The Wedding Chase (46 page)

“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.

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 had 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?

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.”