The Wolf's Pursuit (3 page)

"Then I guess I truly am the worst spy," he
purred into her ear, minding the steel flexing against his neck.
"After all, you were the one who noticed the men on the ship as
well as the men in the inn. You truly must be the notorious Red. An
honor, I assure you."

"The pleasure's all mine," she said
breathlessly as her grip on the knife loosened. Beginner's mistake,
for it was all the chance he was going to get.

Seduction, for Hunter, had always been
simple, a strategic battle plan of sorts. Make her desire him,
mirror that desire, compliment, touch, please, and finally leave.
After all, he was always starving after such an encounter, and it
was always best to keep all seductions and encounters under twelve
hours.

Always.

His hand moved to her neck. Closing his eyes
he breathed in the scent of her skin. A spicy mix of cinnamon and
honey. His thumb rubbed her bottom lip. A pink tongue snuck out and
licked playfully at his thumb. Gwen's eyes darkened.

And he had her.

Precisely where he and other parts of his
anatomy wanted her.

On her back.

And at his mercy.

She didn't even see the pistol slip out of
his pocket, for he had already knocked her cold by the time her
eyes widened in realization.

He lifted her onto the bed and cursed. "Worst
spy in the history of the Crown? I think not." She would wake up
within the hour, cursing him to perdition, but he would be long
gone, never to see her again.

But before he left, he had a little spying to
do. Spying that even Red couldn't accomplish without getting her
pretty little self shot.

Without another thought to the woman lying in
the bed, Hunter left to sneak into the Englishmen's rooms. After
handing the innkeeper some blunt, he was extremely helpful in
giving Hunter the information he needed as to the rooms rented to
the men.

After five minutes of picking the lock, he
was finally able to make it into the first room. Nothing. It was as
if the gentleman hadn't brought a thing with him on the trip.

He tried the next three.

All empty.

Cursing, he made his way down the stairs. The
chairs where the gentlemen had been sitting were empty. Money left
on the table.

They'd left. The inn had been a front.

Hunter cursed again and made his way to the
front door, only to see it burst open. A Norse-looking fellow
barged in, demanding to know where a certain English girl named
Gwen had disappeared to. If Hunter hadn't been so tired after
fighting off the wench, he'd have the good sense to be alarmed that
an Englishman was boldly yelling such incriminating things about
the girl.

"How dare that strong-willed defiant child
leave home!" the duke screamed, "Selfish, selfish woman!"

Hunter lifted a brow at the man's words, her
reputation truly was well and ruined by now.

Either she was his wife or a family member.
Judging by the wild look in the man's eyes, Hunter assumed she must
be his sister. For any man with even an ounce of pride would not
announce to perfect strangers that he was not man enough to keep
his wife happy in his bedroom.

The man continued to yell at the innkeeper.
The money Hunter had given the innkeeper had been sufficient it
seemed, considering he had to be lying through his teeth.

Poor sod, he was going to get his ears boxed
if Hunter didn't intervene.

With a quick shake of his head, his hair fell
wildly about his face. He limped heavily toward the Englishman and
winced. Cursing as if he was in pain from a war injury but too
foxed to realize why. A large black coat was left on a nearby
chair, and he quickly put it over his shoulders. Hunter stopped in
front of the Englishman and scowled. "Gwen, you say?"

His words were purposefully slurred.

"Yes," the man clipped. His eyes narrowed
fiercely as he clenched his teeth together.

"I believe she's already been found, just up
there in that room." Hunter pointed to where he had left her, but
made sure to keep his head low as to not give away his identity.
"Some spy was boasting about how he rescued her from certain ruin,
as well as getting herself shot! Can you believe she was spouting
out nonsense that some Beast had stolen her sister? Truthfully, if
this very capable and well known — and let's not forget infamous —
spy, the Wolf, hadn't stumbled across her, she may have very well
been killed, or worse ruined, if you get my meaning." Blazes, he
forgot to slur. Well, that's what pride did to a man. He winced and
toppled to the side, then stole a glance at the man.

The man's gaze turned murderous. Clearly he
got the innuendo.

