Big Bad Wolf

by Linda Winstead Jones

  “Dear Mr. Trevelyan,” the next letter began. The handwriting was the same, neat and with little flourish. The handwriting would have been quite legible if the ink weren’t smeared in so many places. “It is my great pleasure to inform you —” Again, the message ended abruptly.

  “Mr. Trevelyan.”

  His head snapped up as his assistant entered the room. “What is it, Horace?”

  “We’ve just had a message from Mr. Young’s office. They would like to move the meeting to four o’clock.”

  “Fine.” Wolf dismissed Horace with a wave of his hand. The sooner he could meet with Clarence Young and be done with this deal, the better off he’d be. The steel mill had been a headache from the start. He’d be glad to be rid of it.

  The Trevelyans had always made their money at sea. They’d gone from piracy to shipbuilding to a respectable shipping business.

  “Wolf,” the next letter began. “If you were half a man you’d be —” He smiled. Molly.

  “My dear husband.” Wolf held the last letter in his hands. “It has always been your plan that I provide you with heirs, and I must tell you . . . . ”

  He turned the letter over in his hands, looking for more, but there was nothing. She must tell him what? That he’d never get the chance to father her child? That she’d rather jump off Vanora Point just like the first Mrs. Wolf Trevelyan than allow him into her bed again?

  Or was she trying to tell him that she was going to give him the heir he’d married her for?

  In spite of the doubts the letters raised, Wolf found himself smiling. Good God, he missed her. More than he’d thought possible. His room at the club was no substitute for the suite he’d shared with Molly. His favorite brandy had no flavor, his cigars stank to high heaven, and there wasn’t a game at Phil’s to take the place of strip poker with his wife.

  He spent more and more afternoons in the gymnasium at his club, taking out his frustrations with his fists until there was no one left who would spar with him, not even the hired boys who risked their jobs by refusing.

  His life was just as he’d wanted it, just as he’d planned all along. A wife in Maine, to keep the vigilant matchmaking mamas away, an heir possibly on the way, and the freedom of a bachelor. Everything a man could possibly want.

  And he was miserable without Molly.

  He’d played a good game for the past month. No one knew he was miserable. He worked in his office all day, drank at Phil’s half the night. As far as Foster or anyone else knew, all was forgiven. To allow otherwise was to admit that Molly meant more to him than he wanted anyone to know.

  On the surface, Wolf’s life was continuing as it always had, but there was one major difference.

  Women. In spite of his reputation, Wolf had never lacked for a woman’s company. Daring, bold women who laughed at convention. Women like Adele, or the adventurous ladies who frequented Phil’s.

  In the past month he had realized that not one of them excited him. To be honest, there wasn’t even a flicker of interest when Adele offered herself to him, or when the tall blonde from Phil’s draped herself over his shoulder.

  But, dammit, he dreamed about Molly.

  He had to know. Wolf smoothed the unfinished letters with the palms of his big hands. Maybe he couldn’t be the husband Molly wanted, maybe he couldn’t love her the way she wanted to be loved, but if she was having his child he had a right to know.

  Wolf studied the smeared ink, trying to read something into the words that told him nothing. She hadn’t been able to finish . . . had wadded the letters up and tossed them away.

  So who had mailed the letters to him?

  “Mr. Larkin,” Molly called, pulling the wastebasket from under the library desk.

  As she’d tossed another letter into the basket, she’d noticed that it landed in the bottom all alone. Those letters weren’t meant for anyone’s eyes but her own! She should have burned them!

  “Yes, madam?”

  As usual, Mr. Larkin had been close by. “I disposed of some trash here a few days ago, and it’s gone.”

  He raised one superior eyebrow. “Yes, madam.”

  “Where is it?”

  Of course he thought she was insane, asking after the trash. Mr. Larkin had a face as stony as Wolf’s, but much more distant. He looked as if he were always thinking of something other than the conversation that was taking place, as if he were somewhere else entirely.

  “Are you asking me to locate the rubbish I took from this room, madam?”

  “Yes,” Molly said impatiently. “Where is it?”

  Wolf’s infuriating butler hesitated, pinned those cold dark eyes on her, and lifted perfectly shaped eyebrows. “Madam, I assure you I disposed of the refuse in a proper manner.”

  “I just wouldn’t want . . . anyone reading . . . what I threw away.”

  Was she imagining it, or did Mr. Larkin almost smile? “I give you my word, madam. After years in this household, I understand perfectly well how to properly dispose of such personal debris.”

  “Oh.” She had no choice but to accept his answer.

  It didn’t matter if he or someone else had read those letters and deciphered them. Soon enough everyone would know about the baby.

  She still had not been able to bring herself to share the news. Wolf should know first, of course, and since she couldn’t bring herself to tell him she was keeping the child a secret. For now.

  When Stella and Hannah had visited, arriving in the back of a wagon Wallace drove, she had been tempted to tell them the news.

  But she hadn’t, of course. If they knew it would be all over town before sundown. Besides, they’d been so enthralled by the tour of the house they’d insisted on, including a thorough inspection of the third floor, that there had been no time.

