The Wedding Chase

by Rebecca Kelley

  Shaking the rain off his jacket, he watched the lazy flow of the Thames. Little by little she had learned his secrets, learned of his cruel, hate-filled father, his whore of a first wife, even his own stupidity. She learned of his old pain and his world hadn’t fallen apart. He’d been so frightened and angry when he finally told her about Robin. But her reaction was nothing compared to what he imagined. She’d even guessed his suspicions, yet he’d fled in terror before giving himself a chance to see that maybe all was not lost.

  He was tired of walking, tired of hiding, tired of being afraid of pain. It was time to stop being the first to run away. Time to stay and fight and take the risk that she might leave him. Raggedly drawing in the damp air, he turned back toward home. He would tell her everything he knew about the attempts on his life. He would reveal himself completely to her, even telling her what he’d never spoken aloud, the truth about his sister, Gwen. Although the gnawing in his chest had a heaviness to it, his feet felt a little lighter.

  In a matter of minutes he arrived at his door. He clasped McDougall’s arm as the brawny Scotsman opened the door. “Where is she, my friend?”

  “Lady Z is not at home, m’lord.”

  Wolfgang swallowed the hard lump in his throat, muttering, “The devil, just as I get up my courage.”

  “M’lord?” McDougall displayed an unusual coolness.

  “Stop the formality. When will she be back?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know, m’lord.”

  “Lucifer’s misbegotten. If you say m’lord one more time, I’ll plant a facer so hard you’ll land in the next block.” Wolfgang started up the stairs, then paused. “Where did she go?”

  “I don’t know that either, Captain.”

  “Then what the hell do you know?”

  “She left last night with a portmanteau, Maggie, a coachman, and a groom, with no word of where she was bound.” McDougall met his eyes squarely. “I took the liberty of sending two additional men after her. None have returned.”

  “Bloody—” He took the stairs in several leaps. “Jenkins!”

  He nearly tripped over Jenkins, bent down on hands and knees by the dressing room doorway, in the smoke-scented bedroom. “What are you doing?”

  “Captain, did you see this?” Jenkins held aloft a triangle of dirty cloth.

  Wolfgang took the scrap from him. “That table is tearing up more livery.” He moved to toss it in the fireplace.

  “Wait.” Jenkins watched the fabric fall to the floor.

  “It’s just a torn scrap of livery.”

  “It felt like fine silk.”

  Wolfgang rapped the offending table. “I didn’t come looking for you to discuss livery. Where is she?”

  “Lady Z?”

  “Yes, Lady Z.” Wolfgang warily eyed his little valet. “Don’t be evasive.”

  Jenkins’s tenor voice articulated very softly, “There’s a letter on your writing table.”

  Wolfgang strode to the table, Jenkins close behind. Ripping open the note, he saw his name glaring at him from the top of the page, but the rest of the words swam before his eyes. Lowering his lids he took a deep breath and tried to slow his racing thoughts. When he opened his eyes the words continued their mad dance across the page. In frustration he tore the letter into tiny bits, tossing the jagged fragments into the fireplace. He looked stubbornly into Jenkins’s questioning eyes. “She must be at Cliffehaven by now.”

  Jenkins looked to the coals in the fireplace where the letter was now only a wisp of smoke. “She said she went to Cliffehaven? Funny, Maggie wouldn’t tell me. Does she wish you to follow?”

  “I don’t care what she wishes. I’m going after her.” He kicked at the table leg. “Why did she leave?”

  “You are asking me?”

  “Yes, I’m asking you!” He kicked the table leg a little harder. “Was she angry?”

  “Not noticeably angry. Quieter than usual. And very pale.” Jenkins’s bright eyes never left Wolfgang’s.

  “I’m taking Ari. Pack me a bag. Take the coach and meet me there.”

  “How long a stay should I plan for, Captain?”

  “Damned if I know.” With a flicker of his old grin, Wolfgang strode through the door. “She may throw me out tonight.”

  The grin faded as he made his way to the stables, becoming a grimace as he saddled Ari. “Well, old boy, it’s on the wet side for a hard ride, and our reception is bound to be icy.” He stroked the horse’s chestnut neck and mounted. “Satan’s nosehairs, I hope it’s only anger I have to deal with, not fear or disgust.”

