The Wedding Chase (19 page)

“I thought this type of establishment refused to admit women.”

“They don’t generally admit ladies.” He paused a moment, answering honestly. “But they do allow certain women in some of the rooms.”

Zel stopped, her voice dangerously high. “He thinks I am your ‘bit of muslin,’ I believe is the term?” She yanked free her hand. “By morning even pickpockets and footpads in the worst stews of London will refuse my company.”

Wolfgang pushed her through a door and barked. “Sit down. No one saw us. The doorman is the soul of discretion and Grandmama will take care of things back at the Warricks’.”

“That relieves my mind considerably.” Zel glared at him, arms folded under the breasts he had just so passionately kissed. She looked around the garish gilt-and-scarlet room, a room dominated by an overlarge bed. “I prefer to stand.”

Maven’s long nose edged around the door frame, followed by his bright, piercing eyes. “Captain, you require something?”

“Come in and shut the door.” Wolfgang slammed the door as soon as the man cleared the threshold. “This is Miss Fleetwood. You remember her brother and the incident several weeks back?”

“Yes.” Maven sniffed. “I remember all too well.”

Wolfgang stalked to the window and parted the curtains to watch the carriages move on the dark street outside, then
turned back to Maven. “Will you kindly tell the lady what happened?”

“As you wish, my lord.” Maven raised his nose another inch. “Young Mister Fleetwood was in his cups and having difficulty with a few of my rougher customers.” He nodded toward Wolfgang. “Lord Northcliffe dashed to his rescue, leaving quite a mess behind, I must say.”

“But what of Northcliffe cheating or attacking my brother?” Zel met Wolfgang’s eyes with a fierce glare, daring him to interfere.

“I know nothing of cheating, ma’am. But I believe Fleetwood resisted help, and Northcliffe struck him to enable them both to leave the room without sustaining further injury.”

“But the cheating?” She persisted.

“As I said, I know nothing of cheating.”

“Maven, you know I don’t cheat.” Wolfgang gritted his teeth. “Tell the lady I don’t cheat.”

“He doesn’t cheat, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Maven.” He walked to the door, escorting the tall, thin man out, then turned to Zel. “See!”

“I see nothing, except you perhaps failed to pay an adequate bribe.” She moved toward the door. “You did not get a very credible story.”

“What the hell do you mean?” he snapped. He was beside her in two strides. “How could I bribe him? I didn’t plan to bring you here tonight.”

“Oh?”

He wanted to shake that calm look from her eyes. “Damn you.” Wolfgang gripped her arms. “You wouldn’t believe the prime minister himself, would you?”

Zel smiled prettily. “Are we going to his house now?”

“I’ll take you home. This was a fool’s errand.” He looked pointedly at the bed. “Unless you’d care to stay and finish what we started in my coach?” He laughed harshly as she
hustled out of the room, then silently followed her into the hall.

The doorman nodded and swung wide the door. “Short stay, my lord?”

“We completed our business quickly. Devil it! It’s Newton.” Wolfgang jerked Zel around, pushing her against the wall. “Quiet. Keep your head down.” He felt her squirming and pressed his body hard to hers, holding her motionless, capturing her lips with his until Newton’s footsteps receded down the hall. “Come quickly and quietly.” He hauled her out of the gambling hell, propelling her rapidly to the waiting coach.

Wolfgang flopped onto the seat next to her. “Imps of Satan, I hope he didn’t recognize you. This isn’t one of his usual haunts.”

“What would he do?”

“Maybe nothing, maybe … I don’t know.” He shifted on the squabs. “But there’s no love lost between him and me. He may be willing to hurt you to
get
at me.”

“Please take me home.” Zel sat very still, her voice low, jagged at the edges.

“We’ll be there in minutes.” He placed his hand lightly over hers where it lay in her lap, surprised when she didn’t pull away. They continued to her home in silence. His behavior had certainly not been top form tonight, but at the moment she appeared too worn to judge him ill.

