The Wedding Chase (24 page)

“Quite a list we have, dear Wolfgang.” Frederick’s mouth almost cracked into a smile, but his eyes remained grim. “And we haven’t even begun to consider all those cuckolded husbands.”

“Lucifer’s quizzing glass!” Wolfgang laid his forehead on the mantel. “Enough! Raf’s already beaten me with that stick.”

“Where do we begin? Too many bored wives.” He could hear the wicked grin in Raf’s voice. “And Wolf has been dedicated to pleasing them all.”

“But the husbands either didn’t know or didn’t care.” Wolfgang pleaded in his defense.

“Except the ones you winged in duels.”

“Damnation, you two are ganging up on me. I haven’t
dueled in years.” He felt like he was sparring with Gentleman Jackson, in duplicate. “And I never killed anyone.”

“Too good a shot,” Freddie mumbled, “didn’t need to.”

“We come to an impasse, on the husbands.” Raf summed up, finishing off his drink. “But we have a substantial list of suspects. My men will continue their investigations. Freddie, have some of your unsavory cronies scout out the stews and docks. We need to find some footpads.” He signaled them up like an orchestral conductor. “What’s for dinner? I’m famished.”

“He’s in the drawing room, miss.” Aunt Diana’s maid, Sally, giggled, poking her head through the bedroom door.

Zel unfolded and rolled from the bed, sucking in her breath with the sharp cramp. No need to ask who “he” was. Wolfgang had called and stayed long past the proper visiting time the last two days and now was back for a third. Notes were purchased, agreements signed, plans set out. Father smiled happily. Robin frowned sullenly. But at least he seemed no longer on the attack. If only
she
did not feel so attacked.

That was unfair. Wolfgang had been a perfect gentleman, too perfect. Perhaps that was the trouble. She waited, like a pheasant in the brush to be chased out to face the hunter’s gun.

She stood, brushing aside the sudden wave of pain and nausea. Straightening her skirts, she made her way down the hall. Zel quietly opened the door to find him standing before the fireplace. Did the man never sit down, except on her skirts? His thick, black hair was tied back but curled around his neck. His shoulders, broad and muscled in his close-fitting jacket, tapered to narrow waist and hips. Her fingers tingled. She vigorously rubbed them, the soft noise drawing his attention.

He whirled about, his quick, crooked grin fading to a
pensive frown. “I thought you were healing, but you look so pale and pinched. What’s wrong?”

“I have a bit of the headache.” She sat in a gold-brocaded settee, motioning him to sit in the chair opposite her.

Wolfgang settled himself beside her on the settee, placing a hand on her forehead. “You’re not warm. Do you feel nauseated?”

“I will be fine. Do not make a fuss.”

“Would you like tea? Where’s the bell? I’ll ring for tea.” He rushed into the hall, calling for Smythe, before Zel could answer. She tried to rub the spasm from her abdomen, brows knit, body taut.

“Satan’s horns, Zel, what’s wrong?” He was at her side, easing her onto her back, arranging pillows beneath her. “I’ll send for the doctor.”

“I do not need a doctor.” She surely sounded too weak, her protest would need to be stronger to stop him. “I am not ill, this is normal, nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing to worry about! You’re pale, almost ready to faint. You’re in pain.” Wolfgang knelt, cloudy eyes only inches from hers. “And you say this is normal?”

“I swear, I will be fine, in a few days.”

He frowned at her, then nodded knowingly. “Your courses. I should have known.”

“Please …” Zel’s face heated. She did not know how to continue. This was not a subject one discussed with a man.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I’ve been around women all my life.”

“The tea, miss.” Smythe balanced the tea tray in the doorway, eyes darting about the room.

Remaining on his knees, Wolfgang motioned to the nearest table. “Set it down. I’ll serve. Miss Fleetwood is a bit indisposed. Bring a hot water bottle, very hot, and brandy.”

“I do not drink brandy.” Zel sat up gingerly, as Smythe silently left the room.

Wolfgang fluffed up the pillows and nestled her back down, swinging her legs gently onto the settee. “Lie still. I’ll have you feeling better in no time. Now tell me where it hurts.”

