The Wedding Chase (33 page)

Maggie joined his laughter. “I wouldn’t say you’re sunk yet.”

“I caught a rifle ball and came back in no condition to work the stables. Captain asked me to be his valet. I couldn’t believe my ears, but when he sweetened the pot with a promise of my own horse, how could I refuse?” He stopped at a small lily-clogged pond. “I learned the job. It’s easier than training horses at my age. I do it well. Now, tell me more about you.”

“I’ve only worked for Miss Zel about a month.” She meant to be evasive but suddenly wanted him to know the truth. He already knew most of it. “I ran away from my husband. You met him.”

“Shall we sit?” Marmeduke had her settled on a bench beside him before she could reply. His voice when he spoke was hard. “I know. He beat you.”

“I married young. My parents were pleased that a prosperous farmer would want me, with no dowry. The beatings didn’t start right away but he controlled my every move, kept me away from my family and friends.” She took a deep breath and continued. “The first time he hit me was after I smiled at a neighbor in church. The next day he tended my wounds and cried as he begged forgiveness. I wept with relief and forgave him.

“We repeated that little scene often but still I believed that each beating would be the last. It was years before I faced the fact I would die if I stayed. Then I ran away so many times it all blurs together.” Maggie waved her hand, he took it, steadying it with his own firm grip. “He always found me and dragged me back. The beatings got worse. This last time I made it to London, and a woman on the streets told me about Miss Zel, who gave me a safe place to
stay. Several days later when my injuries started to heal, she asked me to work for her.”

Maggie turned, watching the sunlight glint off his thick, white hair. “I was afraid to say yes, even though I wanted the position more than anything. What did I know of being a lady’s maid? But she didn’t care. She took me in and Mrs. Stanfield’s maid, Sally, taught me how to go on. Sometimes I think Miss Zel doesn’t have a lot of need for a personal maid, but she lets me fuss over her and I help around the house too, same as Sally does. And you know, I have a knack for it too.

“I’d do anything for miss.” She kept her tone light but didn’t try to hide the tears in her eyes. “What other maid in London, or the world for that matter, has a mistress willing to battle a brute of a husband for her?”

“She’s a true gem, a worthy mate for the captain.”

“But is he worthy of her?” She queried half in jest, half in earnest.

“Aye, he surely is.”

“Zel? Where are you? Are you hiding from me?”

“Sssh.” Zel beckoned him from a hedge off the moonlit terrace.

Wolfgang strode toward her, grin widening with every step. “Leading me on a merry chase?”

“No, I am avoiding Lord Newton.” She frowned at his even, white teeth, as he laughed. How could he be in such high humor, playful and flirtatious, when just this afternoon he was clinging to her, near tears? She pulled him behind the hedge, groaning. “I let him connive a dance out of me, but I hate to have him touch me, and it’s a waltz.”

“By Satan’s horns, ma’am, I never knew you to be such a craven coward.”

“He refused to take no for an answer. He got Lady Stafford to put his name on my card.”

“The scoundrel. Should I call him out, my lady?” He bowed over her hand.

Zel pulled away her hand. Wolfgang might be teasing her, but she decided it would be unwise to tell him how Lord Newton had crudely whispered to her that he was ready as soon as Northcliffe moved on. The last thing she wanted was for a duel to be fought over her. “There is something about him. I get little shivers down my spine whenever he is near.”

Wolfgang raised his brows. “Should I be jealous?”

“Not those kind of shivers.”

“Are there different kinds?”

“Of course. There are the bad kind that make one nervous.” Zel walked along the path heading away from the terrace. “And the good kind that tickle.”

She was not aware he was so close until his finger ran down the back of her neck, inducing a tiny tremor. His whisper feathered the hairs at her nape. “Which kind was that?”

“If you cannot guess, I’ll never tell.” Zel ducked away, straying farther down the path as the moon slid behind a cloud.

Wolfgang followed, only a step behind. “I think there might be a third kind.” He clasped her arm firmly in his long fingers. “Hold still so I can demonstrate.” He hauled her back against his chest, slipping an arm about her waist as he ran his lips ever so lightly up and down her neck. “Now, I’m not sure, you’ll have to tell me. What kind of shiver was that?”

“Well …” She paused. “It did tickle my neck.”

“Just your neck?”

“Yes.”

