The Wedding Chase

by Rebecca Kelley

  “No.” Zel’s cheeks warmed. “I’m afraid I threw a little fit.”

  “A fit? You, dear?” Aunt Diana, looking amused, picked up a few gowns and laid them across a chair. “Did something happen you’ve … failed to tell me about?”

  “Oh, I suppose there is no need to keep it a secret.” Zel sighed loudly, anger not entirely diffused. “Northcliffe proposed last night.”

  “Oh, my dear, my dear. I am beside myself with amazement.” Aunt Diana smiled broadly, matching a pair of stockings. “However did you … manage it? When is the happy event?”

  “Stop! Are you mad too?” Zel twisted about, pulling the unfinished braid from Maggie’s hands. “Whatever makes you think I accepted him?”

  Smile fading, Aunt Diana smoothed a wrinkled gown. “But it’s obvious there is, ah, something between the two of you.”

  “To what are you referring?” Zel looked from Maggie to her aunt, as Maggie grasped the escaping chignon.

  “My dear Zel, everyone can see the attraction.” Aunt Diana’s smile returned as she took a seat on the ragged settee. “Northcliffe seems to have some tender feelings for you, and he’s so handsome and virile.”

  “Virile, yes. Tender feelings, no.” She snorted. “You would not think of tender feelings if you saw the way he mauls me when we are alone.”

  “Mauls you? Zel!” Aunt Diana spoke sharply. “What has been happening?”

  “You would be surprised to know the liberties he takes, how he kisses and touches me.” She jumped as Maggie rammed a hairpin into her neck.

  “And you … you allow such liberties?” Her aunt watched her closely, eyes glassy with horror. “Grizelda Amadea Fleetwood, have you allowed yourself to be compromised?”

  “Aunt Diana.” The roiling in her stomach told Zel she should never have let the conversation take this turn. She lowered her voice. “It is not so bad as that.”

  “How long has this been going on?” Her aunt stood, pacing the small room from window to door, rattling on with uncharacteristic speed. “Why have you allowed it? This is not like you at all. Is not a virtuous woman’s price above … oh, what’s the name of that red stone?”

  “Aunt Diana, I have not lost my virtue.” Zel felt beleaguered and besieged. “Not totally. The stone is a ruby.”

  “Yes … price above rubies.” Aunt Diana stopped pacing and glared at Zel. “You, missy, had better go running after that man and pray his offer still stands. Earls do not have to marry used goods.”

  “Used goods! I am not used goods.”

  “Used goods, tarnished goods. Whatever is happening between you and Northcliffe had better be put into a marriage bed. Now!” Aunt Diana stalked to the door, pausing with her hand on the latch. “Do not let your passions be your ruin.”

  “Passions? I—”

  Aunt Diana interrupted. “I almost forgot, Emily Carland is downstairs.” She pulled the door open and was halfway down the hall before Zel could finish her reply.

  Zel sat in forced stillness while Maggie put the final touches to her toilette. “Thank you, Maggie.” Her voice even, she stood and followed Aunt Diana. Emily would support her.

  Aunt Diana preceded her into the drawing room by only minutes, but she had already pulled Emily aside, and sat, whispering in her ear. Both looked up guiltily when Zel entered the room.

  Emily frowned, walking toward Zel, hands outstretched, searching her face. “Zel, your aunt claims you are compromised.”

  “Compromised?” Zel’s voice rose to a shrill soprano, as she met Emily’s narrowed brown eyes and clasped her small, plump hands. “I am not compromised. To allow a few private kisses and caresses does not mean I am compromised.”

  Emily took Zel’s arm, leading her to a bright brocaded sofa. “Please calm down and consider this rationally.”

  “Calm down? I am calm.” Zel glared at her petite friend and perched on the edge of the sofa. “I am always calm. Except when people drive me to distraction.”

  “Don’t blindly refuse this marriage.”

  “I do not believe this.” Zel sank into the cushions, groaning. “Two women opposed to marriage are trying to convince me to wed a reckless womanizer,” She pushed away the teacup Aunt Diana tried to place in her hand. “You wish me to marry a man guaranteed to hurt me?”

  Aunt Diana placed the teacup on a table and pulled a chair close to the sofa. “I think you’re wrong. He’ll not intentionally hurt you. He’s not like your father or my husband.” She sat, leaning forward to take Zel’s hand.

