“I can face it.”
“The devil.” Wolfgang dropped her hands and stood, one hand rubbing his brow. “Think. Think what Lady Stafford saw. Think what she will tell.”
“But we …” She straightened her spine. “I mean … well, we did not finish.”
“Zel, put the pieces together.” He hovered over her. “You were on your back on this settee, skirts up to your hips, bodice down to your waist. I was on top of you with my shirt and pantaloons open. Lady Stafford doesn’t even need to embellish.”
“But you said this was a fast crowd.” She looked up hopefully. “Surely they will not care—”
“Even the fast crowd draws the line somewhere.” He frowned at her. “It just doesn’t wash to be discovered by the local vicar making love on the sofa in your hostess’s salon. The story will be spinning about London within hours. Your days of doing charity work will be over.”
“Lord.” Zel slumped into the cushions, head in hands, the reality of the situation hitting her like a blow.
Wolfgang slipped onto the settee, hands on her shoulders. “If we marry now, there will be some scandal, but it will die in time. I can absorb most of the blame. It’s my fault anyway. I can’t believe I allowed this to happen.” He lifted her chin with his knuckle. “Hellfire, it may even clean up my reputation. People will say he seduced the sweet thing, but he did right by her, made a proper marriage of it.”
She gave him a ghost of a smile, squaring her shoulders, still too dazed to think clearly. “What do we do from here?”
“Zel, this will work, I promise.” He brushed his lips over her forehead. “I’m sorry, but believe me, I didn’t plan things to happen this way. I lost my head.”
Knowing he did not carry all the blame, she sighed, releasing some of her anger for him and replacing it with blame for herself. She didn’t plan for things to happen this way either. “We both lost our heads.”
“We’ll ride this out together.” Wolfgang traced the hollow of her cheek with his long fingers. “I’ll head out on Ari at first light and put Rafael to work on a special license. Then I’ll see my solicitor to draw up a settlement.”
“Settlement?”
He took her hand. “Yes, I plan to settle an amount on you that will allow you complete financial independence if anything happens to me. I’ll also provide you with a generous allowance.”
Zel ran her thumb lightly over the back of his hand. “But you’ve already paid Robin’s debts. And I do not even have a shilling for a dowry.”
“Yes, Robin’s debts. This settlement is for you. Maybe it can help you feel less trapped in this marriage.”
“But—”
“I want to do this.”
She met his eyes and nodded her assent.
“Good.” He squeezed her fingers. “While I’m in London I’ll meet with your father and contact the other relations. You take the carriage to London then meet me at Cliffehaven.”
“I suppose there will be enough time to gather my possessions and talk to Aunt Diana and my friend Emily?”
“Bring them with you, bring anyone you wish. Plan to be at Cliffehaven day after tomorrow, and we’ll wed the following day. No, it’s the Queen’s Tea and Grandmama and Mother will have to be there, so the wedding will have to wait one more day.”
“The Queen’s Tea!” Zel rested her head wearily on his shoulder. The room seemed to be spinning, she felt dizzy from the speed with which this was happening. “Lord, every woman in London will be gossiping about us.”
“Grandmama will defend us.” He stroked her hair.
“Your family will be furious, put upon to produce a wedding with no advance warning.”
Wolfgang groaned. “You’ll have to meet my mother and older sister. Don’t worry, Grandmama will take charge, keep them in line.” His lips twitched. “She’d rebuild Prinny’s Pavilion in a day if she thought it’d get me married. And she adores you.”
“Your sister?”
“I have an older sister, a cold witch like my mother. Try to ignore her. Grandmama will help.”
“She is a sweet old woman. What would we do without her?”
He laughed. The rector clucked at them. Wolfgang smiled at the rector good humoredly, then turned back to Zel. “Don’t ever let her hear you call her old. But, she’ll be beyond pleased that you’ll be my wife.”
“Wife,” Zel mused, lifting her head to meet his eyes. “How strange it sounds.”
“It won’t be so bad.” He fingered a stray lock of her hair. “Give it a chance, you’ll come to like it.”
