Taming the Wicked Wulfe (The Rogue Agents) (48 page)

“What do you care?” Rebekah snarled as she rubbed her pounding head.
 

“I did want to help you,” Aimée said.

“And pigs fly.
 
Who is that man, anyway?”

“That man is the Duke of Walsh, and best you do what he asks.
 
He is not a man to anger unnecessarily.”

“Now, I remember.
 
He danced with me at the Richmond’s ball.
 
What does he want with me?”

“I can hazard a guess.”

“And what would that guess be?

“He wants your husband’s cooperation and help.”

“And he believes kidnapping me will bring Thorn to his side?
 
He must be mad.
 
Half the time Thorn hates the very air I breathe.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” a masculine voice entered into the conversation.

“Then you do not know that my husband did not even know he was married to me for several days.”

“Interesting, but I believe your husband is rather smitten with you.
 
And that fact in and of itself is going to help my cause tremendously.
 
Now, I would like you to compose a letter to your husband.
 
I will dictate what you are to say.”

“I will not, you bastard,” she defied the man who stood before her.
 
He fulfilled every description of a dandy she had ever heard.
 
When he hauled her up and yanked her across the room she was caught unawares at his brute strength.
 
She was pushed down to sit at an escritoire.
 
Rebekah rested her pounding head in her hands.
 
Before she could do anything to prevent it, fingers tangled in her hair and jerked her head backwards.
 
Bile rushed up her throat and she swallowed convulsively to keep from embarrassing herself in front of this man.

“You will not speak to me that way, do you understand?”
 

Rebekah refused to answer, and this time she received a slap from Walsh rather than his giant minion.
 
Tears stung her eyes, her ears rang, and her head felt as if were going to explode at any moment.

“Let’s try this again, shall we?”
 
He imperceptibly tightened his fingers in her hair, causing her just a little more pain.
 
“Pick up the pen, now dip it in the ink.”

Instead, Rebekah turned the pen like a knife and brought it down beside her.
 
Her wrist was caught in mid-swing by a steely grip.
 
The man behind her squeezed painfully until she was forced to drop the pen.
 
He let go of her wrist, allowing her to hold it and rub feeling back into it.

“No wonder Thorn is so fascinated with you.
 
Are you this exciting in bed?” he queried.

“Go to Hell,” she took the bottle of ink and threw it behind her.

“You bitch!” the man roared, finally letting go of her as he reached for a handkerchief to wipe away the ink.
 
Rebekah raced to the door, flinging it open.
 
“John, stop her!”

She felt an arm wrap around her waist, and a giant hand covered both her nose and mouth.
 
Rebekah fought against the giant’s hold, tried to pull his hand away so she could grab the tiniest of breaths, but she could not budge him.
 
Spots filled her vision, and her lungs ached for air.
 
Dear God, please help Thorn keep the twins safe,
was the last thought she had.

***

“That is your sister?” Walsh asked, amused.

“Half,” Aimée replied, walking over to him.
 
She had asked for clean cloths while John took care of Rebekah.
 
Aimée had to be very careful how she played this if they were both going to get out alive.
 
Why couldn’t Rebekah simply have done as he asked?
 
Aimée began wiping the black ink off her lover’s face.

“You follow orders much better than she does.”

“I’m sure I do a lot of things much better than she does,” she said seductively.
 
“Come with me,
mon amie
, we must use soap to get that off before it stains your flawless skin.”

“I think it got all over me.”

“Then I shall make certain it is removed from every part of your handsome body.”

“You are too good to me, Aimée.”

“You make it an easy thing to do.
 
Come with me,” she took his hand and backed out of the room, pulling him along.

***

Thorn paced the rooms at their house, waiting for Rebekah to make an appearance.
 
When she arrived, he wasn’t sure what he would do first, sweep her into his arms and hug her, or beat her within an inch of her life.
 
This was the second day the twins had not seen her, and tonight, both of them had shed tears, certain their precious aunt had disappeared and left them as their parents had.

Earlier, Gertrude and Edith had arrived to take the children as they had talked over with Rebekah.
 
Now, the two women were installed in guest bedrooms upstairs awaiting the younger woman’s arrival as well.
 
They had sent word to all of her new friends, asking if any of them had seen her since this afternoon.
 
All replies had been in the negative.
 
He drew back a hand in irritation, when a voice stopped him…

“My lord, one hole at a time is more than enough to fix, don’t you think.”

“Dammit, Barkley, where the bloody hell is she?”

“Time will tell, my lord.”

“She could be out there anywhere.
 
Anything could have happened to her.”

“Do not borrow trouble, my lord.
 
I am sure she is fine wherever she is.
 
Perhaps she just lost track of time.”

“I bloody well hope so,” Thorn said, commencing with his pacing.

***

“Where are you going?” Aimée called from the bed, pulling the sheet up to cover her nakedness.

“There is little point in that, don’t you think?” Walsh asked, flicking the sheet away from her body.
 
“That is so much better.
 
Now, I still have business to attend.
 
Would you care to help me?”

“I think perhaps it would be best if I did,” Aimée said, pushing herself up off the bed.
 
She dressed quickly and followed her lover through a maze of corridors.
 