His warm lips started at her ear, brushing moonbeam soft across the back of her neck to her shoulder, sliding the sleeve of her gown down her arm. “Now didn’t that tickle go down your spine and end in a warm puddle right about
here?” Wolfgang wedged a hand between them tracing a line lower and lower down the center of her back.

“No.” Zel broke away, scurrying ever farther down the cobbled path, deeper into the garden.

His laughter echoed deep, rich, and very near. “Stop, I haven’t finished my demonstration.” He whipped her about so quickly she lost her balance. He joined her tumble into a fragrant flower bed, taking the force of the fall on his back, shifting her to his chest. She laughed and squirmed as he grazed her ribs and sides with his fingers. The laughter subsided as he rolled her to her back and slid on top of her. His body covered hers, heavy and warm, a blanket of flesh and muscle.

Zel felt oddly bare and cold when he pushed off her. She gazed into his face as he hovered over her, knees and lower legs braced along her hips and thighs, hands at her shoulders. The moonlight was filtered by the trees and flowering shrubbery, too dim to see his eyes clearly, but they seemed backlit, two glowing, silver half-moons surveying her face and form. A shiver coursed the length of her body as if he touched her everywhere at once. The scent of roses filled her nostrils as she watched the shimmering sphere in the sky above dip behind an oak branch. Closing her eyes, she pictured his mouth, hot and mobile, pressing to hers. As if in answer to that invitation his head lowered until his lips met the corner of her mouth.

Perched over her on all fours, he became a wild beast bent on devouring her with his feral mouth. He took her lower lip between his teeth, shaking it gently, releasing it to nibble a line along her upper lip, then following that line with the tip of his tongue. She stirred languidly as he nipped her lobe and laved the swirls of her ear. His mouth and teeth left a trail of little circlets of sensation down her throat, moving to her chest. He burrowed through the valley of her breasts, his chin pushing aside the fabric of her gown as he feasted on the narrow canyon’s inner curves.

Wolfgang lifted his head abruptly, molten eyes on her half-bared breasts. Bending again, he licked her nipple through the thin silk of her gown. Zel shuddered violently as he nudged aside the cloth and took the puckered tip between his teeth, alternately nipping, licking, and suckling until she sighed in relief when he released the tortured flesh to torment its twin.

Slowly, he raised his head again, looking deeply into her eyes, a smile spreading from his silver eyes to his generous mouth. He barked out a rough laugh, arched his back, head high, and howled softly at the full moon.

She stared at him, dazed, for several moments, then answered his smile, whispering his name.

His laugh caressed her gently. “Demonstration complete, an undisputable shiver of the third kind.”

“I don’t understand why you are doing this.” Isadora sounded like a truculent child. “He’s such a fool over her you’ll only force a marriage.”

Newton circled her chair and gave her a scathing look. No wonder Northcliffe had thrown the woman over so quickly. Her charms were not sufficient to overcome the grasping, stupid, all-encompassing self-interest. “Do you think so?”

“She is a nobody, and not even that attractive.”

“You gravely underestimate her attractions, my dear.” He smiled, seating himself on the polished mahogany chair next to hers in the small salon.

She sniffed, her aristocratic nose lifted high. “She’s pretty enough, I suppose, and her figure adequate. But she’s an Amazon, entirely too tall and unfashionable.”

“Not all men care that a woman be a slave to fashion. She is more than pretty and her figure is far beyond adequate.” Newton scanned the length of Isadora, emphasizing
her lack of height. “Many men like a tall woman. Those long legs. But there is more than appearance to consider.”

Isadora frowned. “Men want a beautiful woman on their arm and in their bed.”

“But to hold a man of intelligence, a woman must have more than the latest fashion plates up here.” He leaned over, tapping lightly on her forehead.

“But men hate bluestockings.” She seemed truly puzzled.

“Isadora, there’s little more exciting than the surrender of a woman of intelligence, strong will, and fire.” Pulling a cheroot out, he watched a glimmer of comprehension float over her eyes.

“Oh, I see, you are talking of the chase enhancing the eventual submission.”

He lit the cheroot, drawing deeply of the smoke, exhaling slowly. “In part, dear Isadora, in part.”

She turned her head to avoid his smoke. “But I still don’t understand why you wish to force marriage.”

“I don’t believe I ever said I wished to force a marriage.”

“Then what do you plan?”