  “Zel, you must listen. Not all men are cruel tyrants.” Emily stroked her other hand. “Marriage need not be a prison. Many women find joy in the institution.”

  “I am not one of those women.” Zel jerked her hands away, angry tears welling in her eyes. They were conspiring against her. “I never wished to marry, even when forced to for Robin.”

  “A woman of passion, such as you—”

  “A woman of passion! What is wrong with everyone!” She lurched off the sofa, nearly overturning the tea table on her way to the door. “First Wolfgang, then Aunt Diana, and now you, Emily, all claiming I cannot control my passions.” Zel knew she was shouting but she could not seem to lower her voice. She stood in the doorway and faced her accusers. “I would have you know, I am not a woman possessed of unruly passions. I have always lived a life of control and restraint, and will continue to do so.” Zel blinked back the tears and, slowing her pace as much as humanly possible, strode down the hall.

  Damn him! Damn them all! She would show them that Wolfgang’s kisses and caresses meant nothing to her. She would never again yield to him only to be pushed away at his whim. She would never become a pawn to a man as her mother had.

  As Robin said, Wolfgang was only interested in the hunt. He was like a cat with a mouse. After the mouse was caught the cat might toy with it a while but would eventually get bored, finish the kill, and move on to other entertainments. The marriage proposal was only another game in his repertoire to extend the time before ennui set in. And although she feared the passion and potential violence, she found there was something she feared more. His inevitable indifference and her resulting pain. She had allowed defenses, already chipped away by his outrageous yet boyish charm, to lower further, and he had slipped in with his tender ministrations. It was all just part of the game he played. Well, as of this moment her defenses were fortified, stronger than ever. He would not slip in again.

  “Will the light of your life be here tonight?” The duke of Ridgemont’s sculpted mouth was taut with suppressed humor.

  Wolfgang growled at his friend, his mouth also tight, but not from holding back a smile. He leaned against a column in the theater box as he surveyed the noisy mob in the pit. “Grandmama promised, and when Grandmama promises, she delivers.”

  “But if they don’t get here soon they’ll miss the opening act.” Rafael rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Rather than offer for her again and risk another awful bumbling, why not have your grandmother propose for you? Zel likes her and—”

  “Raf, I’m in no mood for your so-called humor.” Wolfgang straightened, pulling on his waistcoat. “I’ve decided on a different strategy. When a frontal assault is repulsed, attack the flank.”

  “So, you’ve decided to get sneaky.”

  “I plan to show her that she can’t live without me.”

  “And what manner of demonstration will do this?” Rafael stretched, pushing his chair farther to the back of the box, eyes never leaving Wolfgang.

  “I’ll appeal to her sensual nature.” Wolfgang looked away, fingering the stone column dividing the boxes. “She wants me, and it’s time she learned how much.”

  “Wolf, you’re not going to seduce an unmarried virgin.” Raf didn’t question, he arrogantly ordered. “Forcing her into marriage will not set well with her. It could make your future together exceedingly dim.”

  “Give me credit for a little sense.” He shifted his weight, watching the fashionables parade in and out
of the theater boxes. “I won’t take it that far, just enough to convince her she’s too passionate to live her life without a man. This man.”

  “You’re asking for trouble.”

  “I can handle it.”

  “Lord save us from a wolf on the prowl.” Rafael laughed, indicating an opposing box. “And there’s your she-wolf now, accompanied by the matriarch of the pack.” He looked them over quizzically. “Do they coordinate their toilette? They look like they danced off the same necklace.”

  Wolfgang grimaced as the two tall, slender women dressed in complimentary shades of aquamarine spotted him. Grandmama nodded. Zel looked away, speaking to one of Grandmama’s cronies. “They just know. I have a theory—they’re twins accidentally born of different families in different generations.”

  “I’ve always wished your grandmama was a tad younger.” Raf raised a sardonic brow. “Are you joining them now or during intermission?”

  “I may as well face her now.” He watched Zel continue to avoid his gaze.

  Raf laughed. “One could never call you a coward.”

  Wolfgang made his way to his grandmother’s box, the scowl on his face discouraging any greetings by acquaintances. If he behaved the perfect gentleman during the one-act play, perhaps he could convince her to walk out with him for refreshments.

