Taming the Wicked Wulfe (The Rogue Agents)

by Tammy Jo Burns

  “Don’t say you are worried about me.”

  “Bloody damn right I am!” He grabbed her upper arms, squeezing enough to make sure he had her attention. “You and the children will stay in this bloody house unless you are escorted by at least three men. Do you understand?”

  “I would never endanger Zachary and Ivy,” she replied, trying to console him as she felt the tremor in the hands that gripped her.

  “I know you wouldn’t, but you should have a little more care for yourself. We would never manage without you.”

  “Oh, I am certain Aimée would be more than willing to step in and fill my shoes.”

  “How do you know about Aimée? Did your father tell you about her?”

  “How would the Reverend know her?” she queried looking at him as if he had lost his mind.

  “You’re right,” he stepped away from her, breaking contact.

  “Thorn, what are you not telling me?”

  “Nothing. Besides, it is not seemly for a husband and wife to discuss a mistress.”

  “I thought you said she was an ex-mistress.”

  “She is.” He saw the suspicious look she gave him. “I promise with my very being that she is. It would take a man of Herculean strength to leave your bed and go to another woman’s.”

  “I don’t know if that is a compliment or not.”

  “I think I should leave before this conversation gets any worse.”

  “Before you go,” she scrambled to her knees and dropped the sheet. “I want you to fully remember who you are leaving behind, and who will be awaiting your return.” She saw him take in a deep breath and his lips began to move. “Are you counting?” she asked incredulously. He merely nodded his head. “Why ever for?”

  “I’ll never know, because it bloody hell isn’t working,” he growled before crossing the room and sweeping her up in his arms.

  ***

  Almost an hour later, Thorn raced from the room slamming the door shut behind him, late for whatever meeting he had been summoned to, and Rebekah could not scrape up the least little bit of guilt for being the cause. She stretched languorously feeling both boneless and full of life at the same time. How long had it been since she had felt truly happy like this? Years? Ever? She knew how horrible that sounded, but she had been living in a state of melancholy ever since the accident, never facing what had happened, but always carrying it deep within her as a martyr would. Thorn had made her acknowledge it, accept it, and move on. She could not lie, even to herself, it still hurt, but it was manageable. No longer did she feel like she was playing in the tide only waiting for it to carry her out to sea to be lost forever.

  Not wanting to rise but knowing that somewhere in the house lurked two children who needed to see her and vice versa, encouraged her to leave the love nest that she and Thorn had created. She pulled on a robe that was much too large for her. Sometime during the night he must have left the room and retrieved his. She pulled it on, and wrapped it tightly about her, breathing deeply of the sandalwood scent he left behind on it. Rebekah walked to the bell pull, tugging firmly. Crossing to the window, she awaited a response to her summons. She did not have to wait long as a soft tap sounded at the door.

  Firming her resolve, she called, “Enter.” You have nothing to be ashamed of, she cajoled herself. You are a married woman. “I would like a bath prepared,” she told the maid that had come to her room.

  “Of course,” the other woman bobbed a curtsy without ever truly looking her in the face.

  Rebekah felt a flush steal across her body. “The whole bloody house probably knows what we’ve been doing,” she said to the empty room. “Of course they do, silly, you are married and should have been doing it weeks ago,” Rebekah answered herself. “Now I’m talking to myself and answering myself,” she shook her head in dismay. Forcing herself to push aside any bit of awkwardness, she vowed not to cower. “Let people think what they will,” she encouraged herself. “You bloody idiot, you’re married!” she growled in frustration.

  ***

  After a long soak and fresh clothes, she felt much more like the old Rebekah. The one that did not talk to herself. The one that knew exactly what needed to be done to run a household, and take care of two lively children. She walked up the stairs to the nursery floor above to see said children. She had already broken her promise to them. It had been almost two full days since she had spent any time with them. Rebekah braced herself for the worst as she opened the nursery door.

  They lay in their night clothes, cuddled next to each other in one of the beds, taking turns reading to one another. The sight made her heart skip a beat and brought the sting of tears to her eyes. She found herself rapidly blinking to keep them at bay. “What are you two rapscallions reading?” Rebekah asked a bit hoarsely.

  “Aunt Bekah!” the kids exclaimed in unison. The book ended up in the floor and the children in Rebekah’s arms.

  “Here now,” she said, squeezing them tightly and rubbing their backs. “It’s only been a day or so,” she soothed.

  “We were worried,” Ivy said, squeezing her aunt’s neck tightly. Rebekah could feel the wetness of tears on her neck.

  “You never cry,” Zachary seconded.

  “I was very sad for a bit, but I never meant to worry the two of you,” she pulled back, and caressed their cherubic faces and played with curls that sprung around their heads. Zachary’s were shorter than Ivy’s, but looked very much in the Byronic style. If he were twenty years older, he would have every eligible woman, and some that were not, swooning at his feet. “I lover you both dearly,” she said, wiping away Ivy’s tears.

  “We love you, too,” the children answered together.

  “Uncle Thorn came by this afternoon,” Zachary said.

  “He did?” Rebekah asked, surprised. How had he managed to bathe, dress, and come see the children?