“Do you wish Northcliffe happiness?”

“No, but what has that to do—”

Newton cut in. “I wish to muddy an already murky situation.” He flicked the ash off the end of the long cheroot. “Northcliffe and his lady are always together and her brother’s debts are paid, but I’m certain she is still a virgin.”

“I don’t understand,” Isadora whined.

“Neither do I, my dear. That’s the problem.” He laughed sharply. “He could have her now, with or without marriage.”

“Then wouldn’t he be a fool to marry her?”

“That is the very question for which we will soon have an answer.” Newton smiled thinly. “She’s truly a woman on the verge. And your old lover is pushing her over the edge.”

“How can you be so sure?” She pouted.

“After what I saw last night, I’m sure.” He took another drag.

Isadora looked like one of those irritatingly eager little lap dogs. “What did you see?”

“Only a little tête-à-tête in the garden last night.”

“Details, details!” Only her voyeurism could outdo her envy.

“Jealous, my dear? Do you still pine for the man?” He could never resist a dig at her vanity. Isadora couldn’t bear to think a man could ever prefer another to her, while at the same time she wished all the details of his love-play with that other.

Isadora tossed her head arrogantly. “You know he threw me over. I don’t care a lick for him anymore.” Her eyes gleamed. “What did you see?”

“I don’t gossip unduly about ladies, but even with my experience and jaded tastes, I was quite stimulated.”

“So that explains your ardor last night.”

“I suppose it does. There had to be some reason for it.” Newton blew a smoke ring in her face. “My plan tonight requires your assistance. I need you to keep the good vicar entertained and at ready tonight, while I do the same with Lady Stafford.”

“But, what do you think will happen?”

“Everything, my dear. Miss Fleetwood plays Beethoven at the musicale.” He flicked ash at the hem of her skirts.

Isadora stood, shaking her gown. She frowned at him but held her grip on their conversation. “Oh, and what is the significance of that?”

“Watch Northcliffe while she plays. You’ll see.”

“Newton? Lady H?”

“Melbourne,” Newton whispered. “That young pup with his calf love could ruin everything. Keep him occupied tonight too, if you have to sit on his lap. Better yet I’ll give him a job to do. He can betray his love.” He raised his voice as the young fop poked a pointed nose in the half-open doorway.
“Melbourne, come join us. We were just speaking of your favorite subject.”

“Ah? My favorite thubject?” Melbourne sauntered in, striking a pose at the window.

Newton blinked. Gads, he could be blinded by the way that bright purple ensemble reflected the sunlight. “Miss Fleetwood. She is snared in Northcliffe’s net and we are desperately seeking the means to save her.”

“We mutht protect her. How can I help?” Melbourne’s face glowed with pathetic zeal.

“Could you keep a watch on them? Not too close, mind you,” Newton warned. “Let me know if they leave together.”

“Yeth, yeth, then what?”

“You may follow them, if you can do so discreetly. Then return to me with their whereabouts.”

“And then?”

“I’ll handle it from there. Don’t look so crestfallen.” Newton smiled grimly, restraining a laugh. “What happens next could be dangerous. Northcliffe’s not a man to tangle with.”

“But I would fight for her.” Melbourne stood to his full height, straightening his cravat.

“You must stay away from Northcliffe, avoid injury.” Newton exchanged a glance with Isadora. The idiot made her look a scholar. “You must be there to comfort her when all is done.”

Wolfgang closed his eyes, willing them all away, but when he peeked, the crowd remained, eavesdropping on the music Zel played for him alone.

Appassionata
. Beethoven was a man of the flesh. This piece combined with Zel’s fire and physical nearness played on his senses with all the power and drive of her assault on the keys.

He brushed her arm as he reached to turn the page. She
smiled at him, the same sloe-eyed smile she’d given him last night in the garden. The smile that heated him from toes to fingertips. He’d come up in the world this week, almost equal to Beethoven in her passions. He grinned. Could he ask for more?

But the promise of something more lingered within the ocean of green in her eyes. A promise he’d seen before, never comprehending its full meaning. Now part of that meaning was clear. She was his. After her performance he would ask her to be his wife, and this time she would say yes. A damn good thing, at the rate things were going he’d never last the rest of the week. He’d convince her of the wisdom of a special license, waiting a month to read the banns would be unnecessary torture.