  Zel was as cool as expected, but did not complain verbally when he moved a chair to her side and engaged her in polite conversation. He kept his comments light and appropriate during the play, quite a feat, if he had to say so himself. Grandmama ignored them both, concentrating on the gossip of her friends.

  Before the last words of the play were acted out, Wolfgang jumped to his feet, clasping Zel’s hand in his. “We’ll fetch refreshments.”

  Before Zel could refuse, Grandmama quickly added, “Yes, go dears, and bring me back a bit of punch.”

  “Come along then, Miss Fleetwood.” He whisked her out into the foyer before she could change her mind, searching for a corner or anteroom where they could find some privacy.

  Beelzebub’s bootstraps! That wild shock of red hair waving in the crowd before them could only be his brother-in-law, Simon Bedford. He was bearing down on them with the subtlety of a Spanish bull with a matador’s sword in his side. The man would not let go. Wolfgang almost wished for another challenge. He’d wing the cub and they could call it done. Simon could finish his grieving for his unworthy sister and get on with his life. He liked the boy and had a hard time believing he could plot a murder, but maybe he tired of Wolfgang’s refusals to meet him with pistols at dawn and was willing to find his revenge where he could. Hellfire! Enough! He had another agenda tonight.

  “My deceased wife’s brother, again.” He nodded in Simon’s direction. “If you don’t wish to serve as referee, we need to hide, quickly.” He pulled her down the wide staircase, out the door, and past the Grecian columns decorating the exterior of the theater. They passed elaborately embellished courtesans, tawdry prostitutes, and other nearly invisible denizens of the street before he slid them both into a dark, empty doorway. He wedged her into the corner, blocking both her escape and the eyes of unwanted watchers with his body.

  “Keep still, and no one will see you.” He whispered into her hair, weaving one arm about her shoulder, the other about her waist. “Anyone who sees me will assume I’m confirming my evening’s activities with a lady of the night.”

  “Was it necessary to come this far to avoid the confrontation?” Zel’s breathless murmur tickled his neck. “Must you stand so near?”

  “Yes, for your protection.” Wolfgang chuckled softly, pressing into her until her full breasts crushed against his chest, and her long legs thrust into his thighs. “But to answer your first question. I confess to a degree of subterfuge. I did wish to avoid Simon, but I also wished to get you alone.”

  Zel stood so still, yet he could feel the quick thumping of her heart through the layers of their clothing. Her voice was firm and brave when she finally spoke. “Go ahead, kiss me, touch me. But I promise I will not respond this time.”

  “ ‘Cruelty, thy name is woman.’ ” He misquoted. “You do know how to hurt a man. But I’m not, tonight, bent on your seduction. I only wish to call in a favor.”

  “Favor?” Her back stiffened in his embrace. “You mean the favor I promised when you agreed to buy Robin’s notes?”

  Wolfgang rubbed at her back but she tensed more. “As I promised you, I won’t ask what you cannot do. I only wish to spend time with you.”

  Even in the near darkness, he could see her eyes narrow as she lifted her head to peer up at him. “We spend too much time together now.”

  “A morning call here, a party there, a play whenever, a waltz almost never.” He lowered his head, resting his chin on her shoulder, mouth at her neck. “Barely enough for more than a chance acquaintance. No, I want a week of your time.”

  “A week?” Zel brought her hands to his chest, a futile effort to put space between them. “We cannot be alone somewhere for a week.”

  “We needn’t be alone.” Wolfgang buried his nose in her hair, inhaling deeply of her so familiar spicy scent. “I have an invitation to a house party, two days hence, at the Staffords’ country estate in Abingdon. I wish you to accompany me.”

  “A house party?” She sounded incredulous, clearly waiting for the catch. “Oh, perfect.” She tried to twist away. “Who would accept me at their house party? Few besides your grandmother’s closest friends will even speak to me.”

  “The Staffords are part of a fast crowd.” His lips brushed her hair. “They’ll probably think you’re my mistress. But unless we make love in the rose garden, they won’t blink an eye.”

  Zel stiffened again, then sighed. “Are you sure my company is all you will ask of me? Can I trust you not to try to seduce me in the rose garden?”

