“It won’t be. I won’t allow it.”
At last he threw his hands into the air and walked away from her, taking the path that wound into the woods. Before he’d disappeared completely, Grandma opened the door.
“I was keeping an eye on him the whole time,” she spat. “If he’d taken a step toward you I would have been here to defend you in a flash.” Grandma waved her cane before her.
Molly led her grandmother back into the house, wondering what she could possibly say to explain away Wolf’s visit. She got the old woman seated, and knelt at her feet.
“Grandma,” Molly placed a hand at her grandmother’s knee. “You worry entirely too much. I think you were much too rough with poor Wolf.”
“Poor Wolf,” Grandma scoffed. “Ha. I hope you put him in his place.”
“I did. He won’t be back.”
“Good.” Grandma nodded her head with satisfaction. “You’re much too sweet to be exposed to a man the likes of Wolf Trevelyan.”
Molly didn’t agree, not entirely. Beneath his cynicism, there was a tender man. Beneath his chill, there beat a real heart. She’d felt it, for a moment. She’d seen it, in the pulse at his throat.
Beneath his brutal appearance there was beauty. She saw it in his eyes, in his rare, true smiles.
But she didn’t think he saw that beauty in himself. He probably hadn’t noted it for a very long time.
And she would never get the chance to show him that beauty. What he asked of her was too much. More than she was willing to give, even to Wolf.
“Molly!”
Molly had been so lost in her own thoughts she hadn’t even seen or heard her friends approaching, until Hannah shouted her name to gain her attention.
Stella carried Wally on her hip, and she looked much better. Fresher, smiling, her hair braided and her apron clean. Hannah was, as always, beautiful. Her blond hair was straight and soft, and she usually wore it hanging unrestrained down her back. Half the eligible men in town were courting or attempting to court Hannah, but no one had stolen her heart yet, and Hannah had declared she would settle for nothing less.
“Come to my house for cake and tea,” Stella insisted. Wally reached out his fat, short arms to Molly and she gathered him as he all but jumped from Stella’s arms to her own. “I feel so much better, and I want to thank you for everything you did.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Molly said, making a face at the baby.
“Guess what I heard,” Hannah said with a conspiratorial lilt in her voice.
They walked toward Stella’s house, Molly sandwiched between her friends. She didn’t have much time to spare, but perhaps a half hour or so wouldn’t hurt.
Stella rolled her eyes. “What have you heard now?”
Hannah was unperturbed by Stella’s lack of enthusiasm. “Wolf Trevelyan is at Vanora Point,” she revealed with great pleasure.
Molly held onto Wally just a bit tighter, and made another face. “Well, it is his house, after all,” she said defensively. “He has every right to be there.”
Stella clucked. “You’re entirely too polite. The man should have been hanged seven years ago. He shouldn’t have any rights at all.”
“I hear,” Hannah whispered, “that there are mummified bodies kept on the third floor. That he brings women here from New York, murders them and hides their bodies in that creepy house.”
Molly laughed, shocking both her friends. Wally decided to laugh with her.
“That’s ridiculous. Surely you don’t believe such a preposterous story.” A quick glance at her friends told Molly that they did believe such nonsense.
“I saw him, once,” Stella said as they reached her house and she swung open the door. “Right after it happened.”
They all knew what it was, and they had all heard about the one time Stella caught a glimpse of Wolf Trevelyan.
“He came to town, riding the biggest black horse I have ever seen.” Stella’s voice always took on a hint of mystery when she told this story. Molly hadn’t heard it in a while, and she wanted to hear the details again, now that she had a face to put with the man.
“I thought he was the devil,” Stella whispered.
“Ridiculous,” Molly whispered as they walked into the kitchen, unable to remain silent “You were, what, fourteen years old?”
“Fifteen,” she corrected.
“It’s not fair,” Hannah complained. “Molly and I didn’t get even a glimpse.”
