The Wedding Chase (39 page)

“Fancy man?” Ned laughed loudly. “My mistake. Not with that ugly face. Get out of my way. I’m here for my wife.”

“How could you find me here?” Maggie stood her ground.

“Weren’t too hard.” Ned grasped her arm. “Everybody in town’s talkin’ about that wild mistress of yours and her new husband, the earl. The very ones I ran into in London.”

Jenkins pushed Maggie behind him. “Leave now! She’ll go nowhere with you.”

“I say she’ll come.” Ned swung a beefy fist.

Jenkins dodged it easily. “Maggie, get back.” He tugged up his sleeves. “The man needs to learn a lesson or two.”

Ned drew back his arm, but Jenkins stepped out of range before the huge man could plant his next blow. The valet quickly jabbed the giant on a jowly cheek and circled wide.

“Marmeduke, take care.”

“Marmeduke?” Ned bellowed, cheeks bright red. “That ain’t no man’s name.” A fist glanced off his chest, as Jenkins landed a facer square onto Ned’s nose. “Eeow, you mangy dog.” He shook his head. Blood splattered on Jenkins’s white vest and cravat.

Jenkins pranced around Maggie’s husband, teeth bared. “A little harder isn’t it, beating up a man?”

“Ain’t none of your affair what I do with my wife.” Ned growled, breathing hard.

“I’ve made it my affair.” He continued to whirl about the big oaf.

“Oh! Please!” Maggie stepped between the two sparring men.

“No, Maggie!” Jenkins groped for her, off balance. Ned moved in with surprising speed, fist hammering into his mouth. He bent, spitting out the blood into his hand. Two hard little objects spewed out with the bright red liquid.

His teeth. The bastard had cost him his teeth.

Straightening, Jenkins held his fists high, pitching well-aimed blows in his opponent’s face. Ned waved his arms about wildly, failing to connect a single punch.

Jenkins beat a rapid tattoo into Ned’s jaw and cheek. He could see the man’s eyes begin to glaze as he nailed a final blow to the chin, then watched the massive form crumble to the pebbled walk. “Get a few footmen and some rope. Quickly, Maggie.” As she ran up the pathway he surveyed
the giant brute laid out before him. If he had the money, he’d ship the beast off to the most untamed corner of the world.

“What did you bag, Jenkins? Looks like a big one.” The captain was at his shoulder, dressing gown and hair flapping in the breeze. “Your mouth!”

“I’m fine. Sorry to get you up, Captain.” He gestured to the recumbent form. “But Maggie’s husband found us.”

“You did good work, but I’m afraid a broken nose and a few bruises won’t keep the man away.” The captain pushed his hair off his brow. “Maybe I can pay him off.”

“He doesn’t deserve payment for his brutality.”

“Do you want Maggie free and safe or her husband treated justly? Unless we intervene the courts will return her to him.”

“I see your point, milord.”

“Don’t go getting all stiff and formal on me.” The captain sat on a little stone bench. “Three letters should do it. One to Harcourt to book this fellow passage to the New World, on one of his fine frigates. The second to my agent in Canada to purchase a small farm.” He stretched out long legs. “The third to the local magistrate swearing out a complaint for assault and theft.”

Jenkins smiled. “I think that will hold him well and guarantee he won’t return.”

Three footmen emerged from the house following Maggie. Lady Zel dashed out behind them, trying to keep her dressing gown closed over bare legs, her ever-present wolfhound at her side.

“Zel, I asked you to stay inside.” The captain frowned briefly at his wife, scanned the unconscious man on the ground, then turned to Maggie. “Maggie, I believe your husband has decided to become a Canadian.”

* * *

“You’ve been shamefully neglecting your other lover.”

Zel nearly fell off Wolfgang’s knee, spilling deep purple burgundy on his formerly immaculate cravat. “Lover?”

He took the wineglass from her hand, cuddling her closer. “Herr Beethoven, of course.” She felt his lips on her ear. “You haven’t time or stamina for a third.” He licked at the tip.

