The Wedding Chase by Rebecca Kelley Page A

didn’t wish to risk discovery. He sucked in a breath and tried the handle. It opened easily. He exhaled unevenly and entered the room, closing the door behind him.
    One candle burned at the table near the bed. Zel lay asleep, breathing softly, her hair flowing in a loose circle about her head, in stark relief against the white of the pillow. His hand shook as he untied his dressing gown, allowing it to slid off his skin to the floor. Should he wake her now with her name on his lips? No, he’d wake her
with
his lips, and hands. Pushing back the sheets and counterpane he crawled into her bed.
    His weight on the mattress unbalanced her, rolling her against him, her body warm beneath the thin lawn of her night rail. She stirred slightly, then settled back into the bed, her arm, hip, and thigh pressed into his naked length.
    Wolfgang ran one hand beneath her head, locking his fingers in the thick, silky mass of hair. His lips sought hers as his other hand found the ties at the front of her night rail. Zel stirred again and he deepened the kiss. Suddenly she came fully awake, thrashing about in his arms.
    “Quiet, Zel,” he whispered into her mouth. “It’s me.”
    She pushed him roughly away, rearing up to her knees. The night rail tore in one hand, strands of hair ripped off in the other.
    “Zel.” He jumped to his knees, facing her across the narrow bed. Their eyes met and held, hers glazed. Was she still half-asleep, did she recognize him? His gaze fell to her rent nightgown, one perfect breast glowed pale in the candlelight. He reached out, reflexively, cupping smooth flesh and puckering tip.
    She cried out, clenched her fist, and struck him hard in the stomach. As he doubled over, her other fist met his eye. He howled in pain and outraged surprise, leaping off the bed.
    “You bastard.” Her voice rasped, low, gravelly. “Get out.”
    “Zel?” His look searched, asked.
    “Get out! Now!”
    He yanked on his dressing gown and strode from the room.

C HAPTER 4

SOTTO VOCE
    Softly, not to be overheard
    Damn the woman! Damn her straight to the fiery depths of hell! What kind of game did she play? Wolfgang rubbed his eye, wincing as he marched down the dark hallway. It hurt like the devil. He needed to put a cold cloth on it. Or a beefsteak from the kitchen. Maybe it wouldn’t look so bad by morning.
    How in the name of Old Clootie would he explain it? He could claim he fell and struck his head on a piece of furniture. His reputation would take a more severe blow if anyone discovered a supposedly willing bedmate had landed him a facer worthy of the champion boxer, Gentleman Jackson.
    What was wrong with the woman? She behaved like a courtesan all evening, even inviting him to her bed, then became a horrified virgin when he accepted her offer. Zel had said yes with body and word, her door was unlocked, a candle lit …
    Wolfgang probed again at his eye as he rounded the corner and bounded down the stairs to the kitchen. Time enough to analyze Zel Fleetwood tomorrow. Right now hiseye was throbbing and his stomach was queasy from the combination of the champagne and her punch. He needed that beefsteak, then his own bed.
    The slam of the door still reverberated through Zel’s shuddering body. Her breathing came in short, fierce gasps. She tried to inhale, deep and slow, but the quick gulps and shaking would not stop.
    She massaged her bruised knuckles. What if he came back? Jumping off the bed, she ran to the door. Of course the latch still would not work. She moved a chair against the door—not the most effective barrier, but at least she would hear him coming if he returned.
    Zel flopped onto the bed and dropped her head into her hands. The warnings were clear. She chose not to listen. The man had been in her bed, naked, and ready to take her. She rubbed her eyes vigorously but could not erase his shadowed image from her mind. The candle flickered before her. He was a rake of the worst order. Did he think her