“Where did you get that?” Rebekah demanded, sounding harsher than she ever had before.
Picking up on the undercurrent of emotion, Ivy began to cry.
“Come children, let’s get you back to your nanny,” Barkley and Cook each picked up a child and left the room.
Thorn walked to the window that looked out over the neighborhood. He began to mull over the last several days. Somehow, Rebekah had determined that he was indeed an agent. The other night, his own wife had set out to seduce him and drug him, not necessarily in that order. She said there had been a child, but that it had died, and her husband was the father. Either she had been weaving a tale to better keep her identity secret, or there was a lot she had to explain. He turned around to begin demanding answers when he saw that the room was empty. Somehow she had slipped out without being detected. He left the parlor and made his way to her room. Thorn pushed open the door to see her in a chemise and robe, sitting in a rocking chair. Her face no longer carried the proof of her adventurous afternoon.
“I poured you a drink.”
“And does it have the same potion you poured in mine the other night?”
“No.”
“Don’t take offense if I pass all the same.”
“By all means. Can we keep this private?” she asked, nodding towards the door.
“Of course.” He pushed the door shut and locked it for good measure.
“Where shall I start?”
“The beginning.”
“I don’t know if you can deal with that. How about the other night?”
“Fine,” he took a seat on the bed facing her.
“It was me in the mask.”
“What in bloody hell were you thinking, parading yourself in that wetted dress for all to see your every asset?”
“I was wearing a mask. No one knew who I was. Not even my husband,” she spat back.
“It makes no matter.”
“I see. I can’t do it, but every other woman in there can do and wear whatever they want.”
“That’s right.”
“And why’s that? What makes them so special?”
“You are wrong. It is you who are special. I will not have my wife behaving like a whore.”
“Yet you keep a mistress.”
“Not since I found out I was married!” Thorn was glad to see Rebekah at a loss for words. “Now, I am taking over. I want you to start at the beginning.”
“Why?”
“When I asked about children you said, I believe, ‘One. Dead and buried.’”
She looked at him mutinously refusing to give him the answers he so easily sought, for it had not been easy for her all those years ago.
“Answer me, damn you. Were you telling me the truth, or was it a sick lie in an even crazier scheme.”
She stood and walked across the room. Not caring she wore nothing beneath the chemise and robe, and too caught up in the present, she lifted the fabric, baring her body to his gaze. “You can see the scars on my stomach for yourself. What do you think?”
He saw the silvery tracks that showed proof of how her skin stretched when her belly had been large with child. “There could be other reasons,” he grasped for another reason.
“Have you ever known me to lie?” she asked, her lips barely moving to let the words escape. “Knowing the Reverend, do you think I could have ever lied and lived to talk about it?” She let the chemise fall and retied her robe, then walked back to the rocking chair once more and took her seat.
“Fine. Who was the father? Were you married? Why didn’t I know? Damn it answer me! Who was the father?”
“My husband.”
“So you were married.”
“Not until two months ago.”
“But you said…” he broke off as the implication hit him full force.
“Yes, I did, didn’t I? My husband, Thornton David Wulfe, was the father of my dead child. A son, in fact, named, Thornton James Wulfe for you and your father. Heaven knows I would kill myself before I named a child after mine.”
“How in bloody hell? We never…”
“Yes, we did. You were too drunk to realize and I was too young and naïve. The night of your father’s burial. Do you remember? No. How much whisky did you go through that day? A bottle, perhaps more. I never understood. I mean, I knew you two were close, but I never knew why his death affected you so heavily. But then again, if someone had told me my father died, I would have danced a jig.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not? It’s the truth. And once you know it all, you will wish to do the same.”
“Go on,” Thorn said, an uneasy feeling running through him.
“You went out to the barn and ran all the stable lads off. You were in a terrible temper. I followed you out there, because I was afraid you would do something you would regret. I had been in love with you for so long. I knew you were hurting and I just wanted to be there for you. I walked into the barn and saw you beating a post. Your hands were scraped and bloodied, and you were crying. I shut the door. You told me to go away. I waited you out. You collapsed on the hay and I cleaned and bandaged your hands. One thing led to another, and well, by the time you woke up I had left.”
“The indention.”
“Yes.”
“My God, how old were you?”
“Eighteen and old enough to know what I was doing.”
“How did I… Were you…”
“After all these years, you’re concerned with how you performed? Well, let me give it to you straight. It was miserable. You pawed at me and groped. Your kisses were sloppy and before I knew what had happened you were in me, and that was all it took for your alcohol addled mind. So no, you sorry bastard, you did not receive a high rating from me except in one area. When I started becoming sick in the mornings, I knew I was pregnant. So you scored high in the area of conception.”
“Your father.”
