The Wedding Chase (15 page)

“How the devil did you hear anything? You haven’t even been in England.” Wolfgang jumped to his feet. “She hasn’t really rejected me. She wants me, she just refuses to admit it. And she isn’t my mistress, yet.”

A tiny smile touched Raf’s carved lips. “Wolf, this isn’t like you to pursue an unmarried woman, and an unwilling one.”

“She isn’t unwilling.” He turned to the window, squirming under Rafael’s stare. “Well, she’s sort of unwilling,
but not for long. There’s something between us and I want it. She does too. Once she admits it everything will be fine.”

“Are you as confused as you sound?”

“I know what I want. You’d understand if she kissed you the way she kissed me.”

“You need to leave her alone.” Raf’s voice took on that paternal tone Wolfgang hated. “You’re looking for trouble seducing an unmarried miss.”

“I won’t be trapped into marriage again. But I can’t leave her alone.” Wolfgang rubbed at his head. It throbbed and the blasted cloth itched. “I tell myself to stay away, but I don’t. I haunt her house. I follow her to parties.”

“It’s the chase. You’re not accustomed to being refused.”

“At first, I thought so too, but it’s more than that. There’s a spark—no, it’s more like a lightning bolt—between us, and I’m drawn to it even knowing the dangers.”

Rafael’s voice went very soft. “Marry her.”

Wolfgang choked. “Marry her? I’m barely surviving now. Marriage would kill me.” He lowered his tone. “I won’t marry again. Rosalind more than convinced me how unexalted that institution can be.” He left the window, approaching Raf’s chair. “But I’ve made a mess of Zel’s reputation. I introduced her to my aunt, but I don’t think that will help.”

“Your aunt would be no help.” Raf laughed, a harsh bark. “Bring in the big guns. Introduce her to your grandmother. No one would cut her under Lady Darlington’s patronage.”

“Perfect!” He pounded Rafael’s shoulder. “I’ll write Grandmama today. She’ll be in town soon anyway to represent me at some of the celebrations.” Wolfgang paused, frowning. “Smoking brimstone! I think they’ll like each other.”

“Sounds like you’re in even deeper trouble than you think.”

“You need to arrange for Zel to be presented to Grandmama.”

“Shouldn’t you make your own introductions?”

“Zel won’t talk to me.”

“Wolf, this makes no sense.” He ran his finger across his lower lip. “Or perhaps … What does her refusal to talk with you have to do with those fresh nail tracks down your cheek?”

“I pushed her too far last night. We made a scene.”

Rafael moaned faintly. “How big a scene?”

“No one saw us kissing.” Wolfgang lowered his head. “But several people saw us afterward finishing the fight.”

“I don’t think I want to know more.” Raf leaned back in his chair, regarding Wolfgang through cool brown eyes. “Maybe bringing in your grandmother won’t be enough.”

“Miss Fleetwood, may I introduce your dinner partner, His Grace, the duke of Ridgemont.” Lady Netherby presented a man of Zel’s height with pale brown hair and facial features so handsomely chiseled as to be almost beautiful.

“Charmed, Miss Fleetwood, forgive my late arrival.” His bow over her hand was effortlessly graceful. Ridgemont tucked her hand into his elbow, walking her to the dining hall with the other couples. “I hope you didn’t fear you’d be seated alone.”

“Your Grace.” Why was she, probably the lowest-ranking female at the gathering, paired with a duke—even if this duke, according to Lady Selby, was a friend to Wolfgang? She hoped she had not been a subject of their confidences, but suspected she had. Her suspicions were confirmed when Wolfgang, whom she’d studiously avoided, seated his partner across the table and the two men exchanged a veiled glance. The hostess had obviously not chosen Zel’s dinner partner. But what could Wolfgang and His Grace be plotting? Wolfgang’s companion hovered about him, leaning in so close she
might as well be serving her mostly exposed breasts to him on a platter.

“Miss Fleetwood, I believe you are acquainted with my friend Northcliffe and his dinner partner Lady Canning?” Lord Ridgemont gestured across the table.

Zel nodded, thankful they were on the opposite side and she would not be required to engage them in conversation. Lady Canning was welcome to him.

“And the gentleman on your left is Northcliffe’s cousin, Mr. Adam Hardwicke Clayton.”

She turned to Clayton, offering her hand as she sat. “We have met. Good evening, Mr. Clayton.” Here again was the soft miniaturized version of Wolfgang. A tame puppy to his feral beast, bedecked in padded jacket and shirt points to his cheeks.

