Taming the Wicked Wulfe (The Rogue Agents) by Tammy Jo Burns Read Free Book Online Page B

still tight about her waist.   Her hair had fallen from its knot on her head and lay about her shoulders in a straight brown waterfall.   Her hazel eyes were red from crying, and her face looked splotchy.   She stumbled to her feet and walked to the pitcher and wash basin and poured cool water into the basin.   She skimmed the dress over her hips and pushed it to the ground until she stood in her shift only.   Grabbing a washcloth, she dipped it in the water and wrung it out.  
    She walked to the bed and collapsed on top of the covers, draping the cloth over her irritated eyes.   Rebekah attempted to hold back the memories, of not just the past few days, but also years.   They crashed through her like a wave breaking on the beach.   They pounded through her until she wanted to beg for mercy.   She heard the doorknob rattle then a timid knock.  
    “Aunt Bekah,” she heard a soft, feminine voice say.  
    Unable to ignore the little girl on the other side of the door.   She pushed herself off the bed and made her way across the bedchamber.   After flipping the key in the lock, Rebekah turned the knob and opened the door.   On the other side stood Ivy, still in her nightclothes, her blonde hair a tousled mess.  
    “What’s wrong, Sweet Pea?” Bekah asked the little girl.
    “Bad dream,” Ivy shyly replied.
    “Come with me,” Rebekah held out her hand for the little girl to clasp.   The two walked to the bed and the older lifted the younger onto it before climbing on herself.   She gathered the little girl in her arms and pulled her close.   “You know I love you so very much, Ivy Rose” Rebekah told Ivy.   She felt the little girl nod her head.  
    “Why was that man so angry?”
    “He has a lot of hate inside him, and he doesn’t like me very much.”
    “Oh.”
    “Try to go back to sleep,” she urged Ivy, pulling the girl closer to her body.   She slipped the wet cloth back over her eyes and soon fell asleep.
    ***
    Later that morning, in the study, Thorn pushed back from the desk.   He had worked all night, going through the journals.   He found that the estate would run well being overseen by the steward that had reported to Theodore over the years.   Now he knew he could take Rebekah and the twins to London and not have to worry about the estate and those that lived on it.   He shut the last journal, pushed back from the desk, and stood, stretching his cramped and stiff muscles.   He walked to the window and pulled back the heavy drape that covered it.   Outside, the two dogs boisterously played with one another.   A staff member must have let them out.
    “Papa! Papa!”   He heard the clip clopping of little feet before they slid to a stop.   “Oh, Uncle Thorn,” the boy said dejectedly.    
    “Good morning, Zachary,” Thorn said, turning and letting the drape drop back into place, throwing the room into muted tones.   The boy’s lower lip began to tremble.   “Come here you rapscallion,” Thorn walked over to the boy, hefting him into his arms.   “What’s this about?” He asked, wiping away tears as they escaped from the little boy’s eyes.
    “Thought it was a bad dream,” the boy mumbled.
    “I know you did.   I want it to be a bad dream as well.   You know I loved your father and mother very much and miss them just as much as you do.”   He waited for the boy to nod.   “How would you like to go on a trip?”
    “A trip?”
    “Yes.”
    “Where to?”
    “London.”
    “Can Piddles and Smelly come too?”
    “Of course, they can.”
    “What is London like, Uncle Thorn?”
    “Different than here.”
    “How?”
    “It is loud.   There are lots of people that live in London.   There are parks where other children go and play.”
    “There are other children in London?”
    “Yes.   I might be able to introduce you to some.”
    The little boy seemed to think about this a moment before replying.   “Will Aunt Bekah be able to go with us?”
    “Of