jumping in without thinking, that is.”

  “You could have been hurt much worse.” Maggie pulled a slipper on her foot.

  “I know.” Zel bent to tie the strap at her ankle but a twinge of pain from her rib forced her to allow Maggie to finish with her slippers. “He agreed too easily to pay Robin’s debts, but I felt it unwise to question him closely.” She looked at her feet to hide the warmth rising in her cheeks. Maggie did not need to know what she had been prepared to offer him. “Tell Smythe to escort him to the dining room and see that Robin, Aunt Diana and my father meet us in the drawing room later.”

  Zel stared at her reflection in the glass. The bruise had turned a deep purple. Even without the pain, she would be housebound until the color faded enough to be covered by powder. Frowning at herself, she felt frightened and grateful and most of all confused, certainly not ready to see him. The kiss, her kiss, was too fresh. Not to mention that devastating carriage ride she struggled to purge from her mind.

  She could still feel the texture of his lips on her tongue, still taste the brandy that had lingered there. As she looked at her lips, her frown deepened. Lord, but she was drawn to him, dangerously, foolishly drawn to him. Now she was in his debt, tied to him irretrievably. Their bargain had also freed her and for that she owed him. But what did she owe him? He asked a favor. What it would be she did not care to contemplate. Yet it could not be worse than what she had been prepared to do.

  Stuffing a carefully folded paper into her pocket, she walked steadfastly down the steps, pausing briefly before the dining room door. She took a full breath before pushing open the door. Wolfgang, pacing before the window, turned as she entered. His crooked smile warmed his lean, square features, making him disarmingly young and handsome. Another full breath failed to slow the pulse beating in her throat.

  “Sorry to be so early.” He crossed the room in several long strides. “But I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to see you.”

  Zel returned his smile and without thinking clasped his outstretched hands in hers, swooping upward to kiss his cheek. Wolfgang twisted slightly and her lips brushed his. She pulled back quickly, meeting his molten eyes with a blush, envisioning what could have happened between them if the events of last night had gone differently. If she had made her rash offer and been accepted. Throat suddenly dry, she choked. “Thank you.”

  “To what do I owe such a greeting, my dear?” The edges of his mouth curve
d down as he took her chin gently in his hand. “By the Prince of Darkness, that bruise is ugly. You won’t be able to appear in public for at least a week.”

  “Better than that, thanks to you.” Her smile widened as she directed him to a chair at the table. “Breakfast is not usually served till ten, but I have asked for some tea and biscuits.”

  “What is better, thanks to me?” Wolfgang held her chair as she settled herself.

  Zel felt his warmth and breathed in his distinctive scent, as he took the seat beside her. “Why I need never be seen in public again, unless I wish it.”

  “What do you mean?” As he leaned toward her, she watched his long fingers curl around the arm of her chair.

  “I do not have to flaunt myself on the marriage mart.”

  “I still don’t understand.” He stroked the polished wood, back and forth along the chair arm.

  “With Robin’s debts paid, I no longer need to marry for money or any other reason for that matter.” She smiled broadly. “Thanks to you, the ton will see no more of this happy spinster.”

  Wolfgang scowled, his knuckles about her chair arm turned white. “Was the idea of marriage so repugnant?”

  “Of course it was.” She peered up at him, puzzled by his reaction. “You know that. It was probably the one thing we fully agreed upon. Why would you ask such a question?”

  “I don’t know.” He sat very still, eyes under lowered brows intent on her. “Maybe I thought you were changing your mind.”

  “About marriage? Never!”

  “Most women enter into marriage without question.” Wolfgang tapped a finger on the tabletop. “I know you value freedom, but I sense something more has soured you towards matrimony.”

  Zel turned away, looking out the window. “My parents had an unhappy marriage. I do not wish to repeat their misery.” She could hear his finger still tapping at the table but continued her perusal of the garden.

  “There is more you aren’t telling me.” His voice thrummed so soft and low, she felt compelled to shift her gaze back to him. “What is it, Gamine?”

  She should correct his use of that odd endearment. Not only did she let it stand but she suddenly wanted to tell him about her parents. “It was worse than miserable.” She twisted the loose strand of hair at her neck around her forefinger. “My father beat my mother. Often and brutally.”

  Wolfgang clasped her hand, untwining the hair from her finger. “I’m sorry.”

  “I was so afraid all the time, waiting for the fighting to start.” Zel looked down at their hands. “I felt so helpless. There was nothing I could do to stop my father. He gambled, and when he lost at cards or any ridiculous bet, he drank. When he drank, he hit my mother. He always promised never to do it again, that things would get better. But they only got worse.”

  “No one should have to live through that.” Wolfgang brought her hand to his mouth, softly kissing each fingertip.

  She smiled tightly, blinking back hot tears. “Soon there did not need to be any drinking or gambling to get him started. He would beat her for any real or imagined slight.” She closed her eyes. “When he beat her for failing to find a way to budget beefsteak into her minuscule household allowance, I learned to pinch pennies enough to buy his steaks. But he found another reason to hit her.”

  “I’m sorry.” He held her palm lightly against his lips.

  Strangely comforted by the intimate gesture, Zel didn’t pull away. “He rarely hit Robin and me. I think somehow Mother protected us, took his wrath all on herself.” The words were tumbling out, as if beyond her conscious control. “It finally killed her. Not the beatings directly. She just got tired of living that way and gave up. There was nothing I could do to save her. I was thirteen years old and I took over the duties of mistress of the house. I had been doing most of it anyway.”