  * * *

  Wolfgang stood, hand at the doorjamb, watching as Zel pounded on the pianoforte, striking the keys hard enough to break a string.

  By the devil’s cloven hoof. It was that damned courage thing again. He’d arrived at Cliffehaven nearly an hour ago, first cleaning off the mud, then hiding away in his study, refusing to search for her until the music drew him out. The music that by its deafening thunder made it clear she knew of his arrival. If he wasn’t going to face her, he might as well turn tail and ride back to London. Drawing in a slow, deep breath, he pulled the door wide and strode in.

  Her back faced him but her stiff spine told him she sensed his presence. The notes pealed out loud and harsh. One step tentatively followed another until he reached her side. He scanned her profile, the delicate lines were drawn with fatigue.

  “How did you get here so quickly?” She didn’t move, her voice so soft he could scarcely make out the words.

  “I came as soon as I got your note.”

  The music abruptly stopped. Zel turned slowly on the stool, eyes narrowed, searching his face. “My note?”

  “Yes. And I’ve come to beard the dragon in her den.”

  Her lips pulled tight. “I’m so fearsome?”

  Dropping to both knees before her, he reached vainly for her hands, fingers clutching the skirts of her gown. “I’m tired, Zel. I rode here fueled by anger and fear. But they’ve burnt out and now I don’t know what to do.” He bowed his head, forehead resting on her thigh. “What do I do, Gamine? What do we do?”

  He felt her long slender fingers hesitate, then weave gently through his hair. “I wish I knew.”

  “Why did you leave me?” His voice came out barely a whisper, muffled by her muslin skirts.

  “I think you have it wrong.” She laughed, low and brittle. “You left me.”

  “I went to the club because I didn’t know what else to do.” Wolfgang knelt, motionless, lest she remove her hand. “I was afraid.”

  Her hand stilled, then pulled a few locks of hair loose from his leather-bound queue. “You do make me sound a dragon.”

  “And I a most reluctant Saint George, come to assault you with more horrors from my past.” He raised his head, grasping her fingers as they trailed over his forehead. “I don’t want to run anymore. I need to tell you …” Pausing, he searched her face, seeking just a hint of warmth.

  “I’m listening.” The lines around her mouth softened.

  “I’ve never told anyone.” He ran her fingertips over his lips as if that would free his speech. “I was eight years old and Gwen, my sister, was nearly six. It was August, hot and dry. We escaped our tutor, the local vicar, and ran all the way to the lake.” He closed his eyes, the scene still so vivid he could see the overbright green of the trees, smell the musty odor of the water. “We stripped down in seconds. The water felt so cool. She swam out further and further, daring me to follow. Not one to be beaten by a slip of a girl, I dared her to race me to the stump on the other side.” He settled his weight on his heels. “I was nearly there when I realized there was no sound of splashing behind me.”

  Wolfgang opened his eyes, reaching for her other hand. She locked her fingers in his. “I dove for her again and again. I would have drowned looking for her, but a groom sent to find us pulled me out. I was carried back to the house while the search for her continued.” He brushed their joined hands over his cheek. �
�My mother told me the next morning she was dead. I was locked in my room for days, maybe weeks. No one visited except Mr. Yang, father’s butler. He brought up my meals and wash water, but wasn’t allowed to stay. When I was finally released the funeral had long since passed.”

  His head felt light, his knees a little wobbly. Lowering himself to sit on the carpet, he still clutched Zel’s hands, but looked away from the tears in her eyes. “I sought out my father, to tell him I would die if it would bring her back. His fist cracked into my jaw before I could utter a word.” Wolfgang laughed bitterly. “Funny thing, I almost died from that beating, but she still didn’t come back.”

  Zel’s thumb rubbed little circles into his palm. “You didn’t kill her.”

  “I was responsible for her.”

  “You were eight years old.” Zel’s husky alto flowed balmlike over him. “You may have blamed yourself then, but can’t you see now that a child is not responsible for another child?”

  He shook his head stubbornly, fighting her soothing tones. “I never should have let her swim so far.”

