Deep Autumn Heat (39 page)

Wolfgang cast one last look at the woman in white, his connoisseur’s eye assessing her tall form, noting the slender hips and full breasts not quite hidden by the thin cloth of her night rail. He hurriedly laid Fleetwood out on the indicated
bed, returning to the hall as the door across the way softly shut.

Sauntering down the stairs, he grinned. Wolfgang Hardwicke, lecher and Good Samaritan. Brushing off his hands he exited the house and jumped into the waiting carriage. In heaven’s log of good works, this deed would cover him for the next six months of debauchery: a little wine, a little gambling, and a lot of women. Clean, married women from whom he’d be unlikely to contract syphilis or matrimony. And if she met his criteria, maybe he’d start with that shapely apparition upstairs.

PIZZICATO
Plucking the strings instead of bowing them

T
HE THREADBARE WALL
hangings rippled. Robinson Crusoe Fleetwood blinked at the light shifting through the thin draperies and covered his ears in an effort to protect them from the thundering pianoforte notes. Zelly was launching a full-force Beethoven assault. And it couldn’t even be noon yet!

Lord, his head felt like shattered glass. Why did he do this to himself? Maybe it was time to listen to Zelly, to call halt to the fast life. He massaged his throbbing temples. Damnation! His stake! He’d lost his last chance to turn things around. He’d been so sure, his luck so strong. He couldn’t lose. But lose he did—quickly, surely, miserably.

He’d been playing with a crude hard-drinking crew, sure that he could outclass them … and there was a tall, dark man, not a denizen of the streets, but skilled with knife and fists.

Robin yawned, rubbing his tender jaw. That tall, dark man punched him! He eased up gingerly. It was all coming back to him now. The man had cheated. His gaming partners
caught the man and he drew a dagger, cutting the gamesters. Then he turned on Robin and landed a facer. Maven must have sent him home, but that damn cheat had his money.

He stood shakily, straightening yesterday’s pantaloons and shirt. A splash of cold water cleared his head a little. Time to leave town. Put the creditors off his scent, till he had a new plan. He hadn’t been to the country seat in months. Moreton-in-Marsh would be a welcome sight. But first he had to face his father and Zelly …

The dining room was empty, sideboards bare. He made for the kitchen and charmed a biscuit and some flat ale from his aunt’s housekeeper. If Sir Edward Charles Fleetwood, his father, was about, he’d be in the study pretending to peruse ledgers while he tippled a little brandy and read about the horses at Newmarket.

Robin knocked softly, entering the small dark-paneled study without waiting for a summons. The elder Fleetwood sat motionless at the shabby cherrywood desk as expected, clutching a glass partially filled with amber liquid.

“Father?” Robin shuffled across the faded Aubusson carpet, his voice low and uncertain.

“Robin, my boy.” Sir Edward reached for the decanter. “Join me?”

“Could use a little hair of the dog.” Robin took a small glass off a tiny comer table, passing it to his father to fill. He muttered, “I’m done up.”

“You lost it all?” The older man handed him the half-filled glass, accusation in his voice. “But you told me you had the perfect game. How much did you drink?”

Robin took the brandy, downing it in one gulp. “Had a couple of pigeons ready for the taking, but a high-flyer cleaned me out. When I cried cheat, he attacked me, knocking me cold. Knifed the other men. Don’t know Who he was, but I’ll find him.”

“And what in the devil’s name will you do when you
find him? You’ve no skill with pistol, sword, or fists, Robinson.” Sir Edward scratched his head, mussing the thinning, gray hair. “Challenge him and you’re a dead man.”

“I’ll find a way to deal with him. Besides, I’d as soon be dead as in debtor’s prison.” Robin threw himself into the nearest chair, burying his face in his hands.

“Zelly will find a husband who can settle your debts.”

“But she don’t want to marry.” Robin’s tone was obstinate. “A man takes care of his own affairs.”

“She’ll marry.” But his father’s expression belied the surety of his statement. “We’ve tried everything else. No banker or cent-per-center in London will touch us. And at the mention of money even my oldest friends disappear.”

“More talk of money and marriage?” Zel paused in the doorway, staring hard at her father before striding into the room, her huge red-brindle Irish wolfhound at her heels. Her mood softened when she saw her younger brother sprawled in the chair before the desk.

