“Many practitioners use needles.” When her shoulders twitched involuntarily he increased the pressure. “Close your eyes. I use my fingers, not needles. Mr. Yang, father’s butler, an innocent heathen, coerced into Christianity by my missionary father, was a master, an artist.”
Zel sighed as he found a responsive place, farther up her skull. “I cannot believe that—”
“Ssshh, give me your hand.” Wolfgang rested both their hands on her lap by the water bottle, feeling her body relax as he squeezed with a steady pressure at the base of the V between her thumb and index finger. He moved his hand at her head up the back of her skull, rubbing again in small strokes.
“It is amazing. I am feeling relief.”
“Close your eyes and your mouth. Relax into it and you’ll feel even better.” He moved his fingers slowly down the designated points at the back of her head, pausing at each with the tiny circle strokes. Her breathing was strong and rhythmic as he moved his hand to her ear, pushing and squeezing at selected spots on the lobe and whorls. Her hand lay in his, warm and limp. Her breasts rose and fell slowly as her breathing deepened. Wolfgang ceased the pressure, holding her hand loosely, cradling her head in his palm. In the dim light he studied the clean lines of her face. The stubborn little chin. The full, slightly parted lips. The straight short nose. The high, sharp cheekbones. The elfishly pointed ears. The silky mane of hair. Even closed, he could envision the golden flash of fire in her eyes.
The door creaked, the thin wedge of light from the hall widened.
“Zel? Wolfgang?” Grandmama hesitated beside Zel’s butler, highlighted just outside the doorway, and peered into the room. Spying him, then Zel, she opened her mouth to speak. A visible warmth spread over her face. She smiled, clanging, clamoring wedding bells reflected in her gaze.
Mephistopheles’s misbegotten, if he didn’t hear them too.
CHAPTER 10
VIVACE
Performed in a spirited, vivacious manner
Zel watched, through the light drizzle, as Lady Melbourne twirled her umbrella and pointedly guided her young daughter across the street. The women looked through her as if she were invisible. But she did not feel at all invisible. In fact she was certain everyone on the street had witnessed the slight.
“Maggie, I believe I have received the ultimate rejection, the cut direct.” Zel’s legs shook as she blinked back the hot tears gathering around her eyelids and lashes. “This was not supposed to hurt.”
After a housebound week sprinkled with visits from Wolfgang, his grandmother, and Emily, she had been dying to get out on any excuse and a morning shopping expedition seemed ideal. Now she wished she had locked herself away in her room. Zel shook her head. A childish act performed by a silly woman should not bother her so much. She carefully placed one foot before the other, head high. Maggie slid an arm through hers, lending a little stability as Zel’s knees threatened to give.
“We will buy Aunt Diana’s ribbon here.” Zel pushed into a small Bond Street shop, pleased her voice remained steady, if a trifle high-pitched. Lady March and her niece stood at the counter, pointedly looking in the opposite direction. “Then we will take a hackney home.”
“Grizelda! Miss Fleetwood!” The shrill soprano that could only be Lady Horeton spurred Zel to press doggedly forward. “Come here, my dear, isn’t this a luscious color?” The woman caressed a bolt of brilliant yellow silk with her tiny, perfectly formed fingers, lifting the corner to Zel.
“A perfect color for you, Lady Horeton.” Zel clenched her fists, snagging a fingernail on the soft muslin of her own gown. “My complexion could never withstand it.”
“How are you, my dear? You look a bit pale,” she continued, oblivious to Zel’s attempt to respond. “How is your dear friend, Lord Northcliffe?”
Zel choked, pulling her nail free. “I believe he is well.”
Lady March and her niece stalked out of the shop, nodding slightly to Lady Horeton. Zel must have disappeared again for all the attention paid her, and this was the same Lady March who had made a donation to Aquitaine House only days before. The pretty little debutante on Lady March’s arm twisted her head, wide eyes focused on Zel, obviously grappling with what foul things must have been done to earn such censure.
Zel placed some coins in Maggie’s hand, whispering, “You buy the ribbon. The shopkeeper will probably refuse my money.”
