The Wedding Chase (47 page)

Zel’s thumb rubbed little circles into his palm. “You didn’t kill her.”

“I was responsible for her.”

“You were eight years old.” Zel’s husky alto flowed balmlike over him. “You may have blamed yourself then, but can’t you see now that a child is not responsible for another child?”

He shook his head stubbornly, fighting her soothing tones. “I never should have let her swim so far.”

Zel squeezed his fingers. “I blamed myself for years when my mother died. Tortured myself with thoughts of what I could have done differently.”

“But you were a—”

“Yes, I was a child.” She leaned forward, dusting his brow with cool lips. “Let go of it, Wolfgang.”

“But she left me, you left me. Everyone leaves.” His voice was less than a whisper, little more than a breath. “I don’t deserve to have anyone care about me. So I learned to leave first.”

“Wolfgang, I didn’t leave you.” She rested her cheek at his temple. “I only needed a little time alone.”

“You left me for Robin.”

“I did not leave you for Robin. You pushed me away.” She frowned, pulling a hand free.

“I understand, Zel. You have ties to Robin. Your loyalty is to him.” Wolfgang held tight to her remaining hand, trying desperately to remain calm.

“You speak like I need to make a choice between you.”

“Your choice is already made. I know. But I have no choice.” He looked at her hand, willing her to understand. “I have to arrest him.”

Zel jerked loose her other hand, standing suddenly, toppling the stool. “You’re being an idiot. Robin isn’t guilty.”

He winced under the blow. “Yes, I may be stupid—”

She interrupted, hovering over him. “I’m sorry, Wolfgang. You know I didn’t mean that, you’re not stupid. But you’re wrong about Robin.”

“I wish to God I was.”

“Tell me everything. It must be someone else.”

“Zel, no. Not now. I can’t deal with it now.” He rose, righting the stool. “And it’ll make no difference.”

“You stubborn, arrogant fool. I have a right to know.” She faced him, hands on hips, nostrils flared, anger supplanting compassion.

Wolfgang sat on the stool, drawing close to the keyboard. “No. There’s nothing you can do.”

“This isn’t over.”

“I know.” Fingering through the notes of a ballad, he listened as her footsteps exited the room and receded down the hall. Remarkable how well he’d managed that encounter. He might as well have handed Zel to Robin on a platter.

The white keys blurred. He picked out another melody, a popular tavern song, solemnly humming along with the rollicking tune. He’d not give in, turn tail and run. Whether he deserved her or not, he wouldn’t let her abandon him without a fight.

There was nothing he could do to save Gwen, to stop his father’s hatred, to warm his cold mother, or to make his first wife faithful. Those losses were in the past, memories he would no longer allow to hurt him.

Ignoring a flurry of noises coming from the hall, he played another verse of the song. Zel could hurt him. He had been certain she would. But maybe he was wrong. Maybe the
love he had unknowingly watched grow in her eyes, the love she had named only when sure he couldn’t hear, would be enough.

A footstep sounded in the doorway, he turned eagerly, ready to kiss away Zel’s frown. “Aunt Dorothea? What—?”

“Arthur, shut the door.” Aunt Dorothea watched Wolfgang closely as the thin man behind her quietly shut the door.

Wolfgang stood, eyeing her warily. “Aunt—”

“Stay where you are,
nephew
.” His aunt reached into a large reticule, withdrawing a well-polished dueling pistol. The thin man, whom he now recognized as her butler, Arthur Martindale, turned, holding its twin.

“What in the name of Satan?” He took a step toward her.

“Stop.” She motioned to the sofa with the gun. “Sit down.” She edged closer to Martindale as Wolfgang slowly lowered himself onto the sofa. “Arthur, don’t take your eyes off him for a moment.”

“I don’t under—”

“You don’t understand. No one understands. No one ever understands.” She laughed shrilly. “You never suspected me, a woman, did you? You’ve led a charmed existence, but the fifth time will break the spell. I won’t fail this time.”

“I don’t believe this.” Wolfgang leaned forward in the sofa, hands braced to stand. She aimed the pistol barrel at his chest. “You plan to shoot me in my own home?”

“I am a good shot, but I’m not a fool.” She smiled queerly. “You’re going to have a carriage accident on the cliff road into town. The rain has stopped but it’s wet and dangerous, and you are a very reckless man.”

“But why?” He shifted position on the sofa, eyeing the two guns pointed at him. “What do you have to gain, but a little money? Very little in fact, as the estate follows the male line and will revert to the crown if I die, and my personal fortune is willed to my wife.”

