“Now, let’s discuss this.”
“Yes, let’s. Now, it is my understanding there is a group of men that find themselves to be extremely unhappy with the Prince Regent’s running of our country.”
“Yes.”
“And these men want to remove Prinny from his power.”
“Yes.”
“And the connection these men have to you is?”
“I can’t tell you.” The man almost looked as if he would cry at any moment.
“Let me see if I can explain this to you, Glandingham. My life, and that of my family, has been threatened if I do not join these men in their endeavor. I want names, and I wanted them an hour ago!”
“I can’t give them to you!”
“Why not?”
“Because I do not know who they are!”
“I don’t believe you,” Thorn said, and cocked the pistol.
“Bloody hell, man, you must! I do not know who they are! I have my suspicions, but that is all. I know that Walsh is one of the leaders, but these men are smart, they do not let any one man have the power. They use the Lady Luck to meet and plan.”
“How?”
“How am I to know? Have you ever noticed a meeting going on here?”
“No.”
“Exactly. They are good. I don’t even know if they have all met here at the same time or not. I suspect they almost do it like they were working in shifts. One group meets on one day, another group meets on another day.”
“How do they share the information between the groups?”
“I don’t know.”
“Clean yourself up, you have guests to greet.”
“And you?”
“What I do is none of your damn business,” Wulfe growled before he stalked out of the office. He walked outside to find the sun setting, and the buildings cast long, eerie shadows into the streets. “Get me a hack,” Thorn instructed a footman. The man leered at him, a frightened look on his face before he turned to fulfill the request. Only then did Thorn look down and realize he still had a cocked gun in his hand. He gently uncocked it, then tucked it into his coat pocket. The conveyance arrived and Wulfe gave explicit instructions to the driver before climbing in.
Halfway to his destination, he noticed he was not alone. A man on a horse kept a safe distance behind them. It looked as if the game of cat and mouse would ensue once more. He lifted the hatch just enough to speak with the driver, then lowered it once more. He took several notes out of his pocket and left them on the seat for the jarvey. They were coming along a stretch of road where the buildings were in deep shadows. The driver made a left turn, taking his time, and Thorn took the opportunity to slip out of the hack. He moved quickly, losing himself in the shadows of the buildings. He waited patiently until he saw the horse and rider pass by. Even then, he continued to wait, making certain that no one else followed.
Wulfe stuck to the shadows and alleys. He made his way through the refuse and waste that made up the uglier side of London. It took him longer than he had originally wanted, and he smelled horrible, but he had made it to his destination. He was just going to step out of the shadows to cross the street, when a familiar face exited the front door of the Horse Guards, followed closely by three, big, burly men. Walsh was smiling and the men were straightening their coats. “What is he doing here?” Now, Thorn had a decision to make. Did he go in and confront his director, or did he follow Walsh? He watched Walsh and the men step into his lacquered, well-kept coach. The conveyance lurched to a start and in two turns the coach had disappeared from sight.
Thorn turned to the door of the Horse Guards, and let himself into the building. He continued to ponder what business Walsh had here. He made his way to McKenzie’s office. The outer office looked as pristine as always. What he saw in the director’s office told another story completely. Papers were scattered everywhere, chairs were overturned, and desk drawers lay about the room. There was no sign of the director.
Wulfe returned to the outer office and lit a lantern before it turned any darker. He then searched each room on the floor, and in each room, he saw the same thing—chaos. Walsh and his men had been looking for something. But what? Thorn went upstairs, but each and every door remained firmly locked. So, Walsh had been focused on the War Office. Interesting. Thorn decided that he would have to track down Director McKenzie and let him know what he had found.
He walked down the two flights of stairs, the lantern’s glow lighting his way. As he reached for the door he heard a muffled sound from down below. A repeated thumping noise reached his ears followed by more of the muffled sound. Thorn carefully made his way down the stairs, his gun drawn and ready. The lantern cut into the blackness allowing him to see some, but not enough. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, the sight that greeted him had him biting back an expletive he hardly ever used.
