The Wolf's Pursuit (6 page)

Add that to the already nervous sensation of
seeing Hunter Wolfsbane, Lord Haverstone, and she was ready to
scream. But if this was the only way to be sure her family and her
country were safe, she would do it. One last mission, one last time
to prove to herself and Hunter that she was above the gossip, above
the stares. She was her own woman, a modern woman. And if she
wanted to debut after such a scandalous winter, then that was what
she was going to do.

A plan began forming in her head.

"I see this makes you happy, Gwen, and for
that I am happy." Rosalind rose and kissed her on the cheek.

"Oh yes," Gwen answered, twirling a piece of
hair between her fingers. "This makes me very happy." She smiled
warmly and rose from her seat. "If you'll excuse me then, I just
have some preparations to make before this evening's ball."

"If you need help…" Rosalind touched her arm.
"Allow me?"

"Of course." Gwen left the salon, her
slippers sliding quickly across the floor as she made her way up to
her rooms.

****

Hunter gazed up at the mansion in front of
him and sighed. Clearly things were bad when he was going to the
Beast for some cheering up. Dominique had been the most depressing
fellow to be around before his marriage, and now it seemed that he
needed to cheer up Hunter. There was something so tragically wrong
with the thought.

He needed to get ahold of himself.

With another soothing breath, he ran up the
stairs and knocked on the front door.

The butler answered and lifted an
eyebrow.

And because Hunter needed a bit of cheering
up…

And because he was feeling slightly
inebriated since he had taken a few strengthening drinks of brandy
before making his way over to the Hariss residence…

He sneezed in the butler's face.

"Apologies!"

The butler cursed, which everyone knew could
get the man sacked; must have been a good sneeze. Hunter grasped
the lapel of the butler's stiff jacket and wiped his face.

"State your business and be gone…, sir." The
butler stepped away.

"My business is not your business,
George."

"It's Samuel."

"Nathanial, listen here." Hunter leaned in.
"I'm having my trunks sent over, and I'll also need a room."

"The hotel is down the street."

"Daniel! Where is your sense of humor?"

Samuel's shoulders puffed up, and his cheeks
soon followed. Interesting fellow, but Dominique was never one to
hire conventional butlers. Weren't they supposed to be seen and not
heard?

"Sir, I must ask that you—"

"Hunter!" Isabelle ran down the stairs. Silly
girl, clearly she hadn't learned the ways a lady should behave. Not
that he would want her any other way. Blast, she absolutely
glowed.

"My lady, it seems your current state agrees
with you." He leaned down to kiss her cheek but was interrupted by
Samuel clearing his throat.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Hunter
asked.

Samuel turned red.

Isabelle swatted Hunter. "I am so sorry,
Samuel. The Duke of Haverstone is an old friend, and will be
staying with us for the Season."

Was it Hunter's imagination or did the butler
just curse under his breath as he walked away?

"Cheeky fellow."

"He's Russian." Isabelle shrugged. "Now, come
have tea with me and tell me all about your reason for spending a
Season in London. We both know you'd rather get trampled by a horse
than marry."

Hunter flinched at her words.

Isabelle paused and looked at him with
curiosity. "I didn't mean anything offensive, Hunter. It's just
that..." Her eyes watered. Blasted emotional woman.

"It is nothing. I was merely shocked you
still possessed a sense of humor after living with Dominique for a
few months."

"I missed you, too," Dominique said, bounding
through the room looking healthy, virile, and extremely satisfied
with himself. Curse the man. Maybe Hunter merely needed to find
himself a mistress.

After all, it had been several months since
his last encounter, and that one had scarred him to such an extent
he hadn't had the courage to face a woman again. The lady in
question had drugged him within an inch of his life and then
proceeded to eat her dinner whilst on top of him. The thought gave
him a shudder.

"Still feeling under the weather?" Dominique
poured them both a glass of brandy. At this rate, Hunter would be
foxed before the ball this evening.

"No, simply repulsed that Isabelle would find
you charming enough to share your bed every night."

Isabelle smirked. "Believe me, he's—" Her
face flamed red as she looked down at her hands, making Dominique
laugh aloud.