She sighed. “I hope one day I will become accustomed to that wicked tongue of yours.”

“Ma’am, I sincerely hope not.”

And he deftly demonstrated some of the reasons why his hope was the more likely of the two. Zel wrapped her arms around him, responding warmly to the pressure of his lips on her mouth. But the warmth was not limited to her lips nor even her skin. It pervaded her entire being. She no longer felt embarrassment at the abandonment with which she gave herself to him. It seemed right, as if she belonged in his arms, in his bed, in his life.

She sighed, pushing him away. “We must stop for just a few minutes. I wish to talk seriously, Wolfgang.”

He gave her the look of a boy who had lost his last plaything. “But I was being serious.”

Zel pried off his arms and shifted onto the cushions of the settee beside him. “We’ve been married ten days now. I believe it is time to return to London.”

“Is the honeymoon over already?”

“I hope not.” She took his hand, squeezing his long fingers. “But the world goes on without us. I must attend to Aquitaine House and you have a bill in Parliament.”

“Debate on that bill has begun.” Wolfgang bit at her knuckles. “I do need to be there. I’ve won a few supporters but I need many more to give the bill a prayer. We should also appear at some of the fetes honoring the return of the heroes.”

“We shall take London by storm, Wolf.” Zel laughed. “If anyone will receive us.”

“People will receive us, elf. We’re a nearly respectable married couple now. And not all political circles are such sticklers.” He sucked on her thumb. “Look at Lady Holland, even a divorce couldn’t destroy her. You’d like her and she you.”

“If you are sure we would be accepted, I might enjoy a political dinner or two.” His lips were soft and pliable around the knuckle of her thumb.

“Gossip dies quickly. Remember we’re married. We are the earl and countess of Northcliffe, and we are very wealthy. Most of the ton will embrace us with open arms.” Wolfgang stroked hermuslin-covered back. “And to play our parts, you must spend a little money, jewels, gowns, accessories.”

“I do not need a lot.”

“Zel, I have the money, the merchants and tradesmen need the work, and your aunt’s castoffs are close to fifteen years old. Then there are your undergarments. They’re so hideous I can’t wait to get them off you.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t get any.”

Wolfgang kissed her neck. “That would suit me just fine.”

“I’m sure it would until I caught an inflammation of the lungs. Wolf, I’ve never spent freely. I do not, know if I can.”

“We’ll find you a new and struggling, but clever, modiste, a brilliant jeweler with twenty children to support, and a war-wounded shoemaker. And just think of all you could buy for Aquitaine House.” He fingered the neck of her gown. “Will that help you spend more freely?”

Chuckling, she trailed little kisses along his strong jaw line. “Indeed, my rich and gracious lord.” She pulled the leather thong from his hair. “Shall we retire for the evening?”

“Are you hinting at something, Gamine? I had hoped you’d read aloud to me.”

“Not hinting, demanding.” Zel stood, hauling his unresisting
form to his feet. “I don’t wish to read tonight. Besides, you never take your turn.”

His lips twitched. “Literature be damned. I have a sportin’ wife. I’ll find Hecate. You settle in Remus and I’ll meet you upstairs in five minutes.”

The book room door stood ajar. The rumble of masculine voices drifted into the hallway. Wolfgang was closeted with his secretary, as he had been on several occasions since their return to London the day before. Zel should leave and approach him later, but this matter concerned Mr. Radison too.

She silently pushed the door open and slipped through. Both men bent over the desk, Wolfgang’s dark head with the silver flash a stark contrast to his secretary’s shiny, pink dome fringed in light brown.

“Now these figures show the income from Cliffehaven over the last quarter.” Radison’s soft monotone droned, as his finger traced lines in a large open book. “This column is the outlay for improvements.”

“Just tell me.” Wolfgang’s tone carried a sharp edge. “Am I laying out too much money or is the place turning a profit?”

“Captain,” Radison responded patiently, “you asked me to show you—”

“I don’t know why either of us bothers. We know it
looks little better than hen scratchings to me.” He shoved the ledger at Radison and stood abruptly, almost toppling his chair. “Why I never get used to it—” He broke off, eyes on Zel in the doorway, a slow flush staining his neck and face.