He knocked on a door then let them into the room.
 
Rebekah sat huddled in a corner of a room that was devoid of any furniture.
 
A fresh piece of paper, pen, and ink were the only things in the room besides herself.

“You have difficulty complying don’t you, my dear?
 
Well, that can be easily remedied.
 
John!”
 

Rebekah’s eyes grew wide and fearful, but she still made no move towards the writing materials.
 

“It will be easier for you if you just do as he asks,” Aimée coaxed.

“Yes, listen to your sister.”

“Go to Hell, the both of you,” she muttered.

“Such foul language from such a beauty.
 
You leave me no choice.
 
Aimée, please write this down:

Dearest husband,

If you do not comply with the Duke of Walsh’s demands, my life is forfeit.
”

“Isn’t it already?” Rebekah spat.

“Oh, yea of little faith.
 
Did you not know that miracles still happen every day?
 
Now, where was I?
 
Oh, yes, forfeit.
 

I miss you and the twins terribly.

Your loving wife,

Rebekah

Let me see.”
 
Walsh held his hand out expectantly just as John entered the room.
 
“Perfect.
 
Now we need to add a finishing touch so that he knows how serious I am.
 
Hold her still, John.”
 
Walsh approached her a small knife in his hand.
 
He took her hand in his and cut a diagonal line across.
 
Blood dropped on the letter, mixing with the ink.
 
“John, take her where we had discussed.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

A look of absolute fear crossed Rebekah’s face, and she tried to fight the giant of a man.
 
Aimée watched helplessly, knowing that if she tried to interfere now, neither of them would walk out of this alive.

“John, on your way back, stop at the residence of the Duke of Wulfecrest and give this letter to his uncle.
 
Tell Lord Wulfe if he wishes to see his wife alive, he will come immediately with his answer.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”
 
The giant of a man flung Rebekah over his shoulder, and she squirmed and fought him.
 

“Lady Wulfe, don’t give John any cause to harm you.
 
Right now he knows I want you alive, but it would be so very easy for me to retract that edict.
 
Come, lover, I find this business has caused me to have quite an appetite,” Walsh said, leading Aimée out of the room.

***

Rebekah remained silent as she and John traveled in a coach.
 
She had pushed the man too far, and feared that he might do something to her, with or without his master’s instructions.
 
She remained silent, but looked out the window carefully watching where they went.

“It’s not gonna help ye none to know where I be takin’ ye.”

“Why?”

“Cause ye ain’t never gettin’ out of it.
 
No one will find ye’ until it’s too late,” the big man laughed.
 

Finally, the coach lurched to a stop and John got out, then pulled Rebekah out behind him.
 
She fell to her knees in mud, and looked up to see the cemetery where Walsh had captured her in the first place.
 
Her heart began to race in panic.
 
Horrifying thoughts of being buried alive, mud dumped on top of her, suffocating her, raced through her mind.

“No, please, just leave me here,” she attempted to escape his firm grip.

“Scared, eh?
 
And ye should be.
 
After what ye did to me brother, I should snap yer neck.
 
He’ll ne’er be a man again.
 
But the master won’t let me harm ye, yet.
 
Now, iffen yer husband fails to do what ‘is Grace wants, then that be another story altogether.
 
I’m hopin’ for the latter, meself,” the man threw back his head in laughter.

Seeing her only opportunity, Rebekah turned to run, but the mud made it impossible for her to find purchase.
 
She felt a hand on her skirt pulling her through the gates of the cemetery.
 
Mud and grass clung to her dress as the large man dragged her like a child would a doll.
 
He stopped in front of a mausoleum whose door stood open.
 
John, dragged her to a standing position before pushing her into the marble building.
 
She turned around just in time to see the door slam shut, and her world went dark.

The sound of squeaks welcomed her to her new home.
 
She moved towards the center of the building, trying not to cringe when she heard loud squeaks that indicated she might have stepped on a tail or worse.
 
Finally, in the center was a large rectangle rising from the floor.
 
She climbed up on top of it, seeking safety from the varmints that roamed the floor below.
 
Only then did she let the fear takeover, and then she did something she had not done in a very long time, she prayed, earnestly and devoutly.

***

It was late when someone pounded on the door of the townhouse.
 
Not waiting on a servant, Thorn rushed to the door, throwing it open, fully expecting to see his wayward wife on the other side.
 
Instead, there was a giant of a man.

“What do you want?” Thorn demanded.

“I was told to deliver this to Lord Wulfe.”

“I’m Wulfe.”
 
The man nodded and shoved an envelope towards him before lumbering off toward a coach.

Thorn stepped inside the house and went to his study, tearing open the envelope.
 
He read the missive.
 
This was not Rebekah’s handwriting.
 
Was it her blood streaked across the letter?
 
He did know that the man mentioned in the letter was powerful enough to follow through on any threat.
 
Only the patter of feet heralded the entrance of two older women, both with equal looks of concern on their faces.

“Rebekah’s been taken,” Thorn said, anger beginning to tinge his voice.
 
He slowly crumpled the letter into a ball before throwing it into the empty fireplace.
 
“Barkley,” he called.