Taming the Wicked Wulfe (The Rogue Agents) (35 page)

“Take me home.”
 

“It dawned on me from the moment you saw your father that day, you were fighting for your life and our child’s.
 
Even when our son’s,” he choked on the words and had to clear his throat before starting over. “Even as his life ebbed, you were still fighting for yours.
 
Even months after, Gertie said that you would sleep for hours and hours and she never once saw you cry or grieve.”
 

She remained stiff, looking straight ahead, not daring to look at the graveyard again.
 
“I said, take me home,” she whispered hoarsely.
 

“Did you know that lord Blackerby bought a headstone for his grave?
 
Normally he would have been buried at the family cemetery in the country, but everyone feared leaving you and opted to have it here.”

She looked up sharply at her husband and knew that she shouldn’t have.
 
Tears shimmered in his eyes and she felt years of pain and suffering coursing through her body as if pulled by a team of a thousand horses.
 
He jumped out of the coach and gathered her in his arms despite her kicking and protestations.
 
He had warned both the footman and the driver about the task at hand.
 
Thorn carried her to the back of the graveyard and set her on her feet.

“Look.”

“No.”

“Dammit, Bekah, look at our son’s grave.
 
Grieve.
 
Say goodbye.
 
Tell him you love him one last time.
 
Do all the things you should have done all those years ago, but your father stole from you.”

“No,” she fought him until her took her head and forced it downwards.
 
A rectangular marble box on a pedestal lay before her.
 
The words inscribed read
Thornton James Wulfe, Beloved Son, November 2, 1804
.
 
A statue of a child with angel’s wings sat next to it.

He felt her begin to shake in his arms, and then the sound she emitted would forever haunt him.
 
She sounded like an animal caught in a hunter’s trap.
 
She slipped from his grasp and fell to her knees, rocking back and forth, her arms wrapped around her waist.
 
“My baby,” she wailed mournfully, over and over.
 
Thorn slipped to his knees beside her, his tears dampening the top of her head, hers soaking his coat and shirt.
 
He carefully took her in his arms, almost afraid she might break if he moved too suddenly.
 
The moon was high in the sky before her sobs subsided to the occasional hiccup.

“Let’s go home.”
 
She suddenly leaned forward and clutched the marble box.
 
He gently pried her fingers loose before sweeping her into his arms.
 
“We’ll come back, I promise.”
 
Then she tightly wrapped her arms around his neck and let him carry her to the coach.
 
When they arrived home he carried her in as well.
 
The twins slid to a halt as they came running from the back of the house.

“Is Aunt Bekah sick?” Ivy asked.

“Just a little.
 
I’m going to take her to her room.”

“Is she going to die?” Zachary queried, always cutting to the heart of the matter.

He heard Rebekah half-whimper, half-chuckle.

“No, she isn’t.
 
And why are you two scamps up at this hour?”
 

“There they are,” the nanny said from the top of the stairs.
 
“They snuck to the kitchens.
 
Cook made a cake today.
 
Come, before I have a mind to keep you from having any sweets for the next month.”

The twins began whining, but quickly followed her.
 
“Bless her,” Thorn said before climbing the stairs.

Rebekah sobbed once more.
 
Her laid her gently on the bed.
 
He removed her shoes and then undid the buttons down the back of her dress, removing it so that she would be more comfortable.
 
She remained boneless and limp while he took care of her.
 
He pulled the blanket over her and turned to leave the room when he heard her speak.

“Don’t leave.”

“Rebekah.”

“Hold me.
 
I don’t want to be alone.
 
Please,” he bowed his head and sighed.
 
He removed his coat and waistcoat, as well as his cravat.
 
He fought with his boots until he got them off.
 
He heard a giggle come from his wife on the bed.

“Think that was funny?”
 
She held her thumb and finger close to each other indicating a little.

He climbed on top of the covers and pulled her into his arms, her cheek resting against his chest.
 
The silence in the room was deafening.

“Thank you,” she finally whispered.
 
She felt him squeeze her tight and drop a kiss on the top of her head.
 
“I never allowed myself to think about him.
 
Whenever I would start to, I would just turn in on myself.
 
And then Sarah had the twins and needed help with them, and well, they didn’t replace him, they just kept me busy.
 
I didn’t think about him as much.
 
And then Teddy suggested the proxy marriage to you and everything was there at the forefront again.”

“Did Sarah know?”

“No.
 
Just mother, Gertie, Lord Blackerby, and Clarissa.
 
And of course the Reverend.”

“Don’t ever mention that man again.”

“All we can do is move forward.”

“Can you?
 
Move forward, that is.”

“Only time will tell.
 
I can say that this is a step.
 
At least you no longer repulse me.”

“There is that,” he replied, stunned to find himself chuckling.
 
“Rest.”

“You’ll still be here?”

“Yes.”

“The
Lady Luck
?”

“Can survive without me for one night.
 
Sleep,” he tipped her chin up and gave her a gentle kiss on the lips before tucking her close to his heart.

***

Thorn fell asleep at some point because he woke during the night to the sound of sobbing.
 
