Taming the Wicked Wulfe (The Rogue Agents) (27 page)

“Pardon me, Lady Wulfe, isn’t it?” a man took her hand and bowed low over her hand.
 
The man almost looked too beautiful.
 
His hair was blonde and cut short.
 
His eyes were piercing.
 
The man’s mouth was turned up in a knowing smirk as if he already knew her secrets.

“Yes,” she said.

“Please say your dance card is not yet full.”

“I’m afraid I do not have a dance card,” Rebekah replied to the man.

“Well, then, that just makes it all the easier.”
 
The quartet played the opening notes of a type of song she was not familiar with.
 
“Dance with me,” he coaxed.

“I do not dance,” she said.
 
She kept comparing this man to the strength of Wulfe and found this man to be completely lacking.
 
“You will with me.
 
Come, all you have to do is follow my lead.”

“You have yet to tell me your name, sir.”

“Ephraim Gilbert, Duke of Walsh.
 
But please, everyone calls me Walsh.”

“I don’t believe that would be appropriate, Your Grace,” she rejoined, curtsying low.

“I believe I liked it better when you did not know who I was.
 
Come, let us dance.”

Rebekah allowed the man to pull her onto the dance floor along with several other couples.
 
They did not line up like when doing a quadrille or other such dances.
 
Instead, he pulled her into his arms, holding her extremely close.
 
Just when she was going to protest, the music started and he was leading her around the room, swirling them in circles.

“You are doing sensational,” the man cajoled.

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

“Walsh, remember.
 
Why don’t you leave that husband of yours behind, come with me.
 
I could introduce you to a side of London you have never seen,” he insisted.

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” the deep voice of Thorn interrupted their conversation.

“Wulfe, I wondered how long you would allow me to play with your toy.”

“She’s not a toy, she’s my wife, and you are to stay away from her.
 
Do you understand?”

“And if I do not?”

“It can be your choice, pistol or swords.”

“Oh, ho, old man,” Walsh laughed.
 
“I meant no harm.”

“Then unhand my wife.”

“As you wish.
 
Perhaps another time, Lady Wulfe,” the man bent low and dropped a kiss on her hand.
 

As soon as Lord Walsh left, Rebekah felt herself being swept up into Thorn’s arms as he led her across the dance floor.
 
He danced much better than the other man.
 
She found herself forgetting that they were on a dance floor being watched by hundreds of people.
 
She watched his eyes as if she could seek answers to all the questions flying through her mind in those moments.

“No one dances the waltz with you, other than me.” Thorn said autocratically.

The euphoria she had been feeling up to that point vanished as if it were a bubble someone had popped.
 
“And you think just because you are my husband that you have the right to decide that?”

“I know that I do.”

“I want no more of this,” she said, coming to a halt and walking off the floor without him.
 
He had ruined a perfectly wonderful moment.
 
He had even won her over a little by rescuing her from that dandy Walsh.
 
Then he had acted like a complete arse by dictating to her.
 
Of course she would not dance the waltz with any man but him, it was much too intimate a dance, but she did not need him dictating to her.
 
She made her way to the retiring room, taking another flute of champagne on her way.
 
She sequestered herself into a dark corner.
 
A curtain had been hung and she took the opportunity to hide behind it.

Several women came and left.
 
Finally thinking she would be alone for a few minutes, she relaxed in the chair she occupied.
 
A group of women entered.
 

“I can’t believe he had the nerve to show his face.”

“After fleecing your father that way.
 
I am just so very glad your uncle gifted you a dowry.
 
I couldn’t go through my first season without you.”

“I wonder if Lady Wulfe has any idea what her husband does.”

“She would have to know.
 
Did you see the string of diamonds and sapphires hanging from her neck?
 
I imagine several families could live off that for a lifetime.”

“If she doesn’t she’s a dimwit.
 
Did you see how foolishly Lord Walsh acted over her?”

“Did you know they are letting women go into the gaming hell now?”

“Is it horrible of me to want to see what it looks like on the inside?”

“Yes, Lucinda, it is.”

“I would not place any bets or anything so crude as that, I just want to see what it looks like and how the others dress.”

“I think it would be fun as well.”

“Beatrice.
 
How can you say that?
 
We are destitute now because of that place.”

“Perhaps that is why.
 
I want to see what drew father in.
 
Why did he choose it over us?”

“I give up.”
 
A door opened and closed.

“Beatrice, are you serious about wanting to go?”

“Yes.”

“I hear all we need is a domino.”

“You’ll go with me?”

“I am curious, too, remember?”
 
The two girls left the room, chatting excitedly about their plans to infiltrate the gaming hell.
 

Rebekah sat there a few moments more.
 
She tipped her head back, finishing off her champagne.
 
Standing, she braced herself against the wall until the room stopped spinning.
 
Perhaps she had drunk a bit too much.
 
She left the room and walked towards the music, allowing a hand to casually trail along the wall.
 
Spots danced in front of her eyes, and she blinked furiously trying to clear them.
 
