“We’ll do something later?”
Wolf lifted an impatient face to her. “I don’t think I’ll have time.”
She’d already learned that she wasn’t allowed in the kitchen, and now Wolf was dismissing her with an indifference she didn’t care for at all.
“Well, what am I supposed to do all day?”
His indifference quickly changed to exasperation, but Molly didn’t particularly care. Wolf Trevelyan might scare grown men with the look he was giving her now, but he couldn’t scare her.
“Whatever it is women do with their time. Sew. Read. Take a nap.”
“I just got up.”
“Molly!”
He might be exasperated, but he did like her. A little. He’d proved it to her last night, with his tenderness and his concern. She gave him a smile to offset his scowl.
“I thought maybe we could take a picnic into the woods this afternoon.”
Wolf threw up his hands and leaned back in his leather chair. “What are you going to do while I’m in New York? Even when I’m here I can’t be expected to entertain your every waking moment!”
This was a snag she hadn’t thoroughly considered in her hasty decision to accept Wolf’s proposal. “I remember you mentioning that after the children came I would be staying here with them, but am I to stay here even now, while you’re in New York?”
“Yes.” It was a curt and dismissive answer, meant to end this uncomfortable conversation. Molly couldn’t let it go.
“You’ll be leaving next week, won’t you?”
“Yes.” His affirmative answer was sharp, biting.
Molly bit her bottom lip, but only briefly. She didn’t want to appear to be insecure. “And how long will you be gone?”
She waited for an answer, but none was forthcoming.
“A few days? Weeks?”
Still, Wolf stared at her silently.
“Months?”
“I don’t know.” He returned his attention to the papers spread before him. “Perhaps.”
She should leave with a smile, pretending that she didn’t care. But she did care. Very much. This house would be a lonely place without Wolf in it. It was beginning to look as if it could be a lonely house even when he was home.
“I have an idea,” Wolf suggested. “Have Larkin contact a dressmaker in Kingsport and arrange for a few decent gowns to be made. That should keep you occupied for a while. Besides, I’m damned tired of seeing you in nothing but brown and gray and white.”
He managed quite nicely to make his suggestion sound like an insult.
Molly reminded herself that Wolf had been entirely honest in his assessment of their marriage. Of all the women he might have married, he’d chosen her in part because she was undemanding. He wanted a wife who could be easily left behind, a woman to share his bed at night and give him redheaded children. He wanted nothing else from her. Not companionship, and certainly not love.
This was going to be harder than she’d thought.
Wolf managed to waste the entire day in his study, reviewing figures that could wait. Hiding. He couldn’t remember ever hiding from anyone.
Molly had done it again.
He had known, as she’d watched him come to her last night, that she was as innocent as she claimed to be. Innocent, but not timid.
And she was his. All his. Good God, he’d never actually had a virgin before.
She hadn’t intruded into his study again, after her invasion of this morning when she’d offered him breakfast. On occasion he had listened for her, and had heard her a couple of times in the library next door, moving things around, humming to herself.
But for a while, now, all had been quiet. Too damnably quiet.
When Wolf opened the study door, Larkin was there, waiting in the hallway.
“Where is Mrs. Trevelyan?”
Larkin was silent for a long moment. The old man disapproved of the match. Wolf knew, but he would never say so. It was not his place, and Larkin was very well aware of his place in the household. “Mrs. Trevelyan went out for a walk some time ago, sir.”
“And you let her go?” Wolf snapped.
“She insisted,” he said.
“You should have gone with her.” Wolf headed down the long hallway.
“She forbid it, sir.”
Wolf stopped in the middle of the hallway and glanced over his shoulder. “She forbid it?”
“Yes, sir,” Larkin sighed.
Wolf hurried down the long hallway and out the front door. There were gardens to explore, the stables, the woods not so very far away. Surely she wouldn’t venture there without an escort.
Of course she would.
There was also the cliff and a breathtaking view of the Atlantic.
Wolf rounded the house, not quite running. As a rule, he avoided the jutting cliff and magnificent vista.
He slowed his step when he saw her. Molly sat on a blanket not far from the edge of the cliff, her legs tucked beneath her, her long red hair free and fluttering in the wind.
The red curls fell past her waist, bright and beckoning in the sun that shone on her. He was almost upon her when he noticed that her shoulders were shaking. Another step, and he could hear her soft sobs.
He’d never felt like such a heel. Why had he married her and ruined her life? Because she tempted him? The world was full of easy women. Because she wasn’t afraid of him? That had been the initial attraction, he knew, but there were plenty of women in New York who weren’t scared off by his own personal horror story.
In truth, he knew he’d married her because he wanted her and because he could. Because he was so damned determined to get what he wanted. Money was power, and Wolf didn’t mind using his to obtain whatever he craved at the moment.
He’d craved Molly from the moment he’d seen her.
She must’ve heard his step, because she glanced over her shoulder and swiped away her tears.
“You’re too close to the edge,” Wolf said, his voice too sharp.
“No I’m not,” she said defensively.