Aunt Dorothea’s features softened, a muted light gleamed in her eyes. “I will be earl of Northcliffe. Not you or some whelp gotten off that Fleetwood woman.”

He choked back a laugh. “You can’t be an earl. You can’t even be a countess.”

“You think because I’m a woman, I can’t be earl?” The bell tones of her voice rang hollowly.

“We both know even your son can’t inherit.”

“But the male line will be gone. You are the last.” She waved the gun at him. “I will petition the prince regent for my son or myself.”

“You’re insane.” He paused, watching her hand tighten around the pistol. “Prinny will never agree. You don’t have enough money to pay his price.”

“But I will.”

“I told you, my fortune goes—” Wolfgang clenched his hands together into one fist. “My God, you’re going to kill her too!”

“You’ve given me no choice. You’ve given her your money and your seed.”

“She’s not carrying my child!”

Dorothea’s voice cracked. “Don’t lie to me. One of your maids told Arthur you two copulate like rabbits. She’s pregnant. I can see it in her eyes.”

“You’re mad—”

“Shut up!” She waived the gun wildly.

He needed to calm her or she’d shoot him before he could formulate a plan of escape. “How did you know to find us here?”

“Arthur saw Grizelda leave last night and as he was discovering her whereabouts this morning you followed after her. You have made it so easy.”

“Your plan will never work. Give it up and I’ll see you’re not hanged.” He shifted his hands.

She glared at him. “I am firstborn. I have influence. It is
my right. You and all the others stood in my way. But not anymore.”

“Oh, God.” He buried his head in his hands, finally realizing the enormity of her madness. “You killed them all, every bloody male in the line—your father, your brothers, and your nephew. All for something you can never have.”

“I can and will have the earldom.” She screeched, then lowered her voice. “I didn’t kill my father. As for the rest, they were a worthless, stupid lot and didn’t deserve the title. Your father was the only one with a brain in his head and he wasted it on God and religion. But I would have killed him too, if he hadn’t had the good sense to die on his own years ago.

“You were supposed to be blamed for the deaths and hanged.” She jerked her head toward the butler. “We are wasting time. Get Grizelda. I want to set up well before dark.”

The door swung open, Zel and Remus swept into the room. “You stopped playing and I heard voices …” When she saw Aunt Dorothea and the pistol, she stopped, hand buried in the shaggy hair at the dog’s neck. “What—”

“Grizelda, dear, how convenient.” Aunt Dorothea directed the pistol at Zel. “Sorry I can’t greet you properly. Sit over there and keep that dog with you.” She indicated the pianoforte stool. “You are just in time to take a carriage ride.”

Wolfgang lurched to his feet. “You—”

“Sit down.” Aunt Dorothea growled. “Or she’ll take a bullet now.”

He sat rigidly on the edge of the sofa. “Leave her out of this.”

Zel stared from Aunt Dorothea to Wolfgang, taking a step toward Wolfgang. “What—”

“Silence! Sit down. Now!” Aunt Dorothea hissed, eyes returning to Wolfgang only after Zel settled herself on the stool. “There will be no heir.”

Wolfgang tried to catch Zel’s eye, but she stared straight ahead, seemingly mesmerized by the pistol in his aunt’s hand. Glancing surreptitiously around the room, he looked for anything usable as a weapon. The fireplace pokers were too far. The vase too small to do any damage. He needed to keep her talking while he worked on a plan. “You hired Pettibone.”

“Pettibone.” She laughed scornfully. “He was a big mistake. A friend of Adam’s, owed him money. He played at footpad and highwayman to pay his debts. But the man’s a fool. Much better to do the job myself.”

“You set the fire.” Zel’s voice registered her incredulity. She seemed in shock, gripping Remus’s neck like a lifeline. “That was you in the hallway.”

“It would have worked, but you came home too early.” Dorothea’s laugh grated against Wolfgang’s teeth. “Or perhaps I was the one too early.” She waved the pistol. “It’s time to go. The carriages should be out front by now. I took the liberty of ordering yours, along with your cloaks.” She tucked the pistol into the folds of her silver silk gown.

“You’ll never pull this off.” Wolfgang stood at the motion of Martindale’s weapon. “My staff know you’re here.”

“The story will go that I followed you into town in my carriage, but got frightened by the bad road and turned back.” She bared her teeth in a parody of a grin. “We will wait and wait in vain for your return. Your crushed carriage and broken bodies will be found tomorrow.”

