Taming the Wicked Wulfe (The Rogue Agents) (33 page)

“Sorry, but I don’t believe ye’,” he moved towards her.
 
“You’re wastin’ time.”

“I said step back,” she growled.

“Get up, bitch,” her attacker bent over to grab her arm as the pistol sounded in the air.
 
He looked at her, his eyes wide. “You shot my…”

“I believe she did, friend.
 
My lady, you really should have waited for me,” Thorn’s valet said.
 

Rebekah scrambled up off the ground and reached the man just as her would be captor went to his knees and began wailing like a banshee.

“Come, my lady, we must get you back home,” he took her by the arm and led her away from the other man.
 
“Put your gun away.
 
We do not want to garner any unnecessary nor unwanted attention.”

“But that man…”

“Is going nowhere.
 
Now slip the gun into your pocket and come along,” he instructed as he took her arm and guided her away from the giant of a man moaning, crying, and writhing on the ground.

“Not mine,” she said.

“Pardon?”

“Not my gun.
 
I must have taken the wrong cloak.”

“Thank goodness for accidents.”

“What are we going to do about him?”

“I’ll take care of it, my lady.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, as the shock of the situation began to infiltrate her senses.
 
She put her trust in Thorn’s valet and let her mind quit thinking about what had just occurred.

***

Mid-afternoon, Thorn received a missive from his valet stating he was needed at home immediately.
 
He left the
Lady Luck
via a rented hack and arrived at the townhouse almost half an hour later.
 
Unsure what he would find, he entered the house with a good amount of trepidation.

“Barkley,” he called.

“In here, my lord,” he heard the man call from the parlor.
 
He noted the man was using his title, which never boded well.
 
When he entered the room, he came to an abrupt halt.
 
Sitting on a settee, with his valet on one side and Cook on the other, sat Rebekah.
 
But this was a Rebekah he had never seen before.
 
She looked pale and shaken, and there were rust-colored flecks on her face and bodice.

“What’s going on?”

“I shot a man,” Rebekah said, looking up at Thorn.
 
“I shot a man’s bollocks off, because he was attempting to kidnap me.
 
And do you know why he was attempting to kidnap me?”

“You didn’t truly shoot a man’s bollocks, off,” Thorn waved away on a laugh.

“Aye, she did,” Barkley seconded.
 
“I came upon the scene right after it happened.”

“Back to my question,” Rebekah said, the paleness giving way to a flush as she became angrier.
 
“Do you know why he was attempting to kidnap me?”
 
She waited, but no one in the room would meet her in the eye, not even her only female ally, Cook.
 
“Fine, I’ll tell you why they wanted to kidnap me.
 
I suspect that it has something to do with my
husband
being a government agent.
 
What think you of that?
 
I also have a suspicion that the carriage accident on our way here was indeed intentional.”

“Rebekah, I can explain.”

“And the only reason I shot a man today was because I took someone else's cloak.
 
A cloak that conveniently had a gun in the pocket!”

“I said I can explain.”

“I want no explanations from you.
 
I want to return to the country where I can keep the twins safe.”

“They are safer here.”

“I was nearly kidnapped.”

“You left the house without a chaperone.”

“And how do you know?
 
You are never here!”

“Because you would not have been accosted if one of my men had gone with you!”

A pregnant, awkward silence reigned.

“You mean to tell me that the men you employ are actually guards?”

“Most of them.
 
The women also know how to defend themselves.”

“Including the new nanny and governess?”

“Yes.”

“I…”
 
Suddenly the door flew open to the parlor and the twins ran in.
 
Ivy threw herself at her uncle.

“Uncle Thorn, tell Zachary the mask is mine!”

“I want to play with it, too!”

“What mask?” Thorn queried before his voice caught in his throat.
 
Perched on the cherubic face of his niece was the ornate mask that the mystery woman had worn to seduce him.
 
The mystery woman that had slipped something into his drink.

“Where did you get that?” Rebekah demanded, sounding harsher than she ever had before.
 

Picking up on the undercurrent of emotion, Ivy began to cry.
 

“Come children, let’s get you back to your nanny,” Barkley and Cook each picked up a child and left the room.

Thorn walked to the window that looked out over the neighborhood.
 
He began to mull over the last several days.
 
Somehow, Rebekah had determined that he was indeed an agent.
 
The other night, his own wife had set out to seduce him and drug him, not necessarily in that order.
 
She said there had been a child, but that it had died, and her husband was the father.
 
Either she had been weaving a tale to better keep her identity secret, or there was a lot she had to explain.
 
He turned around to begin demanding answers when he saw that the room was empty.
 
Somehow she had slipped out without being detected.
 
He left the parlor and made his way to her room.
 
Thorn pushed open the door to see her in a chemise and robe, sitting in a rocking chair.
 
Her face no longer carried the proof of her adventurous afternoon.

“I poured you a drink.”

“And does it have the same potion you poured in mine the other night?”

“No.”

“Don’t take offense if I pass all the same.”

“By all means.
 
Can we keep this private?” she asked, nodding towards the door.