“Miss Fleetwood.” He took her hand, raising it to his lips. She supposed the look he bestowed on her was a leer, but she did not feel at all threatened. Could a puppy leer?

“Mr. Clayton. How is your mother?”

“She is well, but had a previous engagement. She’ll regret missing you.” He belatedly released her hand. “A most unusual gown. Not in the common mode, old-fashioned, but enchanting on you.” Adam Clayton smiled at her chest. The Hardwicke family seemed cut from a similar mold, physically and morally.

Zel looked to the duke of Ridgemont for rescue. He gallantly obliged. “Yes, I believe Miss Fleetwood will revive a previous fashion, with a new flair.” He smiled at her. “But your true flair is your music. I have it on the best authority that you are accomplished on the pianoforte.”

“I do play with some skill.” She smiled, Wolfgang’s comments to his friend could not have been totally negative.

“Good, no false modesty. After Lady Netherby’s tenor has assaulted our ears, will you heal us with a few melodies?”

“Happily, if our hostess so desires.” Zel looked into his
beautiful shuttered eyes. The eyes of a man who allowed the world to see only what he wished it to see.

“Miss Fleetwood, I understand you’ve become a
dear
friend of my cousin?” Mr. Clayton made a suggestive nod toward Wolfgang.

“We are barely acquainted. I would hardly call us friends. Let alone dear friends.” She glared across the table where an eavesdropping Wolfgang gagged on his drink.

“True, he seldom makes friends of women, especially lovely ones.” Clayton looked as though he might wink. Zel looked away, her eyes drawn to Wolfgang. He turned fully to her, watching her with the keen gaze that never failed to unnerve her.

The scratch lines were red and ugly. He had made no attempt to cover them with bandage or cosmetics. There was also a new wound above the scratch, beginning at his right temple near his eye and disappearing into his thick black hair, just below the streak of silver. Her shock must have been obvious. He smiled, nodding slightly, as if to say, “See, you are not the only one who injures me.”

Zel turned back to his cousin, confused, wishing she could hold on to last night’s fury. She feared the anger but found herself fearing the emotions that might replace it more. Was it this war of anger, fear, and desire that fueled her parents’ marriage? She tossed back her head. No, she was not like her mother. And she would never be trapped in such a relationship, never entangle herself with any man, never marry at all, except for Robin’s debts. Robin’s debts. That thought must be kept at the front of her mind.

The duke’s sardonic humor made dinner pass quickly. But afterward Zel sat alone in the drawing room until Ridgemont led the men in to rejoin the women. He sat next to her on a bright gold divan. “I need to speak with you, privately.” The smooth murmur drifted inches from her ear. “There will be a brief intermission. Meet me on the terrace.”

She twisted on the sofa, ready to archly refuse. But the
coolness in his eyes and the ironic smile on his lips were strangely reassuring. She nodded her assent.

The tenor’s voice was pleasing, his program Mozart, mostly from the
Magic Flute
. When the music ended she moved quickly to the terrace. Ridgemont joined her, settling them both on a stone bench, overlooking the garden.

“I’m here on Wolf’s behalf.” She stood to leave, but his steady voice stalled her midstep. “Please, hear me out. This is important to both of you.”

Zel looked at his face, dimly lit by the sconces lining the terrace wall, and sat, surprisingly sure he was sincere. He might be Wolfgang’s friend, but for some unfathomable reason she trusted him. “I will listen to what you have to say.”

“Wolf has always been impetuous. He got in more scrapes at school than any other five boys combined. But he never meant to hurt anyone.” Ridgemont laid a hand lightly, briefly on her forearm. “His intent wasn’t to harm you, but he does not think clearly where you are concerned.”

“I am not sure I understand you.”

“You have confused him, and he has smudged your reputation. He is sorry and would like to call a truce.”

“A truce?” She laughed. “A little late for a truce, Your Grace, when the battle is over.”

“The battle isn’t over. If you disengage now, you’ll be the loser.” Ridgemont sat still, for all the slightness of his frame as solid and immovable as one of the statues dotting the grounds. “He has no reputation left to lose, you do. Wolf has promised to behave as an older brother and has invited his grandmother, Lady Darlington, to town to meet you.”

“I do not want to meet his grandmother.” Despite her earlier trust, her anger grew at this man, so restrained and so accustomed to command. “And how could it possibly help?”

