Big Bad Wolf

by Linda Winstead Jones

  Her hair hung forward, and Wolf tried to brush it away with his hands. “If Jeanne had had a friend like you, maybe she’d still be alive today.”

  Molly didn’t want to cry, but she knew Wolf had never cried for himself. All these years, and he’d never told anyone. What a horror to live with, a horror made worse by the fact that he endured it alone.

  “I shouldn’t have told you.” He wiped away a single tear with his thumb. “It’s more than you want to know, isn’t it? Sometimes the truth is hard to take.”

  Molly shook her head slightly. “The truth is never worse than a lie. In fact, I’m going to tell you a fact you don’t want to hear.”

  For a moment, Wolf looked worried, as if he expected some horrible secret from her past. Something she had hidden from him all this time.

  She had kept it to herself, but it was time to give Wolf what he really needed.

  “I love you.”

  Wolf woke with a start, escaping the dream that had plagued him over the years. Jeanne, the cliff, but in the dreams he was there, and Jeanne clutched a child in her arms as she jumped.

  He could never run fast enough to reach her. Sometimes he knew it was only a dream, and he knew no matter how hard he ran he wouldn’t reach her, but he couldn’t stop.

  As he ran toward Jeanne he kept thinking this time might be different. It never was.

  Molly slept peacefully, curled against him with one leg over his, and Wolf found himself pulling her gently closer. Needing her warmth and her softness, her nearness. While she was asleep he could indulge himself and acknowledge, for a while, that he needed her.

  Did she really think she loved him? Maybe she did. Maybe a good and virtuous girl like Molly rationalized that it was all right to lose control, to have passionate sex with a man, if you loved him.

  Wolf knew love had nothing to do with it.

  He’d come close tonight to revealing more than was necessary. When Molly had said that she didn’t mean anything to him, he’d stopped himself before he could tell her that he didn’t want any other woman, and if that wasn’t caring he didn’t know what was.

  Confession wasn’t normally his style, but telling Molly about that horrid night seven years ago had come easily, too easily. He’d even taken some comfort from the sharing of his secret. It was incredibly selfish, asking Molly to endure the burden with him, but the ease had been immediate. That was rather alarming, the momentary, overwhelming relief.

  He didn’t want or need to share his life with anyone. Not like this.

  Molly had changed his life. He couldn’t allow her to change who he was.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The air was just beginning to turn cool. Molly still enjoyed her walks down Thirty-third Street, but she had begun to wear a shawl, particularly if she walked in the morning.

  Had she ever in her life been so marvelously happy? Of course not.

  Wolf obviously was not ready to believe that she loved him, but she was determined to prove it. Like it or not, he did need her, and he cared for her more than he’d ever intended, she was sure.

  She was several blocks away from the Waldorf when she heard someone calling her name.

  Turning back toward the hotel she saw the young man approaching, calling again for Mrs. Trevelyan. Someone from the Waldorf? He was almost upon her before she recognized him.

  “Arthur!”

  Her mouth dropped open, and when she realized she was staring at the boy wide-eyed and open-mouthed, she regained her composure quickly.

  His hair had been neatly trimmed, and the simple but clean clothes he wore fit nicely. Someone had been feeding him well, because he was no longer so terribly thin. And he was smiling.

  “You look splendid,” she said, stepping aside so other pedestrians could pass.

  He ignored her compliment, but blushed just a little. “I wanted to thank you, and I’m not allowed to talk to you at the hotel.”

  “Not allowed?”

  “Policy,” he said in a very mature voice. “I’m still just kitchen help, but when they finish training me to be a bellboy that will change.”

  “They’re training you to be a bellboy?”

  Arthur grinned, and looked like a mischievous little boy once again. “Oscar says I have potential.”

  “You do.” Molly took his arm and set off at a leisurely stroll. “I think you have great potential.”

  Arthur held himself tall as they walked down Thirty-third Street, and Molly found herself smiling widely.

  “If not for you, I wouldn’t have this job, Mrs. Trevelyan.”