  Wally had toddled into Wolf’s office, and had nearly knocked over a painted vase Molly had placed in the library. It had actually teetered on the edge of the table before she’d managed to right it, while Stella looked in awe at the collection of books, oblivious to the near disaster.

  Mr. Larkin had kept a close eye on them all, until Molly had seen her guests to the door.

  She was beginning to accept Mr. Larkin’s uncanny ability to be wherever he was needed, to know instinctively what she wanted.

  Once the baby was able to toddle about like Wally, it would be nice to have another pair of hands about.

  And she’d said she wanted six!

  Molly fished the most recent discarded letter out of the wastebasket, as Mr. Larkin disappeared into the hallway. Perhaps it would be best to burn this one.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Molly frowned down at the sampler as she finished another yellow flower in satin stitch. In spite of the fact that she found the sampler disturbing, it was certainly a waste of time to come so far on a project and then abandon it entirely. She’d spent hours on the piece, and she couldn’t make herself lay it aside unfinished. Perhaps one day their child would like to have this as a remembrance of his parents.

  She sat in her favorite library chair, where she read or stitched during most of her unstructured days. If only she were allowed in the kitchen, she’d be baking bread, but every time she poked her head into Harriet’s domain, she was presented with a patient and despairing stare.

  As the days passed, Molly didn’t feel any more at home than she had on her wedding day.

  “Hello, Red.”

  Molly almost jumped from her chair as she lifted her head, knowing who she would see in the doorway. She stuffed the sampler into the basket at her side. “What are you doing here?”

  Wolf stood casually in the open doorway of the library, leaning against the doorjamb and staring at her as if she didn’t belong here. “It’s my house.”

  With a deep breath, Molly calmed herself. Of course this was his house. She’d known he would come, but she hadn’t expected to have to face him so soon.

  “That’s true. I’ll be happy to stay in Kingsport with Mother until you g
o back to New York.”

  “I’m not going back.”

  “What!” Molly shot to her feet. “What do you mean you’re not going back? You have to go back!”

  “I don’t, actually,” he informed her blandly. “The business was getting tedious, so I sold the steel mill and the lumber mill, and the shipping business is so well organized that I’m rarely needed. I gave Horace an ungodly raise to administrate in my absence. Any business that I must have a hand in can be managed from here.”

  She wanted to believe that he had come back to Vanora Point for her, that he had realized in their weeks apart that he did love her . . . but she knew Wolf too well. He was bored with business. He’d be bored with her soon.

  “Nothing to say?” he prompted.

  When he realized that she was going to have his child, would he be done with her? Would their baby be just another objective accomplished? “I didn’t expect you,” she said softly.

  “Obviously,” he growled.

  “I don’t know what to say to you.”

  There was a part of her that was overjoyed to see him, that wanted nothing more than to throw herself into his arms. He looked wonderful, not at all strained or disturbed by their weeks apart.

  Pushing away from the door, Wolf finally entered the room and took long strides toward her. “I missed you, Red. Does that make you happy?”

  “Not really.”

  He took her chin in his hand and forced her to look up at him. “It should. I’ve never missed anyone before.”

  She knew he would kiss her, that he would lay his mouth on hers and she would forget every hurt, every betrayal. It wasn’t fair that he had that power over her.

  When he did kiss her, softly, so gentle it made her heart flutter in spite of her resolve, Molly wanted to forgive everything.

  Adele, his easy desertion on the night of the concert they’d never attended, the test.

  She pulled her lips away from his, but he continued to hold her tight. “Let me go.”

  “Isn’t this what you wanted, Red?” He pulled her close, so she could feel his arousal pressing against her. “I need you.”

  There had been a time when she’d thought it would be enough. That to have Wolf need her, in any way, was all she’d wanted. But not anymore. She loved him too much, more than she’d ever thought possible.

  Molly slipped one hand between their bodies, and pressed her palm against Wolf’s heart. She could feel his heartbeat against her hand, the warmth of his body she craved at night. He grinned, no doubt thinking he’d won again.

  “When you need me here, too, we’ll have something to talk about.” With that same hand she tried to push him gently away, but Wolf didn’t budge.

  His smile died. “You can’t deny me, Molly. You’re my wife.”

  “It’s true, I am your wife,” she whispered. “But don’t try to scare me with threats or with that fierce stare of yours. In spite of everything you’ve done, I know you won’t hurt me.”

  He released her and backed away. “You want an apology? All right. I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t want an apology, and if I did those ungracious words would not have been sufficient.” Molly felt braver with a few feet of space between them.

  When Wolf was angry he seemed taller, wider, as menacing as his reputation. “What the hell do you want?”

  Molly stood as tall as she could, which wasn’t much compared to her husband. Did she dare to tell him? Would she scare him back to New York? Nothing could be worse than this limbo.

  “I want you to love me.”

  He should have known. The simple words shouldn’t hit him with such unexpected force, but he felt as if Molly had physically struck him. Of course that was what she wanted. What she’d wanted from the beginning.

  “I never promised to love you.”

  “I know.”