Maggie frowned, opening her mouth to speak. She glanced at Zel, then moved to purchase the length of lavender ribbon.
Zel turned back to Lady Horeton, who openly stared at her. Her hand flew to her face. Lord, could she see the waning bruise on her jaw? The powder should have covered the traces of mottled yellow and brown.
“I haven’t seen you about of late.” The petite blonde still scrutinized her face. Did she see it? Was she looking for other bruises? “Have you become bored with society so soon?”
“I had duties at home.” She wondered how she could find out what Lady Horeton knew of the last week, and Wolfgang’s new role in her family. If her own brother believed she was Wolfgang’s mistress, would anyone among the ton think better of her? Zel shivered. Only she knew how close it came to being true. “I believe my errands are complete. Good day, Lady Horeton.”
“Good day, Grizelda.”
Taking a deep breath, Zel braved the damp streets, umbrella pulled low over her head, praying to find no more acquaintances perusing the shops. A walk home would be pleasant, but she could not risk any further rejection. Next time she would be prepared, next time she would steel herself, she would not care. But today … today there was not a rescuing hack in sight. She stalked halfway down the block before she thought to see if Maggie followed behind.
“Ned!” At Maggie’s cry, Zel whirled to see a big bear of a man grasp Maggie’s arms.
As Zel dashed back down the street, Ned crushed Maggie to his chest. “You’ll not run from me again, woman.”
“No!” Zel dove at his back as he swaggered away, people scattering from his path. Her impact barely shifted his weight, but he dropped Maggie with a roar and raised his fists.
“Run, Maggie!” Zel attacked wildly with umbrella and feet. The enormous man swung blindly, sending the umbrella flying. She ducked and twisted, coming up under him, her elbow ramming into his stomach. Ned grunted, grabbing her arm at the shoulder, wrenching her about, his fleshy red face only inches from her own. She jerked up her knee. It bounced harmlessly off his tree-trunk thigh. He seized her other arm, yanking her off the ground, shaking her like a limp rag doll.
She thought her neck would snap when she was wrenched away from Ned and hauled into another set of muscular arms. Gasping in the scent of green woods, horses, and leather, she allowed herself to be compressed against a warm, broad chest.
“Wolfgang!”
She peered out from his solid strength to see a wiry little man facing Ned, knife aimed at his massive gut. The small man’s face looked as if it had met with the service end of a meat grinder, but his bared teeth gleamed brightly as his snow-white hair.
“This isn’t over.” Ned growled, and with speed amazing for his size, wheeled about and lumbered down the street.
Zel felt Wolfgang lurch forward. The white-haired man sheathed the knife inside his jacket. His voice rang out, clear and cultured. “Let him go. We need to attend to the women. Where is the little maid?”
“Maggie!” Zel pushed out of Wolfgang’s arms, darting off in the direction Maggie had run. A wild mop of red hair appeared from behind a shop door. Zel pulled her shivering form close. “He is gone. You are safe.”
“We’re drawing a crowd.” Wolfgang dragged both women toward his town coach, smoothly tossing them in, then pulling the door shut behind himself and the smaller man. “This is Jenkins.” He aimed Maggie at the seat with the man and drew the curtains.
Wolfgang grasped Zel’s arms and hauled her down beside him as the coach swayed into motion. When she drew a sharp breath through her teeth, he released her. “You
’re hurt.” He pushed aside her shawl, unfastening the tapes at the back of her gown.
“What are you doing?” She jerked free with another gasp, nearly tearing her sleeve.
“I’m checking your injury. Your shoulder could be dislocated. You may have reinjured your ribs.”
“You need not bother. Maggie and my aunt will attend to me at home.” She cast a little warning snarl into her voice.
“You’re nearly as ferocious as my cat.” Wolfgang grinned. “Either I check or we make a visit to my doctor. Evers would be happy to see you and chastise you for such unruly behavior with your ribs still healing.”
Zel tried to glare coldly at him, but how could she be angry after he’d so fortuitously rescued them?