  “I don’t care for roses. The thorns can interfere dreadfully.” He frowned. Now he’d have to avoid flower gardens. “I’m asking you for a week, at a simple house party, spent wholly in my company.”

  She pounced, her hands fisting on his chest. “Wholly in your company? Am I then expected to occupy your bed and confirm everyone’s opinions?”

  He eased his hold on her and looked into her eyes, his jaw slack and eyes wide, feigning abject amazement. “My dear Miss Fleetwood, how you malign me. I told you, I wouldn’t ask you to do anything that would cause you undue discomfort.”

  “So I may refuse your company?”

  “Ugh!” Wolfgang groaned. “Another unkindness. I insist you spend your waking hours with me. But I give you full veto power over our activities.” He raised her chin with his knuckle and watched her eyes, imagining how the gold specks would flash in stronger light. “You can do this. Or are you afraid?”

  “I am not afraid of you.” She met his smile with a scowl. “But what is the point?”

  “Need there always be a point?”

  She lowered her gaze, her fingers splayed over his waistcoat, her voice husky and soft. “I agree to the favor. What harm could a house party with the fast Staffords do? My reputation is already beyond repair.”

  Wolfgang filled his lungs and exhaled slowly. “I’ll call for you in the morning at ten, in two days. Thank you.”

  An unreadable expression flitted over her face. “I prefer to meet you there.”

  “I’ll send my traveling coach for you and your maid.” He pinned her with a hard stare. “If you don’t wish me to ride within, I’ll play the part of outrider on Ari.”

  Zel nodded her consent.

  “We’ll return to the theater. Keep your head down till we get to the entry.” Regretfully stepping back from her, he took her arm. “Grandmama will be fretting.”

  Zel leaned toward the window of the plush coach, watching as smoky air and dingy buildings transformed into acre upon acre of storm-washed greenery and crisp, clean sunshine. Wolfgang rode close to the silver-and-black carriage. The ease with which he sat his mount, combined with a jacket the s
ame hue as the horse’s chestnut coat, gave him the air of a mythic centaur. His long, tapered fingers rested on the reins with a gentleness at war with the ready strength and power of his frame. She flushed when her eyes met the grin in his, knowing he was excessively pleased with her lengthy perusal. Zel quickly looked to Maggie, but his image remained fixed in her mind.

  Tamping down the warmth rising through her body, she cleared her throat. “A week in his company! It will pass like this.” She leaned forward and clapped her hands. “Like nothing.”

  Maggie sat opposite on the luxurious silver squabs, eyeing Zel dubiously. “Yes, Miss Zel, like nothing.”

  Zel snorted. “Oh, so you agree with everyone else?” The carriage hit a rut, throwing her back in the seat. “I cannot control myself? Ha! I will show you all. Woman of unharnessed passion! In a bloody pig’s eye!”

  Last evening’s storm was only a vague recollection in the fluffy, scattered clouds overhead. The coach grew increasingly stuffy, but as hot and bored as she was, Zel would expire before she looked out again. She twitched around trying to get comfortable, finally throwing herself in a semirecline on the well-stuffed cushions.

  “Maggie, if you tell me I should marry him, I shall scream.”

  “I—”

  “Do not start with me. You know my feelings on marriage.”

  “Miss—”

  “How you can possibly support the idea of marriage after what you have gone through, I cannot surmise.” Zel’s hand snaked unbidden to the black silk curtains, she paused then pulled them tightly shut. “My mother, my aunt, the women at the home, all victims of the unbridled passions of the male of the species.”

  “But—”

  “Reckless, uncontrolled emotions culminate in violence.”

  “Not all—”

  “Yes, all men, given the opportunity and motivation.” Zel blinked, attempting to exorcise the visions of strong hands gently examining her for injury, long fingers stroking the pain from her head. She shook her head vigorously, freeing a few pins from the loose chignon, but the image persisted, followed by another image of her mother’s hands, slight and pale. But the memories of being cared for by those hands were as fragile and faded as the hands themselves. Stronger were the remembrances of her own hands providing succor to the frail woman, battered of body and spirit. She swallowed a hard lump of anger, roundly berating herself for such feelings toward her mother. Her father, not her mother, was the deserving target of her ire. Or better yet she could aim a little fury at her tall, handsome nemesis. She glanced to the curtains. An excellent target, and well within range.