  “Yes,” Ivy said. “He spent a lot of time with Zach,” she huffed, sticking her lower lip out in a pout.

  You are going to have men wrapped around your finger, Rebekah thought, wishing the day as far off as possible. “I am sure he will spend plenty of time with you next time, poppet,” she said, dropping a kiss on the girl’s nose. And if he does not, he will live to regret it, she thought, already devising ways in which she could get back at him for breaking a little girl’s heart. “Now, how about we crawl back on that bed and finish that book?” The children nodded enthusiastically. Together, they all three climbed on the bed, Rebekah in the center with a twin tucked close on either side.

  By the time she had finished the story, both children had fallen asleep. She set the book aside, and gently let her fingers play with their silken locks. It soothed her restlessness. Rebekah looked down and smiled at how innocent they appeared in sleep. She knew from first-hand experience that they could be the complete opposite when awake. It was then that she realized she wanted this for herself. She loved the twins beyond reason, but she wanted her own child to love, cuddle, and care for. The childbirth aspect was worrisome, especially considering her past. Rebekah did not want children right away. She and Thorn were still learning each other. A child did not need to be thrown into a relationship that currently only had two things going for it—a shared love for two children not their own, and the intimacy they shared in bed. Besides, even Thorn admitted his life was still in danger. No, best we wait, she thought before snuggling down with the twins, and drawing them close before falling asleep.

  ***

  Thorn took a deep breath and knocked on the door. He heard a muffled, “Enter.” He slipped into the room and saw several men gathered around the table. Director McKenzie sat at the head of the table. He recognized one of the men from the dinner he had attended at Gertrude’s house with Rebekah. He dredged his memory for a name. Gray? No, that wasn’t it. Grantham? No. Graham! Yes, Graham, the inventor.

  “You’re late,” McKenzie looked up at him briefly.

  “Unavoidable.”

  “Don’t make it a habit.
”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Have a seat.”

  Thorn took the seat indicated. The director did not waste time with introductions or trying to get him caught up on what they were discussing. Thorn listened intently, trying to wade through the information being bandied about. It sounded like Sir Graham was in the process of devising a weapon that would help them end this war with Bonaparte. However, someone was trying to stop him, or force him to work for the French. Either way, it was not good for England or Sir Graham.

  “Wulfe, have you come any closer to determining who Glandingham’s connection is?”

  “No, sir. I fear whoever it is, is deeply connected to the Prince Regent. Many of his cohorts have been making appearances at the Lady Luck recently.”

  “Damn,” he said. “Do they talk to Glandingham?”

  “Sometimes, but not always. Excuse me, Sir Graham, but what exactly are you working on?”

  “If you had been on time to this meeting, you would know this,” Director McKenzie lashed out, his frustration at being unable to apprehend anyone coming out in other ways.

  “You’re right, Director.”

  “There are several things I am working on, young man,” Sir Graham interrupted, excited to discuss his inventions. He went on outlining several possible weapons that could give them the upper hand in this war. Thorn was so enthralled with what the older man was saying that he missed the soft tap on the door. Only when his nose picked up a familiar scent did he warily turn around. There stood Aimée, looking proud and determined.

  “What in bloody hell is she doing here?” he demanded.

  “Calm down,” the director instructed.

  “I will not calm down. Do you know who she is and what she is?” He asked, pushing out of his chair. He pointed a finger at her without ever looking at her, missing her reaction to his words. She looked as if he had slapped her before straightening her spine.

  “I work for the War Office,” she said firmly.

  “What did you just say?” Thorn turned to look at her, an incredulous look on his face.

  “It is true,” Director McKenzie agreed. “Recently it has been brought to my attention that female agents can be just as useful, if not more so, than men. Therefore, when the time seemed appropriate, I approached Mademoiselle Beauchamp to aid us.”

  “How long?” Wulfe demanded.

  “Long enough,” she replied, staring into his eyes, refusing to look away. “What does it matter to you any way? You have your dear Rebekah.”

  “Do not speak her name.”

  “Why? Do you fear I will sully it?”

  “You do not know what I fear,” Thorn said, the words the reverend had spoken to him racing through his mind. If they were true, this was Rebekah’s half-sister standing in front of him. A half-sister that he had…

  “Wulfe, did you hear me?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, what did you say?”

  “I don’t know where your damn mind is today, but you better get yourself together. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now, as I was saying, Sir Graham must go into hiding. His house has already been broken into, and he fears for the safety of his daughter. Sir Graham, you realize that not even your daughter can know where we are taking you.”

  “Yes. But she can’t be left to believe I have been kidnapped or worse.”

  “It would be best if she did.”

  “She will never forgive me.”

  “When all of this is over, you merely have to tell her the decision was taken out of your hands. She will forgive you,” McKenzie said confidently, remembering the blonde that had continually quarreled with him about the government and war at Gertrude’s dinner party.

  “When do I disappear?”

  “The sooner the better. On the way home would be ideal.”

  “But I must tell Cassie good-bye.”

  “You cannot. She would become suspicious. Best that it happen as spontaneously as possible.” McKenzie looked at the two other men that had remained silent all this time. “Gentlemen, you know what to do.”