Wolf didn’t move nearer. It had been seven years since he’d looked over the cliff to the rocks and the surf and what was left of his bride below. This was as near as he’d been since that morning.
“What’s wrong?”
Molly scooted around to face him, but didn’t move farther away from the cliff. She drew up her knees, clutched an opened book to her chest. “Little Women. It’s just so sad.”
In spite of his resolve to remain distant, separate, Wolf smiled down at her without a hint of his usual cynicism. “That’s why you’re crying?”
She nodded her head, and red curls danced. He had to admit that he loved her hair. The color, the soft curls, the heavenly thickness of it.
“Did you get all your work finished?”
“Most of it,” he conceded.
Molly scooted to one side and patted the blanket beside her. “Come sit with me.”
Wolf hesitated, but he stepped forward slowly and lowered himself to sit next to Molly. Like her, he sat with his back to the ocean. “Larkin says you forbid him to accompany you.”
“I did,” she said sternly. “Every time I turned around today, he was there. Watching. Waiting. If I sneezed he had a handkerchief. If I was thirsty he had a glass of lemonade. It was really . . . uncanny.”
“Larkin’s very good at what he does,” Wolf admitted. “What did you do all day?”
Molly looked askance at him and wrinkled her nose. “Not much. Harriet won’t allow me into the kitchen, it seems.”
“Who’s Harriet?”
Her eyes widened. “Your cook, Wolf. Don’t you even know the woman’s name?”
No.
“Dreadful,” she said. “I tried to putter around the house, but I kept running into Shirley.”
“And she is . . . ?”
“The maid. She’s awfully skittish.” Molly placed a small scrap of paper in her book and closed it carefully. “After a couple of uncom
fortable encounters, I closed myself in the library.”
“I heard you.”
Molly sighed deeply. “See? I can’t do anything right. I didn’t mean to disturb you —”
“You didn’t disturb me,” Wolf interrupted, compelled, for some unknown reason, to assure her that listening to her moving about in the library hadn’t disrupted his day.
“What will I do while you’re gone?” Molly stared at the big house. There was a hint of pleading in her soft voice that he tried to ignore. “I’ll likely have read every book in the library before you come back.”
“I doubt that.”
“But you said it might be months.” Molly frowned. She actually pouted. The pleading in her voice, the wide eyes, the thrust out lower lip. One could almost think that she would . . . that she would miss him while he was gone. Impossible.
“It probably won’t be that long,” he confessed. “We can hardly start a family with me in one state and you in another.”
A smile stole over her face, ended the childish pout and brightened her eyes. “I want lots of children.”
“Lots?”
“At least six,” she confessed. “And there won’t be any nursemaids or governesses raising my children.” She sounded quite adamant. If this was the voice she used to forbid Larkin to accompany her, it was no wonder he had obeyed. “I’ll raise them myself. We can’t expect a stranger to love our children the way we will.”
“Of course not,” he agreed gruffly, and in his mind he could see it. Just what he’d said he wanted. Six redheaded children, running through the house with their mother chasing merrily — or not so merrily — after them. The Trevelyan house would never be the same.
What had he done?
“Do you think six will be enough?” she asked conversationally. “To carry on the Trevelyan name?”
“More than enough,” Wolf growled.
“Unless, of course, they’re all girls.”
The picture running through his mind intensified. Six little redheaded Mollys, turning the house upside down. Ghastly.
“Are you all right?” Molly bent her head to study his face more closely. “Goodness, you look rather pale all of a sudden. If you’d eat breakfast I’m sure your disposition would improve.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my disposition,” he insisted through clenched teeth.
Molly simply smiled.
He wanted to take her right there, on the cliffside blanket, and he might have if he hadn’t been certain that Larkin was watching.
Watching to see if Wolf Trevelyan would toss another bride off the cliff. Watching to see if Molly would prefer death to another night in his bed.
It hadn’t bothered him for a long time, the tales people spun. His immunity to the hate and the lies had grown slowly, and he was stronger for it. He knew the truth, and he didn’t care what anyone else believed.
With a start, he realized that Molly had invited him to join her there by the cliff, that she leaned into him without a qualm.
Of course, she had told him last night that she knew he wouldn’t hurt her. How did she know? Why did she trust him?
Molly’s refusal to accept the horrid tales as truth had at first attracted and then intrigued him. Depending on his mood he alternately thought her brainless or brilliant or brave.
The easy trust that would make a woman like Molly place herself in his hands and in his bed without a qualm only made him suspicious. Everyone wanted something from him. Including Molly.
The dining room was much too big for two solitary people. The table had been set formally, and candles burned brightly from a silver candelabra that had fresh flowers arranged at the base. It was lovely, but it blocked much of Wolf’s face.
Molly felt as if she were dining all alone. Wolf was seated at the head of the table, and her place had been set at the foot. Mr. Larkin had filled their wine glasses regularly, and carried in course after course. There was fish and red meat and potatoes and greens and bread that was not quite as good as her mother’s but would do nicely.
Mr. Larkin was downright spooky. As soon as she finished with one course, he was there to take her plate away and deposit another one before her.
