The Wolf's Pursuit (2 page)

"You'll take me there, and not hinder me?"
the girl asked skeptically, as her brow lifted.

"Absolutely. In fact, I may just take a shot
myself. After all, I'm sure he deserves it. For taking… what did
you say your sister's name was?"

"Isabelle," she said in perfect English.

Blazes. This was turning out to be the best
day of his life! "You don't say?" Hunter grinned, slowly approached
the girl, and offered his arm. "And what may I call you, dear
lady?"

"Gwen. Apologies for using German. I thought
perhaps it best I hid my identity. I've seen far too many French
soldiers scattered about."

Smart girl. Now there was an interesting turn
of events. Beautiful, smart, and violent. "Right, well, allow me at
least a few minutes of respite, a hot meal, and we'll be on our
way. Agreed?"

"Fine." She accepted his arm. "But only
because I am without a weapon and cannot possibly take the man on
myself."

"No, you'd most likely die." Hunter nodded,
trying to make himself sound more useful, though he knew Dominique
could very well handle a mad female. It was of no matter. Once she
saw her sister was healthy and content, he would ask to keep her.
Gwen, after all, couldn't very well travel alone without being
ruined. The poor thing was probably already compromised, for what
girl trudged from England to the continent by herself? One that had
no reputation to protect, or not one to speak of. Truly, it was the
beginning of a wonderful day.

They walked in silence until they reached the
inn. Upon entering, Hunter felt on edge. And it had nothing to do
with the girl next to him. She was distracting to a dangerous
level, and it took everything within him to peel his eyes away from
her as he ordered food and drink.

No, the prickling on the back of his neck had
everything to do with the men sitting in the far corner. English
gentlemen. He could spot one a mile away; after all, he was one of
them, though he'd been spying for the Crown for the past ten years
and had yet to re-enter into society since his wife's death.

He shuddered at the thought. He never allowed
himself to think of her, not in that way, with her broken body and
blood trickling out of her mouth. The faint smile on her lips as
her eyes went cold.

Ale, he needed ale.

Out of habit, he put a protective arm around
Gwen. They sat in the corner so he could have a better view of the
rest of the establishment. It was not common to see any Englishmen
in the area so close to the action. If they were here, they were
soldiers, and he knew every able-bodied spy.

The tavern wench approached, completely
blocking his view, for she was at least twice his size, and not in
a flattering way. His eyes skimmed where she loomed over him, which
he hoped she wouldn't take as an invitation, and slowly drew up to
her face. Merciful heavens, she had a mustache. He opened his mouth
to speak and then closed it again.

"So the fancy gent likes what he sees, does
he?" She winked.

Blast. He'd take the French any day. They'd
probably win the war if they had women like this working for them.
But his eyes, devil take it, he could not avert his eyes from her
face. Almost like she was casting some witch's spell on him. Out of
desperation he reached for Gwen's hand.

Gwen giggled. "Sorry, my husband here hasn't
slept a wink since we've been married. Just yesterday, if you get
my meaning. Would you mind terribly getting us some ale and fresh
bread? We'll be taking a rest here at the inn tonight."

The woman flashed one last grin at Hunter
before leaving.

He shuddered. "I assure you I've never in my
life been without words until now."

Gwen removed her hand from his death grip and
sighed. "Well, at least I know you're not a spy. With manners like
that, you'd surely get yourself killed. You cannot simply gawk at a
woman like that. It isn't done, and now you've shown weakness.
Don't trust me to save you. I sure hope you can hold your own with
the Beast tomorrow."

If she only knew. "I'll manage, though things
may go better if I simply stand behind you."

"Coward."

"Absolutely not, it just provides a better
view."

"I'm sorry, rake seems to be the word."

"Thank you," Hunter said warmly, and added,
"wife" with a saucy grin.

"I did that only to help you, not because I
want any sort of attachment. You should know that if I hadn't done
so, that tavern wench would be at this very moment smothering you
with—"

"—please, I hope to keep my appetite."