  “Call me Molly, would you?” She glanced sideways at Arthur and found that he was blushing again. “After all, we are friends.”

  As they strolled down the promenade, Arthur told Molly about his wonderful new life. He had a room and a roommate who had become a friend, more food than he’d seen in his hard lifetime, and several changes of clothes — hand-me-downs and uniforms.

  Molly found herself confiding in him as well, telling him that she and Wolf had actually discussed buying a house in New York. She couldn’t imagine living in a hotel for much longer.

  For a while she had thought Wolf stayed at the gentlemen’s club because he couldn’t afford to maintain two residences, but he’d explained, as if she were a child, that was not the case.

  She should have understood that Wolf didn’t want the obligation of another residence, when a lonely single room would suit him just fine.

  Sometimes, lately, he’d actually walked with her down this very street, relaxed and smiling, making plans for a house here in New York. He hadn’t mentioned sending her back to Vanora Point in ages.

  She didn’t share all of this with Arthur, of course, but the thoughts ran through her mind as she told him about their plans for a house. They had a nice walk, turned about and headed back for the Waldorf.

  Arthur had turned into such a nice young man, and was so handsome with his neatly trimmed hair and new clothes and color in his healthy cheeks. She’d known all along that he was bright, that he had potential. It hadn’t been difficult to convince Oscar of that fact.

  Arthur became anxious as they approached the hotel, and disengaged his arm from hers several blocks from their destination.

  “I have to get back,” he said in a low voice, as if someone from the Waldorf, notably Oscar, might catch him breaking the rules.

  Molly watched the boy hurry back to the hotel, and after a few moments she resumed her stroll. Arthur’s life had surely changed as much as hers had.

  The concert was to be held in the Waldorf’s Grand Ballroom, and to Wolf attending seemed a small sacrifice to make. Molly was excited at the prospect, after more than a week of somewhat quiet evenings in their suite. She had laid out her emerald green gown, one of the silk gowns Mrs. Watkins had altered to Molly’s specifications, and had spent the better portion of the past hour trying to get her hair in a proper psyche knot.

  Wolf was content to watch, for the moment. Good God, he was never content.

  That was a lie. In the past several days he’d been disgustingly content. He hadn’t been to Phil’s, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t enjoyed a card game or two. He’d been teaching Molly strip poker.

  She hadn’t told him again that she loved him, much to his relief. He’d convinced himself that it was just Molly’s way, to try to comfort him the way a wife should comfort her husband. That, or a proper lady’s justification for what they had in bed.

  This odd and domesticated contentment should have triggered an alarm days ago, but Wolf had let it pass. Now, watching her fiddle with that wonderful hair, it came to him like a thunderbolt. Sudden, furious, dangerous.

  He knew what she wanted. After all this time, he finally knew. Molly didn’t just want him to need her, she wanted to own him, heart and body, and he was falling into her trap very willingly.

  As if to confirm his revelation, Molly glanced over her shoulder and smiled brightly. Dressed in nothing but her chemise and the eme
ralds he had placed around her throat almost an hour ago, she made an enchanting picture.

  “How’s this?” she asked, rotating her head for his inspection.

  “Perfect,” he muttered.

  “You’re tired of waiting for me. I expect you’d tell me it was perfect even if it was falling halfway down my back.”

  “Probably,” he admitted.

  Body and heart. She’d admitted weeks ago, at Vanora Point, that what she wanted was for him to need her. And now he did. More than was wise, more than he’d ever needed anyone before.

  “Mr. Abbott said he’d be at the concert tonight,” Molly said as she studied her hairstyle one more time.

  “Did you see him again today?”

  “Yes.” Molly left the vanity and came to him. God help him, she already owned his body. A smile, a simple smile, and his pulse quickened. “He’s been speaking to several physicians who do charity work, and they’ve agreed to help find suitable candidates. Two others have already made sizable donations to the fund. It’s doubled already, Wolf. Can you imagine?”

  “You’d think the money was yours, you’re so excited.”

  “I don’t need it.” Molly stood on her toes and kissed him quickly before she turned away to fetch her gown. “I have you.”