There had been nothing so far that could pass for dinner conversation. When Molly commented on the food. Wolf nodded and that was it. When she tried to ask him about his work, he gave her a stony glare and ignored her. Of course, she felt as if she had to shout to be heard. Wolf was so far away he might as well be in Kingsport.
When Mr. Larkin placed a huge piece of cake before her, Molly almost groaned. There was no way she could eat another bite. Once he had left the room Molly stood, picking up the dessert and what was left of her wine.
Wolf stared at her as she approached, narrowing those eyes and frowning. Was this an infraction of the rules? Well, he was always telling her that she should break the rules more often.
She placed the plate and glass next to Wolf’s, and took the chair to his left.
“I hope you don’t mind.” She ignored the fact that he looked as if he did mind, very much. “I feel as if you’re already in another state.”
“It’s a big room.”
Molly picked at her cake, but Wolf ignored the dessert and finished off his wine.
She felt that she was making Wolf nervous, just by moving close to him. “Maybe we can take that picnic tomorrow,” she suggested. “Since you’ve finished most of your work.”
“Perhaps,” he said with a casual shrug of his shoulders.
“Could we go to that stream, do you think? Is it very far from here on foot?”
“It’s a good walk, but not too far.”
Molly smiled, but her smile only seemed to make Wolf cross. It didn’t take much, she’d discovered, to rub him the wrong way.
What she wouldn’t give to see that wicked grin of his.
“Why didn’t you accept the gifts I sent?” he asked abruptly, and she knew the question had been on his mind as he’d sat there and stewed all through dinner.
“I didn’t want them,” she said simply and truthfully.
“You didn’t even want to know what was in those boxes?”
“Not particularly,” Molly said, popping a small piece of cake into her mouth.
Wolf lowered his wine glass and placed it carefully on the table, and without warning he leaned close. “That’s not natural.”
It was an accusation of some sort, an indictment against her femininity. “Well,” she confessed. “I did try to guess. I assumed the bracelet you tried to force me to take was in one of those boxes.”
His frown confirmed her suspicion.
“And I guessed that there was jewelry in some of the other boxes, also. Several of them were quite small.”
“Don’t you like jewelry?” he asked.
“Well, of course I do.”
“But . . . ?”
“That doesn’t mean,” she said, “that I’ll willingly make a fool of myself over something pretty. Nor does it mean I can be swayed or bought with something just because it’s expensive.”
“Remind me never to give you jewelry for our anniversary.”
He sounded so bewildered that Molly had to laugh. “I think there was a music box in one package. It made a silvery sound when Willie dropped it.”
Wolf winced.
“I hope it wasn’t broken,” Molly added quickly, “And if it was it was all my fault. Not Willie’s. I slammed the door in his face.”
“He told me,” Wolf growled. “Tell me, just so I’ll know, what it would have taken to get you to take those gifts. The information might come in handy in the future.”
Molly mused as she sipped her wine. Another bite and she would surely burst. “Well, I might have taken them if . . . . ” She shook her head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter now, anyway.”
Wolf glowered at her in a way that told her very clearly to continue.
“If you must know, if you’d brought them to me yourself instead of sending
that poor boy, who always thought that you were going to kill him if I sent everything back.” She stopped abruptly. Somewhere along the way Wolf’s irritation had turned to pure anger. She saw that fury in his eyes, in the set of his mouth.
And she remembered why Wolf never set foot in Kingsport.
“You ask too much, Molly,” he said, standing.
“I didn’t mean . . . . ” her words trailed off as he exited from the dining room in long strides.
Chapter Nine
Molly waited rather patiently, sitting up in bed as she had the night before, wearing her prim nightgown even though she thought it was a waste of time to slip it on.
Wolf would just remove it impatiently, as he had the previous night.
Candles burned softly, giving the room a warm and pleasant glow. In the room next to hers, Wolf’s footsteps echoed thinly, and Molly listened as he opened and closed drawers, and scraped something heavy, a log perhaps, across the stone fireplace.
She waited a while longer, even after the sounds in the room next door ceased altogether.
Surely he didn’t intend to spend the night in his own room, and just because she’d suggested that he might have delivered his offered gifts himself. She hadn’t meant it, not really. Well, she’d meant it, she just hadn’t been thinking straight.
Without a qualm, Molly slipped silently from under the covers, moving cautiously and not even allowing the big bed to squeak. She didn’t exactly understand her husband, not yet. Last night he had been tender and sweet and wonderful, and today he had been cold and dismissive.
If they were to have a chance at happiness, there had to be something of Wolf she called her own. Something to bring them together. She certainly couldn’t allow him to ignore her all day and all night.
The door that separated her bedroom from Wolf’s was unlocked, and she swung it open before she would allow herself second thoughts.
Wolf sat in a wide upholstered chair before the fireplace, dressed in nothing but his trousers, and brilliantly illuminated for her eyes by the light of a blazing fire. There was a brandy snifter in one hand, and a cigar in the other.
He looked maddeningly content as he turned his head to her.
Big Bad Wolf Page 10