Newton surveyed the card room at Brooks’s. A little early for the usual crowd, but a good enough time to start collecting on his wagers. He’d make a decent sum, too bad so few had been willing to bet against him. He pulled up a chair, settling himself down with a few regulars, Melbourne close at his elbow.
“Time to pay up, old fellows.”
“Pay up?” Southerby cocked a grizzled brow.
“Northcliffe brought his fox to ground.” Newton smiled smugly.
Melbourne sniffed. “Not right to bandy her name about.”
“The bluestocking surrendered?” Rutherford boomed.
“Yes, but the hunter was caught in his own snare.”
Southerby raised his other brow. “Do say more, Newton.”
“Suffice it to say the pair were caught in flagrante delicto on the sofa of Lady Stafford’s salon.” Newton modulated his tone to be heard at the neighboring tables. “Northcliffe played the gentleman and offered for her. They’ll be married within days at his main seat near Winchelsea.”
“So the slippery snake is caught.” Rutherford held his round stomach in and roared. “It’s what he gets for dipping his quill in a chaste inkwell.”
“Mith Fleetwood ith a lady,” Melbourne interjected.
“Well, yes, she will be.” Rutherford clapped Melbourne soundly on the back. “Lady Northcliffe, that is.” He dissolved into another round of laughter while Melbourne grew steadily redder.
“I don’t believe it. Mith Fleetwood would never …”
Newton smiled at his featherbrained minion. “I’m sorry to knock her off the pedestal, Melbourne, but you know I saw them with my own eyes.”
“Better keep your tongue when Northcliffe’s about,” warned Southerby. “The man’s a loose screw. Fought duels over a mistress or two and always wounded his man. Likely to kill over his wife.”
“Never dueled over the first one.” Rutherford piped in, dissolving into peals of laughter again. “Killed … her instead!”
Newton allowed a little smile to curve his lips. “Northcliffe doesn’t know of the wagers?”
“No one breathed a word of them to him after one night when he got a mite testy over the gel’s reputation.” Southerby swallowed a healthy dose of port. “And the man never looks at the betting books.”
“Well, I do watch the books, so pay up.”
Rutherford grumbled. “I’m not sure I like this. Marrying her ain’t the same as bedding her, you know.”
“True, it often is not.” Newton pulled out a cheroot. “But take it from me, in this case the bedding came first, even if it was on a sofa.”
“It must have been built by a deranged fairy.” Zel peered, transfixed, out the carriage window.
“Let me see.” Emily pushed her aside, pressing her face to the glass. “Lud!”
“What in the world! Move!” Aunt Diana squeezed in. “Oh! I’ve never seen the like.”
“Damn, Remus.” Zel pushed the dog back to the floor.
“Watch your mouth, dear.”
Zel jockeyed for a place at the window, completely entranced as the coach drew nearer the castle—no, manor—no, cottage—no, mansion, no—she hadn’t the slightest idea what one would call Wolfgang’s country home.
Cliffehaven was like a stew—separate pieces a cook would combine in a palate-pleasing conglomeration. At first sight she wasn’t sure it worked, but as they progressed up the long drive sudden
ly it coalesced. The parts all came together and she liked the result.
It obviously began with an ancient castle, two towers still peaked near the center of the assemblage. Then every one hundred years, or thereabouts, someone must have gotten the urge to expand, and constructed an addition in the mode of the time. Not being an avid student of architecture, she didn’t recognize all the styles, but she knew the stucco and timber of Tudor, the squared brick of Georgian, and the pillars of Palladian. And somehow they all gracefully, even playfully, intertwined, encircled by sections of formal and wild gardens.
“It suits him.” Aunt Diana smiled.
“Who? Northcliffe?” Zel queried, scratching Mouse’s ears.
“And I think it will suit you.” Emily reclined on the cushions beside Zel.
Zel grimaced at her. “I admit it is intriguing. I shall enjoy exploring and learning architecture at the same time.”
“I suppose you’ll have some time to explore.” Aunt Diana remained fixed to the window. “I wish you were taking a wedding trip. It would be a good way to, ah, solidify your marriage.”
“I have work on Aquitaine House and Northcliffe has a bill in Parliament. We will return to London in a week or less.” Zel pushed a few strands of hair off her brow. “Besides, I’m not sure either of us wants a great deal of time alone together.”