Robin rose, and she embraced him warmly. Spotting the bruising on his jaw, she grasped his chin. “You have been hurt! What happened?” She continued in a sharper tone. “You were doing more than drinking last night. You were fighting, and one of your friends had to carry you home.”

“I got caught up in a fight.” He looked at the floor. “Not my fault.”

“You have been in the hells.” She clenched her fists, pushing aside the image of Robin’s friend, his handsome face etched in candlelight. And that wicked grin when he spied her in her nightgown. “You were gambling again. What can I do to make you stop?”

Robin’s voice echoed hollowly in the tiny room. “I was trying to win enough money to pay my debts, so you wouldn’t have to marry. Would have done it too, but I was cheated by some
gentleman
who doesn’t even need it. I’ll find a way to get it back.” He touched her hand briefly, moving
to the open door. “I have to go. Won’t be back for dinner. Tomorrow I’m off to the country.”

Zel frowned fondly after him, as her dog nudged her elbow with a damp nose. Turning to her father, she could feel her face heat in anger, but she kept her tone cold. “I suppose I cannot expect you to control him, when you cannot control yourself.”

“Damn, girl! Don’t fight me!” Her father rose, facing Zel eye to eye, glare to glare. The dog growled softly.

“Mouse! Sit! Remus, I said sit!” Her voice escalated with her temper. “Why should I be the one to pay the price for your vices?” Zel rubbed eyes suddenly moist with tears. She wanted to hit him, throw things, but instead she concentrated on fighting back these stupid tears. Lord, she hated feeling so powerless and weak.

“Wouldn’t ask for myself. I can’t stall the creditors much longer. They want the blunt now.” He lowered his voice, pleading. “Robin needs you, girl. Don’t let him go to prison.”

“Stop calling me girl.” She ignored his begging as her hand twined in Remus’s wiry coat. “You let this happen again!”

“No, I told him he was playing too deep.”

“What about you, your debts?”

He evaded her eyes. “My debts aren’t the problem.”

Zel sank into a threadbare chair, Remus’s head following to her lap. She was tired, weary to the core of a battle that never ended. “Maybe I do need to marry, settle for you both this last time, then leave you to your own devices.”

“I know you can do it. Gir … woman as bright and lovely as you should be able to land a wealthy husband. Could have done it long before, if you’d a mind to.” His lighter tone echoed his victory. “The problem’s those bloody women’s reformer ideas.”

“Father, you know my feelings about marriage.” She
sighed, massaging her neck. “After all, have I not had your example of what a husband can be?”

“Don’t bring your mother, into this.” Sir Edward bristled.

“I spoke of you, not Mother.” Zel scowled at his ruddy face. “She was a better wife than you ever deserved.”

“Zelly, despite what you think of me, your brother needs you.” The begging crept back into his voice.

Robin. Of course it came back to Robin. The thought of him in prison horrified her. She could never let it happen. Her shoulders sagged. “Finding a suitable husband may be more difficult than you realize.” She rubbed her eyes. “You may require only wealth, but I require that he neither attempt to control my life nor interfere with my work.”

“Husband has the right to tell his wife what’s what.” His mouth curled. She felt sickened by his triumphant gloating. “Unless you can find some man-milliner who’ll be happy to let you run his life.”

“You forget several important points.” Zel was determined to quash that victorious smirk. “I have never gone out in London’s fashionable society. I am too old for the marriage mart. I know nothing of flirtation or pleasing a man.” She fluttered her lashes, laughing harshly. “I am far from the conventional standard of beauty. I am too tall, too blunt. I value utilitarian over frivolous pursuits.” She pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I will appear as a post-horse among Thoroughbreds and will never receive a single offer.”

“You’ve got more brains than any of them. You’ve got your mother’s looks, though you don’t make the most of them.” Papa’s smirk had not diminished. “Spend some time on your appearance. Keep your mouth shut or use it to flatter.”

He gave her an appraising look. “You could stand with the best of them. If the young bucks are fools, you can easily catch a rich old widower who needs a mama for his children or a little comforting in his dotage. You know my sister will
be happy to help. Diana has friends in the best circles.” He finally met her eyes. “You have to do it, girl. Robin’s depending on you.”