"My thanks," he finally said, reaching into
his pocket.

"No payment necessary. I shall truly sleep
better this very night, knowing such a diamond of the first water
is safe in her…" Hunter blinked innocently. "I'm sorry, old fellow,
who did you say you were? What kind of man would I be if I let some
fluffy-looking fancy person take advantage of the poor lass?"

"Montmouth."

Blast. If she was his charge, Hunter had half
a mind to feel sorry for him. The savage duke had just recently
been married to Rosalind Hartwell, who was in fact Gwen and
Isabelle's sister. The only way he was even privy to such
information was because he had spent the better part of the past
two months with the Beast of Russia, whose wife was none other than
Isabelle Hartwell. It was rumored that their family was quite mad,
or at least used to be. Some sort of curse had befallen them all.
But the rumors had been quickly laid to rest after Montmouth
married Lady Rosalind. Though Hunter hadn't found it good timing
that his best friend Dominique Maksylov, the Beast, had chosen that
opportune time to pay off the family and take Isabelle for his own.
The entire sordid tale of that family was one fit for the
storybooks or at least a Greek play.

He shook his head. These were the type of
theatrics Hunter wanted no part of. Madness? Stealing women? Spies
who believed they could do the job of a man? He shuddered and
looked at the duke again. "I believe, your grace, that you will
find her perfectly unharmed, though quite ruined. Too fancy of a
piece and all that. Besides, who knows if she's been alone this
whole time or… touched."

Montmouth's gaze narrowed before he bowed his
head and lifted his hand to his brow answering gruffly, "I
know."

Nodding his thanks, the behemoth of a duke
walked to the stairs, and for the second time that day Hunter had
an aggravating feeling wash over him, starting from his head and
lingering there for a good few seconds before traveling all the way
down to his toes.

It was Gwen's fault. And he needed to forget
her as soon as possible.
Desperate times
, he thought as he
went in search of the wench from earlier. Perhaps she had more
ale?

Dear readers, I'm so eager to be back in
town. This Season promises to be one where even wolves are allowed
to walk amongst the ton. What, you may wonder, is this author
alluding to? None other than the Duke of Haverstone, Hunter
Wolfsbane, has been invited back into polite society. He has a
reputation far too scandalous for this author to write down, for
there are very few words to be found that can describe his level of
vulgarity. Let it be advised that debutantes should cease from
wearing white. For we know what white reminds wolves of. Sheep.
Take care, dear reader, for you do not want any of your little
sheep to go astray, not where wolves dare to play.—Mrs. Peabody's
Society Papers

Four months later

Gwen gripped her reticule in her hand, most
likely making permanent marks on her person as she paced back and
forth in the small dusty study. Pieces of light shot in through the
drawn curtains. Enough light to see the grim set of Mr. Wilkins'
mouth and the heavy concern laden in his brows.

She cleared her throat and took a steadying
breath. "Apologies, sir, for my mood. It just seems that there are
so many more options than myself. As I explained in my letter, I no
longer wish to do this sort of work." There, she'd said it, to his
face, no less. Gaining more courage, for she hated letting anyone
down, especially the very man who had helped her feed her family
before Rosalind married the duke, she managed a small smile and
continued. "After all, there are plenty of women working for the
Crown. I see no reason for my participating in this, this—"

"Mission," he finished crisply. "It's a
mission regardless of how you see it, my lady. If you are quite
certain then?" He said it as a question, his speech sounded
careless and indifferent, but over the past few months she had
grown to know him. He was placating her sense of pride. Curse the
man!

"I am certain." But she wasn't. The familiar
tick in her blasted gloves began anew, the need to hold a pistol,
the way her blood roared when she successfully bested her opponent.
No! She could no longer put her family in such danger! Not when
both her sisters were so blissfully happy.

Rosalind, her sister, had married the Duke of
Montmouth. The man had rode in on his horse quite like a prince,
sweeping Rosalind off her feet, or so he said time and time again
when his wife wasn't listening.