His silver gaze warmed her as he lowered his voice to an intimate whisper. “I’ve seen your breasts, and magnificent as they are, I’m more interested in your health right now.” His hand returned to her arm, rotating it gently as he continued in a normal tone. “Turn around if it will preserve your modesty. Our cohorts can watch the opposite carriage wall.”
Blushing, Zel faced the curtained window as he lowered a sleeve and lightly fingered her arm. She gritted her teeth, not against the pain, but against the sensations his touch evoked and the memories it stirred of his tender attentions only days ago.
“You’ll have an ugly bruise.” His voice was uneven. “What in Lucifer’s name were you doing this time?”
Maggie answered, surprisingly brave. “He’s my husband. I ran away.” She paused, drawing a shaky breath. “He beats me.”
“She will not go back to him. He will kill her.” Zel yanked her sleeve back into place. The carriage hit a rut in the road and pitched her back into Wolfgang’s arms.
“No one’s asking her to go back.” Wolfgang eased Zel forward and rotated her other arm before slipping the sleeve down to examine a second tender spot. “But you need to take care. If he found her once he may again.”
“She will not leave the house, unless well protected.” Zel peeked around to ensure that their companions still faced away from her. “Are you finished, Doctor?”
“Almost.” His long fingers stroked her throat and nape. “He shook you hard. Does your neck hurt? Did he strike you?”
“My neck is fine.” She swallowed, feebly batting away his hand. “I ducked fast enough to avoid his blows.”
“I suppose you’ll live.” His hand swept gently over her shoulder. She hoped he did not feel her responding shiver. “You know, you are the worst patient I have ever attended.” His hand continued down her back and snaked around her side, probing softly against her ribs under her left breast.
Zel jumped, gasping, “Stop!”
“Did that hurt?” Wolfgang released her but she could still feel his breath at her ear. “Isn’t the rib healed?”
“My ribs are well enough and in no need of your assistance.” She hissed a warning at him.
“Let me retie your gown and I’ll leave you alone.”
She sat stiff, ignoring the warmth of his fingers on her back and the smile in his voice. Arranging her shawl about her shoulders she turned back to the other occupants of the coach. The older man sat close to Maggie, her little hand resting in his rough one. Zel smiled, then directed her attention to Wolfgang. “Did we interrupt your shopping trip?”
“We were follow—”
Jenkins cut in. “His lordship’s wardrobe required a little refurbishing.”
Wolfgang smiled fondly at the smaller man. “Jenkins should know.”
“Oh, is Jenkins your valet?” Zel realized she felt no surprise at the informalness of the relationship.
Wolfgang nodded and, reaching past her, pushed the curtains open. “We’re home. But a word of caution before I return you to your aunt.” He lifted her chin with a knuckle. “Please don’t battle any more giants or ogres. At least not alone.” His lips grazed hers, soft as fairy dust.
He lowered her from the carriage, reaching back for her mangled umbrella. “Your weapon.” He eyed her quizically as he escorted her up the stairs. “I think we need to find you another physical outlet. All this fighting isn’t good for your health. In the meantime, if you must go out, send for me.”
As Smythe shut the door firmly behind Maggie and herself, Zel fought the urge to part the heavy draperies at the window by the door, fought the desire to watch his long, muscular form saunter down the steps and swing into the waiting coach. Zel twirled about, taking the stairs much faster than an adult should, rubbing at the little tingle on her lips. The other tingles she would just ignore.
“I don’t understand what he sees in her.” Isadora tossed herself daintily onto an overstuffed pastel pink chair. “He should have been bored after a few days.”
“You’re just too easy, my dear Lady Horeton.” Newton’s mouth curled, but only at the edges. “You don’t understand how much men enjoy the chase.”
“You think he hasn’t had the slut yet?” She tried to modulate the shrillness in her voice. It wouldn’t be wise to expose too much of herself to Newton’s cold scrutiny.
“Sheath your claws, Isadora.” Newton stretched his tall frame, sipping on his port. “I’m sure the chit’s intact.”
Isadora snorted. “Then you’re as big a fool as he!” She spread her skirts, knowing the rose of her gown coordinated flatteringly with the color scheme of her drawing room. Why this infernal preoccupation with Grizelda Fleetwood?
