The Wedding Chase

by Rebecca Kelley

  “But you know it couldn’t be helped.” Wolfgang signaled to the coachman and hopped in, slouching down across from Grandmama.

  “Is she healed? And what about the new bruises?”

  “She seemed to be healed. Evers told her it would be acceptable to go out. So she went shopping and jumped into a fight with another man twice her size.” He prodded the opposite seat with his boot as the carriage lurched into the flow of traffic. “But the bruise on her jaw is barely noticeable, and with a little powder, completely invisible.” He sat straighter. “Has there been any mention of that night in front of my house?”

  “No, the scandal-broth was so filled with your previous antics, there wasn’t room for more.” She leaned forward, tapping his knee. “And don’t you provide more.”

  “I don’t intend to.” Wolfgang frowned, not needing chastisement in addition to the guilt he’d already laid on his own head. “Jenkins found out from her maid that she was snubbed yesterday. I think she was surprised at how much it bothered her. She prides herself on not caring what others think of her. But reality was a little different.”

  “Poor dear.” Grandmama narrowed her clear gray eyes. “She must rely on my credit tonight. There are many who will not seek her out but none will dare give her the cut direct when she is in company with me.”

  “You can’t be with her all the time. It’s unfair.” He yanked on the window curtain. “Why don’t they just slight me?”

  “But dear, you know, you have no reputation to lose, and the woman is always the favored target.” Grandmama grasped his hand. “Now stop worrying that curtain. You’ll have it in shreds.”

  “Zel seems to think she can survive this, but society has a long memory. I’m going to make it right for her.” He muttered under his breath, “Even if it kills me.”

  “Don’t tease an old woman.” Grandmama’s hand tightened around his fingers, her eyes intent on his face. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  “I suppose so.” He pulled his hand free, rubbing at his shoulders and neck. “I feel like I’m tied up in knots.”

  “Relax. Use your charm.” That damned honey dripped back into her voice. “It will all work out beautifully.”

  “We’re here. She’s always prompt.” Wolfgang forced a smile, flinging himself out the door and up the steps.

  The front door opened in its usual magical fashion. “How do you do it, Smythe? Do you realize I’ve only had to touch that door knocker once, in all the times I’ve been here?” He sailed past the red-faced butler. “Do you wait forever at the window, neglecting your other duties shamefully? Or are you truly clairvoyant?”

  “Stop harassing him.” Zel’s husky alto floated down the staircase, followed by her lithe form wreathed in sea-green muslin. The beast trotted close behind.

  “That animal is not coming with us.” Wolfgang whistled softly. The dog bounded down the steps snatching the treat from his outstretched hand. “Never go anywhere without these gems.”

  “You’re spoiling him.”

  “And you’re lovely.” He pulled her shawl off her arm, draping it over her nearly bare breasts and well-covered shoulders and arms. “But won’t you be chilly tonight?”

  “One must suffer for fashion.” Zel frowned. “Can you see any bruises?”

  “Nary a splotch of black or blue, only cream and sea foam.” He grasped her elbow, nearly hurling her through the door. “Grandmama awaits.” Smythe would faint dead away if he gave into impulse and swirled her into his arms, covering that frown with kisses.

  Once Zel was settled in the coach beside Grandmama, Wolfgang found himself completely ignored as the two women eagerly chatted up the blocks to Vauxhall Gardens.

  As they left the carriage and strolled along the promenade to the grove, Wolfgang bent, lips near Zel’s ear. “I have a treat for you. Do you know what the orchestra plays tonight?”

  “I had not realized we came for the concert, but I assume it is the usual Handel or Haydn.”

  He smiled. “I’ll keep the secret a bit longer. We’ll take a supper box and have a few bites, then perhaps move closer to the orchestra when the music begins.”

  Conversation was light as they nibbled on ham, chicken, biscuits, and cheesecakes, washing it down with the pungent Vauxhall punch. Several of Grandmama’s friends greeted them. No one behaved excessively friendly, but no one actively snubbed them either. The knot in Wolfgang’s shoulders eased, until he noticed his aunt on a collision course with their table.

