The Wedding Chase (41 page)

He stretched a tentative arm across the bed. No Zel. He frowned at the empty pillow, remembering how she’d held him close, stroking his hair. Then when she was sure he slept she whispered those ever so faint words, “I love you.”

She loved him.

How the devil was he supposed to feel about that? Shouldn’t he be happy? It was what he wanted. Then why did he feel like someone had blown a hole through his chest?

How could he build a life with the sister of the man who wanted him dead? The man he should transport or hang. Wolfgang sat up in bed, pain vaulting through his head in relentless waves. Zel would never believe Robin guilty, she would support him to the ends of the earth. Her capacity for loyalty and commitment to Robin was boundless and blind. She might whisper words of love when she thought her husband slept, but that could never compare to the years of almost motherly devotion to her brother. How could less than two months stand up to over twenty years?

Wolfgang had hoped even if Robin was guilty that the payment of his debts would defuse his anger. He stood, holding on to his pounding head. But the debts were not the entire problem. Robin had also been suspicious of Wolfgang’s intentions toward Zel, and for good reason. Now Zel said Robin was drinking and gaming again, and Freddie had some story about wagers at Brooks’s. Zel couldn’t know anything about the wagers or he would have heard.

He rang hard on the bell for Jenkins. Damnation and the bottomless pit! He couldn’t tell Zel the truth. He wouldn’t have Robin arrested, yet, but if there was another attempt on his life, his hand would be forced. Meanwhile he’d wait around to see if he was shot, stabbed, bludgeoned, or poisoned.

Rubbing his forehead, he tried to focus his thoughts. What of Zel’s safety? She’d jump in to protect him if he were attacked, and Robin’s inept assassins could injure her again. He couldn’t win. If he arrested Robin, he’d lose Zel. If he did nothing, both of them could be killed.

There had to be a better answer. He could send her to the country. Wolfgang laughed bitterly. Zel had business at Aquitaine House and was not a woman who would blindly obey her husband anyway. Nor would he want her to be. But
he could stay away from her, keeping the danger to himself. They could stay in London but go nowhere together. He should not share her meals. He would even have to avoid her bed. She’d be safe, he’d go mad. God, it couldn’t be so difficult, most of the ton lived that way. It would also prepare him for the nightmare to come when he had to arrest Robin.

Impatiently Wolfgang endured Jenkins’s attendance to his dress, gratefully drinking the nasty concoction his invaluable valet had learned to make on the Peninsula.

As he eased himself down the stairs, he heard the stately strains of Handel on the ancient harpsichord. Much better hangover accompaniment than Beethoven or that other fellow, Bach.

He walked into the room, standing quietly behind her. Zel stopped, bending until her forehead rested dischordantly on the keys.

“Zel?” He slid beside her on the bench. “What is it?”

She sat upright, slowly, eyes overly bright, voice faint through clenched teeth. “It’s that damn time of month.”

“Why are you playing?” Not waiting for an answer, he took her arm, leading her from the room. “Upstairs you go, to bed.”

On the stairs to her room he sent a young housemaid scurrying for tea. He helped her out of her morning gown, into a silk wrapper, then tucked her under the bedclothes.

“Can you do the Chinese pressure that helped so much before?” She looked up at him, face drawn, lips pinched and white around the edges, eyes wide with shy trust and need. He felt like a gaoler in charge of his own hanging. He could choose his own noose now, or wait for the more deadly one to come when she turned to Robin—and away from him.

“I can’t. I have an appointment.” His voice rang hollow, harsh. He pressed his dry lips lightly on her forehead. “Take some laudanum.”

He walked away, her brittle gasp cracking over him.
Nearly upending the tea tray Maggie carried into the room, he hurried to escape what he would now see in Zel’s eyes. She might come to hate him, but she’d be safe.

“If your darling captain doesn’t mend his ways, and quick, I swear I’ll shoot him with his own dueling pistols.” Maggie’s anger at his lordship spilled over onto his blameless valet.

“Now, Maggie.” Marmeduke soothed, handing her into his little sitting room. “I think you know this is not like him.”

“I don’t know if it’s like him or not.” Maggie tossed her head, feeling guilty for snapping at Marmeduke for the earl’s misdeeds. “But I won’t have him breaking her heart.”

“He’s hurting too.” Marmeduke pulled out a chair.