“Not yet. Mother figured it out, bless her soul. She wrote to Gertrude, explained the situation, and asked if she could write back that she was ill and needed someone to attend her. She did because she loved mother, she loved me, and she loved babies. She was so excited. I traveled to London and lived with Gertrude. It was two months before my confinement and the Reverend unexpectedly showed up at Gertrude’s house. He had been to London on business for the church. Gertrude was out and the housekeeper opened the door and there I was, standing at the top of the stairs. I had hoped it was Clarissa that had stopped to see me. But no, there he stood in the doorway.
I don’t remember if I made a sound or if he just looked up and saw me. I remember him running up the stairs like a madman, yelling about demon seed, and devil spawn. I do remember his next words though, ‘I’ll get rid of that evilness living inside you! How dare you defile yourself and my reputation! This is my punishment!’ And then he hit me,” her voice sounded listless.
“He what?” Thorn roared, standing up.
“My father, the ever pure and upright Reverend Hezekiah Johnson, hit me at seven months gone with child. ‘Spare the rod, spoil the child,’ he said over and over, just like he hit me. Over and over. I lost my balance and fell down the stairs and still he followed me, beat me, and kicked me. Everywhere, until I fell to my side, curled up in a ball. I think the housekeeper called for help, because finally he stopped, but the pain intensified, and I started to bleed. There was so much blood and pain.”
“You can stop.”
“No, I can’t! You wanted to hear it, then you are going to hear everything, every minute detail. The contractions started immediately. I still had two months. When Gertie arrived, she found me lying in a pool of blood at the bottom of the staircase. She had me moved to my room and summoned both a doctor and a midwife. The doctor arrived first, took one look at me, shook his head and left. I had lost so much blood and was still doing so when he arrived that he saw no hope for me or the baby. Bless the midwife, because she stayed. Everything was wrong. He was too early and
in the wrong position. I don’t know how long I labored. It felt like days, perhaps it was. I never asked.”
“Rebekah…”
“I remember the pain finally coming to a stop, and then I heard a small cry. The midwife wrapped him up in a blanket and handed him to me. He lived for almost an hour, and in that hour I did everything I could. I tried to feed him. I held him. I loved him. And then he just quit breathing. The midwife took him from me and that was the last thing I remember for a long time. I don’t know how long I was in and out of consciousness. A fever came upon me. I am certain I would have died several times if it hadn’t been for that midwife never giving up. I wanted to die.”
“Where is he buried?”
“You would have to ask Gertie. I have never been to see his grave. She, Clarissa, and Lord Blackerby buried him while I fought for my life.”
“Why didn’t you contact me? Why didn’t you tell Teddy?”
“I wrote letters, but each one was returned. I didn’t know where you were, and Theodore and Sarah were newlyweds. They did not need me underfoot when they were finding their own way.”
“They wouldn’t have thought that.”
“Says the brother who disappeared and left me pregnant.”
“I didn’t know! And wasn’t it you that left? Just like you left the other night?”
“I know. I shouldn’t blame you. I should have stayed away from you.”
“Rebekah, I’m so…” he walked towards her and halted in front of her when she held out her hand.
“Don’t you dare say sorry,” she said, fury underlying her words. “It is the Reverend who should be sorry. I was going to raise the baby. Gertie and I had already told the inquisitive people that I was a widowed cousin, and Gertie had taken me in to help with the baby when the time came. It was just fate that sent my father to London that day.”
“Bloody hell, how can you be so blasé about this?”
“Blasé? I have had a half dozen years to come to terms with what happened. Now do you understand why I would never let my father put his hands on Sarah and Teddy’s children?”
“Last night, the way you went on about the use of sponges, even though we did not need them.”
“Do you understand now?”
“Do you ever want children of your own?”
“I don’t know. Who knows if I even can after what he did to me? Perhaps I am physically as well as emotionally damaged? But I don’t know that I could go through losing another child like that.”
He watched her as she talked. She had a blank look on her face, her face devoid of emotion. “I have to get out of here.” He stalked to the door twisted the key, and yanked it open. He looked back at his wife, the mother of his child, and she remained sitting in the rocking chair, staring blankly out the window. Thorn slammed the door shut behind him.
“Barkley, see that she, well, that she…”
“I understand, sir,” Barkley said, a look of empathy on his face. “Your horse has been brought around.”
Thorn nodded, and walked out of the house. He felt his throat clogging up on him like it did all those years ago when his father had died in his arms. He rode his horse out of London and into the nearby country, with only one thought on his mind. Wulfe would pay his respects to the Reverend Hezekiah Johnson.
Chapter 18
Thorn rode up to the parsonage, both he and his horse breathing hard. He beat on the door until it was opened to reveal a frightened feminine face on the other side.
“Where is your husband?” Thorn demanded of his mother-in-law.
“Please, go away,” she begged.
“Not without saying my peace. Now, where is the good Reverend?” he sneered.
“The church,” she nodded in the direction of the building.
“Thank you for trying to protect Rebekah all those years ago.”
“I love her. Please tell her.”