“Zel Fleetwood, you can be such an idiot.” Emily chuckled, rolling her eyes. “I think your husband-to-be will want to spend a great deal of time alone with you.”
“Oh, that.” Zel’s neck and cheeks warmed while she buried her face in Remus’s furry back.
“Don’t sink this marriage before it has begun.” Emily’s tone turned serious. “Don’t let your father kill it. You’ve already admitted to me you had decided to marry him before the incident. Give yourself a chance for some happiness.”
“This just is not the way to start a marriage.” Zel lifted her head, rubbing her temples vigorously. “I know Wolfgang is not like my father, but sometimes I cannot help being afraid.”
Emily laid her hand on Zel’s shoulder. “For once in your life, don’t try to control everything. Let things happen.”
“Control everything? I do not try to control everything.”
“How can I say this?” Emily paused. “Think of marriage as playing a Beethoven sonata. There are strong elements of control and discipline, but there comes a point with the true artist when the music takes over, has a life of its own.”
“I’m not sure how this applies to marriage?” Zel looked closely at her friend.
Emily gave her a quick hug, landing a kiss on her cheek. “Oh, Zel, for such an intelligent woman you can be so thickheaded. Just promise me you’ll relax a little and at least not try to make the marriage fail.”
“Come what may, we’re here and with plenty of time to rest before dinner,” Aunt Diana pronounced as the coach stopped before a wide, columned entryway. “Zel, hold that animal back. We can’t have him assaulting a new relation. Speaking of relations, don’t look now but there’s an older female version of Northcliffe standing in the doorway.”
“Northcliffe’s aunt, Dorothea Clayton—” Zel began, but Remus decided the woman’s plain pewter gown would look better with a paw print design and bounded up the stairs. Wolfgang’s top-lofty aunt landed hard on her bottom before Zel pulled the hound off. “Forgive me …”
The butler Zel remembered from Wolfgang’s town house bent to help the disgruntled lady to her feet, sneaking a wink at Zel. “At your service, m’lady.”
“Oh, McDougall, do not rush it. I am not m’lady yet.” Remus licked the massive Scotsman’s hand. “Thank God, he likes you. Could you take charge of him until we settle in?”
“With pleasure, m’lady.” He waved footmen into motion to handle baggage, horses, and coaches, while he wedged his fingers firmly into Remus’s collar.
“Upstart fortune hunter,” Aunt Dorothea mumbled. “No better than she ought to be, already familiar with the butler.”
Zel ignored the woman, concentrating on getting her small party, including the second coach containing Maggie, Sally, and Emily’s maid, Pru, into the house.
Dorothea straightened, a sharp, hard laugh tearing from her throat. “Do not expect people to forget your scandalous behavior soon, and this too-hasty wedding. You were the talk of the Queen’s Tea. Even Lady Darlington couldn’t save you. Hardwicke should never have been made earl and you are certainly no countess.” She turned abruptly and stalked up the stairs.
“Ignore her,” McDougall advised. “You’re welcome here. The captain will introduce you to the servants later. I told them what kind of lady their new mistress is.”
“I am not sure if I should be pleased or dismayed.”
“Pleased for sure, m’lady.” The brazen fellow winked again and she felt strangely at ease. Wolfgang’s retainers were not the conventional sort, but that didn’t surprise her. “Aye, here’s the captain now.”
Zel whirled about as Wolfgang swung off his huge chestnut and raced up the stairs. He pulled her into his arms, kissing her firmly on the mouth, releasing her to address the broadly grinning McDougall. “Is Miss Fleetwood’s party settling in?”
“Of course, Captain.” McDougall sounded mildly insulted that his efficiency could be doubted.
“Where’s Hecate? I think we need to carefully introduce her to that beast you’re restraining.” As if in response to the question, the big gray cat rounded the corner into the entryway. Wolfgang bent to pick up the animal, just as Mouse spotted her. The cat looked haughtily down at the hound, with unblinking yellow eyes. Remus whined, then sprang at cat and master. McDougall moved quickly, his hand at the collar firm. Mouse fell back exactly where he’d taken off.
Zel stroked the dog’s head and neck. “No, the kitty is not for you.”
