Taming the Wicked Wulfe (The Rogue Agents) (16 page)

“He had lip rouge on his collar, and you could smell the perfume reeking from him.”

“Perhaps nothing happened.”

“Please, Gertie.
 
Give me some credit.”

“Perhaps you are not giving him enough.”
 
Rebekah rolled her eyes at her cousin.
 
“Rebekah dear, things are not always what they seem.
 
Remember that,” the older woman patted the younger one’s hand and hugged her tightly.
 
“You have been angry and full of hate for far too long.
 
Think of this as another opportunity for you to find your happiness.
 
Perhaps even have children of your own.”

“But the doctor said…” she started bitterly, unable to finish.

“Never give up on miracles and the magic of love.”

“Miracles and love,” Rebekah laughed harshly.
 
“My life is not, nor has it ever been, a fairy tale.
 
I do not expect Thorn to turn into a prince charming, and I do not expect a happily ever after.
 
Those are things set aside for people who deserve them.
 
My father cursed my life.
 
I will be happy raising Sarah’s children.”

“Oh, darling, it hurts my heart to see you like this,” the older woman hugged her once more, but felt her remain stiff in her arms.
 
“Everything will work out, my love, you will see.”

Rebekah walked her cousin to her carriage and waved her off before entering the house.
 
Anger coursed through her in waves.
 
How dare he embarrass me like that?
she thought, slamming the door behind her.
 
She stormed to his study to find it empty.
 
Turning, she stomped up the stairs and saw his bedchamber door close just as she reached the landing.
 
In a haze of anger, she did not pause, but turned the knob and threw the door open.
 
It bounced off the wall and into her.
 
She stood frozen.

Before her stood her husband.
 
He had already shed his coat and weskit.
 
His shirt hung open, and he was unwrapping the cravat from around his neck.
 
It had been so long and he had changed some, filled out, grown more muscular.
 
She found her body reacting to the glimpses she caught of his bare chest.
 
A warmth began to unfurl low in her belly.
 
“No,” she muttered softly, attempting to deny her body from its obvious attraction to the man standing across the room from her.

“Look, Rebekah, I can explain everything, but let me take a bath first.”
 
He watched her turn and flee his room as if it were on fire.
 
Thorn pounded his fist on the low dresser and then braced his hands against it, his head hung low.
 
Would she ever give him a chance?
 
Did he deserve one?
 
And what in bloody hell had he done to make her hate him?

***

Rebekah paced the study.
 
Although she had instigated Gertie’s visit, it had spawned ancient memories she would rather forget.
 
She feared what would happen when she retired for the evening and attempted to sleep.
 
Would she be plagued by nightmares, or would it be worse than that and nothing at all would happen?
 
She almost feared the latter, afraid she had forced the incident so far in her memory that it almost no longer existed.
 
What did that say about her?

“Rebekah,” Thorn called softly as he entered the room.
 
She jumped at his intrusion into her thoughts.
 
“I’m sorry.
 
I didn’t meant to startle you.”

Rebekah spun on him, letting her anger and uncertainty merge into a verbal attack on Thorn like she had never let loose on anyone before.
 
“How dare you embarrass me in front of the only family that matters to me!
 
The only family that I have left!
 
You come home wreaking of your whore and wearing her lip rouge on your cravat.
 
Do you have any idea what that looked like to Gertie?”

“That perhaps another woman is meeting my needs since my wife is not?” Thorn tossed back at her, refusing to take the verbal onslaught a moment longer.

“You no good, bastard,” anger oozed from her like a living creature.
 
She flew at him, her fingers curved like claws.
 
She had no idea what she would do to him once she reached him, only that she wanted to physically hurt him.
 
Destroy him.
 
She looked like a banshee floating above the moors ready to attack.

Thorn was ready for her.
 
When she came close enough, he closed his hands about her wrists.
 
They were as effective as a pair of manacles.
 
He spun easily, kicking the door shut and moving her backwards until it pressed against her back.
 
He watched her eyes sparkle green and blue in her anger.
 
Her chest heaved with every agitated breath she took.
 
He pinned her hands above her head.
 
When she would have raised her knee in an attempt to unman him, he easily side-stepped her move before stepping between her legs.
 
What he could not accomplish this afternoon with a skilled mistress came easily this evening with his innocent, angry wife.
 

“I, wife, am no bastard.
 
I was born within the sanctity of marriage.”

“You know that is not what I meant.
 
Unhand me,” Rebekah demanded, squirming and bucking against him, attempting to toss him off of her.

“I would not do very much more of that if I were you,” he murmured, pressing against her pelvis.
 
Rebekah abruptly stopped her struggles, her eyes going wide, a wild look about them.
 
“So you know what that means.”

“You pig!
 
Let me loose this minute!”

“I’ll let you loose when I’m ready,” he said before seizing her mouth.
 
When she opened it to rebuke him, he plunged into the deep, moist recesses.
 
He teased and coaxed, but she remained still.
 
Never one to give up, he continued in the sensual torment until he felt the sharp bite on his tongue.
 
He jerked back, dropping one of her hands to put his to his mouth.
 
That was his second mistake.
 
Her fisted hand met one of his eyes.
 
“Dammit, woman.”

“I told you to let me loose,” she hissed and turned to open the door.
 

Not ready to admit defeat, Thorn put a hand against the door to hold it closed.
 
“I want to know why you hate me so much.
 
What did I do to you?”

