“But he doesn’t need the money.” Zel rapidly stirred her cooling tea.
“For most of us hardened gamblers, wagering has little to do with the money.” He pushed a shaggy brown lock off his brow. “It’s the excitement, the ups and downs, the risk of losing, the challenge of winning, playing against impossible odds because that next big win must be right around the corner. You couldn’t understand it, unless you’ve been caught up in it.”
“Maybe I do understand.” She took a deep breath and swallowed a little tea. “I still don’t understand why Wolf—”
“Zel, they don’t come any wilder than your husband.” Robin rubbed her hand. “He’s a gambler, along with everything else. Thrives on risks, the pursuit of that impossible challenge. Bet my next year’s allowance on it. He’s reckless and he doesn’t think or care about anyone but himself.”
She laid her cup on the low table, lowering her eyes. “But I thought he cared about me, at least a little.”
“Cares about his own pleasures.” He stirred in the chair. “Would a man who really cared about you have so little regard for your reputation and sensibilities? From the start he’s only cared about getting under your skirts.”
“Robin!” She fastened a hard look on him, her voice sharp. “He paid your debts and married me.”
“What does marriage mean to him? Just that you were harder to get than the others, and there have been and will be many others. But the gambler doesn’t mind losses as long as he gets that big win in the end. And he won. He got what he wanted.” Robin pushed back his chair and stood. “How long before he gets restless and moves on to the next challenge? And the man has a temper, so what happens if you cross him?”
“Robin, enough!” Zel clasped his arm. “Why did you wait to tell me this?” She eyed him warily. “And why tell me now?”
“Wish you were half as suspicious of him as you are of me.” He turned to the door.
“Robin, I want an answer.” Her grip tightened on his arm.
He glanced at her then looked down at her hand. “Didn’t want you to know I’d been in the clubs.”
“I knew you’d been gambling.” She sighed. “But why were you so insistent on telling me now?”
“Because he’s making you miserable.” Robin shook off her hand. “He’s no good. I don’t want you around him. Leave him.”
Zel stared at him. “I’m not leaving my husband.”
“He’ll only hurt you. Has already. You’re a fool to stay.”
“Why am I even listening to you?” Zel stopped, steadying her voice. “My relationship with my husband isn’t your concern.”
“Just think about it.” His eyes never left hers as he backed out the door. “And take care.”
Think about it! As if she could do anything else. Zel lurched off the ottoman and paced to the fireplace. Could Wolfgang truly have wagered on her virtue? Was the entire courtship, irregular as it was, only a ploy to get her into his bed to satisfy a bet? a ploy accidently ending in marriage? a marriage he could then disregard at will?
Zel had no doubts that in the beginning his plans did not include marriage. But the night at Vauxhall Gardens. The impetuous proposal. That had seemed sincere. Confused, maddening, but sincere. So sincere as to terrify her. And the second house party, had his aim been only seduction? A seduction that erroneously went public?
It would be so much easier if Wolfgang was a stolid, slow, predictable man. She’d be sure of his mind, his motivations. Sighing deeply, she stared into the empty hearth. But then none of this would be happening because she was drawn to the very things that frightened and frustrated her. His mercurial temperament, his reckless charm, and his unpredictability.
She gripped the high mantel edge hard between the heel of her hand and fingers. The whole thing made no sense. Her sane, sensible approach to life was a tree uprooted in a windstorm. A windstorm with an earl’s coronet and quicksilver eyes. What had Robin said? How long before he got restless? Zel rubbed at her temples. Maybe he already was. Last night he had been afire with passion. She smiled grimly. After she forced him to bed her. Now she paid the price for it as they moved further apart.
What would happen when she crossed him? A windstorm might be exhilarating, but should she tame it—or ride it out? And more to the point, would he even let her try?
The old helpless feelings came roaring back. So much lay out of her control—the fire, the estrangement, the assaults on Wolfgang, and now these bloody wagers! What had ever made her dream she could meet a man like him head-on and not be washed away by the storm?