Wolfgang chuckled. “Kitty? I don’t believe Hecate’s ever been called a kitty. She’s rumbling fiercely as any lioness.”
“I hoped at least one of them would be calm. She looks fine to me.”
“She’s ready, positively itching, for a fight. Every hair and claw is on end. This little sorceress likes her foes much bigger than herself, like another enchantress I could name.” He smiled warmly and turned back to the butler. “Take Miss Fleetwood and her, er, dog to her room. I’ll take Hecate to the library.” He reached into his pocket, drawing out a small battered package, presenting it to Zel with a bow, his dimple flashing. “A little prenuptial gift. Open it upstairs.”
Zel took the package, brushed her lips over his cheek, and dashed after the departing butler.
Her rooms suited her taste, done in emerald and sapphire tones, the furniture in cherry wood, everything massive but elegant. McDougall indicated her sitting room and dressing room, and the door adjoining the master’s suite with a key in the lock.
“Tell Maggie to settle in before she attends me. I believe I will have a nap.” She flung herself onto the curtained four-poster bed as McDougall stepped from the room.
Zel tore at the wrapping of the package and out spilled her drawers. Of all the nerve. Shaking them out, she caught a flash of light. She balanced the ring between her finger and thumb, watching as the brilliant marquis sapphire caught the rays of sunlight glinting through the window. A scrap of paper lay half-concealed inside the wrapping, the handwriting so neat and even she doubted it could be Wolfgang’s.
“A relic of our unholy passion, surrounding a prayer for its endlessness. W.”
She read the note again, aloud, laughter gurgling up from her throat. Maybe life with Wolfgang wouldn’t be so bad. Then again … She sighed, slipping the ring on her finger.
“Rub a little oil in my shoulders, Maggie.” Miss Zel sat straighter in the bath, as Maggie reached around her for the scented oil. “I feel tight all over.”
“But the ceremony went well.” Maggie pinched and stroked the tense muscles, relieved the deed was done, her mistress at last a married lady. Somehow she feared there’d be some last-minute m
ishap.
“The ceremony went smoothly enough. The breakfast, however, was a complete disaster.” Miss Zel sighed, leaning into Maggie’s hands. “I wish we could forego dinner, but it’s a long ride back to London, so nearly everyone is staying tonight.”
“What happened?”
“Wolfgang’s aunt insulted me constantly, his cousin leered, his mother played queen, Aunt Diana dithered about, Father and Robin downed a cellarful of champagne, and,” she paused for breath, “Wolfgang and his grandmama bristled and growled at everyone, hackles up like Remus looking for a battle.” She splashed water on her chest and neck. “If it were not for Emily and Wolfgang’s friends, Ridgemont and Ransley, I would have taken the first coach back to London.”
Maggie jerked upright when the adjoining door opened. Lord Northcliffe stalked in, satin dressing gown draping bare legs and chest, looking for all the world like some reckless god come to earth, the kind in those Greek stories Miss Zel was forever reading.
“You may leave, Maggie.” His voice was as hard as his handsome face.
“Yes, m’lord.” She readied miss’s towel and dressing gown, but his lordship was already shedding his robe and reaching for his new wife. Maggie dropped an oil bottle. The man wasn’t wearing a stitch. And he seemed to have forgotten she was even in the room.
“I need to dry off, Wolfgang, I’m cold and wet.”
Maggie scurried for the door.
“Fine, I’m hot and dry.”
Water splashed as Maggie grasped the door latch. When she yanked the door wide a sizzle like bacon slapping a hot griddle hit her ears. Face burning, she stumbled through the door. A flash of gray whipped past her feet. She turned back toward the room, toppling on her knees as a solid form smacked her in the back, leaping over her shoulders.
“Remus,” Maggie called, but the huge beast could no more hear her than sprout wings and fly.
Cat and dog barreled headlong for the two naked figures by the bed. “Lord.” Maggie prayed for divine assistance and closed the door.
She stood motionless outside. His lordship swore fluently, Miss Zel’s voice was a little softer, every other word either Wolfgang or Mouse. Glass broke, wood cracked. Maggie knocked tentatively at the door.
The Wedding Chase Page 27