She frowned at him, placing herself carefully on the indicated seat. “But he’s doing the hurting.”

“Now, don’t frown at me.” He settled a matching chair across from hers. “I don’t control the man.”

“I’m sorry.” She gave him an apologetic smile. “If only he spent some time with her.”

“A man doesn’t live in his wife’s pocket.”

“I know.” She sighed. “In the country they were always together. Her bedchamber was used only as a dressing room. Now, after little over a fortnight of marriage, they are on their way to becoming another cold, fashionable union. Couldn’t you try to talk with him?”

“What about her?”

“I have talked to her.” Maggie smoothed her gown. “Lady Zel is mystified by his coolness and I tell you she is hurt.”

“I’ve seen him act this way in Spain, the night before a big battle.”

“But what big battle is he facing here?”

“I know little and what I do know I’m not at liberty to
share, even with you.” Marmeduke stood, turning from her. “The captain and his lady must live out their own lives. I believe he will come about eventually.”

“I’m sorry.” Maggie rose to stand beside him. “I am being quite the gossip. I hate to see her unhappy, especially when she was so afraid of marriage. And if he doesn’t come about soon, it will be too late to regain her trust.”

“And what of your happiness, princess?” He took her tiny hand in his. “Have you found some contentment with Ned on his way to the New World?”

“I feel a sense of lightness.” She looked at their joined hands. “A lifting of a large burden.”

“He was a big man.” Marmeduke smiled at her chuckle. “If you can fun about it, you must be healing.”

“I believe I am. With him really gone, I am.”

He brought her hand to his mouth, his lips warm and firm against her knuckles. “I’m happy for you.”

“It was due to you.” Maggie’s gaze followed the rough lines of his face.

“It wasn’t just me.” Marmeduke’s vivid eyes caught hers in a look so tender her breath stopped in her chest. “But there is nothing I would rather do than be of service to you.”

She couldn’t draw her eyes away from his, couldn’t think of a word to say. So she stood there, for how long she didn’t know, probably looking for all the world like a dying fish with her mouth gaping, her eyes wide and unblinking.

Marmeduke gave her fingers a little squeeze, his face solemn, scarred lips a steady line across his face. His other hand grazed her jaw, fingertips resting under her chin. “May I kiss you, Maggie?”

The breath rushed from her lungs and her eyelids closed. Her lips still refused to function. She nodded and waited. His lips were as warm on her mouth as they had been on her hand, but now she could taste and smell just a hint of tea and honey. The tip of her tongue eased out of her mouth to sample more of that comforting taste.

His hands dropped, abandoning her hand and chin. The sense of loss must have shown when her eyes flew open, for with a groan, Marmeduke wrapped his arms about her completely. He pulled her against his chest, lips pressing to hers. She found comfort in his embrace, but there was more. The bitter fear and loneliness she had lived with for so many years seemed to fade, nudged aside by the sweetness of his kiss.

He released her lips, keeping her nestled in his arms, her head at his shoulder. Maggie held on to him, and that feeling of warmth and safety, tea-with-honey comfort, spiked with just a splash of the finest aged spirits.

Zel threw herself onto an overstuffed sofa, wiping her brow with a less than adequate lace handkerchief. “This thing is worthless. I suppose real ladies don’t perspire.”

Emily flopped down beside her. “You don’t need to do this, Zel. Your husband would give you the money to hire a regular housekeeper, in fact a whole army of servants, for Aquitaine House. We could use more footmen for everyone’s safety and you could spend your time organizing, writing, fund raising. Any of the things you prefer to housekeeping and do much better.”

“I’ve already spent my allowance on furnishings and supplies. I will not ask him for more.” She looked about the large high-ceilinged room. The old stone house was shaping up nicely. It hadn’t looked like much when they started the repairs and cleaning months ago, but now one wing was filling with women and this wing would soon be ready for habitation. “Besides, it will feel good to go home bone tired tonight.”

“Zel, what is wrong?” Emily grasped her arm, refusing to let her turn away. “You’ve been mooning about for days now. Is something amiss between you and Northcliffe?”

“Why should anything be amiss? After all, we are newlyweds.”
Zel stared stubbornly ahead. If she looked into Emily’s sympathetic eyes, she’d explode into tears.

“You’re a horrible liar.” Emily threaded an arm around her shoulders. “Spill it out.”

“I will not cry.” Zel blinked back the tears and let her anger rise in her throat. “He may not beat me, but he’s as big a fool as any man alive.”