The director stood on a burning crate, a handkerchief muffling his cries for help, and a noose around his neck. Thorn quickly sat down the lantern, pulled his knife from his boot, and raced across the room. He reached the other man just as the box collapsed. Thorn threw his arms around his director providing him the support he needed to keep from having his neck snapped. He quickly worked on the rope that kept Mack’s hands secured behind his back, and kicked away the charred and burning pieces of wood. Once his hands were free, Mack quickly worked the noose over his head.
“I’m free,” he said, and then both he and Thorn were falling to the hard ground.
“That was close,” Thorn said. He waited, but no response came from Mack. “McKenzie, I said, ‘that was close’.” Still nothing. Grunting, he pushed up into a sitting position, and that is when he was able to see the man that really no longer favored his director. There was blood on every part of his body that was not covered in clothing, and even then some of the clothes were covered in blood. The man was unconscious. He stood, turned to the stairs, and took them two at a time. He opened the front door, searching for someone, anyone that could assist him.
He whistled shrilly when he saw a shadow move across the way. An urchin stepped out from the darkness and into the moonlight. He looked as if he might run at any moment. “Boy, I need help. Would you like to earn a few shillings?”
“Doing what?” the boy called back, not moving any closer.
“I just need you to find me some help. Will you do it?”
“And that’s all I must do?”
“Yes.”
“Fine.” The boy listened to the directions carefully, took the coins, and ran.
Thorn could only hope that help would indeed arrive. Sometime later, he heard beating on the entrance to the Horse Guards. “Who is it?” he called, his gun ready.
“Barkley.”
“Thank the Lord,” Thorn let the other man in. “Did you bring help?”
“Aye.”
“And a wagon?”
“Aye. But why not a carriage? And what is going on?”
“See for yourself.” Thorn led the other man downstairs.
“Bloody hell.”
“You’ve no idea.” It took all of them to carry the man up the stairs and out to the wagon. He never awakened that entire time, and Thorn was growing worried about that.
“Where shall we take him?”
“I seem to recall he has some relatives. Let me think a moment.” Thorn paced the sidewalk while Barkley locked up the building. “Hawkescliffe. That’s it. Some connection to Hawkescliffe. We go there first, and if they don’t want him, I guess he comes with us.”
They traveled slowly, but McKenzie made no noise whatsoever. Thorn grew more concerned with every minute that passed. When he saw the Hawkescliffe townhome come into view, he jumped the side of the wagon, ran up to the house, and beat on the door. Long minutes passed, and he had just started pounding again, when a man, presumably the butler, opened the door.
“What do you want young man?”
“Tell me, are those in this house acquainted with Stuart McKenzie?”
“What’s going on?” a very irritated looking man questioned. “Were you doing all that pounding? Do you realize you woke our baby, who we had just gotten to sleep after hours of crying.”
“Gabe, it wasn’t hours,” a beautiful woman huskily said, as she patted the back of a baby that rested on her shoulder.
“Do either of you know Stuart McKenzie?”
“He’s my brother. Why?”
“Come with me.” Thorn led him to the wagon that had just come to a halt.
“Dear Lord,” Hawkescliffe said. “Send for the surgeon. Mikala, have a room readied, and tell Grandmother that Mack has been injured.” The woman with the babe disappeared to do his bidding. “Tell me what happened.”
In the wee hours of the morning, Thorn stumbled into the door of his house. He walked up the stairs and checked on the twins. He nodded at the footman standing guard outside the nursery. Both were fast asleep, a pup sleeping alongside each of them. Not wanting to wake them, he slipped back out and carefully closed the door. Thorn went back downstairs and opened the door to Rebekah’s bedroom. It was empty. The bed had been turned down, and readied, but no one lay there.
