Hearing nothing, he decided to check the library. Sitting in her chair and reading or working on her wedding sampler, she wouldn’t make a sound.
There was nothing to worry about.
The maid was standing on a stool and dusting books on the tall shelves, and Wolf expected, as she turned her head to face him, that she would fall from her unsteady perch as soon as she caught sight of him.
For once, though, the girl didn’t squeal or twitch. In fact, she looked him square in the eye. “Good morning, Mr. Trevelyan,” she said. Her voice was soft, but didn’t tremble at all. “Do you need this room? I could finish here later.”
She started to climb down, but Wolf stopped her with a raised hand. “I’m just looking for my wife.”
“Oh.” The maid — was it Shirley? — looked him square in the eye. “Mrs. Trevelyan’s gone for the day, sir.”
“Gone where?” He shouldn’t feel such dread at the simple words.
“She didn’t say, sir.” Shirley stared at him with the oddest expression on her face, as if she were seeing him for the first time. “She did say she’d be quite late returning home. I suppose Larkin might know where she’s gone.”
“Well, where is he?” He hadn’t meant to snap, and he fully expected Shirley to respond by withdrawing as she always did.
“I’m afraid I don’t know, sir,” she said stiffly.
No Molly, and no Larkin. Wolf knew, logically, that there was no reason to panic, but his long strides carried him from the house and to the cliff without hesitation.
Beyond the edge of the cliff, the ocean danced wildly. He’d always loved the power and the beauty of the sea, the magnificent vista that was spread before him. He’d grown up playing at the edge of the cliff, dreaming of following in the footsteps of his great-grandfather, the first Wolf Trevelyan, a fearless pirate.
How many days had he dreamed of escape from his father’s structured life by way of the sea? How many nights had he watched the moon on the ocean, believing that there was nothing in the world more beautiful?
At one time he’d believed that, but he’d avoided the view for seven years.
As he reached the edge he looked down. He knew Molly wasn’t there, that his fears were just the memories of a dream that wouldn’t fade as it should, but he had to see for himself.
Waves crashed against the boulders and smaller rocks more than a hundred and fifty feet below, frenzied and forceful. White foam washed over the boulders, and at the sight Wolf exhaled the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
Of course Molly wasn’t there. He hadn’t expected to see her body broken on the rocks below. A damned dream had sent him here, nothing more.
Wolf turned his back on the ocean, angry with himself for allowing his doubts to drive him to this insanity. For allowing Molly to become more important to him that he’d ever intended. For needing her.
Why did she insist that he declare his love? That he bare his soul to her? Molly was the only person in the world who had the power to destroy him, and if he had any pride at all he’d pack his bags and be gone before she returned to Vanora Point.
He didn’t consider that alternative for more than the twinkling of an eye.
As Wolf rounded the house, he saw the oddest sight, Larkin walking quickly down the drive toward the house, winded and disheveled. His tie was askew, and his steel gray hair had been mussed by the wind so that it practically stood straight up.
As the butler came closer, Wolf saw further evidence of strenuous activity. Sweat and an incredibly red face. He’d never actually seen Larkin sweat before.
“Is everything all right?” Wolf called as Larkin approached the front door.
“I believe so, sir,” Larkin answered breathlessly.
“I was looking for Molly. Have you seen her?”
Was that a curse just beneath Larkin’s breath? Certainly not. “Mrs. Trevelyan has gone to Kingsport to visit with her mother and friends.” Larkin held himself tall.
“And you walked with her?”
“In a manner of speaking, sir.”
Wolf smiled, recognizing the truth at last. “You followed her?”
“Yes, sir.” Larkin took a deep breath. “Just until she reached the edge of town.” He straightened his tie and ran fingers through his hair, as if it would be profane to enter the house in his disorderly condition.
“Did she see you?”
Larkin shot him a look of pure disgust. “Of course not, sir.”
Wolf glanced down the drive to the road that would lead him to Kingsport. He wanted to see Molly, needed to see her, but he wouldn’t subject her or himself to the trials of facing the residents of that small and unforgiving town.
“Mrs. Trevelyan made it clear, before she left the house, that she would not be returning until late this afternoon.” Larkin had already recovered most of his reserved composure, and he delivered this bit of information with a nonchalance he had perfected over the years.
“Thank you, Larkin.”
“Just doing my job, sir,” Larkin said as he entered the house, moving almost sideways so he did not present his back to Wolf. “And if I may be so presumptuous . . . . ” Larkin hesitated.
“Continue, Larkin,” Wolf ordered.
The old man sighed, and cast a vaguely distressed glance Wolf’s way. “You’re making my job increasingly difficult, sir.”
“Am I?” Wolf crossed his arms over his chest and shifted his feet. Larkin would not be intimidated.
“Yes, sir.” For the first time that Wolf could remember, Larkin turned his back on him and walked away.
All in all, it had been a very unsuccessful trip, and Molly all but pouted as she walked down the road and away from Kingsport.
When it came right down to it, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to tell anyone about the baby. Stella was feeling terrible, sick and exhausted and sniveling. Molly didn’t want the first response to her news to be tears, and she knew that’s what Stella would do if she knew about the baby. She still wasn’t convinced that Molly was safe being Wolf Trevelyan’s wife.