Stella laid out three mismatched tea cups, and put on water to boil. “They threw stones, you know,” Stella continued.
Molly had forgotten this part. It had been years since Stella had told the story, and she had forgotten about the stones. Her heart broke a little, for Wolf.
“How cruel.”
Hannah and Stella stared at her as if she’d lost her mind.
“Well, it is.” She bounced Wally on her knee, unable to sit completely still.
“He’s the one who’s cruel,” Stella said defensively. “As he passed, he looked at me. Directly into my eyes like he was putting a spell on me or something. I swear, I shivered to my toes, and I almost fainted. I couldn’t sleep for a week.”
“Last time you told this story you said you had trouble getting to sleep that night,” Molly said.
Hannah and Stella stared at her, and Molly knew she should have kept her mouth shut.
Now that Stella had begun her story, Molly remembered. The gigantic black horse, the stare, the stones. “You threw a stone at him, didn’t you?”
Stella nodded, not at all ashamed. “After he passed. Hit him squarely in the back.”
Molly bounced Wally ferociously on her knee, and decided it was safer to look at the baby than at her friends.
She could never confide to them that she had fallen in love with Wolf Trevelyan. That he was no monster, but a passionate if, perhaps, impatient man.
Hannah stood to help Stella prepare their tea, and Molly placed her cheek against the top of Wally’s head. “You’ll keep our secret, won’t you?” she whispered softly.
Wally answered her by throwing his chubby arms around her neck and squealing into her ear.
She took that as a yes.
Chapter Six
Wolf paced, his eyes on the floor, his brandy forgotten. This was a wrinkle he hadn’t expected.
She’d said no.
Frail women had never taken to him easily, but Molly was no delicate flower. She was a woman who faced him without hesitation, who kissed him with passion. She did want him, and he knew it with every fiber of his being.
She wanted more. The revelation stopped him, and he lifted his head to find that Larkin watched him silently from the open door of the study.
“What do you want?” he snapped.
Larkin didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink. “Will you be dining this evening?”
How long had it been since Larkin had first informed him that the evening meal was served? An hour? Two? Wolf didn’t remember and didn’t care.
“No.”
“Very good, sir,” Larkin said, backing away from the door.
Wolf refilled his brandy glass, and resumed pacing. He couldn’t stand still, had no appetite, and all because a simple country girl denied him.
It made no sense at all to allow an insignificant refusal to eat at him like this. Women had refused him before, and he’d turned away from them without a second thought. For every woman who rejected him because he was Wolf Trevelyan, or because they disapproved of his life-style, or because he wasn’t pretty enough, there were three more willing to take her place.
New York was filled with willing women. “Larkin!” Wolf bellowed, and in seconds the butler appeared. Wolf emptied his glass, downing the brandy in one swallow. “Pack my bags,” he said as he set the empty glass on his desk. “I’ll be leaving tomorrow morning.”
“Very good, sir.” Larkin bowed crisply.
Wolf felt somewhat better, once the decision was made. His apparent obsession wi
th Molly Kincaid was due entirely, he was certain, to boredom. He was tired of drinking alone, of playing solitaire. Bored with Vanora Point. Maybe it was time to sell this cursed place.
Calming himself, Wolf sat at his desk and took a deck of cards from the top drawer. He often thought that if circumstances had been different, he could have made a good living as a gambler.
He shuffled the deck absently, allowing the cards to fly through his fingers with a deftness that came from years of practice, and then, rather than spread the familiar game of solitaire, he fanned the cards across the desk, face down.
Molly had good luck, just as he normally did. When she’d fanned the cards across the blanket and ruined his third stacked hand, she’d beaten him fairly. He wished, too late, that he’d taken the top card and claimed his prize. A single kiss. The stray thought angered him. Why was she still on his mind?
Unable to wipe Molly from his thoughts completely, Wolf dragged his fingers across the cards, as she had that day. His fingertips barely brushed the edge of each card, and without enthusiasm he reached down and flipped over a card from the center of the deck.
