Taming the Wicked Wulfe (The Rogue Agents) (32 page)

She felt herself go limp and draped herself against him.
 
She moaned again when he removed his hand.
 
Wulfe shook beneath her then groaned aloud and she pulled back enough to see his hand wrapped in the sheet.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t…” he broke off, embarrassed.

She placed a finger over his lips to stop his words.
 
“Thank you.
 
It was perfect.”

“No, Bekah, don’t go.”

She slid off his lap.
 
“I don’t know who you think I am, but you are wrong.”

“No,” he tried to stand, to stop her, but his legs were shaky and he felt incredibly dizzy.
 
“Those eyes…has to be.”

“Good night, Thorn.”
 
She stood at the door and watched him try to stand only to sit back down on the bed.

“Rest, then I’ll stop you,” he said before he fell backwards and started snoring softly.

Knowing he was too big for her to move herself and not wanting to embarrass him by asking for assistance, she pulled the coverlet up over him where he lay.
 
She tucked it around his shoulders and placed a gentle kiss on his lips.
 
“Déjà vu,” she said softly before climbing off the bed.
 
She adjusted her dress, grabbed her reticule, and left the room, feeling both fulfilled and lonely.

Chapter 17

Thorn awoke groggy the next morning.
 
He lay on the bed blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear his fuzzy vision.
 
His head pounded and his mouth felt dry.
 
He slowly pushed up to a sitting position, the coverlet slipped to the floor.
 
The sheet was still wrapped about his hips.
 
He let his head drop back between his shoulder blades and he stared at the ceiling trying to bring his thoughts in to some sort of cohesiveness.

“What the bloody hell happened?” he asked the empty room, his voice raspy.
 
Time passed as his thoughts swirled about him.
 
He kept seeing an elusive seductress that had refused to give her name.
 
There at the end he had even been crazy enough to imagine her eyes were that of his wife’s.
 
Had he even called her name aloud and spilled his seed in the sheets like a callow youth?
 
Who had the woman been?
 
Had she been real?
 
Had he drunk too much and fantasized the entire meeting?

Knowing he would get nowhere if he kept up this train of thought, he pushed himself upright and waited until the room quit spinning.
 
He pushed himself up to stand, swaying.
 
Thorn grabbed the bedpost to keep himself upright, and dropped the sheet.
 
He looked in dismay at his turgid length that had come to life just thinking about the mystery woman.
 
Had he even been this affected by Rebekah since their wedding?
 
He shook his head, attempting to clear the cobwebs from his mind.
 
Bending over, he scooped up the fallen sheet and wrapped it around his hips once more.
 
Wulfe crossed the room and pulled on the door to find it locked. Thinking it to be some sort of sick joke, he was just about to pound on the door when he saw a twinkle of something shiny at his feet.
 
Bending over he retrieved the key and jammed it into the lock.

He opened the door and bellowed for an attendant.
 
The more he thought of last night, or tried to think of last night, the angrier he became.
 
His memory felt like parts of a painting that was not complete.
 
They had talked about a lot of things, but he could hardly remember anything.
 
She had said she was married.
 
So was he.
 
What the hell had prompted him to invite her into his private quarters at the gaming hell?
 
If Rebekah found out, it would be over for them before it ever had a chance to begin.
 
Did he want them to have a chance?
 
Yes, he found that he did.

“Yes, my lord?” a harried looking footman queried.

“I need a bath as soon as one can be prepared.”

“Yes, my lord.”
 
The footman started to turn but paused at his master’s voice.

“I also need something for a headache.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Thorn stumbled across the room, his feet catching in the sheet on several occasions, making him clumsier than he was.
 
He made it to the decanter and started to pour himself a drink when something screamed at him, but what was it?
 
He looked at the waste bin beside the cabinet that housed the spirits and glasses and saw a small bottle.
 
Thorn bent over and retrieved it.
 
He opened the vial and delicately sniffed.
 
It smelled of licorice.
 
He looked down at the cabinet top where a used glass sat.
 
He inhaled, but only detected brandy.
 
Crossing the room, he picked up the empty glass by the bed.
 
Just the faintest hint of licorice lingered.

Anger swept through him.
 
Someone had drugged him, but to what affect?
 
He crossed the room, scooted the desk out of the way, and peeled back a corner of the rug.
 
After opening a latch, he quickly worked a dial to a safe.
 
He quickly scanned each and every document, but nothing seemed to be amiss.
 
Hearing footsteps out in the hall, he quickly replaced everything before a knock sounded on the door.

“Yes?”

“Your bath, my lord.”

“Enter.”
 
He draped the sheet over him like a toga and walked to the drapes that covered the window.
 
Thorn pulled back a side and looked out into the grimy world that was London this morning.
 
He wanted to know two things.
 
Who had seduced him last night and what game was she playing?
 
When he found out his answer, he would make her pay and any others involved.

***

Rebekah luxuriated in the knowledge that there were now a nanny and governess employed to see to the twin’s needs, and she took the opportunity to sleep later than she normally would.
 
If she focused hard enough, she imagined she could still feel little tremors skirt across her skin.
 