“Of course.”
 
He pushed the door shut and locked it for good measure.

“Where shall I start?”

“The beginning.”

“I don’t know if you can deal with that.
 
How about the other night?”

“Fine,” he took a seat on the bed facing her.

“It was me in the mask.”

“What in bloody hell were you thinking, parading yourself in that wetted dress for all to see your every asset?”

“I was wearing a mask.
 
No one knew who I was.
 
Not even my husband,” she spat back.

“It makes no matter.”

“I see.
 
I can’t do it, but every other woman in there can do and wear whatever they want.”

“That’s right.”

“And why’s that?
 
What makes them so special?”

“You are wrong.
 
It is you who are special.
 
I will not have my wife behaving like a whore.”

“Yet you keep a mistress.”

“Not since I found out I was married!”
 
Thorn was glad to see Rebekah at a loss for words.
 
“Now, I am taking over.
 
I want you to start at the beginning.”

“Why?”

“When I asked about children you said, I believe, ‘One. Dead and buried.’”

She looked at him mutinously refusing to give him the answers he so easily sought, for it had not been easy for her all those years ago.

“Answer me, damn you.
 
Were you telling me the truth, or was it a sick lie in an even crazier scheme.”

She stood and walked across the room.
 
Not caring she wore nothing beneath the chemise and robe, and too caught up in the present, she lifted the fabric, baring her body to his gaze.
 
“You can see the scars on my stomach for yourself.
 
What do you think?”

He saw the silvery tracks that showed proof of how her skin stretched when her belly had been large with child.
 
“There could be other reasons,” he grasped for another reason.

“Have you ever known me to lie?” she asked, her lips barely moving to let the words escape.
 
“Knowing the Reverend, do you think I could have ever lied and lived to talk about it?” She let the chemise fall and retied her robe, then walked back to the rocking chair once more and took her seat.

“Fine.
 
Who was the father?
 
Were you married?
 
Why didn’t I know?
 
Damn it answer me!
 
Who was the father?”

“My husband.”

“So you were married.”

“Not until two months ago.”

“But you said…” he broke off as the implication hit him full force.

“Yes, I did, didn’t I?
 
My husband, Thornton David Wulfe, was the father of my dead child.
 
A son, in fact, named, Thornton James Wulfe for you and your father.
 
Heaven knows I would kill myself before I named a child after mine.”

“How in bloody hell?
 
We never…”

“Yes, we did.
 
You were too drunk to realize and I was too young and naïve.
 
The night of your father’s burial.
 
Do you remember?
 
No.
 
How much whisky did you go through that day?
 
A bottle, perhaps more.
 
I never understood.
 
I mean, I knew you two were close, but I never knew why his death affected you so heavily.
 
But then again, if someone had told me my father died, I would have danced a jig.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not?
 
It’s the truth.
 
And once you know it all, you will wish to do the same.”

“Go on,” Thorn said, an uneasy feeling running through him.

“You went out to the barn and ran all the stable lads off.
 
You were in a terrible temper.
 
I followed you out there, because I was afraid you would do something you would regret.
 
I had been in love with you for so long.
 
I knew you were hurting and I just wanted to be there for you.
 
I walked into the barn and saw you beating a post.
 
Your hands were scraped and bloodied, and you were crying.
 
I shut the door.
 
You told me to go away.
 
I waited you out.
 
You collapsed on the hay and I cleaned and bandaged your hands.
 
One thing led to another, and well, by the time you woke up I had left.”

“The indention.”

“Yes.”

“My God, how old were you?”

“Eighteen and old enough to know what I was doing.”

“How did I…
 
Were you…”

“After all these years, you’re concerned with how you performed?
 
Well, let me give it to you straight.
 
It was miserable.
 
You pawed at me and groped.
 
Your kisses were sloppy and before I knew what had happened you were in me, and that was all it took for your alcohol addled mind.
 
So no, you sorry bastard, you did not receive a high rating from me except in one area.
 
When I started becoming sick in the mornings, I knew I was pregnant.
 
So you scored high in the area of conception.”

“Your father.”

“Not yet.
 
Mother figured it out, bless her soul.
 
She wrote to Gertrude, explained the situation, and asked if she could write back that she was ill and needed someone to attend her.
 
She did because she loved mother, she loved me, and she loved babies.
 
She was so excited.
 
I traveled to London and lived with Gertrude.
 
It was two months before my confinement and the Reverend unexpectedly showed up at Gertrude’s house.
 
He had been to
 
London on business for the church.
 
Gertrude was out and the housekeeper opened the door and there I was, standing at the top of the stairs.
 
I had hoped it was Clarissa that had stopped to see me.
 
But no, there he stood in the doorway.

I don’t remember if I made a sound or if he just looked up and saw me.
 
I remember him running up the stairs like a madman, yelling about demon seed, and devil spawn.
 
I do remember his next words though, ‘I’ll get rid of that evilness living inside you!
 
How dare you defile yourself and my reputation!
 
This is my punishment!’
 
And then he hit me,” her voice sounded listless.