Gwen smiled sweetly and winked.

Blast, where had this woman fallen from?
Heaven? Every mannerism bespoke a cunning intelligence he'd never
before seen in polite society. Not that he would truly know, since
he'd been everywhere but London since…
the incident.

He cleared his throat and looked away as a
knot lodged itself uncomfortably in his chest.

The doors to the establishment opened up. Two
impeccably dressed men walked in, making their way directly for the
Englishmen.

Gwen squinted in their direction, then looked
back to Hunter. "Strange."

"What?" He tried to play innocent of the
whole situation, though it was indeed odd.

"Oh, it's probably nothing."

"Enlighten me, I've been alone without
whiskey or horse for a day now. I do so love to be
entertained."

Gwen exhaled and leaned in. "See those two
men who just walked in?"

"Yes." Of course he had. He was a spy, after
all.

"Just yesterday I was on the same ship as
them."

Hunter leaned even further forward. "And this
is significant because?"

"Well, it could be nothing." Gwen craned her
head to look at the men and then looked back at Hunter. "But they
were speaking French."

"And returning from?"

"London. I heard them saying they had
business with the Earl of Trehmont."

Hunter cursed without realizing he was giving
himself away. Everyone knew Trehmont was without funds. He'd worked
for the War Office nearly as long as Hunter. What would the French
want with Trehmont?

He cleared his throat and strained to listen
to their conversation.

The men ordered ale and toasted.

Nothing all that strange, except…

They toasted to winning the war. And the
Englishmen grinned in agreement. Money was then exchanged. Enraged,
Hunter gripped the side of the table and tried to steady his
breathing. What the devil was going on?

"Codes," one man said as he slid a scrap of
paper across the table to one of the Frenchmen. "I think you will
be pleased with what you see."

The man grinned and lifted up the paper. "And
our man is in position?"

"He is." The Englishman nodded. "Though his
price just doubled."

The Frenchman sneered. "On what grounds?"

The Englishman leaned forward. "The codes are
unbreakable. Surely you realize how fortune shines upon you at this
very moment?"

"Fine." The Frenchman took a long swig of ale
and then chuckled. "It has been a pleasure doing business with
your… employer."

Every muscle in Hunter's body tightened.
"Listen." He grabbed Gwen's hand. "This is very important. Do you
understand?"

She pulled back, but nodded.

"I need you to spend the night with me."

"Pardon?" Her voice carried a bit too loudly
for his tastes. The tavern wench apparently overheard, because she
seemed extremely disappointed as she put down the bread and
ale.

"I need you to truly pretend to be my wife,
and we need to stay the night. I need to search their room." It
wasn't the most brilliant plan he had come up with, but a man
staying on his own was a man watched. If they looked married, then
the men wouldn't pay attention to him.

"Because?" Gwen giggled. "What, are you a spy
or something? Truly, does the War Office take everyone these days?"
Uncontrollable mirth washed over her as she placed her hands on the
table and threw her head back and laughed even harder.

He would have been amused.

If the exact line of her throat and sound of
her laugh hadn't reminded him of Lucy.

Suddenly angry, he stood up and grabbed her
by the arm, hauling her toward the innkeeper. "We need a room for
the night." His grip tightened on her arm, but she said
nothing.

The innkeeper nodded.

"And please, bring us a light supper along
with some more ale to our room. We are on our honeymoon, after
all."

He slipped the innkeeper enough money for
Gwen to begin to choke.

"My wife." Hunter nodded to Gwen.

The innkeeper shook his head in
understanding. "Of course, and your name?"

"Maksylov," Hunter lied, though he knew it
was rare for Dominique the Beast to go into the village. The
innkeeper wouldn't be able to tell the two of them apart and
Dominique practically owned the place, so truly it would matter
not. Besides, he'd just given the man enough blunt to stay in
business for the remaining year.

The innkeeper grabbed a key and led them up
the stairs.

Gwen was quiet.

Until the door shut.

Then all havoc broke loose.