She tried again to rub the pain away, but a new thought came whipping through the haze in her head. Robin had been so public about his dislike for her husband. Wolfgang must think Robin was behind the attempts on his life! No, he couldn’t think that. But it fit, God, it fit only too well. It would explain Wolf’s silence and anger, maybe even the distance he placed between them. He was wrong. But he’d never let her close enough to convince him.
A bloody idiot. That’s what he was. Wolfgang barely noticed the familiar rows of houses and businesses as the carriage headed home through the fine drizzle. The first real chance at giving tenants some power in government and he’d scuttled it with that rider. Satan’s tail! He had worked so hard at getting support. Many of the lords liked to think they still lived in feudal times with serfs and slaves farming their lands. Convincing them of the wisdom of giving their tenants even a minuscule amount of control over their own lives had been like pulling firmly rooted teeth.
He’d bargained with some, smooth talked others, and terrorized the rest with tales of the French Revolution, building a mixed bag of supporters. Then he added that last-minute clause with the kiss-of-death word, widows.
He was blind to even consider for one second that the gentlemen of the House of Lords would allow a widow or any woman any kind of vote, even a proxy vote. Wolfgang tapped absently on the windowpane, forcing a droplet of rain on a downward path. He hadn’t been thinking clearly, focusing on currying Zel’s favor not on what constituted a viable bill. Maybe in some distant future, Zel’s ideas of equality for women could be presented without ridicule, but not in 1814 England.
Sighing deeply, he realized the idiotic thing about today’s fiasco was the idea that his tilt at windmills would have any effect on his marriage. The hard truth remained the same. For his safety and hers, he would have Robin arrested. Even if Wolfgang could become an overnight hero of women, loyalties such as Zel’s were not easily swayed. He knew she’d do anything for her brother. Robin had made it clear at the wedding that the night Zel had come to ask Wolfgang for payment of the gambling debts, she was prepared to offer herself, to become the mistress of the man believed responsible for a good portion of their problems. Sleep with the devil, Robin had said. And in his own eagerness to make her indebted to him, Wolfgang had prevented her offer. He brushed a speck of lint off his blue superfine jacket. Events could have progressed very differently, but somehow the end result would be the same. Robin would emerge the victor.
The carriage stopped before the front entrance to Hardwicke Hall. He fought an urge to order the coachman to drive his horses hard and fast in any direction away from London. Exhaling loudly, he stretched his legs and jumped down to the walk. Maybe he could hide in his book room for a few hours, work on his courage and face her at dinner. They would both be more civilized over a meal.
The book room door stood slightly ajar. He slipped in, quietly shutting the door behind him.
“Trying to avoid me?” Zel sat, dwarfed by the big leather chair at the desk, her spectacle lenses glinting in the few rays of sunlight filtering through the clouds.
“Perhaps.” He picked up the little centaur and settled on the edge of the desk, looking down at her. “Did you wish to see me?”
She shifted position several times before blurting out, “Are you a gambler?”
He stared at her, jerked to full attention by her unexpected inquiry.
�
��I asked you a question. Could you have the decency to answer?” Her usually melodious voice grated, high and scratchy.
“You know I gamble occasionally, but I’ve never considered myself a gambler.”
Zel straightened in the chair. “Then why did you place a wager on me?”
Wolfgang reached for her reflexively. She lurched back, out of his reach, the chair legs rasping on the hard wood floor. “A wager on you? What are you talking about?”
“Robin found it in the betting books at Brooks’s, so you needn’t play the innocent.” She held her chin stubbornly high but couldn’t erase the tiny quiver of her lips.
“I don’t use the books.” He squeezed the jade beast in his fist. “And no one would make entries in my name.”
She met his eyes. “Surely you remember the wager you made shortly after the Selby’s house party. It was initialed WJWH. You took on all comers, claiming you would bed me before the season was out.”