When she entered the ballroom, she kept the wall to her back and moved to stand behind some ferns that rested on columns of different heights.

Her head pounded to the beat of the music and her stomach churned sickeningly.
 
Perspiration beaded on her face and she felt extremely flushed.
 
All of a sudden someone spun her around and gripped her upper arms.
 
She tried to listen to what they were saying, it sounded as if it might be important, but she couldn’t seem to focus.
 
When she was finally able to make her eyes work correctly, she saw that she was seeing two of Thorn before her.

“Isn’t one of you enough to deal with?”

“Are you drunk?”

“What?”

“How much champagne did you have to drink?”

“You’re a spy, figure it out.”

“What are you talking about?”
 
Thorn could not make out what she was saying, her words slurred together too bad.
 
“What am I going to do with you?”
 
Prinny had called Thorn over shortly after Rebekah had left him standing alone on the dance floor.
 
He wanted to meet the woman who could make a fool out of one of his friends.
 
How was he going to get them out of this?
 

He caught Director McKenzie’s attention and gave him a signal.
 
The man crossed the room to them, dodging women as he did.
 
That was one thing that marriage afforded him.
 
Now he only had to dodge the married women looking to have affairs instead of all the women of the
ton
.
 

“What is it, Wulfe?”

“Too much champagne.
 
I need to get her out of here, but Prinny wants to meet her.”

“I’ll take care of Prinny.
 
You take her home.
 
And keep a better eye on her next time.
 
A woman not in control of her facilities is dangerous indeed.”

“Yes, sir,” Thorn felt like a child being scolded for not putting his toys away.
 
He worked them around the ballroom, keeping to the shadows as much as possible.
 
Dammit, where were Southerby and his wife.
 
Unable to find them, he exited onto the terrace.
 
The cooler air helped to rouse her some.
 

“Where are we?”

“In the gardens.
 
I am taking you home.”

“Don’t wanna go home.”

“Perhaps you should have thought about that before you decided to consume all that champagne.”

“People hate you,” she said, stumbling.
 
He put his arm around her waist.

“Nothing new there.”

“You almost ruined a girl’s season.”

“How did I do that.”

“Something about fleecing her father.”

“Then allow me to make a correction,” he said leading her on a side path that he hoped would lead to the front of the house and the carriage they came in.
 
“Her
father
almost ruined his daughter’s season.
 
One should never bet more than what you have.
 
Also, one should realize when they are bad gamers.”
 
They walked along the path and came to a line of carriages.
 
Thorn scanned the crests on the carriage and spotted Southerby’s about halfway up the line.
 

“I think that’s just a convenient twist to what happened.”

“Believe what you like.
 
Damn it all to hell,” Thorn said.

“What’s wrong with you?
 
And do be quieter, my head is pounding.”

“I’m sure it is.”
 

Moans and soft voices filled the air.
 
The coach rocked lightly on its springs.
 
“What is going on in there?”
 
There was a shriek followed by a loud moan and then stillness fell over the night.

Thorn used the flat of his hand and slapped the door.
 
“Coachman, send your light of love on her way.
 
I won’t tell your master if you will take us home.”
 
Several long minutes passed.
 
“Come now, Coachman.
 
Hurry it up man.”
 
A few more minutes passed and the door slowly opened.
 
Justin stepped out of the coach, his hair and clothes disheveled.
 
“Bloody hell, Southerby, I’m sorry.
 
I…Rebekah…”

“Why are you looking at me as if I did something wrong?” Rebekah queried.
 
“Southerby, are you all right?
 
Someone sounded ill.
 
Do you have a fever?”

“I’ll go find the Coachman,” Justin said and walked towards the mews.

Thorn helped Rebekah into the coach without ever looking at Clarissa.
 
“Please see she gets back to the house.
 
She’s had too much champagne.
 
I must go to the
Lady Luck
.”

“Of course,” the other woman said, her voice a bit husky.

“Are you feeling well, Clarissa?” Thorn heard Rebekah ask as he shut the door on the carriage.
 
He crossed the street and walked several blocks before hailing a hack to take him to the club.
 
In the confines of the carriage, he let himself chuckle over that last incident.
 
Then he found himself hardening at the thought of doing something very similar with Rebekah.
 
Would they ever have clandestine assignations like that?
 
Or were they forever going to be strangers to one another?

***

Clarissa had settled Rebekah into a corner of the carriage.
 
“Clarissa, are you certain you are fine?
 
You look quite disheveled.”

“I am more than fine.”

“And your voice.
 
Are you catching the ague?”

“Rebekah, have you…”

“What?”

“How much champagne did you have?”

“I lost count.”

“You are going to hurt tomorrow.”

“I think our Cook should make you and Justin a tonic,” Rebekah murmured sleepily.

“A what?”

“Tonic,” she answered louder.
 
The carriage door opened and Lord Southerby looked inside.
 
“If you’re seeking my husband, he’s gone to his true love and probably his mistress.
 
Damn him and that Aimée.
 
Why’s she got to be so beautiful?”