  She was more beautiful than he remembered, her hair redder, her skin fairer, and he wanted her so much he hurt. He had every right to throw her over his shoulder and carry her to their bedroom, but he knew as well as Molly did that wouldn’t happen.

  “For a while, this marriage was fine. What we had was enough,” he said.

  “It’s not enough any more,” she whispered.

  “Why the hell not?”

  She looked as if she were on the verge of tears, but Molly never cried. Only when she had her face buried in a book did the tears flow. But right now her gray eyes were overly bright, and her face was flushed.

  Had she hidden her tears from him, or was she as tough as she appeared to be? Arthur, that insolent bellboy, had accused Wolf of making Molly cry, but he hadn’t really believed it was true.

  “I loved you on the day we were married,” she revealed in a soft voice. “And before. I came to your defense, and I gave of myself all that I could, and I loved you. My mother and my grandmother believed I only agreed to the marriage for the security that was promised them, and everyone else, including you, thought that I had married you for your money.”

  “Red, don’t —”

  “I hate your money,” she interrupted. “Burn it all, and I’ll still love you.”

  “Red.” He took a step forward, and Molly stepped back.

  “Let me finish. It doesn’t seem to matter how much I love you. You don’t even trust me. When I realized that, it hurt more than you’ll ever know.”

  He knew. He’d seen the pain in her eyes. There was sorrow there now, and strength, so much strength.

  “I said I was sorry —”

  “It’s not enough.”

  “I can’t love you the way you want, Molly. And I won’t lie to you and whisper pretty words to appease you and keep peace between us.”

  He stepped forward, alarming her, and so he stopped. “I can’t give you any more than I already have.”

  She didn’t falter. Did it mean nothing to her that he’d give up his life in New York just to be here? Did she not realize how much it cost him just to admit that he needed her?

  There was no softening of her expression, no light of surrender in her eyes.

  “You think you don’t have any love in your heart, but I know you do. I’ve seen glimpses of it, when you let your guard down. Tell me you love me, Wolf.”

  He couldn’t. It was like placing his head on a block and offering Molly an ax. Baring his soul to Molly was not as easy as baring his body.

  “I need you,” he conceded.

  Molly shook her head. “I want it all.”

  “I don’t have it in me to give you what you want.”

  “You do. Find it, Wolf. I can’t live the rest of my life loving you like this, and wondering if there’s an Adele waiting around the corner, or another test of my loyalty to be passed.”

  He wanted to ask Molly if she was carrying his child, but he couldn’t. Not now.

  “What we have is close to perfect, Red.” He combed his fingers through his hair. Anything to keep from reaching out and grabbing her. “Passion, fun. Almost perfect.”

  “I want perfect,” Molly whispered, and then she ran past him. He could have reached out and caught her, forced her to face him and tell him she’d discard what they had because it wasn’t perfect.

  But he let her go. Wearily, he sank down into the chair she’d been sitting in when he’d surprised her. It was still warm, still held her heat and the faint scent of the soap she preferred.

  He’d expected her to be angry, had known he’d have to fight to regain what they’d had, but he hadn’t expected her to be so adamant.

  When he dropped his arms over the side of the chair, his hands brushed her basket and the wadded material within. She’d stuffed it in there awfully quickly when she’d seen him. Baby clothes, perhaps?

  He lifted the linen, holding it carefully between two pinched fingers, and placed it on his lap.

  With care, he unfolded the comers, knowing already that this was no baby gown. A silk tree grew in the middle of the sampler, stitched there by Molly’s hand. How appropriate. It re
minded him of their meeting in the forest, of the trees he’d spied her through that first day.

  The flowers along the border were yellow and blue — just like the wildflowers he had tried to seduce her with. Wolf ran his fingers over the names she had stitched so perfectly. His on one side, hers on the other. In the middle, beneath the tree, she’d sewn the date of their wedding in tiny, perfect stitches.

  “Welcome home, sir.”

  Wolf lifted his head slowly. Larkin never changed. He was an ageless, solid fixture at Vanora Point. The first words that came to Wolf’s lips were caustic, but he bit them back. “Thank you, Larkin.”

  As if surprised by the lackluster and conventional greeting, the aging butler lifted his eyebrows, then began backing out of the room.

  “Larkin,” Wolf called sharply, and the butler stepped forward with a crisp snap of his head.

  “What can I do for you, sir?”

  Wolf folded the sampler neatly and returned it to the basket. “Have you ever been married?”

  He obviously took the butler by surprise with the personal question. The old man’s eyes widened, and he stiffened considerably. A feat in itself, since Larkin was unfailingly unbending.

  “You’ve been here for years, since I was a child, but you’ve never said a word about your family.”

  Larkin took a deep breath. “I was married at a young age, sir.”

  “Kids?”

  “Four.”

  “Good for you,” Wolf said, surprising the old man again. “Tell me about your wife.”

  This conversation was making the staid Larkin very uncomfortable. “She was very pretty, and kind, and a good mother.”

  “Was?” Wolf’s smile faded.

  “She died giving birth to our youngest son.”

  “I’m sorry.” He felt like a heel for reminding Larkin of his loss. “I didn’t mean to pry.”