  Aunt Dorothea held herself stiff and erect, a steel sword sheathed in gray silk, her handsome face set in hard, severe lines. Cousin Adam trotted dutifully a pace behind.

  “Lady Darlington.” Aunt Dorothea’s voice tolled as she extended her hand. “Grizelda. Hardwicke.” She stared across the table, clearly relieved the distance took away her decision of whether or not to touch hands with the pariahs. “Grizelda, you have met my son, Adam.” Adam bowed slightly, his gaze fixed on Zel’s chest.

  “Yes, good evening, Mrs. Clayton.” Zel nodded. Wolfgang frowned as she squirmed under Adam’s continuing stare. “Mr. Clayton.” He should advise her to bring back a few of her old, ugly but modest gowns, or he’d be forced to assault his cousin.

  Adam seemed to feel Wolfgang’s frown. He glanced up briefly, then refocused his eyes to the vicinity of Zel’s shoulders. “Charmed, Miss Fleetwood.”

  Aunt Dorothea tapped her son’s shoulder. “Adam.”

  “Would you join us for a spot of dinner, Dorothea?” Grandmama, ever gracious, indicated the empty seats at the table.

  “Heavens, no.” His aunt’s laugh rang, hollowly. “We are meeting friends.” Turning to her son, she traced the direction of his continued gaze. She glared at him. The little toad jumped and resumed his place behind her as she stalked past the row of tables.

  Wolfgang watched them walk away, grumbling. “You know she never would have acknowledged us if I was not the master of her purse. So why ever would you ask them to join us?”

  “Wolfie, she is your aunt.” Grandmama scowled at him. “One should not alienate one’s relations. Especially now when you need all the support you can get.”

  “They’re no relations of yours, and I’ll alienate whom I please.” He softened his voice. “I’d rather they not ruin our evening.”

  “Is she so bad?” Zel looked from Wolfgang to his grandmother. “Your cousin seems harmless enough.”

  “Should I have begged him to stay?” Wolfgang tapped his foot against the table leg, watching the way the table shuddered with each tiny blow. “Did you like the way he ogled your chest?”

  “Wolfgang!” Grandmama warned.

  “Sorry.” He held his tongue, following the wave of pink suffusing Zel’s exposed skin, tapping the table a few more times with his toe. A faint squeaking rose up from the grove. “The orchestra is tuning up. Should we listen from here or find a spot in the trees a little closer?”

  “I’d love to be close enough to hear without interference.” Excitement hastened Zel’s speech and shone in her eyes. “And I would like to watch the musicians at their art.”

  “You two walk down.” Grandmama caught his eye. “I’ll join a few of my friends and listen from here.”

  “Are you sure?” Zel hesitated.

  “Yes, yes, now scoot along, dears.”

  They found a spot among the trees near enough to view the orchestra, far enough for a little privacy. He pulled her down beside him on a little stone bench, keeping her hand wedged between the crook of his elbow and his hand.

  “Now, close your eyes,” he whispered. “They are ready to begin. Tonight they play the musings of your demigod, Beethoven. Symphony number seven.”

  Wolfgang examined Zel’s upturned face, lashes dark and thick against her pale cheeks. He felt her body recoil as the first notes lurched, then shimmered, through the twilit sky. A delicious shiver poured from her, coursing through him. She opened eyes, warm and liquid as a hot spring, parting her lips in a s
mile as ethereal and earthy as the notes alternately tickling and furrowing the air.

  She leaned into him, her body swaying synchronistically with the movement of the music. Her dreamy little hum shadowed the melody line as it lyrically flitted, soared and plunged. He slipped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her against his chest, feeling the music flow through her as clearly as his ears heard its sound.

  Wolfgang stirred as the last strains of the symphony’s second movement faded into memory. Zel sat quietly but her body still vibrated with the evanescent tones. As a bell pealed, announcing the Cascade, Vauxhall’s famous waterfall, he reluctantly straightened, not yet ready to remove his arm from her. “Would you—”

  “Sshh.”

  He felt himself a pagan censured by a religious zealot.

