The Wolf's Pursuit (15 page)

Too shocked that the minx hadn't backed away
or slapped him, but fired back with her own innuendo, Hunter
promptly passed out.

Wolf—

Better to be compared to a sheep than become
a wolf's prey. Apologies, but the minute I saw the picture I
quickly threw it into the fire. It frightened me, you see. I was
under the impression it was a self-portrait and you know how I feel
about you being anywhere in my bedroom, real or not.

—
Red

Gwen tapped Hunter's shoulder.

Had she killed him?

She pushed him a bit.

He moaned.

Should she retrieve the smelling salts? Did
men need smelling salts? She whispered into his ear, "Hunter, are
you able to hear me?"

Motionless. She snapped out of her panic and
ran to the sideboard and poured some more whiskey into the glass.
When the rim was near spilling over, she brought it over to Hunter
and threw it in his face.

"What the—" Hunter jerked out of his state.
Whiskey droplets fell from his chin. He blinked, once, twice, and
then shook his head. "Am I not foxed enough that you felt the need
for me to bathe in whiskey?"

"I thought you died."

"So you were burying me in my sin, is that
it?"

Gwen swallowed. "I- I didn't know what else
to do."

"Yes, well, apparently whiskey is the answer
to everything, or so good Englishmen say. Now help me up. I must
somehow make it up the stairs and into my room, where I can
properly bandage myself without passing out again."

"You mean fainting?"

"Men do
not
faint." Hunter struggled
to get to his feet. "We merely close our eyes for a spell."

"You were unconscious."

"I was dreaming of a beautiful woman…"

Gwen rolled her eyes and helped him up.

"…she was wearing red. And she confessed her
love to me not once, not twice, but thrice!"

"Interesting."

"My story?" Hunter held tightly onto her as
she led him down the hall and slowly up the stairs.

"No." Blast, but the man was heavy. "The fact
that alcohol could so easily be soaked in through the skin that you
would start to hallucinate."

"Hmmph," Hunter grumbled, as they made their
way up to the second level and slowly stumbled down the hall.

They walked the rest of the way in silence.
Hunter winced as Gwen used her free hand to push the door open.
Once they were inside, Gwen gently laid him onto the bed, not
because she wanted to but because she figured if she went about it
more aggressively he would get the wrong sort of idea.

Even though the idea of being alone with him
in his room was causing her treacherous body to heat. No
self-respecting woman should be alone with a man, especially not
one whose reputation hung in the balance.

Hunter groaned and pointed toward a small
dresser. "Inside the first drawer are enough supplies to pack the
wound. If you would be so kind."

He lay back across the bed.

Gwen briskly walked to the dresser and pulled
open the first drawer, then she really wished she wouldn't
have.

"How many knives do you possess?" Knives of
every sort littered the inside of the first drawer. Did the man
actually use them with his victims or have a strange
fascination?

"Under the knives," Hunter said, ignoring her
question. "Look under the knives."

She lifted the board where the knives lay. It
clicked open and then pulled back, as if it was on some sort of
mechanical device. "Fascinating."

"Yes, perhaps we can discuss my many
treasures before I bleed to death. Once I've closed my eyes, you
may touch as many knives as you want, including mine."

Gwen felt herself blush but ignored him. Was
everything a joke to this man? Every blasted little thing? She
quickly grabbed the bandages and marched over to him. He leaned up
on his elbows. Sweat still marked his brow. With a curse, Hunter
got to a sitting position and attempted pulling off his jacket. But
once he raised his arms, he cursed a blue streak and paused. "A
little help, please."

The sooner she helped him, the sooner she
could go home. Gwen licked her lips and began tugging at the
jacket. She tried, she really tried to keep her eyes framed onto
his jacket as she helped him tug out of it. But the minute she
removed it, she was faced with his shirtsleeves.

Gulping, she helped pull that off of him and
told her hands to stop shaking. The situation seemed too intimate.
It felt too intimate, as if they were about to share the same bed.
Hah, if she ever shared his bed, it would be a product of lust and
nothing more. The man had no heart, and even if he did, she highly
doubted he would share it with a virgin.

