Taming the Wicked Wulfe (The Rogue Agents) (30 page)

“How am I to slip away after we have done the deed?
 
I mean if I do not want him to know that it is me?”

“That does present a dilemma.”
 
Dru considered the issue, crossing one arm beneath her breasts, the other tapped at her lips.
 
“Laudanum.”

“But isn’t that a bit much?”

“We are desperate, and it is the easiest to slip into a drink without being detected.
 
Not much mind you, a few drops at most will do the trick.
 
Kala?”

“On the way down we will stop and find you a small bottle.”

“I am going to need a hack.”

“Right away,” Tessa said, leaving the room.

Mikala took a lightweight cloak and swung it around her shoulders.
 
“We don’t want you showing off your wares too soon,” she chuckled.

“I will see that all of this is returned to you,” Rebekah said earnestly.

“Consider it a wedding present, and I wish you all the happiness you can stand,” Mikala hugged her.
 

“Does such a thing exist?” Rebekah asked.
 

“Of course it does!” Dru exclaimed.
 
“However, sometimes you have to reach out and grab it instead of waiting for it to show itself.”

“Thank you,” Rebekah said somewhat hoarsely.
 
The women chatted and gave last minute pointers as they walked down the stairs. By the time they reached the bottom, Rebekah’s head spun sickeningly and her stomach churned.
 
The women saw her into the hired hack that had pulled up to the Duke of Hawkescliffe’s London townhouse.
 
She heard the women say something to the driver before the conveyance began its journey.
 
Halfway to the gaming hell, she changed her mind.
 
Knocking on the roof, she got the driver’s attention.
 

“I’ve changed my mind.
 
Please, take me home.”

“Sorry, can’t do that.”

“And why not?”

“Those ladies told me not to.”

“Of course they did,” she muttered.
 
About twenty minutes later the carriage drew to a halt.

“Are you sure this is where you want off?” the driver inquired.

“Is this the
Lady Luck
?”

“That it ’tis,” the driver said.
 
A man dressed in livery of some type opened the door and helped her to exit.
 

Rebekah paused, and said, “Wish me luck, gentlemen.”
 
And with that, she dropped the cloak into the hands of the awaiting attendant and entered the gaming hell with a game of seduction on her mind.

Chapter 16

Rebekah found herself more than grateful for the mask that hid her features from the present company.
 

“Pardon me, lovey,” a man said as he slid by her and gently patted her derriere.
 
She straightened her spine and shot the man a withering glance that her mask prevented him from seeing.
 
She slid to the side and stood with her back to the wall as she took a few moments to get her bearings.
 
Twilight had just begun to descend on London and already the
Lady Luck
teemed with people, both men and women.
 
True to the other women’s predictions, every woman present wore some sort of mask.

She scanned the room trying to catch a glimpse of her husband, but could not find him.
 
Gathering more attention standing against the wall, she decided to move about the room.
 
Rebekah found herself observing how the others were behaving.
 
Women clung to men and was it her imagination, or were there some men that seemed to be acting a little too intimate with one another.
 
She felt a blush begin on her chest and lightly fanned herself.

“Warm?” A deep voice asked behind her.
 
She could not control the shiver that went down her spine upon hearing her husband.

“A little,” she agreed, turning and dropping her voice slightly, attempting to talk with a breathless quality.
 

“I don’t believe I have seen you before in the
Lady Luck
.”

“How can you say that?
 
You cannot see my face.”

“There are certain things about a woman that men do not forget.”

“Such as?”

“The way they present themselves, masked or not.”

Rebekah took a breath, trying to calm her racing heart.
 
Had he already figured out it was her?
 
No, he hasn’t.
 
Get yourself under control
, she commanded.
 
“I’m sure you say that to all the women.”

“Perhaps, but it is beneficial for an owner of such an establishment to know who his patrons are.”

“I think I will keep my identity to myself for the time being.”

“As the lady wishes.
 
Enjoy your time here,” he bowed before moving off.

“Well that did not particularly go as planned,” she muttered to herself.

“Pardon?” another gentleman asked.

“Nothing,” she waved him on and found herself moving around the room.
 
She found herself embracing the anonymity the mask provided her.
 
She practiced her flirtation skills on other men, trying different things with each one, but sure to never let it get physical.
 
Rebekah watched Thorn approach a man that stood in a shadowed back corner.
 

Wulfe stood a full head taller than this man.
 
The man had two burly men that stood behind and on either side of him, constantly scanning the room.
 
They looked ready to pounce on anyone that would harm their master, much like protective hounds.
 
Rebekah walked over to a footman and requested two brandies.
 
She doctored one, just as the women had instructed, and sipped from the other, letting the liquid fire give her the courage she needed.
 
She stood, looking calm, and waited for her moment.

***

“I have gone along with your game, Glandingham.
 
We have allowed women into the club, and I am ruining my family’s reputation a little more each day.
 
I believe I have proved myself.”