“I see marriage has not altered your opinions.” Emily gave her a little squeeze. “I should be happy for that, but I had hoped it would alter your too-firm hold on your emotions.”

“It did. And my emotions were stomped into the ground.” If she could keep her back stiff and her face tight with anger, the burning moisture at the back of her eyes wouldn’t flow.

Emily rubbed at the back of her head in tiny circles, almost the way Wolfgang had, what seemed ages ago, and then refused to do only a se’ennight before. The tears seeped out between Zel’s tightly closed lids. “Damn him.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being angry or sad or both.”

Zel swallowed a sob, but her voice cracked. “You told me it was good to feel … well, I followed your advice. I handed him my heart … he threw it out with the rest of the refuse.”

“I thought he cared for you.” Emily clasped her hand. “How could that change days after marriage?”

“I foolishly told him I loved him. I thought he was asleep or I never would have said it.” Zel stood and walked to the window, staring at the traffic parading up and down the busy Kensington Street. “He never asked for my love, clearly it was not what he wanted of me. We would both be happier now if I had just become his mistress.”

“Zel Fleetwood!” Emily jumped to her feet, glaring at her friend, adding almost as an afterthought, “Hardwicke.”

“I don’t mean that, Emily. I could never live that way.” She rubbed her eyes. The tears had stopped, dried up, absorbed by the arid hollowness inside. “If only I hadn’t started to believe …”

“Have you ever seen a longer face?”

“Only on his horse.”

“I’ve had enough of your clever repartee.” Wolfgang threw down his cards, glaring first at his friends, then in general about the shabby tavern. “And I’m bored to tears of this inane card game.”

The duke of Ridgemont lifted his eyebrows to their huge comrade seated across the table. “Freddie, we need to find a way to amuse the man. He’s bored with boxing, shooting, cards, drinking, theater, opera, driving, racing, and the conquering heroes’ return. Lord, he’s a hero himself with a string of ribbons and medals, even if his daring military exploits were years ago. But he’s bored with that, too. What’s left?”

“Hunting.” Sir Frederick Ransley added his favorite. “But this wolf has never been keen on the hunt.”

“He just prefers hunting two-legged creatures. That’s it. Fornicating! His specialty. It’s off to the Wilson sisters’ for us.” Rafael laughed at the scowl on Wolfgang’s face. “With all these late nights with the boys, Wolf, you must be in need.”

Wolfgang lurched to his feet, leaning over the plain, sturdy table, hands braced on the edges. “Lucifer’s hairy back! Raf, keep your bloody nose out of my affairs.”

Raf didn’t move, but looked coolly into Wolfgang’s face. “But, my dear Wolf, that is precisely the problem. You have no affairs into which I may stick my nose.”

“And I won’t.”

“So, the rake becomes the faithful husband.” Rafael dramatically
wiped his eyes with his handkerchief. “I’ve seen it before, but it’s still a mournful sight.”

“A faithful husband, if I have a marriage left.” Wolfgang flopped back into his seat.

Frederick eyed him over the rim of his glass. “You won’t have a marriage left if you never see your wife.”

“Or, if I have to hang her brother or ship him off to Australia,” Wolfgang murmured.

“Not
if
you have to, Wolf, but when.” Raf leaned back in his chair, tucking the handkerchief back into his waistcoat. “You’re foolishly endangering yourself by refusing to act.”

“We’ve bowed to your wishes, but if you don’t do something soon, one of us will.” Freddie gulped down his whiskey.

“Stay out of it.” Wolfgang growled. “I’ll do what I need to do.”

“But
you
are doing nothing.” Raf, as usual, was not about to let him off the hook. “As your friends we are obligated—”

“You are obligated to do nothing, unless I ask you. And I’m not asking.”

“You’re taking no action to save your life.” Rafael poured himself a drink of brandy, motioning to Wolfgang, who shook his head. “You’re not drinking, you’re not gambling, you’re not bedding your wife or anyone else. Jesu, don’t say you’re preparing to take religious orders. My heart couldn’t bear it.”

“You didn’t mention Freddie’s second favorite pastime, tavern brawls.” Wolfgang glanced from Raf to a couple of rough characters across the whitewashed room, harassing a pretty barmaid. “A sport I’m dangerously close to initiating. We could get it going then slip out before much damage is done.”