“She is a respected member of the ton. Association with her will ensure that no one will completely spurn you. If you and Wolf behave.” His expression softened as he blocked her protest with a wave of his hand. “I wish we could prevent the
raised noses and subtle insults. You’ll have to plunge through them. With Lady Darlington’s patronage you may emerge unscathed.”

Zel sighed, defeated. “And when will I meet this paragon?”

“You’ll cooperate?” A flash of warmth flickered in his eyes.

“Yes. I have no better idea.” She smiled hesitantly, then looked down at her gloved hands.

“Lady Darlington should arrive in town within a few days. You will attend minor functions with her, and when the war heroes arrive you may be ready for the upper levels of society.” Ridgemont wrapped a finger about his chin. “You and Wolf must appear as cordial, physically distant, brother and sister.”

“That insufferable, self-serving—” Her anger broke through and she hissed at him, jumping to her feet. “Physically distant! As if I wanted anything else. If he thinks I’ll—”

“My dear, I realize you’re at daggers drawn.” He grasped her arm with strong, slender fingers, pulling her back beside him. “But you’re an intelligent woman. Forget your anger and use that intelligence on your own behalf.”

“You are undeniably correct.” Zel contained herself, shrugging her shoulders, as he released her. “I will try to behave towards Lord Northcliffe as if he were a human being, perhaps not a brother but a far-removed cousin. And I will graciously accept his grandmother’s patronage.”

“Good. You will talk with him tonight and arrange to be seen with him in a casual setting tomorrow.”

“I said I would see his grandmother, not him.”

The duke’s voice was clipped with impatience. “You’re acting nearly as stupidly as he is.”

“Fine.” Zel slumped against the cold bench back. “But not tomorrow. I have an important meeting at my club,
several guests may make substantial contributions to my women’s home.”

“Perfect. Wolf can make an appearance and a contribution.”

Zel stared at him in complete disbelief. “This will never work.” Wolfgang loose in her club? She couldn’t stop the image of a helpless herd of sheep circled by a shaggy-haired, silver-eyed, two-legged predator.

“It will work, have faith in yourself.” Ridgemont stood, clasping her hand to help her to her feet.

“Oh, I have faith in myself, but I gravely doubt your friend Northcliffe.”

Ridgemont laughed. “The music has resumed, we must return. It has been a distinct pleasure making your acquaintance, one I hope to further.”

Zel returned to the music room before Ridgemont. But the attempt at stealth had been worthless, as Lord Newton arrived in her absence and eyed her entrance with his usual ravening gaze. He, of course, noted Ridgemont’s entrance a moment later and pinned her with a twisted half smile.

After the last aria was sung and refreshments served, Zel observed Wolfgang picking his way across the room, eyes intent on her face.

“Miss Fleetwood.” Lady Netherby touched her arm. “Would you do us the honor of playing?”

Wolfgang was only steps away. “The honor is mine, Lady Netherby, to be privileged to follow such a distinguished musician.” She looked toward Wolfgang, gifting him with a tiny smile, then walked briskly to the pianoforte. Nothing formal tonight. Perhaps a popular song or an Irish ballad?

Zel played, captured as always by the melodies, harmonies, and lilting refrains. Even the simplest song could hold great beauty. Only as she completed the last measure did she become aware that Wolfgang and Ridgemont both stood near the pianoforte, regarding her closely. Wolfgang tapped
his friend’s arm and grinned broadly, as if he were bragging, taking credit for her accomplishments. She gripped the edge of the bench, needing to physically hold her anger down.

“Beautiful, my dear.” Lady Netherby moved behind her, skirts rustling noisily. “I have heard that you also have a lovely voice. Would you favor us with a song?”

“A fine idea.” Lord Newton appeared beside her, that cold smile still clinging to his lips. “But would not a duet be twice as sweet? Northcliffe has a strong baritone.”

“Oh, please, Miss Fleetwood, Lord Northcliffe?” Lady Netherby pleaded.

“How can we refuse?” Wolfgang sat on the bench, a good six inches away and much too near. He shuffled through sheets of music, then bent toward her, whispering, “A ballad? A drinking ditty? A song of unrequited love?”

“Quiet.” Zel breathed harshly. “I will pick the songs.” She snatched the sheets. “You sit silently.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Here.” She stuffed three sheets in front of his face. “You must know ‘Annie Laurie’ or ‘Oh, Youth Whom I Have Kissed’ or Robert Burns’s ‘Bonnie Lesley.’ ”