“I am not a girl. You also seem to forget that no man will care to burden himself with in-laws running from debtors’ prison.” Zel dropped her eyes, her voice low and quiet. As much as she would like to defy her father, she would not abandon her brother, no matter how futile she believed this plan to be. Besides, she had no better ideas. “I will do what I must, for Robin.”

“Z
EL
, we cannot hurry this. One does not jump into a season. It must be planned … every detail made just so, just so.” Diana Marie Fleetwood Stanfield patted her gray-flecked hair as she paced from the window to the door in the bright, floral-papered drawing room. Most of Aunt Diana’s house was well worn, the furnishings long past their prime. But her aunt’s careful budgeting had preserved this room along with the dining room and small salon. “You have no clothes, your hair …” Zel squirmed on the pianoforte stool as Aunt Diana surveyed her with a critical eye. “You need vouchers for Almack’s, invitations.… Invitations will not be a problem. With so many in Paris celebrating Napoleon’s, defeat, the hostesses are looking for anyone to fill their ball-rooms. But we must do this right.”

“Aunt Diana, I cannot afford to wait. The creditors are pounding at the door. Robin is truly done for this time.” Zel laid her fingers heavily on the keys, feeling as taut as the instrument’s inner strings. Remus hovered at her side.

“Oh, Zel dear, I am so sorry.” She stopped and spread the thick drapes, looking out the window. “I know you wish to remain single. Now you face the uncertainties of marriage. If I had the money … if only I did.”

“But you do not. Father is certain I can land a wealthy husband.” Zel went to her aunt’s side, frowning at the spring
blossoms in the tiny courtyard below. “I am not so certain. And if I do get an offer, how can I be sure he will not be like my father?”

“Or my late husband.” The old bitterness touched Aunt Diana’s voice. “Child, pick carefully … and well.”

“How can one know? Stanfield was so charming.” Zel forced a smile. She dearly loved the older woman and knew her aunt looked on her as the child she never had, despite only ten years difference in their ages. Even with little to share—the bulk of her husband’s estate having passed to a distant cousin—she always welcomed her brother’s family into her home. “Forgive me. I know you hate to think of him.”

“We need to think of you. I wish you would wait, but if you cannot …” Aunt Diana’s handsome face brightened. “I know just the thing. My friend Julianna, Lady Selby, you remember her … her house party. But it starts in a few days.” She tapped lightly on the windowpane. “It would be perfect for you to practice a little flirting, polish up your manners.” She turned to Zel, frowning again. “But your—your clothes.…”

“I know my clothes are not at all the thing, but I can afford nothing better.” Zel swirled and curtsied, laughing as she nearly tripped over Remus’s inert form. “I shall be the Dandyess of Dowd.”

“Now, Zel, my sweet, do not fun me. We must think of something. You know clothes dress the man … are the man. Oh, whatever that saying is, you know what I mean. Clothes are important.” She resumed pacing, her tall form moving with a compelled grace. “Zel, my coming out clothes, in the attic. I saved them all these years. They are scarcely worn, as my husband kept me in the country. They would only need a few tucks to fit you to perfection.”

“Aunt Diana, they are nearly fifteen years old. They must be moth-eaten and the style completely outdated.”

“No, no, they are well cared for. I take them out sometimes
.… I like to remember the days before I married.” She looked at Zel, excitement overtaking the sadness in her eyes. “I was nearly as slender as you, and so carefree.… The simple elegant lines would flatter you so. The thin silks and muslins cling to the natural shape of the body.”

“Aunt Diana.” Zel stared at the older woman. “I do not wish to appear a loose woman.”

“We will try not to offend your modesty.” Aunt Diana chuckled. “You may wear a shift and a petticoat, as I did.”

“I will not wear a corset.” She frowned. “Nor do I like yards and yards of ribbon and lace.”

“There is no lace and little ribbon, and they will require almost no remodeling. But the whites and pastels will be all wrong for you … as they were for me.” Aunt Diana rubbed absently at her jaw. “I know, we shall dye them. Bright jewel colors. Sapphire, emerald, aquamarine to accent your eyes. Ruby and garnet to bring color to your cheeks.”

“But such bright colors are frowned upon for unmarried women.” Zel was not at all sure about this whole scheme.

“Posh, you are old enough to carry them off.” She gifted Zel with a brilliant smile. “No one will blink an eye. We’ll leave just a few white or pastel for the most formal occasions.”