Incredible. Hunter was now in his own version
of Hell. Marital bliss surrounded him, and memories of his dead
wife plagued even his waking dreams. He hadn't thought anything
could possibly get worse.

"What are your plans for the Season?"
Isabelle tried her best to engage him in conversation.

Unfortunately, his mind was working quite
slowly. He blamed the brandy. So he blurted out, "I'm to find a
wife."

Dominique began coughing wildly while
Isabelle laughed.

"I was not jesting."

"Oh," they said in unison, causing a painful
silence to blanket the room.

"It is a mission of sorts, so if you see me
acting…"

"Strange?" Isabelle offered.

"Like an idiot?" Dominique felt the need to
chime in.

"Yes." Hunter gritted his teeth. "All of the
above, I guess. It is of the utmost importance that you do not
deter me from my act. After all, it must be believable."

Dominique sat across from him. "Mind if I ask
what part you shall be playing this Season? Perhaps the prince?
Mayhap the devoted lover?" His friend grinned and leaned back,
clearly enjoying himself.

"More predator than lover, I'm afraid. I'm to
be myself."

Silence. Again.

Isabelle squinted. "So you're to play the
fool?"

"You wound me!" Hunter grinned. "At least you
truly do still have your sense of humor, Isabelle. And yes, if that
is how you see me, that is what I will be."

Dominique hadn't spoken. Hunter waited.

"Am I to believe you're going to revert back
to the incident of 1806?"

"Why the devil does everyone keep bringing
that up?" Hunter demanded suddenly, wanting to pace the room and
yell at the same time. First Mrs. Peabody and now his best friend.
"It was not such a big catastrophe."

"You went to the regent's annual
end-of-Season ball with all of your clothes as well as your wits,
and left naked, drunk, and with several women on your arms."

Hunter scoffed. "You exaggerate."

"They groped you."

Hunter shook his head and looked away in
hopes to appear bored, when really he was deuced uncomfortable that
Dominique would talk of such in front of his wife.

"In public."

Hunter sighed. "I was foxed."

"Believe me, nobody will forgive you that
even if you were foxed. I believe you left town the next day."

"Forgive me," Isabelle interjected. "But is
that to mean that tonight will be your first night in society
since?"

"The incident," both Hunter and Dominique
finished in unison.

Her mouth formed an O before she closed it
and smirked to herself. "So you're to be playing the rake?"

"My dear." Hunter leaned forward and brushed
her arm with his gloved hand. "I am a rake."

Dominique cleared his throat as Isabelle
jerked back and giggled behind her hand. "I'm sorry, Hunter. I just
don't see it. You've always been so…" She shrugged. "Happy."

Her admonition made his heart lurch. Of
course he acted happy. It was the only way to convince himself he
was. If he stopped jesting and making a fool of everyone around
him, then the silence would kill him. He was convinced that if he
even spent one day without finding humor, even if it meant hurting
others, then grief would destroy him. He had come close today. So
dangerously close while he was in his carriage.

He could not. No, he would not allow himself
that same weakness again. She was dead. It was his fault. He would
burn in Hell, and he needed to pay for his sins by living through
certain torture every day without her. By breathing when air was
suddenly missing.

Shrugging, he gave her a seductive smile, the
kind where he purposefully drew his lips across his teeth as his
eyes boldly scanned her body and then in a husky voice he said, "My
lady, was that a challenge?"

Dominique took a step between them "Do not
encourage him, my dear, truly. I do not wish to see him talk you
out of your gown."

"I am a married woman. I am in love! I would
never! Hunter is my friend!" Her words came out at a rapid
speed.

"My dear." Dominique chuckled. "I do love
you, and I trust you, but Hunter is…" He glared at Hunter then
looked softly back at his wife. "The very devil possesses that man,
for I've never seen so many married woman fall at his feet. He
truly is the best kind of hunter."

"But what does one do…" Hunter asked as he
rose from his seat, "when the hunter is also the Wolf?" With a wink
in their direction, he walked toward the doors. "I assume I'm in
the red room. I'll just see to my things."