  She opened dry eyes and met Wolfgang’s. “My father threatened me once after her death. I told him if he ever hit me I would leave home forever or shoot him, whichever struck my fancy at the time. He must have believed me, for although he bullied me, he never hit me.”

  Wolfgang breathed deeply into her palm, then lowered their still-joined hands to her lap. “I see why you would never wish to be in a position where another could control your life.”

  Smythe entered quietly, head diplomatically lowered, and proceeded to lay out the tea service, biscuits, and marmelade.

  Zel eased her hand free of Wolfgang’s grasp. “Thank you, Smythe. I will pour and serve. Is Robin up?”

  “Yes, miss, he is dressing and will be down shortly. Sir Edward is in the study. Mrs. Stanfield’s maid is with her.” The breakfast arranged, Smythe left the room.

  “Do you take cream?” At his silent affirmative she added cream to the tea and handed Wolfgang cup and saucer, aware that his eyes followed every move. “Help yourself to the biscuits.”

  “Zel. May I call you Zel?”

  “You have been doing so for some time.”

  “But I wanted to make it mutual. I mean we’ll be almost as close as family now.” His fingers rested briefly on her arm. “Would you call me Wolfgang?”

  “Wolfgang.” She tried the sound out loud, softly. “I suppose I could. But not Wolfie?” She teased, attempting to put aside her earlier, distressing confessions.

  He grimaced comically and seemed to take her lead. “I’ve tried to lose that nickname most of my life, but Grandmama does as she pleases and she pleases to call me that.” He looked at her with mock severity. “I don’t give you leave to use it.”

  “I would never dream of calling you Wolfie, Wolfie.” Zel gave him a sweet smile then reached into her pocket, withdrawing and unfolding a sheet of paper. “The list of creditors and amounts owing.”

  “Good. My solicitor and man of affairs will start buying the notes today and meet with your brother, father, you, and myself tomorrow to sign the agreements.” Wolfgang took the paper, laying it on the table without so much as glancing at it.

  “I warn you.” Zel paused to spread marmelade on a biscuit. “Robin is not pleased. He has an independent streak.”

  “Now why does that fail to surprise me?”

  She frowned at him. “He may not be agreeable now, but he will come around as he realizes this is for the best.”

  “Will he sign over his income?”

  “I can convince him to do so.”

  “I’ll also make it very clear to him that I’m doing this for you, not him.” There was a look she could not read in those twilight gray eyes. “Will that help his pride?”

  “I am not sure.” Zel could feel her skin warming under his gaze. “It might make it worse.”

  “How so?”

  “He thinks there is something besides friendship in your offer to help.” She bent her head and took a tiny bite of her biscuit.

  “What does he think?”

  She swallowed, plunging in. “He thinks I am your mistress.”

  Wolfgang lurched to his feet, toppling the chair and spilling his tea. “My God! He what?”

  “I explained that you agreed to help because you felt bad for the damage done us and because you and I are now friends.” Zel smiled tentatively. “That is what we are, friends?”

  “Of course we’re friends.” He smiled his boyish grin but his eyes burned her as he straightened his chair and sat.

  “I believe, through all of this, we will become the best of friends.” She ignored the look in his eyes, concentrating on the much safer dimple.

  “Of course.” Zel could feel his eyes still on her as he pulled a small package from his jacket pocket. “Before I forget, I have your eyeglasses. McDougall claims they are beyond repair. I’d be happy to replace them.” She leaned over as he opened the packet, dumping the contents on the table before her. The mangled, shattered spectacles were tangled around an elegant, sheathed knife. “My dagger. I thought it was lost. McDougall didn’t tell me he found it.” He reached for the dagger.

  Her hand closed over the hilt of the weapon
first, lifting and weighing it in her palm. She slid it from the sheath, holding the blade before her, watching Wolfgang around the shining edge. “You carry a dagger?”

  “Sometimes.” He lowered his hand, looking away.

  “This was found with my eyeglasses?” At his nod Zel continued. “You lost it last night in the fight?” He nodded again. “Why do you carry a knife?”

  Wolfgang watched her quietly for several seconds. “I frequent places not known for their genteel patrons.”

  “Like the gambling house?”

  “Like the hell, yes.”

  “For a weapon this is quite lovely. You have an eye for beauty.” She turned away, stroking the jewel-encrusted hilt. “After falling into the arms of Kali last night I couldn’t help but notice all the lovely objects from the East in your home.”

  “Yes, I think I have an eye for beauty.” His hand closed over hers and the dagger hilt.

  “You have been to India and the Orient?” Zel found herself reluctant to move her hand from beneath the warm strength of his fingers.

  “I spent several years there, wandering about, making a little money, before I inherited my title.”

  “Northcliffe, must you maul my sister in our own home?” Robin’s cold, stinging voice rang out as he marched into the room. “What the hell are you doing with that knife?”

  “Robin.” Zel pulled free of Wolfgang’s grip. “Lord Northcliffe has called to talk about the details of the arrangement I told you about last night.” Robin glared at the dagger in her hands, and she quickly placed it on the table in front of Wolfgang.

  “I was telling your sister how I had the dagger made especially for me.” Wolfgang sheathed and pocketed the knife.

  Pushing his hair roughly from his brow, Robin snarled. “I’ll keep my eyes on you, Northcliffe.”

  Zel stood, yanking her brother toward a chair, her voice low and urgent. “I told you, I am not his mistress. Stop making a fool of yourself.”