  Zel squeezed his fingers. “I blamed myself for years when my mother died. Tortured myself with thoughts of what I could have done differently.”

  “But you were a—”

  “Yes, I was a child.” She leaned forward, dusting his brow with cool lips. “Let go of it, Wolfgang.”

  “But she left me, you left me. Everyone leaves.” His voice was less than a whisper, little more than a breath. “I don’t deserve to have anyone care about me. So I learned to leave first.”

  “Wolfgang, I didn’t leave you.” She rested her cheek at his temple. “I only needed a little time alone.”

  “You left me for Robin.”

  “I did not leave you for Robin. You pushed me away.” She frowned, pulling a hand free.

  “I understand, Zel. You have ties to Robin. Your loyalty is to him.” Wolfgang held tight to her remaining hand, trying desperately to remain calm.

  “You speak like I need to make a choice between you.”

  “Your choice is already made. I know. But I have no choice.” He looked at her hand, willing her to understand. “I have to arrest him.”

  Zel jerked loose her other hand, standing suddenly, toppling the stool. “You’re being an idiot. Robin isn’t guilty.”

  He winced under the blow. “Yes, I may be stupid—”

  She interrupted, hovering over him. “I’m sorry, Wolfgang. You know I didn’t mean that, you’re not stupid. But you’re wrong about Robin.”

  “I wish to God I was.”

  “Tell me everything. It must be someone else.”

  “Zel, no. Not now. I can’t deal with it now.” He rose, righting the stool. “And it’ll make no difference.”

  “You stubborn, arrogant fool. I have a right to know.” She faced him, hands on hips, nostrils flared, anger supplanting compassion.

  Wolfgang sat on the stool, drawing close to the keyboard. “No. There’s nothing you can do.”

  “This isn’t over.”

  “I know.” Fingering through the notes of a ballad, he listened as her footsteps exited the room and receded down the hall. Remarkable how well he’d managed that encounter. He might as well have handed Zel to Robin on a platter.

  The white keys blurred. He picked out another melody, a popular tavern song, solemnly humming along with the rollicking tune. He’d not give in, turn tail and run. Whether he deserved her or not, he wouldn’t let her abandon him without a fight.

  There was nothing he could do to save Gwen, to stop his father’s hatred, to warm his cold mother, or to make his first wife faithful. Those losses were in the past, memories he would no longer allow to hurt him.

  Ignoring a flurry of noises coming from the hall, he played another verse of the song. Zel could hurt him. He had been certain she would. But maybe he was wrong. Maybe the love he had unknowingly watched grow in her eyes, the love she had named only when sure he couldn’t hear, would be enough.

  A footstep sounded in the doorway, he turned eagerly, ready to kiss away Zel’s frown. “Aunt Dorothea? What—?”

  “Arthur, shut the door.” Aunt Dorothea watched Wolfgang closely as the thin man behind her quietly shut the door.

  Wolfgang stood, eyeing her warily. “Aunt—”

  “Stay where you are, nephew.” His aunt reached into a large reticule, withdrawing a well-polished dueling pistol. The thin man, whom he now recognized as her butler, Arthur Martindale, turned, holding its twin.

  “What in the name of Satan?” He took a step toward her.

  “Stop.” She motioned to the sofa with the gun. “Sit down.” She edged closer to Martindale as Wolfgang slowly lowered himself onto the sofa. “Arthur, don’t take your eyes off him for a moment.”

  “I don’t under—”

  “You don’t understand. No one understands. No one ever understands.” She laughed shrilly. “You never suspected me, a woman, did you? You’ve led a charmed existence, but the fifth time will break the spell. I won’t fail this time.”

  “I don’t believe this.” Wolfgang leaned forward in the sofa, hands braced to stand. She aimed the pistol barrel at his chest. “You plan to shoot me in my own home?”

  “I am a good shot, but I’m not a fool.” She smiled queerly. “You’re going to have a carriage accident on the cliff road into town. The rain has stopped but it’s wet and dangerous, and you are a very reckless man.”

  “But why?” He shifted position on the sofa, eyeing the two guns pointed at him. “What do you have to gain, but a little money? Very little in fact, as the estate follows the male line and will revert to the crown if I die, and my personal fortune is willed to my wife.”