  Smiling, he brushed his cheek against her hair. It was no punishment to sit in silence, luxuriating in the softness of her body, the spicy scent of her hair. He shifted to see her face, surprised at the wet glitter in her eyes and the streaks down her cheeks. His finger swept away the tears. Her expression was blank. She had yet to reenter the real world, still inhabiting a magical realm of siren song and seraphim hymn.

  If he kissed her now, he would breach all her defenses, touching the very core of her. Wolfgang held back, it would be an invasion. She was opened by the music—not by him. His ribs gripped his lungs so tightly he could scarcely breathe. Flames of hell, he longed for her in ways he’d never dreamed it was possible to want a woman. The yearning went deeper than he dared follow. If he didn’t move or speak his chest would shatter.

  “Marry me, Zel,” he whispered, hoarsely.

  “What?” She stared at him; the confusion in her eyes showed that his words brought her back from her enchanted world.

  “Marry me.”

  “And we will travel off to Bedlam together.” The touch of levity in her voice frightened him. She was not going to listen.

  He twisted about, grasping her hands too tightly. “I’m serious, Zel. It would work, I know it would.”

  Her laughter slapped harshly at his ears. “You have gone totally mad.”

  “Perhaps I have.” Wolfgang frowned into her lovely, now pinched, elfin face. “I’ll get a special license and we can be wed by the day after tomorrow.”

  “Stop this now.” She pushed him away, struggling to her feet. “You are acting the fool.”

  “No, for a change, I’m not.” He hauled her back to the bench, arm circling her waist, mouth seeking hers.

  Zel jerked her head about, leaving his kiss to land in her hair. “Stop this at once.”

  “Fine.” He loosened his hold but still kept her firmly in place as he shifted his verbal attack. “Think about it, Zel, use your head. It’s the perfect solution.”

  She snorted.

  He ignored her. The first cannon volley was ineffective. Time to switch to the sturdy, reliable infantry. “It would repair both our reputations. We would get on famously. And I wouldn’t ask a lot. All I really need from you is to hostess my political dinners and share my bed, and of course the offshoot of that, provide me with an heir.”

  Zel stared at him, so still she didn’t blink, eyes very dark in the fading light.

  The devil and his cat, this was going badly. He swallowed and continued. “The rest of your life would be entirely your own to do with as you please. I promise I’ll not interfere or make a nuisance of myself. I’ll never make a single demand of you.”

  “Are you quite finished?” Her voice grated so low he could barely make out the words. “I must compliment you on your fine proposal. How could it fail to win a lady’s hand?”

  “Are you saying yes?” But he knew she was not. “I would ask for no foolish sentiment.” Why in the name of Clootie did he say that? This was going downhill faster than a mudslide on a rain-soaked Spanish mountain pass.

  “It seems I am not being clear.” She tried again to pull away, but his arm stayed securely in place. “I am saying no, my lord.”

  “But you said women should insist on sensible rather than romantic marriages. I’ll show you I can be sensible.” He ran his free hand roughly through his hair. “Don’t glare at me so. What do you want? A businesslike contractual arrangement, or me on bended knee vowing eternal devotion and fidelity?”

  “I do not want you or marriage.” Zel’s voice crept up the scale. “I want nothing from you! Absolutely nothing!”

  “You’re being stupid and stubborn. You know this makes sense.” Wolfgang intercepted her glance. “And you may try to deny it, but you want me in your goddamn bed!”

  “You are the most arrogant, self-centered bore I have ever met.” Satan’s small clothes, she was hissing at him again, and this time he didn’t like it. “I would sooner have a jackass in my bed.”

  “That’s exactly what your blasted passions will get you!”

  “My passions! What do you know about my passions?”

  “Quite a lot, my dear.” He bared his teeth. “I know you work so bloody hard to keep your passions in a neat little box, letting them out for an occasional tryst with Beethoven on the keyboards. And when you absolutely can’t stop yourself, for a kiss with me.”

  “I will not listen to you.” Zel pushed futilely on his chest. “And if you do not let me go, I will make a scene.”

  “Too late, we already have.” Wolfgang pulled her closer. “You may try to smother that passion, but one day it will burst into flames and consume you. Let me help you harness the fires.”

  “Burst into flames, harness the fires—good God.” She put her hands over her ears in a childish gesture. “I will listen to your ridiculous speech no longer. Take me home, now.”