When he lifted her down from the carriage, he rested his hands gently at her waist, bending down to brush his lips across her forehead. “I’m sorry. My grandmother will call on you tomorrow.” He watched the little butler usher her through the front door.

Wolfgang climbed back into the carriage, and the coachman smoothly entered the line of slow-moving conveyences. He rubbed at his temples. Not top form? Lucifer’s misbegotten! Grandmama would have his head on a pike.

His hopes that Grandmama would have retired for the
night were dashed when his big, square Scottish butler met him at the door. “Her ladyship wishes to see you in the library.”

“McDougall, tell her I got, past you and went to bed.”

“My lord, she is waiting.” McDougall’s voice boomed down the hall. He had no choice but to face the dragon.

Hecate squawked, throwing herself at his leg. “Fine protectoress you make, my feline friend.”

Wolfgang strode into the library, brave as Saint George. “Grandmama. You shouldn’t have waited up for me.”

“I just came in myself, and thought I would have a bit of sherry.” She motioned to the decanters on the lacquer table. “Care to join me?”

“Brandy’s what I need.” He poured a healthy dose in a snifter, sliding onto the plush silk cushions of the low divan, an easy target for the coming attack. Hecate struck first, picking her way through the cushions and landing heavily on his lap. “Does the lecture begin now?”

“Wolfie, you know I love you dearly, but you cannot continue in this vein. I smoothed things over, I hope, tonight.” She sipped on her sherry, watching him over the rim of the goblet. “You may care nothing for your reputation, but the girl will be ruined.”

“I know, Grandmama—”

She ignored him. “Zel will be rejected by some, I fear. The only thing saving her at this point is the fact so many of the ton are still on their way from Paris. And when they return we can only hope the gossip may shift and move on.”

“You’ll help.” Wolfgang stroked the charcoal cat’s satiny ears. “I told her you’d call tomorrow.”

“I’ll stand by her. I like her.” Grandmama leveled her piercing pewter gaze at him. “I think you like her too. More than you care to admit. But you need to stop this madness.”

“I like her well enough, when she’s not making me insane.” He twirled the snifter, following the path of the amber liquid as it circled the glass.

“Then marry her.”

“I won’t remarry.” The brandy left a warm, comforting trail down his throat. “And for your information, she does not regard me as proper husband material. She seeks a henpecked worm who will do her bidding.”

“Yes, she told me. But I know there is something between you two and you cannot deny it.” She stood, eyeing him as she poured another sherry. “You would get on very well, you know.”

“We would get on very well for a few months, until the fire burned itself out.” He found bitterness creeping into his voice. “Then there would be nothing left except disgust, or if we were lucky, coldness. I won’t go through that again.”

“But it’s not the same.” Grandmama walked to his chair and placed her hand on his shoulder. “She is nothing like your late wife.”

Wolfgang shrugged off her hand. “They’re all the same, when you get beneath the fancy clothes.”

“What have you done?” A slight quaver entered her voice. “Wolfgang, she is an innocent. How far have things gone?”

“Grandmama, shame on you.” He took a deep drink of the brandy. “That is not a proper thing to ask of your darling grandson.”

“Wolfgang, how far have things gone with her?” The quaver disappeared, replaced by pure, unblistered steel.

“Not nearly far enough.” He rose and poured another drink. “She’s still a virgin, but only by the skin of her teeth.”

“Wolfgang!”

He gulped down the fiery liquid. “I don’t need your reproaches. All I need is this bottle and a little of my own company.” He picked up the decanter, balancing it with the cat and snifter. “Good night, Grandmama.”

“Wolfgang, you know how alcohol affects you.”

“Yes, it’ll only take a few more glasses and I’ll be rip-roaring drunk. Another few and I’ll happily pass out on my bed.”

“Wolfgang John Wesley Hardwicke!”

He ignored her, sauntering slowly out of the room.