“And how is your wife enjoying the fact that her husband runs an establishment very close to a house of ill repute.”

“How would yours feel?
 
Oh, but wait, perhaps I should not ask her, but her brother.”
 
Thorn thought the man would have a fit of apoplexy standing in front of him.
 
“I have information and will meet the person you report to.”

“What type of information?” Glandingham asked, his eyes snapping up to Wulfe’s and licking his lips excitedly.

“I don’t know that I can trust you with it.”

“Come now, we are business parters.
 
Certainly you can trust me.”

“I’ll think about it, while you consider your situation.”

“I know what you need.”

“And that would be?”

“I believe you should renew your acquaintance with your ex-mistress.
 
I know that she is anxious to do the same.”

“I am married,” Wulfe bit out.

“And irritable, which can mean only one thing.
 
Look, there she is,” Glandingham nodded across the room at the woman he had talked to earlier.

“You must be mistaken.
 
That is not Aimée,” he studied the woman in the red dress that had been wetted so that it would cling to her body like a second skin.
 
It had been very obvious she wore nothing under it.
 
The elaborate mask hid her face from him.

“Of course it is.
 
Different hair color is all.”

“It did not sound like Aimée.”

“Perhaps she is playing games with you.
 
You know how she likes to play games.”
 
Glandingham nodded at her, and the woman nodded back and raised a glass of brandy toward the two men before taking a sip.
 
She held another brandy in her other hand.
 
“Look, she is warming a brandy for you.”

“I’m married,” Wulfe all but growled.
 
“Besides, I thought Aimée was your new interest.”

“I find her a bit of a bore.
 
You are a miserable bastard.
 
If you don’t go tup that woman, I may have to shoot you to put you out of my misery.
 
Now go and be done with it.
 
I will consider introducing you to the General.”

“The General?”

“Yes, that is what we call him.
 
You see how this works, Wulfe?
 
You trust me, I trust you?
 
Now go.
 
Reacquaint yourself with that beauty.”

Wulfe shot the shorter man a look of contempt but left him.
 
He saw Glandingham’s brother-in-law approach as he left and the look of exultation as he caught sight of the other man. “For the good of God, King, and Country,” he recited under his breath.
 
He worked his way from table to table, talking to the men and women, acting for all the world as if he cared about their actions.

He walked within a few feet of the woman in red when she said in her breathless voice, “You can’t keep ignoring me.”

“I can Aimée, and I will.”

“I am not Aimée.”

“You try to deny it when Glandingham pointed you out across the room?”

“Is that the name of the man you were talking to?”

“Are you attempting to prove your prowess as an actress?
 
If so, I’m not impressed.”

“For the last time, I am not Aimée.
 
You can choose to believe that or not, but if you do not, you cannot begin to fathom what you will be losing.”
 

He cocked an eyebrow studying the woman in front of him.
 
He felt his body reacting to everything about her.
 
There was her voice, how she looked in that dress—covered, but somehow indecent all the same.
 
Her brown hair piled up on her head and the mask that concealed her identity, but left her lips temptingly available for sampling.
 
“Who are you?” he demanded.

“For tonight, anyone you want me to be.”

“I am married.”

“As am I.”

“I am going to roast in Hell,” he exhaled, finding himself tired of fighting.
 
His body was responding to this woman in front of him.
 
Since his sham of a marriage had begun, he had found no relief when he found his body reacting to Rebekah.
 
Just thinking of her caused his member to harden even more.

“I have been there for years,” the woman said and held out the other glass to him.
 
“Join me?”

Wulfe took the glass from her and threw back the brandy, not taking time to sip it.
 
“Bottoms up, love,” he said, guiding the glass to her lips and tipping the bottom up so she would be forced to drink it all.
 
“Now, come with me,” he took her hand and led her through the tables and throng of people who crowded the room.
 
He refused to look at the corner where Glandingham stood and took her through a door in the back of the room.
 
They entered a quiet hall lit by wall sconces and he showed her to a room on the right.

“So you do operate a place for soiled doves?” she asked, seeing the large bed that took up the room.
 
She heard a click and turned to look and see that he had locked the door.

“No.
 
But I had been a bachelor for years and operated a gaming hell.
 
It was easier to stay here most times than keeping up a residence in London.”

“Smart.”

“Thank you.”

“Have you ever brought a mistress here?”
 

“That’s a strange question.”

“Not so strange.
 
I don’t like warming another woman’s bed.”

“No, I have never brought my mistress here.
 
I have always gone to her.”

“And your wife?”

“My wife screams like a banshee if I come within fifty feet of her.
 
So, no, I believe it is safe to say, my wife has never been here.
 
And what of your husband?”

“What of him?”

“Are you married to an old man that cannot satisfy you?”

She threw her head back and laughed boisterously.
 
“No, he is not old.”

“But he cannot satisfy you?”

“I have not allowed him to try.”

“A marriage of duty then?”

“You could say that.”

“’Tis a pity.”

“Why?”