Wolfgang could feel his skin getting hotter, his chest constricting, painfully. He took a long, slow breath. “Do you believe I would do such a thing?”
“It makes perfect sense.” Zel dropped her eyes. “The challenge of openly seducing an innocent woman who wanted nothing to do with men was too enticing for you to pass up.”
He took another deep breath, but it didn’t steady him at all. “Fiends from hell! I kept your brother out of debtors’ prison and saved you from marriage to an old lecher.”
“And then proceeded to seduce me anyway.”
“I wasn’t trying to seduce you.”
“Then what was that week in the country about?”
Wolfgang returned the statue to the desk. “I wanted to show you how sensual you were, and that you couldn’t live your life without expressing that side of your nature.”
The pink flush on her cheeks shifted to a deep red, an angry red. “Were you trying to make me a whore?”
“You’re twisting everything I say. I thought I could get you to marry me. To explore your sensuality only with me.”
“That part certainly wor—”
“I didn’t plan to have our hostess and the minister find us. I didn’t plan for things to go so far.” He jumped off the desk, pacing to the window. “I’ve told you all this before. I thought you believed me.”
“I did. Then.”
“But now you believe Robin over me.”
“Robin has no reason to lie to me.”
Wolfgang slammed his hand to the windowsill. “He has every reason to lie.”
“Explain yourself.”
Now it would all come out and Robin owned her unyielding support. “Your brother is trying to kill me.” He turned to see the expression on her face. It was blank, totally blank.
Zel stood, slowly. “I knew it! I knew you thought that!”
“Whatever you think you know, please just sit and listen.” He kept his voice even and stalked back to the desk. “You were right last night, I was keeping secrets.” He shoved papers aside and sat on the desk, directly before her. “The attempts on my life have been conclusively linked to your brother.” He lifted a hand to silence her. “Please wait. Let me have my say. Robin still blames me for his losses and the attack on him at Maven’s. He is convinced I seduced you and forced you into marriage. He still thinks I killed my first wife and most of my relatives. And he believes I wagered on your virtue. If I were your brother, I’d want to kill me too.”
Wolfgang leaned forward, trying desperately to read the thoughts sweeping over her face. “Do you believe all that, too? No, don’t answer. I’d rather not know. There’s more. Robin has threatened me within hearing of others. He was in town at the time of each attack. We have proof the leader of the attacks is a friend of his who owes him money. Everything points to Robin. He probably told you about the wagers to get you safely away before his next inept attempt kills you too.” He sighed. “I planned to tell you all this and then have Robin arrested.”
She stared at him. “I don’t believe any of this.”
He laughed harshly. “That’s certainly no surprise to me.”
“You’re wrong. Robin is not guilty of attempted murder.” Her voice rose in volume and pitch. “Why couldn’t you tell me of your suspicions earlier? We could have—”
“We could have done nothing. I knew you’d never believe it, so what would be the point?” He watched the pulse beat at her neck, the pulse he loved to kiss when it throbbed with passion.
“We could have talked it over—”
“Zel, there was nothing to talk over. If you knew how I agonized over this.” He gripped the edge of the desk to stop from reaching for her. If only she would say she believed him, supported him, understood his fears and reluctance. But he knew those words would not pass her lips. This scene was playing out exactly as he predicted it would. He had felled himself with his own inevitable decision. And now lay bleeding at her feet.
“It’s someone else. Show me the evidence. We can—”
“Lucifer’s blood! It’s over.” He stood, sending papers flying. “He’ll be in jail tomorrow.”
“Wolfgang, you cannot do this.” Zel grabbed at his arm.
“It’s done.” He jerked away, but caught her eyes as he shot the last bullet straight to his own heart. “I nearly forgot to tell you, my bill failed. I stupidly added a rider on proxy votes for widows, and the lords made their disapproval clear.”