“My lord, please.” Her voice came out little more than a squeak, and she knew her skin glowed scarlet with embarrassment.

“Now, don’t start ‘my lording’ me again, I thought we’d progressed far beyond that.” His long fingers pushed her hair off her brow and temples. He smiled as he skimmed over the tips of her ears. “Try to relax, Gamine. You only make the pain worse when you tense up. Where does your head hurt?”

“The left side, especially around the temple and eye.” Zel exhaled deeply as his fingers pressed gently against her temple, then circled her eye.

“And your abdomen? Cramping?” He chuckled softly when she stiffened, anticipating his next move. “No, I promise I won’t stroke you there.”

Smythe returned, placing his burdens on the table near the tea, frowning bravely at Wolfgang. Wolfgang showed his teeth, and the little butler scurried out of the room.

“Let me lift you a bit.” Standing, he wedged his hands under her arms, shifting her more upright on the pillows. He pressed the hot water bottle firmly above the juncture of her legs and hips. “Are you comfortable?”

“Yes.” Zel nodded as he closed the curtains.

Wolfgang poured tea and brandy in a cup and raised it to her mouth. “Drink it.”

She pursed her lips, wrinkling her nose. “I think that will make me feel worse.”

“No, it’s better for you than laudanum and it will dull the pain.” Wolfgang pressed the cup edge against her lower lip. “Now be a good patient and take your medicine.”

Zel sipped a little of the fiery liquid, sputtering as it hit her throat. She put a hand to the cup. “Enough.”

“A few more sips, Gamine.”

Reluctantly, Zel complied, feeling a warmth spreading through her chest.

“Now, I need to disturb you one last time.” Urging one more sip of brandy before he set the cup aside, he then pushed her gently forward, removing several pillows, slipping onto the sofa beneath her. She tensed her back, pain shot to her head. “Relax, I’ll not harm you. I can soothe the pain.”

Wolfgang slid a pillow onto his lap underneath her shoulders, another under her head. “There, you’re not even touching me. Now, breathe deep and long.” He smiled into her eyes as she tried to relax into the cushions. His fingers burrowed through her hair to her scalp. “There are pathways of energy throughout the body. When they become obstructed we experience pain and illness. The Chinese can unblock these pathways through application of steady, gentle pressure.” He pressed two spots at both sides of the base of her skull, massaging with tiny, circular strokes.

“Many practitioners use needles.” When her shoulders twitched involuntarily he increased the pressure. “Close your eyes. I use my fingers, not needles. Mr. Yang, father’s butler, an innocent heathen, coerced into Christianity by my missionary father, was a master, an artist.”

Zel sighed as he found a responsive place, farther up her skull. “I cannot believe that—”

“Ssshh, give me your hand.” Wolfgang rested both their hands on her lap by the water bottle, feeling her body relax as he squeezed with a steady pressure at the base of the V between her thumb and index finger. He moved his hand at her head up the back of her skull, rubbing again in small strokes.

“It is amazing. I am feeling relief.”

“Close your eyes and your mouth. Relax into it and you’ll feel even better.” He moved his fingers slowly down the designated points at the back of her head, pausing at each with the tiny circle strokes. Her breathing was strong
and rhythmic as he moved his hand to her ear, pushing and squeezing at selected spots on the lobe and whorls. Her hand lay in his, warm and limp. Her breasts rose and fell slowly as her breathing deepened. Wolfgang ceased the pressure, holding her hand loosely, cradling her head in his palm. In the dim light he studied the clean lines of her face. The stubborn little chin. The full, slightly parted lips. The straight short nose. The high, sharp cheekbones. The elfishly pointed ears. The silky mane of hair. Even closed, he could envision the golden flash of fire in her eyes.

The door creaked, the thin wedge of light from the hall widened.

“Zel? Wolfgang?” Grandmama hesitated beside Zel’s butler, highlighted just outside the doorway, and peered into the room. Spying him, then Zel, she opened her mouth to speak. A visible warmth spread over her face. She smiled, clanging, clamoring wedding bells reflected in her gaze.

Mephistopheles’s misbegotten, if he didn’t hear them too.