“More than you’ll even know,” Rebekah said before she stomped on his shod foot and rammed an elbow into his midsection.
 
“Now leave me alone, or I will personally see that you become a eunuch.”
 
She ripped the door open before racing up the stairs to the security of her bedchamber.
 
She slammed the door shut, locked it, and crossed the room to the far corner where she slid to the floor and wrapped her arms tightly around her knees.

Hatred coursed through her, along with something she very much feared putting a name to.
 
Something that made her feel like she had that long ago night before everything went so terribly wrong.
 

Chapter 9

“What the bloody hell just happened?” Thorn asked the empty room.
 
He hobbled over to a chair and fell into it.
 
His foot throbbed, his abdomen ached, and his eyesight was blurry in one eye.
 
And then there was his tongue.
 
It felt as if it had doubled in size.
 
One thing was certain, his wife would be wonderful backup in a fight.
 
Barkley, Thorn’s valet passed by the door, paused, and looked again.
 
“Don’t say a bloody word.”

“What was that, sir?”

“Don’t say a word,” Thorn repeated, realizing even to his own ears that he sounded like he had a mouth full of cotton.

“Should I call for a Runner?”

“No.”

“Ah, so you have detained your attacker.”
 
The valet looked about the room and then back at Thorn.
 
“Where is he?”
 

Thorn shot his valet a look that wished him to the devil.
 
Why could the man not just go away?
 
Because he had been with Thorn much too long and was overly comfortable in his role.
 
Not only did he act as a valet, but he also served as his courier, and bodyguard when necessary.
 
There was no way that Thorn was going to admit that his wife had reduced him to the damaged man that sat before Barkley.
 
“Just get me something for my eye.”

“What was that again?”

“My eye.
 
My damn eye!”

“Ah, yes, sir.
 
Right away, sir.”

“Go to Hell,” he managed and the other man had the nerve to laugh as he left the room.

***

 
A soft knock sounded on Rebekah’s door rousing her from whatever Hell she had trapped herself in.
 
She pushed herself up off the floor, and winced when she put pressure on her left hand.
 
She looked down at it and noticed it was swollen and was beginning to bruise.
 
After crossing the room she opened the door to find a maid on the other side.

“Supper is ready, ma’am.”

“I’m not hungry, but thank you.
 
Have the children eaten?”

“Yes ma’am.
 
We are about to get them ready for bed.”

“Tell them I will be in to tell them a story.”
 

“Yes ma’am.
 
Oh, ma’am, your hand.
 
Whatever happened to it?”

“Oh, I, ummm.
 
I think I hit it on a piece of furniture.
 
I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

“I’ll ask Cook for something to put on it.
 
She always has a cure for what ails a body.”

“Please, don’t go to any trouble.”

“No trouble at all.
 
I’ll be back in a bit.”

Rebekah sighed and shut the door.

The maid tripped merrily down the stairs, excited to be of help to the new mistress.
 
She conferred with Cook who began to quickly whip up the makings of a poultice.
 

“You take her some soup and a cup of tea.”

“But she said she didn’t want anything.”

“And I say she’ll change her mind.”

“Who’ll change her mind?” Barkley interrupted as he entered the kitchen.
 
He had hoped to sneak a few moments alone with Cook.
 
She was a lovely, full-figured woman and they enjoyed one another’s company immensely.
 
He found her company even better when they were able to sneak a moment here or there without anyone being the wiser.

“The mistress.
 
Her hand is swollen up something awful,” the maid answered.

“What happened?”

“Said she hit it on a piece of furniture.”
 
The maid picked up the tray laden with tea, soup, and the poultice and left the kitchen.

“What are you doing in my domain?” Cook asked saucily.

“I’ve come to taste the goods.”

“Oh, you have?”

“Aye,” he moved towards her and pulled her into his hard body, kissing her until she was breathless.
 
He pulled back and was admiring the woman in his arms when a stray thought occurred to him.
 
He chuckled until it turned into a full-bodied laugh.
 

“James Barkley, you be thinking my kisses are something to laugh about?”

“No, love.
 
I am thinking that the master has met his match in his lady wife.”
 
The man laughed at the image of the mistress bringing Wulfe, a man to be feared by other men, to his knees.

***

He knew.
 
He did not know how, but the bloody man knew.
 
Barkley knew that his injuries were due to his wife and he would never let Wulfe live it down.
 
Any time the man entered a room he was in, he practically snarled at him, daring him to say something.
 
His abdomen and foot had healed within a matter of hours.
 
His tongue had taken a couple of days because he seemed to keep re-injuring the swollen appendage.
 
His eye was another tale.
 
It still showed signs of bruising, the skin taking on shades of green and yellow.

He had not returned to the
Lady Luck
until he could talk normally.
 
When questioned about his eye, he merely said he had been accosted by a pickpocket.
 
He could not, and would not, admit to any man that his wife had laid him low for a few days.
 
He currently sat in the office of the
Lady Luck
going over the books.
 
She was a profitable business.
 
The percentage that had been promised him would see him and his family well taken care of for many years to come with the proper investing.
 
Perhaps he could even purchase a house for Rebekah and himself.
 
He knew they would spend much of their time in London or Wulfecrest Manor, but at some point Zachary would be ready to take over and not need his aunt and uncle underfoot.
 
His eyes narrowed as he thought of his wife.
 
She was hiding secrets from him.
 
Little did she know that he lived his life by secrets.
 
He would find hers out.