“Wolfgang—”
He cut her off. “Don’t say more. I’ll only regret it. I didn’t expect anything to be otherwise. Robin is your brother. I’m an unwanted husband. But I had to draw the line at letting him kill me when he also endangered you.” He reached the door in two strides. “I’ll move out as soon as I can secure an appropriate town house. Meanwhile I’ll stay at the club.”
“What in God’s name are you saying?”
Wolfgang didn’t look at her, he couldn’t. “I’m sorry as hell for everything.” He yanked open the door, but shut gently behind him as he whispered it, “Sorry as hell.”
His hand went to his chest as he raced down the steps, the pain so intense he could have sworn he’d been pierced by his own sharp words. He looked at his fingers, surprised to find them free of blood.
CHAPTER 19
CRESCENDO
An increase, by degree, in the intensity of sound in a musical passage, the peak of that increase
Zel watched out her bedroom window as a thin line of drizzle collected on a leaf, gradually weighing it down until it tipped and the water ran onto the sill.
Her throat felt dry and tight. She made a little choking sound, trying to swallow a lump the size of an orange.
She and Wolfgang had sparred since they met, yet she had always felt a measure of safety with him. Something inside her had whispered that this was a man who would not hurt her. But now the old fears were rearing their ugly heads. Zel laid her palm against the window. They had never fought with such cold anger before. She’d felt fear, blind, frozen fear. Fear that worsened the more his voice lowered and his manner calmed.
Lord, she could barely remember what they fought about. Her forehead rested against the cool glass. It started when she confronted him on the wagers. With the clarity of hindsight she knew despite his faults and wildness he’d never make such a bet.
And Robin. Robin could not be guilty. He wasn’t capable of murder. She could eventually convince Wolfgang of that. Perhaps she needed to allow him and Robin to work it out themselves.
And the bill. Zel breathed onto the windowpane and absently drew designs with her finger in the foggy glass. She never asked Wolfgang to risk his bill with that rider. She, of all people, knew it would mean death to his bill. What he’d done was rather sweet. But sweetness and politics didn’t mix.
The garden beneath her lay sheathed in the gray of twilight. Shivering, Zel turned inward to the darkening, unseasonably chilly room. She didn’t know what a marriage was. Didn’t know how two people came together to build a life, to be a family. She h
ad lived with the domination of her father and the capitulation of her mother and had tried to choose independence for herself. But she had never been truly independent. She had always been bound by her commitment to Robin.
Now she was tied by her marriage vows to Wolfgang, her vows and her love. Zel bent before the flickering fire, jabbing at it with the heavy iron poker. There must be a way to work through the barriers that kept them apart. To stop him from pulling away. To make him understand. To compromise without losing herself. To create that partnership where two could be one and still remain two.
Now she felt fuzzy and dull. She had to get away. It wouldn’t be running away, just time to think things through. Remaining at Hardwicke Hall would be a constant reminder of Wolfgang’s refusal to stay and fight it out with her.
Did he blame her for what he saw as Robin’s treachery? Shaking the thought loose, she walked to the door. She had all the pieces now. She would put them together and somehow know what to do. Wolfgang was clearly in pain too. And that gave her hope.
Zel rang resolutely for Maggie. The first decision was made. She would be on her way to Cliffehaven within the hour. But what if he got angry about her leaving and followed? She needed time to herself.
Sitting at her writing desk, she pulled out paper and quill and penned him a brief note. Let him think she hied off to Moreton-in-Marsh. It would earn her a few days. If he even noticed she was gone.
His soles burned like the fires of hell and probably looked like raw meat. Mephistopheles, London was big, especially when surveyed on foot.
Wolfgang yawned for the hundredth time that morning, cursing at the hard, too-short bed at Brooks’s, calling himself all manner of stubborn asses. He should have stayed home last night and fought it out with Zel. But even the worst battles on the Peninsula had not frightened him half as much as facing her. He regretted not telling her earlier about Robin, but how could he have done otherwise?
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