The queen of hearts. The red queen. Molly Kincaid.
This was ridiculous. He still wanted her, and Wolf Trevelyan got what he wanted. Always. All he had to do was raise the ante. What would it take to sweep Molly off her sensible feet? What did she want?
When Larkin appeared again, Wolf was still staring at the red queen.
“Your bags are packed, sir. I laid out a suit of traveling clothes, the gray, and —”
“I changed my mind,” Wolf said, “I won’t be leaving tomorrow after all.”
Larkin took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Very good, sir.”
* * *
They’d barely begun the morning’s baking when the knock came, surprising Molly and her mother. No one called this early.
Molly wiped her hands on her apron as she went to answer the insistent knock. It sounded as if someone were kicking at the door.
The boy who stood there was a stranger to her, and he juggled several packages in his hands. He had, indeed, been kicking at the door.
“Are you Molly Kincaid?” he asked as a small package toppled from the top. Molly caught it before it hit the floor.
“Yes. What is all this?”
“Mr. Trevelyan asked me to deliver these to you, with his best wishes, miss.” He peeked over the top of the packages, and Molly realized that even though he was tall, he was just a boy.
“Take them back,” Molly said, placing the small package she had caught back on top of the pile of plainly wrapped boxes. “And tell Mr. Trevelyan that I don’t want or need his gifts.”
Through an opening in the pile of boxes, Molly saw the boy’s face turn red. “I can’t do that, miss. He’ll . . . he’ll kill me if I fail him in this, I know he will.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she murmured as she began to close the door.
“But, but,” the boy placed his foot in the doorway so Molly couldn’t shut him out. “Don’t you even want to know what’s in these boxes? I mean, aren’t you just a little bit curious?”
Her curiosity had already gotten her into a predicament.
“No.” Molly shoved his foot out of the way with her own, and closed the door. She hadn’t even turned around when she heard the packages hitting the ground. One, and then another, and then the lot of them.
She smiled, pleased with herself, until she found herself face to face with her mother.
“What was that about?”
“Nothing,” Molly said lightly, stepping quickly around her mother. “Some young man was trying to make a delivery, but he had the wrong house.”
“Did I hear him mention the name Trevelyan?” Funny, how Mary Kincaid’s voice lowered to a whisper when she spoke Wolf’s family name.
“Yes, I believe so,” Molly said as if she couldn’t quite remember. “Shall we get back to work?”
Even though her mother knew nothing of Molly’s meetings with Wolf, just the mention of his name sent her into a tirade. “That man shouldn’t be allowed to walk free, after what he did.”
“You really don’t know what happened.” Molly tried to keep her voice light, casual. It wouldn’t do for her to defend Wolf to her mother. Hannah and Stella might let it pass, but not Mary Kincaid. “It might have been a tragic accident, for all we know.”
“What was Jeanne Rutledge doing on the cliff in the middle of the night, and in her nightdress?” Mary hissed. “It was no accident that took her to that cliff and over the edge, and the only reason it was ruled a misadventure was because Penn Trevelyan bought and paid for the investigators who ruled on Jeanne’s death. He protected his only child with his money. That’s not justice, that’s the worst kind of injustice.”
“I still say it had to be, that it could have been, an accident,” Molly continued as she kneaded a mound of bread dough on the square kitchen table. Even when Wolf had glared at her as if he’d wanted to eat her alive, she hadn’t been afraid. She couldn’t believe he had violence like that in his heart. “No one actually saw what happened.”
Mary snorted, very unattractively. “It was no accident,” she insisted. “What happened at that house was a terrible tragedy. Wolf Trevelyan might have gotten away with murder, but the people of Kingsport will never forget Jeanne and what happened to her. That man doesn’t dare to show his face here.”
“It’s no wonder he never comes to town,” Molly mused absently.