Telling Hannah was out of the question. Molly wasn’t ready for the entire town of Kingsport to know. If Hannah, knew, it wouldn’t be a secret for long.
She should have been able to tell her mother, but Mary had been so happy. Mr. Hanson hadn’t left his bride’s side during Molly’s visit. They’d held hands and smiled at each other as if there were no one else in the room, during the entire visit.
Even if she had decided to tell them that she was going to have a baby, they probably wouldn’t have heard her.
As she turned onto the road to Vanora Point, Molly had to admit that her perfectly good reasons for not telling anyone about the baby were just excuses. Wolf should know first. It was his right.
Molly was angry with herself for considering Wolf’s rights. Had he thrown those rights away when he’d tested her? How much should his lack of faith cost him?
In truth, Molly had forgiven Wolf for the horrid test. It wasn’t entirely his fault that he had no trust in those around him.
He was going to have to trust her enough to admit that he loved her before they could have the marriage Molly wanted, the marriage she and Wolf both needed.
Was she kidding herself completely when she looked into his eyes and saw love? Wolf had never gazed at her as lovingly and contentedly as Orville Hanson had looked at his bride. With passion, yes. With a love that seemed to pain him, yes.
Molly swung the basket her mother had forced into her hands as she’d left the house. It contained two loaves of bread, bread her mother had baked because she wanted to, not because she had to. She could thank Wolf for that, for her mother’s happiness.
She gazed into the dark forest at her right. Whenever she saw the woods now, she thought of Wolf, of the way he had tempted her. She had fallen in love with him so easily and completely.
Unconsciously, she moved to the right side of the road. What a wonderful smell, pine and untended growth and a wil
d musky scent that belonged there in the forest. She would never again smell the wildness of the forest and not think of Wolf.
“What’s in the basket, Red?”
Molly stopped, there at the side of the road, and looked into the shadow of the forest, past tall sheltering trees. Had she conjured up Wolf’s voice, simply by thinking about him?
“Wolf?” Molly stepped off the road and poked her head cautiously past a pair of pines. “Is that you?”
She heard his footsteps first, heavy and slow and very close, and still she jumped when he appeared before her.
“Who else would it be?”
Molly straightened her spine and stepped backward.
“What’s in the basket?”
Molly glanced down at the basket and bit her lower lip. This was her Wolf. No business suit, no gambling hall, no New York City. He was dressed as he had been when she’d first seen him, in a checked shirt and sturdy trousers. There was even an India rubber knapsack slung over one shoulder.
“Bread,” she said softly. “My mother sent it. I hope Harriet is not insulted.”
“All I have is hard bread and a bit of salted pork,” he said casually.
Molly lifted her gaze from the basket. What was he doing? Was he trying to remind her of how quickly she’d fallen in love with him, or was he trying to begin again?
He leaned against a tall pine and stared into her eyes. There was a challenge there, and Molly realized this encounter was just another of Wolf’s games, an amusement, an attempt to gain the upper hand in their battle, a battle she couldn’t afford to lose.
Wolf stood several feet from her, in the gloom of the woods, and as Molly watched he raised his hand, palm upward, in a silent invitation.
“Come on, Red.” His voice was husky, inviting. “Step into the woods.”
Molly shook her head silently, but Wolf didn’t drop his hand.
“Life’s fun is off the path,” he whispered. “And don’t forget, I know all your weaknesses. All your vices. You need me, Red.”
“I love you.” Molly took another step back, until she was on solid footing on the road. “That’s not a vice.”
His hand dropped slowly. “It’s a weakness.” His patience was wearing thin, she could hear that in the sudden bite in his voice.
“Is that why you don’t . . . why you can’t . . . . ”
She couldn’t ask. She didn’t want Wolf to confess that he could never love her.
Wolf turned and disappeared, gone from her sight as suddenly as he’d entered it moments earlier. For several minutes, Molly stared into the woods. There was not a sound to indicate that Wolf was close by. No crush of his footsteps or crackle of displaced limbs.
No voice, either. No curse or invitation.
With a sigh, Molly turned back toward Vanora Point.
He couldn’t miss the swirl of that red cloak through the thick growth of trees, even if he’d wanted to.
Wolf’s silent path took him parallel to the road, and just behind Molly, so he watched her dancing cape and the back of her head as he followed.
Damn her, she was stubborn as a mule! If she’d just stepped into the woods, if he’d kissed her here and they’d made love on the ground, he could be certain that this ridiculous notion that he had to tell her he loved her would fade . . . eventually.
Why did Molly insist that he bare his soul to her? Why couldn’t she simply accept what they had and be happy with it, as he was?
Any other man would have given her what she wanted. Three little words. They didn’t have to mean anything.
When the house was in view, cold stone and the last light of day sparkling on the windows, Molly increased her pace. It was getting cold, Wolf realized as he stopped to watch her run away from him. She was anxious for a fire and a hot cup of tea, which Larkin would no doubt have waiting for her.
Why couldn’t he just tell her what she wanted to hear? “I love you, Molly.”