"My thanks," Hunter breathed as he placed the
bandage on his side. Her eyes trailed down his muscular stomach. It
seemed the Wolf liked to box or play, or do whatever wolves did out
in the wilderness.

Her eyes flickered down as Hunter finished
bandaging himself. "Now." He winced, commanding her attention. She
looked into his eyes. "I think it's safe to say I'm in danger."

"Your powers of deduction astound me." Gwen
swallowed and fought to keep her eyes on his, though it was one of
the most difficult things she'd never tried, for the man was
beautiful. It shouldn't be allowed for a man to have such smooth
skin. Tight muscles rippled across his stomach and chest. His skin
wasn't pale like that of most Englishmen. No, it was the perfect
color, almost bronzed, as if he spent a great deal of time out of
his clothes, which honestly made a lot of sense.

"The people of London believe me to be
retired. There is no reason I would be an open threat. The traitor
has to be one of those three men. I do not think the person
shooting at me aimed to kill. It was more of a warning than
anything. It's possible what you said during their visits struck a
nerve." He winced and continued. "Gwen, you need to find out who
the mole is. When you go on your walks and dally in the carriage,
have a care. You are not debuting in order to win a husband. You
have a job to do."

"Are you scolding me?"
And drunk?
Unbelievable!

"No." Hunter reached out and grasped her
hand. "I'm merely telling you the truth. You must be careful. After
your carriage ride with Trehmont, find a way to meet me so we can
discuss any information you may find. Talk with him about the
French, see if he gets nervous, study his mannerisms, is he always
looking at his pocket watch? Does he seem to defer your questions
at all? You know what I mean." He leaned up and winked. "Where
shall we meet?"

"The masquerade." Gwen nodded. "Nobody will
recognize us."

Hunter groaned. "Please tell me you're not
referring to Madame LaMont's masquerade?"

"It will not be so bad."

"I will want to shoot myself the minute I
arrive, but yes, if you say it won't be so bad, I'll take your word
for it."

Gwen let out a heavy sigh. "I'll be dressed
as a shepherdess."

"Not a sheep?" Hunter grinned. Blast, how she
hated that grin. His glaring white teeth irritated her. Was
everything perfect about him? Without thinking, she looked down at
his body again. Yes. It seemed everything was perfect. Stupid
man.

"No, I thought it unsafe, considering the
circumstances."

"Circumstances?" Hunter narrowed his eyes.
"Whatever do you mean?"

Gwen began walking toward the door, then
turned and gave him a wink. "I have it on good authority a wolf is
to make an appearance. Wouldn't want to tempt him, now, would
I?"

"You tempt him by breathing," Hunter
whispered.

"Is that your way of telling me to stop
breathing?"

"No." Hunter's eyes narrowed. He looked away
and began to slouch against the bed. "Not at all. Gwen, be careful,
please. I—" He looked away and cursed. "I cannot lose you. Do you
understand?"

Confused by the sudden hurt she saw in his
eyes, she nodded and gave him, the great Wolf, a curtsy. "I will be
safe. I promise."

"Thank you."

"Goodnight, Hunter."

"Goodnight, my little Red…" His eyes slowly
closed as his body fell against the bed.

Gwen quietly stepped out into the hall and
made her way down the stairs, hoping and praying that her footman
had had enough good sense to hide her carriage once the hour grew
late.

Thankfully, when she came around the house,
she noticed him sitting near the back of the servants'
entrance.

"Home, please," she announced. He nodded and
offered his arm.

"I took the liberty of taking the carriage
home and walking here myself when the hour grew late, my lady. I
hope you do not mind, but I will escort you on the short walk to
your sister's residence."

William had been in the service of their
family for nearly a decade. He was also one of the many servants
who kept her secret. She paid him well for his silence, but even if
she didn't, he would still be loyal. For he had loved her father,
and she knew that he wanted to protect her.