With a cry she stomped on his foot and
reached for the door, but he slammed it in place and locked it.

"Who are you?" She pushed him against the
door, which truthfully felt quite good, considering he'd been
without any sort of female companionship for what felt like years.
Perhaps it had only been a few weeks, days even, but she felt good,
so soft and delicate.

He wrapped his arms tightly around her, then
grabbed the back of her head and pulled her in for a kiss. Only
meaning for it to be quick, he was quite surprised when she opened
her mouth in response, after little coaxing. Her mouth was hot and
tasted of ale, her tongue like velvet as it massaged his.

Who needed whiskey when he had Gwen? With a
moan, he loosened his hold on her and reached for her face, needing
to drink in more of her.

As his hands touched that perfect ivory skin,
he felt the cold blade of a knife against his throat. "I said, who
are you?" The steel edged deeper into his skin, blood began to
trickle down his neck, but it could have been water for all he
cared. Stunned, he could only watch her eyes darken. A haunting
look passed between them both.

And he knew.

It was the eyes, for they were the windows to
the soul, were they not? Filled with anguish, pain, bitterness, and
yes, guilt.

Her very eyes reflected his own, for only two
types of people in the world carried such a heaviness within them.
Those who have had innocent blood on their hands too many times to
count, or those who have loved and lost everything important to
them.

He wondered which she was.

With a flick of his wrist, faster than she
could respond, Hunter manipulated her hand, causing the knife to
clamor to the floor.

They stood, face to face, breathing heavily.
He assessed her coolly, calculating each movement of her face,
noticing her pupils as they dilated and her nostrils flared, only
for her to stare back with unwavering strength.

"I'm a spy," they said at the same time.

Gwen lifted an eyebrow and moved to walk past
him. "Well, you aren't a very good one."

Amused, Hunter threw out his foot, tipped her
over it, sending her sprawling into his arms. He held her hands
high above her head as he leaned in close to her face. "Darling,
I'm the best."

Her chest heaved with exertion. "Impossible.
The Wolf is the best, everyone knows that. And you cannot possibly
be him."

"Alright." Perhaps he could escape without
giving her his identity, without compromising himself or her. With
a sigh, he dropped her to the floor and marched over the wash basin
to clean the blood from his neck. "And your name?"

"Gwen."

Hunter laughed, bracing a hand on either side
of the basin as he leaned forward, allowing the water droplets to
splash into the bowl. "Not your real name, love. The one you go by
when you're out spreading your legs for God and country."

With a scream, she lunged for him, as
expected, for no man could insult a woman in that way and not
expect some sort of bloodshed. Patiently, he waited until she was
seconds away from removing his head. Then he jolted to the side,
elbowed her in the back, causing her to curse and stumble.

She kicked him hard in the stomach as she
went down, then flipped onto her back and pulled his body toward
hers, again holding the knife to his neck. Blast, and he had just
cleaned himself up. Well, now they were just wasting time.

"Your name, if you don't mind," Hunter ground
out through clenched teeth. It was deuced hard, trying to keep his
arousal in check. The blasted woman had drawn him to his knees
twice within ten minutes, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't
want her.

A surge of pride stormed her eyes, making
them widen for just a second before indifference returned. "Red, I
go by Red."

Hunter was silent.

Quite a bad habit to suddenly develop.

He cleared his throat. "As in the very Red
who was able to infiltrate the highest ranks of Napoleon's trusted
elite and gain secrets that even the Wolf could not obtain, and all
within the first month of employ?"

"The very one."

"I don't believe you." But truly, he did.
Mainly because he was ready to spill his entire life story based
solely on the fact that she was the only woman who had ever used
violence on him.

He found it wildly arousing.

"It is more believable than you being the
Wolf." Her laugh echoed within the room. Pride taking another huge
blow, he almost blurted out his identity for a second time, but
thought better of it. After all, if she truly did not know him,
then that would mean it would be reasonable for him to experiment.
After all, there was enough sexual tension in that room to make a
vicar sin.