  He stood, hauling her to her feet. “A most welcome idea. Come along.”

  She faltered. “What of Lady Darlington?”

  “I’ll return for her.” He pulled her to the walk. “You wish to go home? Home it is. Never let it be said I displeased a lady.”

  The carriage ride seemed infinitely long and bumpy, but it was over before he could put together any coherent thoughts. The knots were back in his shoulders. He stared out the window, refusing to rub at them and let her see his discomfort.

  Zel rose to let herself out, but his arm grasped her waist, drawing her taut body down to his. Wolfgang caught her cry with his lips. Hard and demanding. He felt her hesitation, not resistance, just a pause while her body warred with her stubborn mind. Her body easily won, his hand detected the softening as he traced the lines of her shoulder blades and spine. He deepened the kiss, pulling her into him with mouth, hands, and arms. She met and returned his fervor, her own arms locking about his neck, fingers tugging at his queue.

  He pushed her away, laughing harshly at her startled expression. “Don’t offer what you refuse to deliver. Keep your cold bed. Dry up like an old stick.” He handed her out of the carriage, directing her up the stairs and past Smythe at the open front door. Watching her enter the hallway, he called after her rigid back. “Pleasant dreams, Miss Fleetwood.”

  Wolfgang threw himself into the coach, burying his head in his hands. Bride of the devil! Would he ever learn to use his head for more than a filler of hats? What a favorable taste he had given her of what it would be like to be his wife, allowing his anger and frustration to drive and excuse his rough actions toward her. He would not have her develop a fear of him. He wasn’t like her father. She should know he’d never hurt her.

  He’d lost this skirmish because of his own impulsiveness and idiotic lack of strategic planning. His forces may have been decimated and demoralized, but hers suffered a few losses too. And a good tactician knew when to retreat.

  He would pull back, regroup, and examine his foe’s strengths and weaknesses. Then he would plan a new campaign designed to exploit those weaknesses and circumvent those strengths. His enemy’s strengths were numerous. She was indeed a worthy foe. But, praise Lucifer for that blessed weakness. Wolfgang stretched out on the squabs. He would hammer against it with his biggest ca
nnons, his sharpest riflemen, and his most skillful swordsmen. The battle would be won, spoils to the victor.

  CHAPTER 11

  SCHERZO

  A bright humorous musical piece or movement in triple time

  “Mouse, go away.” Zel pushed at the wet nose nestled in her palm. “I did not sleep well last night and I am in no mood to be up before noon.” A warm, slobbery tongue slid up her arm. “Damn, Remus, go!”

  She buried herself deep under the pillows and bedcovers, ignoring Remus’s protesting whimper. That man had not only cost her a night’s sleep, but even had her cursing at her dog. Was it any wonder she had determined never to marry? Her supposed friend decided he wanted her as a political hostess and brood mare. And as if that was not enough, he offered his services to help her harness her passions. When had her passions been the problem? She kept all her emotions nicely under control, unlike some people she could name. He was such a madman, he probably did murder half his family, as Robin claimed. She shook her head. No, Wolfgang might be a madman, a fool, and a rogue, but he wasn’t a murderer.

  Zel threw off the covers, flung herself out of the bed, and stomped to the armoire. She rubbed at her eyes. There would be no more sleep this morning, she might as well dress.

  Call her a dried-up old stick, would he!

  She yanked a gown from the cabinet and threw it over her shoulder. Not the green silk. Not the pale blue. The violet, no. She tossed clothing, shoes, and accessories about until Maggie scrambled into the room to rescue her wardrobe.

  “Miss Zel, please.” Maggie picked up a shoe and several pairs of stockings. “Let me help you choose a gown.”

  “Maybe I’ll just stay in my night rail all day.” Zel stepped back, surprised at the disarray on the floor. “Any will do.”

  She grabbed a chemise and morning gown and dressed impatiently, holding her tongue to avoid snapping at her blameless maid. As Maggie began braiding her hair a knock sounded at the door.

  Aunt Diana stepped through the doorway, eyebrows raised as she surveyed the clothing-littered room. “Laundry day?”