  Good God, she was getting dangerously close to his heart.

  It was a different, more sedate crowd than the one Wolf had introduced her to at Phil’s, but it was a crush just the same. Well dressed ladies and gentlemen congregated in the ballroom, and searched for their seats. The concert wouldn’t be underway for another quarter of an hour, and just a few, those who were determined to sit close to the front or close to the back, were seated.

  Wolf was oddly silent, and had been all evening. Business, she decided. He’d had a difficult day and it was weighing on his mind.

  She kept expecting him to complain, about the concert she’d insisted on attending, about the crowd, but he didn’t say a word.

  Molly turned abruptly when she heard a familiar voice calling her name, a bright “Mrs. Trevelyan,” called loudly enough to claim her attention, but at a level that was civilized.

  “Mr. Abbott.” She smiled when she recognized the banker making his way toward her. He was not a tall man, but was broad enough in the shoulders to open a wide path through the crowd, his balding head leading the way as he leaned tenaciously forward.

  He greeted Wolf, but with less enthusiasm, Molly noted, and then he turned his attention to her. “There’s someone here you must meet,” he said in a lowered voice. “I told Robert Hutton about your fund, and he’s quite interested in making a sizable contribution, but he wants to meet the lady responsible first.”

  “It’s supposed to be anonymous,” Molly whispered. “You told me you could handle the money yourself.”

  Mr. Abbott grimaced slightly. “I know, but Robert’s insistent, and he’s offered to double the fund.”

  “Dammit, Abbott,” Wolf snapped. “Molly gave you her answer.”

  “Double?” Molly whispered, and then she glanced up into Wolf’s face. So often his face was like this, hard and unreadable. “All right. I don’t see how I can pass up an offer like that.”

  Mr. Abbott led the way, and Molly followed with Wolf at her side. Beneath her hand, his arm was tense. He looked straight ahead, and she was certain there was something pressing on his mind. Still, he didn’t give of himself easily, so she didn’t push for an explanation.

  Mr. Abbott led them to a corner where the crush of the crowd was not so great. A man was waiting, standing aloof in the corner all alone. His black evening suit was immaculate, his dark hair was as neatly styled as Wolf’s always was, and he had the most perfectly proportioned face she’d ever seen on a man.

  “Mr. Hutton,” Mr. Abbott called as they approached. “May I present Mr. and Mrs. Wolf Trevelyan. Mrs. Trevelyan is the lady who set up the charity I was telling you about.”

  “Is she?” he asked, raising one eyebrow. His eyes flickered over her shoulder. “A kind-hearted woman and the miracle worker who tamed Wolf Trevelyan. I’m honored.”

  Molly glanced up at Wolf, just in time to see him break into that grin that held no humor. “Robert,” he muttered softly. “It’s been a long time.”

  Robert Hutton returned his attention to her, with an intensity that made her uncomfortable, even though Wolf was still with her. “What a surprise to find that the benevolent founder of the fund to benefit unwed mothers is such a beauty. Usually I find charitable workers to be a cheerless and homely lot of sour women. What a refreshing change.”

  She didn’t like this man, not at all. He was rude and thoughtless and insulting . . . but he had offered to double the fund she’d started. “I’m going to assume that’s some sort of a compliment, Mr. Hutton.”

  Mr. Abbott squirmed uncomfortably. Wolf, it seemed, didn’t even breathe. And Mr. Hutton smiled brightly.

  “Call me Robert.”

  Best to get right to business, she thought. “Mr. Abbott tells me you’re interested in making a contribution.”

  “A very generous one,” he said with a smile. “But first, I’d like a moment of your time.” He glanced up at Wolf. “Alone.”

  “No,” Wolf said softly.

  “Double not enough?” Mr. Hutton’s eyes hardened, just as Wolf’s did when he didn’t get his way. “I’ll triple the account, for five minutes of Mrs. Trevelyan’s time.”

  “All right,” Molly said before Wolf could refuse again. Triple!

