The Wedding Chase Read Online Free

man advanced further into adulthood. “I’d have thought you’d be in Parith thelebrating Napoleon’th defeat.”
    “I have no desire to join the revelers. My tour in the army showed me all I wish to see of the Continent for years to come.”
    He glanced over the shorter man’s shoulder. The pianoforte’s bench lay empty. Devil it! He scanned the room. Was she the brunette passing through the door? The woman’s face was averted, but she was too short.
    Wolfgang walked beside Melbourne, his usual pace hampered by the deliberate cadence of the crowd. “The entertainment tonight was a cut above average.” Wolfgang’s voice projected the proper hint of boredom. “Did Lady Selby judge the talents of the company so meager as to require importing a musician?”
    “Oh, that’th Mith Fleetwood.” Melbourne’s padded yellow shoulders shrugged. “Her aunt’th a friend to Lady Thelby.”
    Fleetwood? He’d heard that name, and recently—the young fool several days ago at Maven’s. Stepping into the drawing room with Melbourne at his heels, Wolfgang again surveyed the crowd. Did the lovely body and seductive flow of hair of his apparition belong with the passionate face and manner of the pianist? This dull house party got better by the minute.
    “I’d like an introduction,” Wolfgang announced, twisting to view the rest of the room.
    “Introduction? Oh, to her. Why the devil would you want to meet her?” Melbourne eyed him with suspicion. “A bluethtocking. A dyed-in-the-wool thpinthter. And too bold at the pianoforte to be much of a lady.”
    “Exactly.”
    Melbourne grinned stupidly and gestured across the room. “That’th her thanding bethide Lady Thelby, over there.”
    Wolfgang nodded his thanks and slipped over to stand beside Lady Selby and the woman Melbourne had indicated. Was this the impassioned pianist with whom he had shared a paean to the gods only moments earlier? She was brunette and very tall, with a delicate, pointed bone structure and a mouth too large for the accepted standards of beauty. He would be tempted to call her looks feline or even elfish except for her height and quiet dignity. But where was the spirit, the fire? And those spectacles and that shapeless mud-brown gown, where in Lucifer’s flaming realm did they come from?
    Turning with exaggerated politeness to where Lady Selby spread herself on a brocaded sofa, Wolfgang lightly grasped the proffered hand. He brushed the woman’s fingers, plump sausages encased in kid gloves and golden rings, with his lips.
    “Ah, Northcliffe, you decided to grace us with your presence.” Her jowled, turbanned head bobbed a greeting. “Never tell me you are here to peruse the latest batch of debutantes?”
    “My lady, would I tell you such a tale? I am interested in establishing political, not family, ties.” He released her hand, lying effortlessly. “Forgive me for coming late but I had business in town.” He glanced at her silent companion. “If the rest of the week is equal to tonight, I shall breathlessly await your every entertainment.”
    “My dear sir, if compliments are due, they are surely owing to the musical interpretations of Miss Fleetwood.” Her generous bosom quivering, she turned to the young woman standing at her side. “Zel, dear, have you met the earl?”
    He regarded the object of Lady Selby’s inquiry. A faint coloring washed over her cheeks as her eyes darted away from his close scrutiny. A touch of feminine modesty as she remembered their first meeting?
    “No, my lady,” she murmured, the low pitch rumbling gently as a cat’s purr.
    “Miss Fleetwood, may I present Wolfgang Hardwicke, earl of Northcliffe.” Lady Selby shot him a look of warning. “Northcliffe, may I present Miss Grizelda Fleetwood.”
    As he raised her gloved hand to his mouth her eyes lifted, her gaze dancing across his face. A faint scent of spice hovered about her. Now he could see beneath the thin lenses of her spectacles. A spark, a