They walked home in silence. Gwen would never
admit to Hunter that she was frightened, but she was. Whoever had
shot at him had been trying to kill him, and she had no doubt in
her mind that one of those men had to be the three they were
suspicious of. She just needed to find out whom, and fast.

Red—

Tsk, tsk, tsk, you should know better by now.
Any time you use the word bedroom, I take it as an invitation.

—
Wolf

Hunter grimaced as he looked at the large
structure in front of him. The house was monstrous Truly, it would
have been better for the old duke to make a flag with his name sewn
across it than build such a monstrosity that the whole of London
could see his house from miles away.

But that was how the old Duke of Lainhart
wanted it. Grumpy old man. Hunter paced in front of the gate for
ten minutes before pulling out his flask and taking a sip of
brandy.

He never drank in the mornings.

Since when had he resorted to drinking when
he was to face the old man? He needed to face him sooner or later,
especially considering Wilkins had just that morning sent him a
note stating it was imperative he ask Lainhart about the three
gentlemen they were investigating, considering at one point they
had all worked for him.

If Lainhart still possessed all his
sensibilities and was not half the man he used to be, he would be
the best the War Office had as far as codes were concerned. It
seemed that all the French did was try to break the codes of the
English in hopes to discover where troops were stationed or how
many English were truly hurt in the war. With the war looming like
a dark cloud over all of England, it was a sure tragedy that one of
their own was not only breaking the codes but gaining a profit from
treason. Hunter sighed heavily and pulled out his pocket watch.It
was still early. But then again, he was never late. He had dallied
for as long as he could.

He walked slowly up the stairs and grasped
the cold knocker between his fingers. Suddenly he was transported
back to when he had first come to call.

"Hunter!" Lucy ran out of the house and into
his arms. Much to the dismay of her parents and their stern butler.
She always made a spectacle of herself.

"My love." Hunter grinned and set her on her
feet. "I have come to call, as you demanded at last night's
ball."

"Rogue." She swatted him. "I did not demand.
I merely asked if you would be happening by during the visiting
hours."

"That you did." He grinned and kissed her
hand. So began their quick courtship.

He shivered beneath the wet air and waited
for the butler to answer.

Nothing.

He knocked again.

Finally, after an eternity, the door opened
just slightly. "Yes?"

"Haverstone to see Lainhairt." This was
always how it had been. Lucy's grandfather despised him and still
blamed him for his favorite granddaughter's death. It did not help
matters that both her parents had passed a short time after his and
Lucy's marriage as well. Leaving Lucy and Eastbrook as the only two
remaining relatives.

And now, it was just Eastbrook.

"Haverstone, you say?" the scratchy voice
said from the other side of the door.

"Live and in the flesh."

A snort was heard from the other end. "The
duke is ill and not receiving callers."

"He will receive me." Hunter pushed the door
open. "Now."

He'd expected the usual butler. But the man
looking at him was anything but the pristine butler who had worked
for their family for years.

"Who are you?"

The man shrugged. Hair covered his entire
face. His hair, the same color as Hunter's, hung down to his
shoulders. A patch covered his eye, and he walked with a limp.

"I'm speaking to you," Hunter said
crisply.

"I realize that," the man said. "But I
imagine you like to hear yourself speak often. Therefore I will let
you speak and give you the idea that I am listening, rather than
counting down the minutes until you exit this house."

"How dare you speak to me that way. Do you
not know who I am?"

"Oh." The man turned, this time glaring at
Hunter. "I know exactly who you are, and it makes me sick. To think
that poor Lucy's memory is tainted by…"

Hunter lunged for the man. "Never speak of
her!"

The butler backed up and laughed. "Always the
same. Fighting and reacting. The duke is upstairs in his usual
room. And when you speak, do yourself a favor: think
beforehand."

The man hobbled off, leaving Hunter angrier
than he'd been in months. How dare he speak to him in such a way!
He knew nothing!

Cursing, he stomped up the stairs and threw
open the doors to his grandfather's rooms.