“I will.” He turned and walked across the yard to the church. He opened the door and walked in to find his father-in-law on his knees in prayer. “Tell me, Reverend, are you praying for forgiveness of new sins or old? What would your congregation think of a man who played an integral part in the death of his grandson?”
“That demon seed was no grandson of mine.”
“Don’t you dare speak of my son that way.”
“She never gave you away, but I always knew. What with your wild ways. First you get your father killed, and then you impregnate my daughter. That babe never stood a chance for the sins of the father are visited on the child.”
“Then how do you explain Rebekah and Sarah? They were and are everything that is good and pure.”
“My evilness and wickedness have been paid through my bastard.”
“What?”
“My bastard daughter, Aimée. Slept with a French whore and have been atoning for my sins ever since. Rebekah was so strong-willed, she was God’s punishment to me. She pushed me and tormented me at every turn, always trying to defy me. She wanted the congregation to believe I could not control my children. I was glad when Edith’s cousin sent for her. I was glad that she was no longer under my roof. I no longer had the reminder of my sin, as they looked very similar. And then I went to London. And there she stood, huge with child without the benefit of marriage.”
“So you beat her, treated her worse than an animal, and caused her to lose our child.”
“What did you care? You were nowhere to be seen. You had returned to your wicked life.”
“I didn’t know, and I was fighting for my country,” he growled and picked up the man by the lapels of his coat, slamming him against the wall. “But I will tell you this, old man, if you ever come around Rebekah or the twins, or any children we may be blessed to have in the future, I will kill you where you stand.”
“You speak of children between you and that devil spawn I helped create as a blessing? You dare speak such slander in the house of the Lord?”
“Why do you hate your daughter so much?”
“Because she is not Gabrielle’s!” Spittle flew out of the old man’s mouth.
“I know Aimée, and Rebekah is a much better woman than she ever will be. And another thing, Reverend,” Thorn snarled, “this is just a building until filled with believers.” He dropped the man and let him crumble to the ground. “I sincerely hope that there is a special kind of Hell for men like you,” he said before turning and leaving the building. He walked over and mounted his horse and turned him towards London, this time not riding him as hard.
The sun was setting, and he could just make out the London skyline. He stopped at a copse of trees, dismounted, and tied up his horse. He walked over to a tree and began to beat out the memory of his father-in-law, doing to the tree what he wanted to do to the man hours before. Drained, he collapsed to his knees, threw back his head, and roared to the sky. He cried for his son that never had a chance at life. And he cried for Rebekah, his wife, the woman who had suffered all of the pain by herself.
***
When he returned home, he found her in the same place.
“I need bandaging,” he took her by the hand and pulled her to her feet. He had caught Barkley on his way up and asked him to deliver what he needed and then hie himself off. He led her down the hall to his bedroom and shut the door.
“How does the post look?”
“Tree.”
“Ah.”
“Your mother sends her love.”
Rebekah hesitated for a fraction of a moment and then continued to pour the warm water into a bowl. She worked on his hands, removing debris from the wounds. “Did you kill him?”
“No.”
“Pity.” When she finished cleansing and putting ointment on the wounds, she carefully wrapped them. Before she could escape, he took hold of one of her hands and cupped a cheek with the other, rubbing his thumb back and forth in a gentle caress. She felt herself pushing into his touch, aching for it, despising herself for it.
“Aimée is out of my life.
” She stiffens. “No, listen. You were honest with me and I must be honest with you. Yes, I tried to go back to her when we first came back to London, but I couldn’t, well, I couldn’t…”
“Perform?”
“Yes,” he said as a blush scorched his cheeks and neck. “I paid her some money, gave her a bauble, and sent her on her way.”
“All these nights…”
“I’ve been at the Lady Luck. Rebekah, I don’t know how you found out, but it is true. I am an agent for the Crown.”
She blinked owlishly at him. “Truly?”
“Yes. An agent, a spy, whichever term you prefer.”
“But the gaming hell…”
“Is staged. Oh, it really makes money, but it is a front. There is a group of traitors that are in favor of Bonaparte and his ways. Some of them are frequenters of the Lady.”
“Glandingham…”
“Could be a part of it and could not be. He definitely knows the players of both the gaming hell and the conspiracy.”
“Oh.”
“Now, go put on a simple dress and meet me downstairs. I want to take you somewhere.”
“Where?” she asked suspiciously.
“Trust me. We are married, whether you like it or not, and I will not allow anything to happen to the twins or you, ever again.” He held his breath as he watched the indecision play on Rebekah’s face. “Please,” he knew he begged, but she needed this. He had stopped by Gertrude’s on his way home and found out the information he required, and she had agreed that Rebekah lacked closure all these years.
Within a quarter of an hour they were in the coach traveling through London’s city streets. They sat in silence, the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves filling the interior of the coach. After some time, they came to a halt, and curious, Rebekah pulled back the curtain. She stiffened at what lay before her.
“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.”
Taming the Wicked Wulfe (The Rogue Agents) Page 21
