The Wedding Chase Read Online Free Page B

prepare herself for London.
    No, wisdom dictated she was out of her depth and should stay far away from him. She found herself tempted to turn, wanting to know if his eyes followed her, or if he quickly found other diversion. Straightening her shoulders, she directed her eyes to her hostess and the tiny gray-haired woman on Lady Selby’s other arm, whose name she failed to catch.
    The evening was a blur of faces and polite conversation. Zel felt like a baby chick under the plump, protective wing of Lady Selby. Aunt Diana’s introductory letter had done its work too well. She must have been presented to every unattached man in the county.
    Between spells of watching the intricate plasterwork onthe walls, Zel found herself responding demurely to comments on the weather, fashion, and the prince regent’s latest exploits. Several times she felt herself the subject of pointed observation. When she glanced around she discovered Lord Northcliffe nearby, a black-haired, silver-eyed wolf, regarding her intently. She chuckled softly at her flight of fancy, receiving a sharp look from the stout older gentleman who had been describing modern sheep-raising techniques.
    “Lord Astin, I believe your wife is looking for you.” Northcliffe’s deep voice resonated near her ear. “I last saw her in the library.”
    As Astin made his excuses, Zel, skin tingling with the blush moving up her throat and cheeks, turned to Northcliffe. She felt far too aware of how broad his shoulders were in his perfectly fitted midnight-blue evening coat and how he stood so tall her eyes barely met his chin, she who looked down on most men’s brows or hairlines.
    “Your knight errant, mademoiselle, at your command.” He winked broadly. “Specializing in rescuing fair damsels from the evil dragon of boredom.”
    Her laughter stopped abruptly as his long fingers wrapped around her upper arm, directing her to the door. She grudgingly smiled her thanks for the rescue, then dug in her heels, tugging at his hand. “Where are we going?”
    His reply was low and intimate. “I thought you might like to accompany me to the terrace and indulge in a more stimulating conversation.”
    Before she could answer, they passed through the French doors, entering a terrace lit only by the graying rays of the setting sun. He guided her to a stone bench, sinking down beside her, the warmth of his leg inches from her own. Was he sitting too close? He must be, but should she move to the edge of the bench or stand indignantly? Wishing she had experience in these games men and women played, she shifted slightly.
    “Who was the Mozart lover who named you?” As heturned toward her, she could see the muscles bunch in his thigh. His knee nearly touched hers.
    Zel controlled her voice. “My grandfather.” She watched as the twilight play of shadow and light flickered over the lines of his face. “I suppose I should be happy Beethoven was not a famous composer when I was born, or I might be Grizelda Ludwigia.”
    He laughed, a musical growl coming from somewhere low in his chest. “That would be quite a mouthful indeed. My mother insisted on Wolfgang.” The gray of his eyes clouded slightly. “She loves music but was more concerned with countermanding my evangelical father’s choice, John Wesley, after the nonconformist religious leader. My full name is Wolfgang John Wesley Hardwicke.” The bright silver glint returned to his eyes. “I fought over that name so many times as a boy I’ve actually developed a perverse pride in it. But with your musical prowess, I’m sure Beethoven and Mozart would be honored for you to use their names.”
    “My lord, your flattery goes too far.” The barely respectable distance between them diminished further. Zel slid to the edge of the bench to widen the gap, focusing on a previously unnoticed tiny streak of gray zigzagging through the glossy black hair above his right temple. Hair unfashionably long and tied with a ribbon at the nape of