And Isabelle, well, she had been kidnapped by
her husband. Gwen had to admit to finding it terribly romantic. The
great Beast of Russia, Dominique Maksylov, was said to possess no
heart, yet he proved its existence daily when he doted on Isabelle.
His music was currently all the rage throughout the country; a new
dance had even been made in their honor.

Isabelle found it taxing and quite
embarrassing. Dominique, however, never missed a dance. They had
both re-entered into society a few months ago.

Blast. She couldn't even lie to herself in
her head. It wasn't just a few months. It had been four months, one
day, and by her calculations, four hours. She had done nothing
short of jumping out the window, in order to clear her mind of the
man who had dared pin her against the wall with his body.

All masculine hardness pressed against her
until she'd thought she would expire on the spot. He was cold,
heartless, yet so incredibly fearless, it had taken everything in
her power to keep her wits about her, especially when he stole a
kiss or two.

Pathetic that her first two kisses had been
with a spy.

The most notorious spy in all of London.

Infamous rakehell, Hunter, the Wolf. Though
to be fair, at the time, she had laughed in his face when he'd
shared his identity. It was probably for the best, for it forced
the man to put distance between them.

Hours after her meeting, Montmouth had
discovered her at the inn, though he knew not of Hunter's identity.
Gwen had assumed Hunter to be missing. That is, until days later
when they were all happily brought together at Dominique Maksylov's
estate, where her sister resided.

Surprise was not the word she would have used
to describe the moment. Irritating? Provoking? Yes, those were
adequate words, for the first thing Hunter had uttered under his
breath when he brought her hand to his lips in a greeting was,
"I'll kill you and not blink, if you reveal anything."

Imagine, the nerve of the man! As if she was
not currently in the same predicament! She had been working for the
Crown for months without her family's knowledge! At the time of her
initial dealings with the War Office, she could have walked the
streets of London dressed as a footman and her mother wouldn't have
batted an eye. Granted, it was later decided she was quite mad, but
still.

Gwen shook the memories from her head,
allowing the feel of the Wolf's kiss to dissolve into her
subconscious, though she knew it would be back and she'd yet again
want his hands on her, regardless of propriety or the fact that
every time he opened his mouth she imagined shooting him with her
pistol.

"My lady?" Mr. Wilkins cleared his throat
again. "Have you been listening to anything at all? Apologies, but
I've never seen you so distracted."

Distracted, hah! Overheated? Well… Gwen gave
the man a tight smile. "As I've said before, I no longer wish to
endanger myself or my family."

"Alright, well. Off you go."

"Pardon?" Gwen nearly tipped over from the
shock. "Aren't you going to try to convince me? Offer me more
money? Make me feel guilty for not protecting my country and all
that?"

"No." He shook his head. "Good day to
you."

"But..."

Mr. Wilkins gave an exasperated sigh. "What
is it you want? Do you want me to grovel? For I will not do it.
Another agent, the one who is to be your partner, will just have to
go at it alone. Not that I doubt his ability to do so, but his
cover has long ago been blown, making it increasingly difficult for
him to do his job."

"Partner? Another agent?"

"But of course. This was to be a covert
operation, my lady. After all, the Season is underway, and the
exact place I need you to infiltrate is the one you were born
into."

"The Season? You want me to…" Gwen searched
for the correct word. "Debut?"

"In a word, yes. But that will be all. I
cannot tell you too much, my dear, for you've already said no. The
Wolf will no doubt find success sooner without a woman by his
side—"

"—I accept!" Gwen shouted.

"What of your family? Hmm? Their safety? Your
own personal morals and ethics and…"

Gwen rolled her eyes. She couldn't very well
curse her family to perdition, not when she was already certain the
Wolf would be there. Truly it would be an unkindness to her flesh
and blood. Though at this moment, all she cared about was proving
to the man that she was his equal as a spy, in every way. "I care
for my family a great deal," she said demurely. "However, I am
finding the idea that any sort of danger could befall them during
the Season appalling, and for that reason, and that alone, I will
accept this mission." Well, that reason and the interesting fact
that she would be working alongside the man who haunted her dreams
every night.