“I, ah, needed to talk …” The words stumbled from her mouth.

“Radison, leave us.” Wolfgang sank back into the chair, staring at a little carved centaur on the lacquer desk before him.

Looking at his unusually slumped shoulders, the pieces fell into place. She remembered only seeing him read once, that day shortly after they’d met, when she’d come upon him mumbling over a letter. Too aware of his physical presence at the time to note it, she now realized his low voice had stumbled, hesitated, and he’d quickly put up the letter as he became aware of her. And there were all the times he had avoided reading words or figures. He refused to look at the accounting of Robin’s debts. He memorized the play at the Staffords’ house party with Jenkins’s assistance. The nights since their marriage when she read aloud, he wouldn’t take a turn, flattering her with comments on how lovely her voice was and how he could listen to her for hours.

“I’m sorry, Wolfgang.” Zel moved toward him.

“Why should you be sorry? It’s my problem.” He turned away, his fist tightening over the jade centaur. “The only thing you have to be sorry about is your marriage to an idiot.”

“Do you think I have grounds for annulment?” she teased, astounded by the pain in his eyes when he whirled about to face her. Kneeling beside him, she took his hands in hers. “I’m sorry, that was a cruel joke.”

“I don’t know what made me think I could keep it from you.” Wolfgang’s eyes were directed at their joined hands.

“There is no need to keep it from me.” She stroked his
tapered fingers. “Maybe I could help, I have tutored several women who had difficulty with reading and mathematics.”

“What’s wrong is beyond mere difficulty. I’ve had these problems all my life.” He slumped into the silk-and-lacquer chair. “Mathematics may as well be Egyptian hieroglyphics, and the written word is little better. Reading aloud is the only way I can concentrate enough to follow the words at all, and even then they dance about the page and my attention wanders.”

“Did no one try to help you?”

“My father and all my teachers and tutors tried to beat it into me. I was called wild, undisciplined, even evil.” He raised his head, voice a faint whisper, but his eyes did not meet hers. “My father, the genius religious scholar, hated me. He couldn’t believe he spawned an imbecile. He ridiculed and abused me. I only wanted to please him.” Wolfgang twisted, pulling at her fingers. “I tried, but I could barely sit still in my chair, I couldn’t attend to my work for more than minutes at a time. And it made little sense when I did attend anyway.”

“You are not an imbecile, far from it,” Zel tried to reassure him, but he continued as if he hadn’t heard her.

“I was always in one scrape or another. Even now I act before I think.” He laughed harshly. “You know that better than most.” He weakly attempted to push her away as she rose and planted herself firmly on the arm of his chair. “I should have stayed in the army. That was the only place my recklessness has ever been appreciated. You get medals for it, plus I understood the maps and strategy and I always had aides to read the orders. If it wasn’t for all that damned getting shot at.” His eyes darkened. “And watching my men die.”

She stared at him, unsure of how to respond. “It must have been horrible.”

Wolfgang shrugged and turned away.

Zel tried to keep her voice light, but she felt a dull ache
in her chest for the pain of the little boy and the man. “How did you survive all those years of school, even university?”

“It’s funny I even wished to stay—but horrible as it was, it was preferable to home.” Wolfgang sat erect, his hand moving restlessly over her hack. “I never would have survived if not for Raf and Freddie. They supported me through everything. They read my lessons to me and luckily most exams were oral.” He tugged at her chignon. “I could have become an adequate student, except for my continuing scrapes. But all that only confirmed Father’s opinion that I was wild and undisciplined and a cheat besides.”

“Your father was the fool.”

“Perhaps.” He eased the pins from her hair, threading his hands through the thick mass.

Zel ran a finger over his lips, sliding off the chair arm into his lap, resting her head against his shoulder. “He must have been, because you are not.”

“Fool or no, are you sorry you married me? Do you wish you’d braved the scandal?”