“We don’t want his kind here,” Mary insisted. “And we’ve made it very clear to that man.” When she lifted her face, her stern expression faded. “You’ve a kind heart, Molly, but I’m afraid that there are those in this world who would take advantage of such kindness. You should have no sympathy in your heart for Wolf Trevelyan.”
It wasn’t sympathy that made her heart pound, she was quite certain.
The gifts continued to come, for two more days, and Molly continued to send them back, unopened. Apparently Wolf had not killed the boy who continued to fail in his attempts, though he seemed more and more certain every day that when he returned to Vanora Point with the gifts, that would surely happen.
Molly was able to meet and get rid of the delivery boy without arousing her mother’s suspicions, looking for him early in the morning and meeting him outside the small house she shared with her mother, but if Wolf persisted, Mary Kincaid was bound to learn the truth.
The sun was warm, so warm that Molly had left the house without her red cape. She needed it in the shade of the forest, but not here on the road where the sun shone fully. If only Wolf Trevelyan would return to New York where he belonged so she could return to her daily routine! She missed the cool forest, the sense of magic, but she also realized she’d never again walk the footpath to Grandma’s house without thinking of Wolf.
She had the road to herself today, and walked down the middle of it swinging her basket. Even Grandma didn’t know about the gifts Wolf tried to buy her with. If she did, she’d likely make her way to Vanora Point and lash out at Wolf with her cane again.
The picture in her mind caused a smile to creep across her face. He was supposedly such a bad man, such an ogre, but he had taken Grandma’s abuse without so much as a cross word.
Well, he had, in a way, threatened to lock Grandma in the pantry, but she was sure it was an empty threat. And he had called the dear old woman a witch, but she was sure he didn’t mean it.
She heard the horse approaching from behind, and moved to the side of the road without looking back. This was a frequently used route, leading inland, but this was the first time all day she’d had to share the road. Soon she’d be at Grandma’s house. She’d passed the more infrequently used road that led to Vanora Point and the Trevelyan house with no more than a quick and barely interested glimpse, and she’d covered quite a bit of distance since then.
Molly waited for the horse to pass, but instead the sound of hoofbeats in the dirt slowed and then stopped all
together, and behind her booted feet thudded against the road.
She knew what she would see, even before she glanced over her shoulder.
Wolf was almost upon her, and he led a tall black stallion by the reins. “By God,” he said without preamble. “You are a stubborn woman.”
“Me?” Molly didn’t slow her step. She didn’t have time to spend conversing with Wolf when she was walking the longer route to her grandmother’s house. “It seems to me that you’re the stubborn one. Don’t you ever give up?”
“No,” he growled. “I don’t.”
Wolf walked beside her, and she couldn’t take steps long enough or fast enough to leave him behind. “Poor Willie, he thinks you’re going to kill him.”
“Who’s Willie?”
Molly glanced at Wolf. He scowled, but she answered him with a smile. “The young man who tries to deliver the packages you so persistently send.”
“The stable boy,” Wolf clarified.
“I asked him, that second morning, what his name was. It’s much easier to argue with someone if you know what his name is, Wolf.”
He sighed, muttered something under his breath that could have been a curse, and kicked up pebbles and dirt. “I have a proposition for you, Red.”
“I thought I made it clear —”
“Just listen for a minute,” he snapped, reaching out to capture her wrist and bring their progress to a halt.
Molly looked up into Wolf’s face. His earlier anger was gone, replaced by a cold apathy.
“One of our short conversations has made me reconsider my current status. When you refused my mother’s bracelet, in part because it was a family heirloom, I told you I was the last of the Trevelyans.” The sun touched his black hair and a portion of his face, but his eyes were in shadow, and Molly could see no hint of his emotions there. “I suppose I haven’t thought about that much in the past, but I do have an obligation to carry on the family name.”
“Wolf, please.” Molly tried to pull her hand from his grasp, but he wouldn’t let go.
Big Bad Wolf Page 7