“No, your dear Northcliffe is no fool, but he is obviously confused.” Newton stroked the stem of the goblet. “I don’t think he knows what to do with a virgin.”
“You screw her, like anyone else.” Isadora nearly shrieked.
“What, you … what?” Melbourne rubbed his eyes, stretching his heavily padded shoulders.
“Isadora, your crudeness has awakened Melbourne.” Newton placed his glass on the sofa table and strode to the ornate liquor cabinet. He poured another drink, handing it to Melbourne before resuming his seat. “Perhaps he knows what to do with a virgin.”
“Virgin? What are you thpeaking of?” Melbourne downed the liquid quickly. “Bah!” He spat. “You know I hate port, Newton!”
“You see, Isadora, Melbourne doesn’t know what to do with a virgin either.”
“Regardless of how innocent she may be, she has no better reputation than a whore.” Isadora flashed her teeth. “I may be one of the few ladies of the ton to receive her.”
“Her? Are you talking about Mith Fleetwood?” Melbourne’s bright yellow form clashed so horribly with her rose settee, Isadora had to stifle an urge to forcibly remove him.
“Yes, she was shunned by Lady March as well as your own dear mother at the shops on Bond Street this morning.” Isadora patted her golden curls. “But I talked to her anyway. Afterwards she was involved in some sort of ruckus in the street.”
“Oh, tell us more.” Newton maintained his fashionably bored tone, but she knew she’d piqued his interest by the sudden gleam in his hard mahogany eyes.
“I didn’t see the start of it, but a crowd gathered and Northcliffe was there.” Isadora paused, wanting to prolong this bit of power over Newton. “He nearly carried her to his coach.”
“What was it about?” Newton’s haughty, demanding tone stirred a streak of rebellion in her.
“I already told you, I didn’t see the start of it.” She sniffed and raised her nose as high as his. “I thought you’d be pleased I was so kind to dear Grizelda.”
“It wath very kind of you.” Melbourne grinned vacantly.
“Yes, indeed, Isadora is renowned for her kindness.” Newton laughed harshly, pressing the tips of his long fingers together. “Poor Miss Fleetwood does need our support. Society can be so cruel.”
“Yeth, and Northcliffe can do ath he will and no one will cut him.” Melbourne’s lispy whine was so annoying, why did Newton encourage his hanging on? “But how can I openly thupport her, after my mother thnubbed her?”
“But think, my dear friend, of the fun of
defying your mother.” Newton smiled, his voice low and intimate. “She needs to understand she can’t keep you her minion forever.”
“Do you have any plans to help the young couple, Newton?” Isadora batted her eyelashes at him theatrically, grasping for his attention.
“Thtop, pleathe, you are creating a whirlwind.” Newton stood, looking down his patrician nose at her, batting his own lashes and patting his carefully disarrayed Brutus in imitation of her earlier affectation. Somehow, with Newton, even when she was party to the joke, it still seemed to be played on her. “You’ll muth my hair.”
Melbourne stared silently at Newton.
She tittered a bit uncertainly. “You are so droll, Newton.”
“Yes, I am, ain’t I?” Newton’s cold, dark eyes glittered again briefly before icing over. “I don’t believe our friends require our help at the moment. They seem to be doing a fine job all on their own.” He paused, fingering his dark brown mustache. “But the second they appear to need our assistance, I’m sure I can count on you both to lend a hand.”
“Are you certain this is the correct thing to do?”
“Oh, Wolfie, I’m pleased to see you concerned about Zel’s feelings.” Grandmama smiled wide enough to catch flies, and any of the tiny pests that missed the smile would surely be trapped by the honey in her voice.
“I just don’t want her hurt.” Wolfgang made a production of helping the elderly but still physically strong woman into the carriage, his voice barely a whisper.
“Don’t fuss so.” Grandmama snapped, tapping his leg with her cane, while still not completely losing her smile. “I’m not helpless yet.” She settled into the squabs. “That week Zel spent housebound only served to convince the gossips they were right and she was hiding in shame.”
The Wedding Chase Page 19