Rebekah lay on her side with her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped tightly around her legs. The distance between them felt like a deep, dark chasm that he had to cross.
 
Instead of pulling her to him, he moved closer to her, tucking her in close to him.

“Why did you have to take me there?”

“You needed closure.”

“Does this look like closure to you?”
 
She broke free of his hold and stood next to the bed.

“I repulse you once more, don’t I?” He ended the question with a heavy sigh.

“You dare joke about this?”

“Trust me when I say I am not joking.”

“I just don’t understand your attitude.
 
How can you…”

“How can I what?”

“You seem so unaffected,” she waved.
 
“You fell asleep as if you hadn’t a care in the world.
 
Has this all been an act?
 
Perhaps you did know about the babe.”

“And just how could I possibly know that?”

“I wrote you.
 
Many times.
 
I thought it only right to let you know of your impending fatherhood.”
 
She refused to admit that she had held out some hope that he would ride up to Gertie’s house and ask for her hand in marriage, all the while begging for forgiveness for his poor treatment of her.

He sat up and threw his clothed legs over the side of the bed.
 
“You wrote me?”

“Yes.”

“I never received a letter.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Where did you send it?”

“Sarah said that Teddy had stated that you should be written to through a Colonel McKenzie…” she put her hands to her mouth and her hazel eyes widened as she realized what she had just said.

“I’ll kill him,” Thorn very nearly roared as he stood and crossed the room.
 
A trembling hand landing on his linen-covered bicep halted his progress.

“You truly did not know,” she said, shock still etching her features.

“No.
 
You still thought that I knew?
 
You asked me to stay all the while believing that I knew you had been pregnant with our child?
 
You wanted me to hold you thinking that I had abandoned you and our child?
 
What kind of man do you think I am?
 
Better yet, what kind of woman are you?”

“A lonely one,” she said so softly he almost missed the words.

“What?”

“I won’t say it again,” she said stubbornly, raising her chin, and staring him in the eyes. She swiped at the stubborn tears that refused to quit falling, even though the sobs had ceased.
 

“You have Ivy and Zachary.”

“And they are growing and are needing me less and less, especially since they now have a governess and nanny.”

“Friends, then.”

“Few.
 
I do not want to have to watch one of them hang for murdering a high ranking government official.”

He felt a warmth spread through him that she even considered him a friend.
 
“McKenzie deserves to be murdered.”

“Perhaps.”

“I swear, I never saw one of those letters.
 
If I had, nothing would have stopped me from coming back and marrying you.”

“Perhaps that is why you never saw them.
 
I am sure Mack had his reasons and no one could have known how things would play out.”
 

Thorn gripped her upper arms with his large, firm hands.
 
His thumbs moved soothingly back and forth.
 
She found she enjoyed how he made her feel feminine and special without ever saying anything, that is when they were not verbally sparring with one another.
 
Rebekah raised her arms to grip his waist.
 
His shirt had come untucked and her palms itched to feel his skin beneath them.
 
She refused to look away from him, and she felt him studying her in the silvery moonlight that filtered through the window.

“Rebekah,” he breathed.

“Kiss me,” she whispered.

“Kiss you?” He asked.
 
“When minutes ago you wanted to tear me from limb to limb?”

“Kiss me,” she softly demanded once more.
 
She took her hands away from his waist and slipped them up between them.
 
Rebekah threaded them through his brown locks and pulled him down to her.
 
Her mouth opened willingly for the onslaught.
 
She relished the feel of his lips and tongue dueling with hers.
 
There could be no other description, for there was nothing delicate, kind, or sweet about this kiss.
 
It was a combination of hot, sultry need, and pure lust.
 
Both were equally demanding and giving in their participation.

Thorn reached down, gripping the hem of her chemise and broke from their kiss long enough to rip it over her head.
 

“You have too many clothes on, Thorn.”

“And if I do not keep them on, this will be over before it has begun,” he snarled before capturing her mouth once more.
 
He grabbed her upper thighs and lifted her off the ground.
 
He was torn between sighing in relief or screaming out in physical pain when she wrapped her legs around his hips.
 
Wulfe could feel her heat caressing his manhood through his pants, causing it to lengthen and harden in anticipation.
 
“You’re going to kill me,” he grunted as he stumbled to the bed.
 
He attempted to drop her onto it, but she pulled him down with her, refusing to relinquish her hold.

“Never say that,” she said, rubbing her breasts against his shirt-covered chest.
 
She enjoyed the sensation that brought the tips to aching awareness, but wanted more.
 
“Touch me,” she begged.

“Where?”

“Everywhere.
 
I feel like my skin is on fire.”
 
When he did not move quickly enough, she took his hand and ran it up her side until it covered her breast.
 
She arched her back, trying to push her fullness into his hand.
 
When he tweaked her nipple between his fingers, she tried to squeeze her legs together to ease the ache, but his hips remained in the way.
 
“Too many clothes,” she said again, before ripping his shirt open.
 
Studs plinked as they landed all over the floor.
 
Rebekah ran her fingers along the chiseled contours of his abdomen and through the springy hair on his chest.
 
She pulled him down to devour his mouth once more.