Hunter walked briskly out of the room and
toward the stairs, but Samuel stopped him in his tracks. A grim
expression passed across the old butler's face before he held the
platter in the air in front of Hunter, nearly taking off his nose
in the process. "Your grace, this message was delivered for
you."

"I feel at home already." Hunter grinned and
slapped the butler on the back quite forcefully, making the man
stumble a bit on his feet before rolling his eyes and turning
away.

There was no seal on the letter. Curious, he
opened it. A grin spread across his face so widely, he was sure he
would be sore in the morning. A simple letter should not affect him
so, but there it was, irritatingly making him want to smirk and pat
himself on the back.

It read,
I'll be wearing a red cape. Try
not to make a complete fool out of yourself. —Red

Yes, tonight was going to be a lovely night
indeed. He decided to pen her something back.

"I will be wearing nothing at all. —The
Wolf"

Laughing aloud, he scribbled quickly on the
bottom of the note and passed it on to the butler. With great
gusto, he gave a deep bow to the silly man and whistled on his way
to his rooms. Maybe, just maybe it wouldn't be such a horrible
mission after all.

****

"Who is that from, dear?" Rosalind asked as
Gwen stuffed the correspondence into her pocket. "Why are you so
flushed? Are you feeling ill? Is this about tonight?"

Gwen gritted her teeth. Ever since her
sister's marriage, she had turned into something of a stand-in
mother. Not that Gwen minded, but in times like these, she truly
valued her privacy. "Nothing to be alarmed about. Merely an old
friend wishing to inform me of his dress so we may match
tonight."

"His?" Rosalind repeated. "Gwen, do you have
a tender for a young gentleman?"

"He isn't young, he's old and quite flighty.
In fact, I'm sure he's just one drink away from dying. Do not
trouble yourself with such things." Gwen gave her sister a cheeky
grin before dashing up the stairs to ready herself for the
ball.

Once she was inside the safety of her room,
she pulled the letter out and bit back a curse. How was she to deal
with this man every day of the Season? If anything, it made her
resolve to finish up the mission that much more implacable. She
needed to be finished with Hunter. It was hard enough that his face
plagued her thoughts, his scorching kiss still made her dizzy.

Taking a calming breath, she rang for her
maid. It was time to become Red. The type of scandalous girl worthy
of a debut. If ruin was what they wanted, then ruin they were going
to get.

Red—

Bathe? Eat chocolate? You naughty little
minx. If I bring the chocolate, will you supply the bath? I promise
to feed you. I don't, however, promise to be naked. I'll allow you
the pleasure of disrobing me. Until we meet.

—
The Wolf

Gwen was a woman. Well, of course she was a
woman, his body would never let him forget that little tidbit.
Regardless, if she thought he wouldn't want to brief her before
their meeting, she was sadly mistaken. He'd never worked with a
partner before, and he wasn't about to allow her to ruin the
mission by her inability to change her sex. He winced. Perhaps that
was harsh. To change her sex meant…

With a curse, he rounded the corner where the
servants' entrance was located and waited. It was the only
location, Gwen had assured him, that would not be run down with
people.

After ten minutes, he began walking back and
forth on the grass, or to be honest, stomping. The ball was to
commence soon.

And she was late.

Women.

He huffed on a cheroot for five minutes and
kicked some stones with his polished shoes. What the devil was
taking her so long? One would think a spy, or at least a good spy,
knew why it was important to be on time.

The cheroot suddenly went bitter in his
mouth. He spit it out and cursed, running a hand through his hair.
Would he always be haunted by his tardiness? Would everything serve
to remind him of
her
?

"You're early," a feminine voice announced
from the doorway.

"No." He turned. "You're l—" Not only was he
instantly aroused but he suddenly could not remember what he was
going to say. He felt his eyes widen as they strained to take in
her dress. It was red. Not pastel, not white, but red. The very
color only married women and those of ill repute chose to wear.
Perhaps she could get away with it. If her hair wasn't so dark and
her skin so pale. Her lips were painted just slightly, and he
couldn't help but wonder if they tasted the same as before. Like
fresh mint and warm berries.