Movement exploded at his side. He whirled about to watch Remus leap through the air and Zel hurl the pianoforte stool. Remus hit the butler square in the chest. Both bodies toppled to the floor, the pistol clattering harmlessly under a chair. A fraction of a second later the stool slammed into Aunt Dorothea’s left shoulder. Her gun went off. Wolfgang dove over a table and connected with a thud to his aunt’s midsection. She crumbled under him as he wrenched the pistol free.

Footmen and maids scrambled into the room. Wolfgang stood, jerking his aunt up with him, shoving her toward the nearest footman, his voice a tight growl coming from deep in his chest. “Tie her hands and watch her.” He pointed another footman toward Martindale. “Pull the dog off him and tie him too. When they’re secured send for the local constabulary.” He looked about the room, a frisson of fear crawling up his spine. “Zel?”

A faint moan came from beside the pianoforte. Hurling aside a footman and chair, he knelt at her side. Scarcely breathing, Wolfgang ripped the bloody cloth from her shoulder. He yanked off his cravat and swabbed at the wound. The bullet had struck her upper arm. He probed the wound with his fingers. Trying to raise up on her elbows, Zel moaned again. Remus nudged Wolfgang, whimpering softly.

Wolfgang scooped Zel up, holding her tight against his chest. Striding through the door, he shouted over his shoulder. “Send a maid with hot water, clean cloths, and whiskey. Now! Get the doctor!”

The stairs disappeared two at a time under his feet. He kicked open the door to his chambers and laid her on the bed. The blood-soaked fabric of her gown and shift tore easily beneath his hands. He slid off her slippers and pulled the bedclothes over her chest. She stirred as he reexamined the wound.

“Wolfgang. I—”

“Sshh, don’t try to talk, Gamine.” He brushed a finger over her lips. “I’ll take care of you. I think the bullet did little more than nick the skin. It will heal well.”

Two young women brought in the supplies and set them on a table. He nodded a thanks to the departing maids and took a cloth, dipping it in the water. Holding her steady with his free hand, he gently washed the blood from her arm and shoulder.

“You’re a brave woman.” Wolfgang rinsed the cloth and dabbed more at her pale skin, trying to ignore her grimace of
pain. “But foolish. You could have been killed. You did choose a better weapon this time. A stool can do more damage than a reticule or umbrella.”

“I save your damned life,” Zel muttered between gritted teeth, “and you call me foolish and complain about my choice of weapons?”

“Forgive me.” He placed a light kiss on her tight lips. “And thank you, madam wife. But if you ever scare me again like that, I’ll shoot you myself.”

Zel smiled gamely, but her bottom lip trembled.

“I’m going to pour whiskey on the wound—”

“Whiskey? No, you are not.”

“I’ve seen field doctors do it, and there seems to be less fever.” Wolfgang lowered the bedcovers and lifted her, placing a cloth beneath her. “This is going to hurt like hell.”

She cried out and stiffened as the amber fluid trailed down her shoulder, arm, and breast. Watching the tears squeeze out from between her clenched lashes, he felt a swelling in his chest. He pressed a square of cotton cloth to the still bleeding injury, then raised the whiskey bottle to her lips. “Drink a little.”

Coughing down a mouthful of whiskey, she pushed the bottle away. “It’s horrible, why does anyone drink it?”

“It is bad, but it has a few medicinal uses, elf.” Wolfgang tried to hide the shaking of his hands as he set down the whiskey bottle. Sitting beside her on the bed, he drew her slender form carefully into his arms, keeping the compress firm against her arm. “I could use some myself, but I need a clear head.”

Wolfgang sucked in a breath, burying his face in her hair. “When I saw you lying on the floor, your shoulder and chest drenched in blood, I was so afraid.” He ran his lips over her eyes, tasting the salty liquid still clinging to her lashes. “So afraid of losing you. I’ve been afraid from the start of losing you.” He stroked her hair. “I wanted your love but barely believed it was real, let alone something that would
last. I never knew what it meant to have a family’s love. Only my sister.” His grip on Zel tightened. “My sister was an angel, much too sweet for me.”

“You can’t blame yourself for her death.” Zel’s voice resonated soft and low in his ear.

“I know, I was a child.” Wolfgang pulled away slightly, kissing the tip of her nose, looking into the mossy depths of her eyes. “I
was
a child.” He sighed, stretching in surprise at the sudden lightness of his shoulders.