  “I will need my plans,” Sir Graham reminded the group.

  “I will see that you get them,” Mack said, rising and shaking the older man’s hand. “Trust me, Sir Graham, this is the best way.”

  “It seems I have no choice.” The man tightened his grip imperceptibly on Mack’s hand, surprising the younger. “Should anything happen to my daughter, I will hold you personally responsible.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Sir Graham looked at the other two men who stood when he did, “Gentlemen, I believe I will take a stroll through Hyde Park to clear my mind of the cobwebs.” Together the three men left the conference room.

  “Enough of this,” Mack said. “The both of you sit. Now,” he directed Thorn and Aimée. They did as he said, sitting on opposite sides of the table, glaring at one another. “Aimée, have you any news on Glandingham?”

  “Some,” she said, turning to face her director. “He is involved and knows all the major players. That is why he wanted to go in as partners with Thorn. He needed a place for the meetings to occur that would not look conspicuous.”

  “How did you find this out?”

  “Men say things around their women that they will not say around others. Especially if they believe the woman to be stupid and naïve,” she added bitterly.

  “Who all is involved in this plot?” Mack directed the question to Aimée, attempting to get her to focus on the situation at hand. She listed a handful of Britain’s top title holders. McKenzie quickly scribbled the names that she said. He looked at the list and then shared a look with Wulfe. “Aimée, are you certain these men are involved in the plot?”

  “Yes.”

  “You are accusing heirs to the throne,” Director McKenzie said.

  “It has happened before, has it not?” the woman queried. “Throughout history, we have seen where greed has driven people to want what they cannot obtain other than through ill-gotten means.”

  “You are correct,” Mack said. “Wulfe, you have to infiltrate this group. They need to pull you into their confidence.”

  “How? I have spent the last few years doing everything I can to earn their trust. What can I offer them now that I could not offer them before? Besides, I doubt that Walsh will have anything to do with me after I told him to stay away from my wife,” Thorn supplied. He had cajoled, and done everything else he knew to do to earn their trust, but he had merely been used by the group. He was no closer than he was two years ago when he pulled the trigger in that dark alley. Had it all been for naught?

  “Sir Graham.”

  Wulfe’s head snapped up as he stared at McKenzie’s unrelenting face.

  “But sir,” Aimée began, “you promised him.”

  “We are in a war. Promises mean nothing,” he said, standing and knocking his chair backwards. He gathered up the papers at his end of the table. “We meet in a week, and try to remember, the two of you are on the same side of this war.”

  Chapter 21

  “Are we?” Thorn waited to ask the question until after Director McKenzie had left the room.

  “Are we what?” Just a touch of a French accent she had inherited from her mother carried over in her speech.

  “On the same side?”

  “Of course we are.”

  “I swear, if you are working for the French as well, I will see you hung from the gallows.”

  “Is that any way to talk to your sister-in-law?” she asked sweetly.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he sputtered.

  “You know very well what I am talking about.”

  “How long have you known?”

  “All my life. I was the dirty little secret, remember? My mother felt no need to hide the information from me.”

  “She knows you were my mistress.”

  “Which sister…”

  “Stop. Right. There. We are not going to have this c
onversation, not now, not ever. Whatever was between us is in the past, and that is where it will stay. What we need to decide on now is how we are going to handle Glandingham. What are we going to do to entice him and the others?”

  “I have my instructions,” she shrugged. “You, Lord Wulfe, are on your own. Good luck,” Aimée called over her shoulder as she left the room.

  Wulfe stood and left as well, but instead of following her, he turned towards McKenzie’s office. He did not knock, but instead burst inside. “I want to know what kind of game you’re playing,” Thorn demanded.

  “Shut the door,” Mack said softly, but with complete authority in his voice. “Have a seat.”

  “I would prefer to stand,” Thorn said, pacing back and forth.

  “Now, perhaps we could start this in a more reasonable tone,” Mack’s brogue hid the menacing undertone.

  “Reasonable? You are the one that employed a courtesan to be a spy. One that is half French, if you seemed to miss that.”

  “I missed nothing. Including the fact that she is the half-sister of your wife.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I have my ways. Remember, I know everything about all of my agents, including if they are working for more than one entity.”

  “Is she?”

  “She is.”

  “Dammit,” Thorn tunneled his fingers through his hair. “We cannot trust her.”

  “No.”

  “Then why bring her in? How long has she been working for you? What good is she to us?”

  “None of these are questions I intend to answer at this time.”

  “You are just a bloody puppet master, sitting behind his desk, pulling strings and watching the outcome. You don’t give a damn who gets hurt in the process, do you? All you want is Bonaparte gone, and you relishing in the credit so that you can go on to bigger and better things. What do you have your sights set on, Director McKenzie, prime minister? They’ll never let a Highland bastard into that position,” Thorn informed him, meeting Mack’s glacial gaze.

  “I am not the one that tupped one sister and married the other. I expect a report in a week and I want more progress than what you have currently shown. Remember, if I need to encourage you to work harder and faster, I have my ways.”