She stretched languidly and could not stop the smile that played along her lips.
 
I actually seduced him!
she thought excitedly.
 

But then a little voice deep inside her fought to be heard,
That man you seduced is your husband and he believes he was with a strange woman.

“Not at the end.
 
He even said my name,” she rebutted.
 
“Look at me, now I am a arguing with myself.
 
Oh!”
 
She threw back the covers only to remember that she had been so tired once she arrived home, she had disrobed, and slipped nude between the bedsheets, something she never did.
 
She found she liked it.

“Aunt Bekah, are you up yet?” Ivy called from the other side of the door.

Rebekah watched the doorknob turning and felt like she moved in slow motion across the room as she raced to lock the door before the little girl could come in.
 
On the way she almost tripped and fell thanks to the cloak and dress lying in the middle of the floor.
 
She reached the door and turned the key, effectively locking the children out of the room.
 
“Give me a few moments and then I’ll be out.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” Rebekah shook her head and smiled at the little girl’s demand.
 
Knowing her niece’s impatient nature, she kicked the discarded clothing from the previous night beneath her bed.
 
True to her word she quickly tidied her appearance and dressed to start the day and left the room.
 
Storms moved in mid-morning, forcing the children to stay inside all day and find other games to occupy them.
 
Rebekah found herself at loose ends now that the twin’s had both a nanny and a governess to care for them.

She tried to settle into reading a book, because it had been ages since she had been able to read for her own pleasure.
 
Instead, her mind would either wander to last night or the possibility that her husband was an agent of the Crown.
 
Could it be possible he worked for the good of England all these years and she had been kept in the dark?
 
Then again, why would she have had a need to know in the first place.
 
Could he have already been working for the government all those years ago?
 
Is that why the letters she had written him kept being returned, unopened and unread?

After a while, the rain turned into a light mist.
 
She grabbed her heavy cloak and slipped it around her shoulders, pulling the hood up over her hair to cover her face.

“Where are you off to, my lady?” Thorn’s valet inquired as he entered the hall.

“Just a walk about the square to clear my mind.”

“I’ll just get my coat and accompany you.”

“I’ll be fine,” she waved him off.

“I insist.
 
Lord Wulfe would have my head should I let you go out unaccompanied.
 
Wait here, my lady.”
 

Rebekah watched the man disappear up the stairs and then quickly slipped out the front door.
 
She quickly crossed the street and took shelter behind the trunk of a large tree.
 
Never before had she been escorted while taking a walk and she refused to begin now.
 

“Lady Wulfe,” she heard Thorn’s burly valet call her name.
 
She peered around the tree and watched him head towards a corner leading to another neighborhood.
 
Rebekah took the opportunity to cross the park and move in the opposite direction as the servant.
 
Once she had left their little square, she moved more slowly, enjoying the smell of the rain.
 
Somehow it seemed to remove the grimy smell from the London streets.

She lifted her face to the struggling sun as the mist stopped completely.
 
The hood fell backwards revealing her dark hair hanging down her back.
 
The breeze kissed her cheeks and she felt infinitely better than she had confined in the house.
 
Perhaps I could take the twins to see the menagerie or go to the museum
, she mused, then frowned as she remembered that they had someone else to care for them.
 
Not that she could not still take them places, but what did women do with themselves once the children got older and did not need them as much?
 
She did not embroider, paint, or any of the other things that were considered proper.
 
She rode horses, but she was not overly fond of them.
 
They were merely a necessity.
 
She had spent so much of her life rebelling against the Reverend and what he deemed proper that she felt like she had somewhere lost herself along the way.
 
So, how should she pass her time?

Rebekah was so lost in thought that she did not hear the person approaching from behind until she felt two arms firmly grasp her.
 
One felt like a metal band pinning her arms to her waist while the other clamped over her mouth to keep her from screaming.
 
She quickly scanned the area, but no one was out and the rain had started once again.
 
She felt her self being hoisted in the air and carried into the shadows between two houses.
 
Rebekah frantically looked around to try and get her bearing as well as look for anything she might use as a weapon.
 
Nothing.
 
Of course she would be accosted in the cleanest part of London.

She widened her mouth, ignoring the blood she tasted as her lip pushed into her teeth.
 
She angled her head just enough and bit down hard on the hand covering her mouth.
 
Rebekah squirmed out of his grasp.
 
As soon as her feet hit the ground, she hiked up her skirt and kicked him in the knee.

“Why, ye’ li’l bitch!” the man roared, backhanding her so hard that her head slammed into the brick of the house.
   

Rebekah slid slowly down the brick wall, her cloak pooling around her.
 
The giant of a man stood in front of her, rage emanating from every part of him as he rubbed his hand and favored his knee.
 
She knew she had to do something or her life would be forfeit.
 
Attempting to shake off the dizziness, she braced her hands on the ground, readying herself to push up and flee when she felt something beneath her hand.
 
She inched her hand into the cloak pocket, saying a silent prayer of thanks, and wrapped her hand around the small, feminine pistol.
 
She pulled it out and pointed it at the man’s extremities.
 

“Step back, or I will make you a eunuch,” she threatened, her hand steady.