He turned and walked down to his room. Empty as well. He had been crazy to hope she would come home. He shucked off his clothes, kicking them into a corner, and pulled on his robe. Then he made his way back to Rebekah’s room and shut and locked the door. He had sent guards to Gertie’s house while he was at Hawkescliffe’s. McKenzie was living from second to second, every time he drew a breath on his own was a moment everyone wanted to cheer. The man’s grandmother had been almost inconsolable at first, and then she had stated that all would be well, and began the task of caring for him. Even Hawkescliffe seemed somewhat shattered until he gathered his wife and child in his arms.
Thorn needed that. He needed Rebekah in his arms right now, comforting him. Instead, he climbed into her bed and buried his head in her pillow, soaking up her scent with every breath he took. As he found solace, his mind began to drift. What had Walsh been looking for? Why did Walsh want the director dead? Was he acting alone, or was this, too, part of the group’s higher plan? He felt frustrated that he kept having more questions than answers. And now one of the only people he could ask for assistance was fighting for his life. One thing tonight proved to him above all else, Rebekah and the children were in danger regardless of whether he joined Walsh’s group or not.
Chapter 24
Rebekah awoke late the next morning. She stretched to ease the kinks in her back caused from sleeping in an unfamiliar bed. Rolling over, she saw a slight indentation on the bed. She blinked rapidly as the memories from yesterday and last night threatened to overwhelm her. First, there had been the terrible altercation with Thorn, then there had been the healing discussion she had shared with her mother. She felt as if sometime during the night she had come to terms with many of the issues that had been plaguing her over the years, and she felt ready to face whatever the future held for her.
She washed her face and studied herself in the mirror. Her face was puffy and her eyes were red from the time she had spent crying. She knew she should go home, but she did not want to return looking like this. Rebekah did not consider herself vain, but she did want to look her best when she saw Thorn again, and she knew she currently did not look her best. The twins would be angry with her for not seeing them for so long.
Rebekah made her way downstairs and followed the sound of voices. She entered the breakfast room and saw her mother and Gertie eating and visiting. Both women stopped talking and looked expectantly at her as she entered the room.
“I am fine, I promise,” she waved away the other women’s concerned looks.
“Are you certain?” Gertie queried.
“Yes,” she answered, then took a deep breath. “I am starving,” she moved to the buffet and began filling herself a plate. She put her plate on the table then sat down. Her mother sat a cup of tea in front of her. “I am returning home today. To the twins and my husband,” she clarified.
“Are you positive that is what you want to do?” Edith asked.
“Yes. I have been living in the past too long. It is time I move on.”
“Excellent!” Gertie exclaimed. “I knew you would come around and see reason eventually.”
“Gertrude!” Edith admonished.
“No, she is right. It is time I see reason. I just wished I looked more the thing,” she laughed softly. “But I do have one favor to ask of the two of you.”
The older women listened to Rebekah’s plan and wholeheartedly agreed to it. Rebekah stayed at Gertie’s house, visiting with her mother, catching up on years that had been ripped away from them. Later that afternoon, Rebekah refused Gertie’s offer of borrowing her coach and had a hack sent for. She was not going directly home, but she did not want anyone else knowing that. She had a couple of stops she wanted to make before she returned home. The driver took her to Bond Street first, as requested. He pulled to a stop in front of row of shops that catered to women.
“Wait for me,” Rebekah instructed. She ran to one of the stores and pulled on the handle only to find it locked. She slipped into the shop. A sales girl approached her and she shared with her what she wanted. The girl disappeared then returned with a domino draped across her arm.
“How much?” Rebekah listened as the girl named a price. “Here is half. Send a bill to my husband, Lord Wulfe, at the Lady Luck. He will settle with you, I promise.”
“Yes, my lady,” the girl curtsied, in awe of being in the presence of the wife of one of the most well-known rakes in London.