  Aunt Dorothea’s features softened, a muted light gleamed in her eyes. “I will be earl of Northcliffe. Not you or some whelp gotten off that Fleetwood woman.”

  He choked back a laugh. “You can’t be an earl. You can’t even be a countess.”

  “You think because I’m a woman, I can’t be earl?” The bell tones of her voice rang hollowly.

  “We both know even your son can’t inherit.”

  “But the male line will be gone. You are the last.” She waved the gun at him. “I will petition the prince regent for my son or myself.”

  “You’re insane.” He paused, watching her hand tighten around the pistol. “Prinny will never agree. You don’t have enough money to pay his price.”

  “But I will.”

  “I told you, my fortune goes—” Wolfgang clenched his hands together into one fist. “My God, you’re going to kill her too!”

  “You’ve given me no choice. You’ve given her your money and your seed.”

  “She’s not carrying my child!”

  Dorothea’s voice cracked. “Don’t lie to me. One of your maids told Arthur you two copulate like rabbits. She’s pregnant. I can see it in her eyes.”

  “You’re mad—”

  “Shut up!” She waived the gun wildly.

  He needed to calm her or she’d shoot him before he could formulate a plan of escape. “How did you know to find us here?”

  “Arthur saw Grizelda leave last night and as he was discovering her whereabouts this morning you followed after her. You have made it so easy.”

  “Your plan will never work. Give it up and I’ll see you’re not hanged.” He shifted his hands.

  She glared at him. “I am firstborn. I have influence. It is my right. You and all the others stood in my way. But not anymore.”

  “Oh, God.” He buried his head in his hands, finally realizing the enormity of her madness. “You killed them all, every bloody male in the line—your father, your brothers, and your nephew. All for something you can never have.”

  “I can and will have the earldom.” She screeched, then lowered her voice. “I didn’t kill my father. As for the rest, they were a worthless, stupid lot and didn’t deserve the title. Your father was the only one with a brain in his head and he wasted it on God and religion.
But I would have killed him too, if he hadn’t had the good sense to die on his own years ago.

  “You were supposed to be blamed for the deaths and hanged.” She jerked her head toward the butler. “We are wasting time. Get Grizelda. I want to set up well before dark.”

  The door swung open, Zel and Remus swept into the room. “You stopped playing and I heard voices …” When she saw Aunt Dorothea and the pistol, she stopped, hand buried in the shaggy hair at the dog’s neck. “What—”

  “Grizelda, dear, how convenient.” Aunt Dorothea directed the pistol at Zel. “Sorry I can’t greet you properly. Sit over there and keep that dog with you.” She indicated the pianoforte stool. “You are just in time to take a carriage ride.”

  Wolfgang lurched to his feet. “You—”

  “Sit down.” Aunt Dorothea growled. “Or she’ll take a bullet now.”

  He sat rigidly on the edge of the sofa. “Leave her out of this.”

  Zel stared from Aunt Dorothea to Wolfgang, taking a step toward Wolfgang. “What—”

  “Silence! Sit down. Now!” Aunt Dorothea hissed, eyes returning to Wolfgang only after Zel settled herself on the stool. “There will be no heir.”

  Wolfgang tried to catch Zel’s eye, but she stared straight ahead, seemingly mesmerized by the pistol in his aunt’s hand. Glancing surreptitiously around the room, he looked for anything usable as a weapon. The fireplace pokers were too far. The vase too small to do any damage. He needed to keep her talking while he worked on a plan. “You hired Pettibone.”

  “Pettibone.” She laughed scornfully. “He was a big mistake. A friend of Adam’s, owed him money. He played at footpad and highwayman to pay his debts. But the man’s a fool. Much better to do the job myself.”

  “You set the fire.” Zel’s voice registered her incredulity. She seemed in shock, gripping Remus’s neck like a lifeline. “That was you in the hallway.”

  “It would have worked, but you came home too early.” Dorothea’s laugh grated against Wolfgang’s teeth. “Or perhaps I was the one too early.” She waved the pistol. “It’s time to go. The carriages should be out front by now. I took the liberty of ordering yours, along with your cloaks.” She tucked the pistol into the folds of her silver silk gown.