Wolf knew the answer. He couldn’t give in because it was true. He did love her, more than he’d ever thought possible. Telling her would be like handing over his heart and asking her to stomp on it. Like offering his heart and his soul on a silver platter for Molly to play with as she wished.
In the back of his mind, there was always the fear that one day everything he had would be gone. His business, his home, Molly. One day she would realize what a mistake she’d made in marrying him, and if he had to watch her walk away he’d do it with a smile on his face and a sarcastic quip.
Christ, this wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. His plan had been flawless, his execution without fault. Marry Molly, enjoy her for a while, and then he would be the one to walk away.
He’d never counted on coming to need her, as she’d planned, and he sure as hell had never planned to fall in love with her.
Chapter Twenty-One
Molly had extinguished all the lights so that her bedchamber was lit only by the radiance of the fire, and she burrowed under the covers.
Wolf had smiled at her and carried on an innocent conversation over dinner, never even mentioning their brief meeting on the road. Molly had tried not to look directly at him as she’d eaten her boiled beef and potatoes, but it was impossible not to glance at him on occasion.
He’d watched her through hooded eyes, as if he were afraid she’d see too much there.
Pleading exhaustion, she’d retired directly after dinner, leaving Wolf to his brandy and cigars. His whispered goodnight had been apathetic, but Molly found she was waiting anxiously for him to burst through her door with another demand.
She missed what they’d had. The fun, the passion, the sharing. Her bed was cold, and she felt chilled deep down, inside, in her very soul. She needed Wolf to fill that void, to warm her body and soul.
She wasn’t surprised at all when the broken door swung open with a loud creak.
“Wake up, Red,” Wolf demanded as he entered her room.
Molly peeked from beneath her covers. He wasn’t wearing anything but his trousers, and the firelight flickered on his bare chest and on the insolent face he turned to her.
“I’m not asleep,” she whispered.
“Good,” he said brightly. “I’m here for my goodnight kiss.”
Was this to be a nightly ritual? Heavens, how would she bear it?
Before she could protest, Wolf was seated on the side of her bed. It sunk slightly and she couldn’t help but roll toward him.
Molly tried to sit up, but Wolf placed his arms on either side of her and gently but effectively forced her back to the pillow.
She could see no emotion on his harsh face, no smile, no anger. The firelight danced across those hard features as if over immovable rock.
But his hands were soft, gentle. Wolf trailed his fingers down her cheek and neck, across her chest until they rested against one very sensitive breast.
Still, his face came no closer.
He teased her, and Molly was frozen. She couldn’t make herself demand that he move away, that he stop touching her, any more than she could demand that he kiss her and be done with it.
“I’ve missed you,” he whispered, trailing his hand lower. She felt the heat of his skin through her nightdress, and his light touch was as stimulating as if he’d caressed her bare skin.
“I’ve missed you, too,” she admitted.
She was going to lose. Wolf was going to make love to her, and they would return to the kind of marriage they’d had, one where she could never be sure of her husband, where they had pleasure and fun and nothing else.
But when Wolf ran his hand over her hip, she forgot all that. She forgot why she’d insisted that he tell her he loved her, when he proved to her every day that he needed her.
It was enough, Molly decided as he finally lowered his lips to hers.
He didn’t even try to be gentle, but thrust his tongue into her mouth and devoured her. He tasted of brandy, sweet and heady, and Molly parted her lips to savor him. The earlier chill in the air was g
one, as Molly wrapped her arms around Wolf’s neck and held him tight.
Every inch of her skin was glowing, it seemed. She was alive in a way that happened only when Wolf touched her.
She groaned. Wolf growled. She arched her back. Wolf slipped his hand between her legs and stroked her, the thin nightgown the only shield between his fingers and her throbbing flesh.
She wanted to protest when he took his hand away to drag it upward and across her belly. Would he realize her secret before she ever had a chance to tell him?
When Wolf took his mouth from hers, the firelight illuminated a different, less composed face than the one he’d presented her with earlier. There was not enough light for her to see, as she would have liked, if there was love in his eyes.
She would make this be enough, if she had to.
He stroked her belly and frowned.
“Jesus, Red. Larkin said you’d been eating like a horse, but I didn’t believe him. You’re getting fat.”
Molly sat up quickly as Wolf jumped from the bed and backed away.
“Fat?” she snapped.
He turned his back on her. “Goodnight, Red,” he said lightly, not even turning to glance at her as he shut the door.
Wolf leaned against the door and closed his eyes. That had been close. Too damned close. In another minute he would have been inside her, he would have lost control and told her what she wanted to hear.
That would never do. Molly had to come to him.
His body didn’t care, at the moment, about power and control and vulnerability. It hurt with wanting her.
He was a fool. His hand reached for the doorknob, even closed around it as his determination did battle with his desire, but he went no further.
Molly would come to him. Maybe even tonight. And in his bed she would admit that almost perfect was enough.
She could be as stubborn and difficult as Wolf if she put her mind to it, Molly decided. It had taken her forever to get to sleep last night, after he’d stroked her and kissed her and left her there all alone, but she wouldn’t let him know that.
Big Bad Wolf Page 24