Rebekah could tell the young girl wanted to ask her a question. She paused in the doorway and turned back to her before saying, “Yes, he is just as handsome as they say and quite troublesome. Trust me, marry an ugly man. He will not be much to look at, but you never have to worry about him straying.” Rebekah almost laughed at the girl’s shocked expression. Though truthfully, she knew she did not have to worry about Thorn straying, well at least not unless she drove him away.
Just before she entered the hack, she gave the driver instructions for another stop. He looked at her as if she had lost her mind.
“Are you sure, my lady?”
“Yes, I am sure. I have something to do.”
“Aye,” the driver said and snapped the reins as the door closed and she settled inside.
While the coach lumbered to their destination, she donned her cloak and mask she had just purchased. Finally, they came to a stop in front of Thorn’s gaming hell. Anger suffused Rebekah at he thought of how much time he spent here. Even though she now knew it was part of his duty to the Crown, she still could not help the jealousy she felt. A man dressed in the livery style of the Lady Luck held the coach door open for her
“Wait for me,” she instructed the driver once more.
“Aye,” he said, sounding resigned to his fate.
She walked inside and allowed her eyes to adjust to the dimness. A small crowd had already gathered even though it was early evening. As the night wore on, more would show up to try to win their fortune. Some of the men had a look of desperation, as if their last chance lay with a roll of the dice or a turn of the card. None of that mattered to Rebekah. She searched the room and saw her husband standing in a shadowed corner. He looked pensive, worried. She ached to go over and ease his mind, to tell him she wanted their marriage to work, wanted to be a wife to him in every way and a mother to their children, even if it were only the twins. But that is not why she came here.
Only a handful of women mingled amongst the men. She wondered how many were there looking for a new protector. How many were there for the thrill of being somewhere they were usually denied access? How many were checking up on their husbands, making sure they did not squander away the family riches? How many were attempting to win back the family riches any way they could? Rebekah walked around the room, avoiding getting too close to Thorn, afraid he would pick up on the fact that his wife was prowling about
the Lady Luck.
All of the other women wore masks as well, making it difficult to search for the one that she needed to speak with. She saw Thorn’s partner walking about the room, a woman on his arm. The woman whispered something in the man’s ear before slipping into the back. Rebekah followed her quarry. She entered a hallway that was darker than the larger room she had just left. She looked up and down the corridor, trying to determine which way the woman had disappeared. A hand cupped over her mouth, and a firm arm wrapped about her waist dragging her backwards. Rebekah could not regain her footing and tried to go limp to make her captor’s job harder. She was pushed into a familiar looking room and the door was slammed shut.
***
Thorn casually watched the newcomer make her way around the perimeter of the Lady as if she searched for someone in particular. He noticed she avoided where he stood as if in coming close she might contract the plague or some other dreaded disease. He observed her movements, the way she walked, the way her hips swished back and forth, causing the cape she wore to flip up occasionally, revealing the smallest peek of her skirts beneath. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a haphazard manner, the low lantern light highlighted different colors, mostly dark brown with strands of honey and deep cinnamon. Tendrils escaped and caressed the woman’s neck like a lover’s fingers might. Wulfe knew that if she came close enough, he would be greeted with hazel eyes, the elusive smell of mint, and a beguiling smile.
“Bloody hell, what is she doing here?”
“Pardon me?” a nearby footman queried.
“Nothing,” Thorn waved the man away. He continued to watch. Now she moved with purpose. He did a sweep of the room and saw Aimée slip into the back area. “Damn,” he muttered and pushed away from the wall. She was going to confront Aimée. Not now, not here. Did she not know better? If she challenged Aimée here, she risked Glandingham knowing of their connection. He wanted her as far away from Glandingham as possible. Just then the door opened and Walsh walked through as if he owned the Lady Luck. Both women had now disappeared into the back. Thorn stayed to the shadows so as not to attract Walsh’s attention, and followed the women.
Taming the Wicked Wulfe (The Rogue Agents) Page 28