Zel watched, through the light drizzle, as Lady Melbourne twirled her umbrella and pointedly guided her young daughter across the street. The women looked through her as if she were invisible. But she did not feel at all invisible. In fact she was certain everyone on the street had witnessed the slight.

“Maggie, I believe I have received the ultimate rejection, the cut direct.” Zel’s legs shook as she blinked back the hot tears gathering around her eyelids and lashes. “This was not supposed to hurt.”

After a housebound week sprinkled with visits from Wolfgang, his grandmother, and Emily, she had been dying to get out on any excuse and a morning shopping expedition seemed ideal. Now she wished she had locked herself away in her room. Zel shook her head. A childish act performed by a silly woman should not bother her so much. She carefully placed one foot before the other, head high. Maggie slid an arm through hers, lending a little stability as Zel’s knees threatened to give.

“We will buy Aunt Diana’s ribbon here.” Zel pushed
into a small Bond Street shop, pleased her voice remained steady, if a trifle high-pitched. Lady March and her niece stood at the counter, pointedly looking in the opposite direction. “Then we will take a hackney home.”

“Grizelda! Miss Fleetwood!” The shrill soprano that could only be Lady Horeton spurred Zel to press doggedly forward. “Come here, my dear, isn’t this a luscious color?” The woman caressed a bolt of brilliant yellow silk with her tiny, perfectly formed fingers, lifting the corner to Zel.

“A perfect color for you, Lady Horeton.” Zel clenched her fists, snagging a fingernail on the soft muslin of her own gown. “My complexion could never withstand it.”

“How are you, my dear? You look a bit pale,” she continued, oblivious to Zel’s attempt to respond. “How is your dear friend, Lord Northcliffe?”

Zel choked, pulling her nail free. “I believe he is well.”

Lady March and her niece stalked out of the shop, nodding slightly to Lady Horeton. Zel must have disappeared again for all the attention paid her, and this was the same Lady March who had made a donation to Aquitaine House only days before. The pretty little debutante on Lady March’s arm twisted her head, wide eyes focused on Zel, obviously grappling with what foul things must have been done to earn such censure.

Zel placed some coins in Maggie’s hand, whispering, “You buy the ribbon. The shopkeeper will probably refuse my money.”

Maggie frowned, opening her mouth to speak. She glanced at Zel, then moved to purchase the length of lavender ribbon.

Zel turned back to Lady Horeton, who openly stared at her. Her hand flew to her face. Lord, could she see the waning bruise on her jaw? The powder should have covered the traces of mottled yellow and brown.

“I haven’t seen you about of late.” The petite blonde still scrutinized her face. Did she see it? Was she looking for
other bruises? “Have you become bored with society so soon?”

“I had duties at home.” She wondered how she could find out what Lady Horeton knew of the last week, and Wolfgang’s new role in her family. If her own brother believed she was Wolfgang’s mistress, would anyone among the ton think better of her? Zel shivered. Only she knew how close it came to being true. “I believe my errands are complete. Good day, Lady Horeton.”

“Good day, Grizelda.”

Taking a deep breath, Zel braved the damp streets, umbrella pulled low over her head, praying to find no more acquaintances perusing the shops. A walk home would be pleasant, but she could not risk any further rejection. Next time she would be prepared, next time she would steel herself, she would not care. But today … today there was not a rescuing hack in sight. She stalked halfway down the block before she thought to see if Maggie followed behind.

“Ned!” At Maggie’s cry, Zel whirled to see a big bear of a man grasp Maggie’s arms.

As Zel dashed back down the street, Ned crushed Maggie to his chest. “You’ll not run from me again, woman.”

“No!” Zel dove at his back as he swaggered away, people scattering from his path. Her impact barely shifted his weight, but he dropped Maggie with a roar and raised his fists.

“Run, Maggie!” Zel attacked wildly with umbrella and feet. The enormous man swung blindly, sending the umbrella flying. She ducked and twisted, coming up under him, her elbow ramming into his stomach. Ned grunted, grabbing her arm at the shoulder, wrenching her about, his fleshy red face only inches from her own. She jerked up her knee. It bounced harmlessly off his tree-trunk thigh. He seized her other arm, yanking her off the ground, shaking her like a limp rag doll.