Beethoven. She needed a strong dose of Beethoven. Propelled by an unusual urgency, Zel shoved open the drawing room door. Grabbing the first sheets on the occasional table, she flung herself onto the pianoforte stool and launched into an early sonata. Pounding out the notes, she thundered on at top force, ignoring any directions to soften or slow. Pianissimo and largo were not part of her repertoire today. She struck the keys, again and again, perspiration dotting her forehead and upper lip as she relentlessly hammered out the rhythm.

Energy finally diffused, she collapsed onto the keyboard with a discordant crash, head in hands. What a hopeless bramble.

She had been up half the night, replaying the scene in her head. Why had she allowed him to drag her to that gambling house? She should have dug in her heels and refused to leave the Warricks’. If he had acted on his threat, trying to carry her out of the house, there were any number of potential rescuers. Somewhere in the back of her mind she
must have wanted to go with him and hear the proprietor’s story. Why would Wolfgang lie? But if he did not lie, then Robin did.

Zel rubbed the aches at the base of her skull. She knew Robin was capable of lying. He would exaggerate or embellish his story, if it suited his purposes. And although Wolfgang might be a card shark and a brawler, she was somehow sure he was not the murderer Robin claimed he was.

And his grandmother. She really was a dear creature.

Lady Darlington should have been appalled by the goings-on last night and overjoyed to see the last of Zel. Instead she had done her best to protect Zel’s disappearing reputation, making excuses at the Warricks’, claiming a sudden illness had forced Wolfgang to take Zel home. But everyone there had heard the confrontation between Robin and Wolfgang, and how could they miss Wolfgang dragging her into the hallway? Lady Darlington’s good name would not be enough to save her now, especially if Lord Newton had seen them at the gambling house. Yet the old woman had called again this morning and would not let go of the idea of marriage. Having gotten it into her head that this was a perfect match, nothing would convince her otherwise.

Raising her head, Zel brushed back a few strands of hair and glared at
his
tulips in the porcelain vase beside her. Yanking a red bloom from the vase, she crushed the fragile petals in her fist.

She was avoiding the worst, trying to deny what happened in the coach. When she closed her eyes, she could still feel his hands and mouth on her skin. God, even the thought still burned. Her cherished self-control had vanished like a wisp of smoke in a windstorm. Wolfgang had been the one to stop, not she. He could elevate anger and desire in her to a typhoonlike pitch she would not have believed possible just weeks ago. And she hadn’t a clue what to do about it.

Maybe she should just retire to the country. But Zel would never run from any man. And where would she find a
wealthy husband in Moreton-in-Marsh? There were few eligible males in the area and none with a guinea to spare. Bath had an active marriage mart, but she had no funds to rent a house and no means of procuring introductions.

London, with her aunt’s house and contacts, was her only choice. Maybe Wolfgang would leave. Yes, that was the answer! She would suggest it next time they met. Damn! Next time they met! How could she face him after what they had done in that blasted carriage? Maybe she could get Lady Darlington to make him leave. Zel sighed, unwillingly remembering his gentle parting kiss on her forehead and the whispered “I’m sorry.”

“Miss Fleetwood.” Smythe poked his head in the doorway. “You have a visitor in the salon, a Mr. Fawkes. He asked first for the young master, but Mr. Fleetwood is out.” He gripped the door. “I do not like the looks of him, and you should not see him alone, but no one else is in.”

“I will see him. Wait in the hall.” Zel placed her eyeglasses on her nose and strode down the stairs to the ground floor. Remus lunged up the basement stairs from his favorite room, the kitchen, and followed her into the salon.

Smythe was right, the man was positively slimy. She offered him a chair, then sat on the opposite side of the small room, speaking with as much authority as she could muster. “Mr. Fawkes, my brother is not available. May I be of assistance?”

He smiled, a very lizardlike expression. “You’re the one I wanted, anyway.” He eyed Remus. “Your dog tame?”

“My dog is under my control.” Zel laid a hand on Mouse’s curly back. “Please state your business.”

Fawkes leaned forward in his chair. “I’m here representin’ your brother’s creditors. We’re callin’ in his notes. Now.”