  Robert Hutton led her from the ballroom, and Wolf didn’t say a word. Molly got a quick glimpse of her husband as she left the crowded room, and she didn’t like what she saw. Wolf was very angry.

  “The Blue Salon?” Robert Hutton asked, taking her arm and leading her in that direction. “It shouldn’t be crowded, with the concert about to begin.”

  The Blue Salon was, in fact, deserted, but for a single waiter who nodded at Robert Hutton and immediately reached for a bottle of liquor and a tall glass. Molly refused when he ordered two drinks instead of one, but the waiter ignored her and did as Mr. Hutton had asked.

  “I’m looking for someone, and I think you might know where she is.” Hutton took his glass and hers, and when Molly refused again he placed it on the table that sat between them. “She’s . . . missing, and when I heard about your fund I thought you might know her whereabouts.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t help you. Mr. Abbott handles the business end, along with several physicians, and I —”

  “Bridget Brady,” he interrupted.

  Molly thought about bluffing, but she was a poor liar. From the satisfied smile that crossed Robert Hutton’s face as he watched her closely, it was too late for deception. She had already given away too much.

  “Are you the father of Bridget’s child?” She could see how a sweet, simple girl could be fooled by a man like this, a man so handsome he was almost beautiful, a man who was good with words and had a charming smile.

  “So she claims. I was never convinced that I was the only man who shared her bed.”

  Molly wanted to slap him, for Bridget, but she clasped her hands in her lap. “If that’s the case, why are you trying to find her?” In a perfect world, he would tell her that he loved Bridget madly, that he wanted to marry her and raise their child together, but Molly didn’t believe that was the case, not even for a second.

  “I’m getting married in less than a month. My bride-to-be is the eldest daughter of a very prominent and wealthy family. You can see how awkward it would be if Bridget were to make an appearance. I went by her room to explain, to make things right, but she was gone, and the landlord said she’d just up and disappeared.”

  Instinctively, Molly knew that this handsome, charming man meant Bridget and her child harm. He didn’t want an illegitimate child out there who might come to his door one day and disrupt his orderly life.

  “Mr. Hutton,” Molly stood slowly, with every ounce of restraint she had in her body. “I can’t
help you.”

  His eyes flickered to the lone waiter, and then he stood to look down at her. “Think of all the women who could be helped by the money I’m willing to donate to your little fund.”

  The music began, the full notes drifting to them from the Grand Ballroom. Molly didn’t have any desire to sit and listen to the concert, not any more. She wanted Wolf to hold her, and to tell her what to do about Bridget and this horrible man.

  “I don’t want your money, Mr. Hutton,” she said as calmly as she could manage.

  She thought for a minute that he would try to stop her. He was certainly angry enough. But instead of trying to grab her, he smiled and picked up the drink she had refused.

  “There are other ways to locate Bridget, Mrs. Trevelyan,” he said lazily and quite confidently.

  “Leave Bridget alone,” Molly insisted. “She won’t disturb your cozy little life.”

  He ignored her plea.

  “What are you going to call your little charity? How about The Wolf Trevelyan Fund For Unwed Mothers. Everyone would certainly get a laugh out of that.”

  Molly recognized the ploy for what it was. An attempt to hurt her, to put doubts in her mind. She straightened her spine and gave Robert Hutton a glare that would put him in his place. A glare she copied from her husband. She didn’t care how much money Robert Hutton had, or how important he thought he was, he couldn’t intimidate her.

  “Wolf is not at all like you, Mr. Hutton.” She left him sitting in the Blue Salon, sipping his whiskey. She’d have to get a telegram to Bridget, and advise her to change her name and move once again. Robert Hutton was certainly not going to give up so easily. He’d hire detectives, and they would track Bridget down, eventually.

  Mr. Abbott was waiting for her outside the closed ballroom doors. “Where’s Wolf?” she asked as she approached. She needed him now. She needed his strength and his comfort. He would know what to do.

  Mr. Abbott looked very uncomfortable. He squirmed as if his collar was too tight. “Mr. Trevelyan left rather suddenly.”