The Wolf's Pursuit (13 page)

"She is what?" With a laugh, Eastbrook walked
out of the establishment, leaving Hunter alone and very much
wanting to murder the next person that dared speak to him.

"Fancy seeing you here."

He knew that voice. Please let it not be
true. Please let him be already foxed and conjuring up dukes.

He looked to his left and saw Montmouth with
another fellow in tow. God was surely punishing him. He hadn't the
temper to talk with Montmouth longer than two seconds.

Hunter imagined his body would be thrown
through the glass window if he engaged in a longer
conversation.

"May we sit?" Montmouth motioned to the two
empty chairs. Hunter quickly took a long swig of his drink.

"Rawlings, do take a seat. You look
positively ill."

The man with dark features, named Rawlings,
sat on the chair but looked like he was ready to either murder
someone or strangle himself, his hands were wrung so tightly.

"This…" Montmouth pointed to Rawlings, who
was now staring at the floor as if it were to come alive at any
moment. Was he foxed? "This is Lord Rawlings. His wife at this very
instant has kicked him from his home so she may bring his heir into
the world without him pacing the floorboards, most likely ruining
the new floors in the process."

That explained his ill look.

For whatever reason, Hunter took pity. "I'm
sure she will do nicely."

Rawlings' head snapped up.

Instant recognition flashed across his
features.

Truly, Hunter should have looked away or at
least said something, but all he could do was sputter.
"Phillip!"

"Hunter!"

"What?" Montmouth's reaction was filled with
more dread then excitement.

Hunter jumped to his feet and pumped
Phillip's hand with glee. "I haven't seen you since France!"

"Yes, about that…" Phillip turned slightly
red and glanced back at Montmouth before scratching his head and
shifting his feet. "Not many know the sordid details."

"It was you!" Montmouth nearly shouted.

"Shh!" both men said in unison, all three of
them now taking their seats and huddling together.

Monmouth looked between the two of them and
finally addressed Phillip. "He was the one that bet you to swim
naked in France?"

"Nothing but rumors." Hunter tried to defend
him but failed miserably.

Rawlings shook his head, shoulders finally
relaxing. He leaned back and laughed. "In his defense, the man was
drunk when he bet me."

"And in his defense…" Hunter joined with them
in laughter. "He was drunker, and if I remember correctly, gaining
a little too much attention from a certain courtesan who would have
robbed him blind if given the opportunity."

"And there's also that." Rawlings laughed.
"It is good to see you, Hunter. Or shall I address you as
Haverstone? It's odd, really, I hadn't ever thought about your
title before."

"Yes, well, I didn't even know you had
inherited until now, so you are forgiven."

Montmouth was glancing between the two as if
he had just created some grievous sin. His face had turned pale.
"How do you two know one another?"

"He's a spy," Phillip blurted and then
quickly looked to Hunter. Who nodded his head in amusement.

"Pardon?" Montmouth hooted with laughter. His
head fell back against the chair as he wiped tears from his
eyes.

Hunter fought the urge to shout his own name
aloud in order to gain attention, for he truly was that famous. How
had Montmouth not heard of him? Or at least put two and two
together?

"Glad I amuse you," Hunter said dryly, for
once not putting his foolish smile or rakish lazy mask in
place.

Montmouth looked at him, really looked at
him. Hunter waited and tilted his head.

"I don't understand."

It was time for Phillip to laugh. "Surely you
jest! You truly did not know that you've been waltzing around with
the Wolf?"

"Wolf?" Montmouth said, then his eyes
widened. "
The
Wolf?"

"The one and only." Hunter saluted.

Montmouth looked between the two of them.
"But he's an idiot." This directed at Phillip.

"He's brilliant." Phillip defended his old
friend and rose to his feet. "This truly has been a pleasure. I
hadn't thought to see you again. By the by, thank you for keeping
me out of trouble in France."

"Not a problem." And Hunter meant it.

"Do call upon us soon." Phillip smiled and
pumped his hand. "Wish me luck. I'm off to meet my son or
daughter."

"Son," Hunter said without realizing he had
spoken. Both men looked at him. "A man like you deserves a
son."

Phillip nodded and walked off.

"Explain yourself," Montmouth growled before
Hunter could even find his seat again.

"No."

"No?"

"Are you deaf?"

"Are you stupid?" Montmouth fired back.

"Clearly not. But I take it you are."

"I'm ignoring that slight to my intelligence,
but only because I'm interested in what you're doing back in London
and living with Dominique and Isabelle."

Hunter opened his mouth to speak but
Montmouth interrupted him. "And dancing with Gwen. Oh, please tell
me you haven't made advances toward her. A spy? I'm to protect
them. I'm to—"

"Stop." Hunter groaned, suddenly feeling a
headache coming on. "I don't have time to speak of it. Just know I
would do nothing to harm your sisters, any of them."

"Fine," Montmouth bit out. "Be sure that you
don't."

Hunter placed his glass on the table and
shrugged. "Not to worry. I'm retired. I have only the purest
intentions."

"Says the wolf to the sheep."

"Only the stupid ones."

Montmouth cursed. "Promise to leave the
innocent ones alone? Pick off the weak, the feeble-minded, the ones
who have it coming, but leave Gwen alone."

Hunter knew he couldn't promise anything of
the sort, so he nodded his head and looked away. "On that note."
Hunter rose. "It's been a trying day."

Montmouth nodded to Hunter as he left.

Trying day indeed. He did not even feel
himself fall asleep that night as he lay in bed at Dominique's
house, but he did remember the woman he saw before he closed his
eyes. A lady in red.

Wolf—

I know you may find this hard to bite, but
considering you're a wolf, I'll just encourage you to act on
instinct. I can very well take care of myself. And if you need
proof, by all means examine your nose in the mirror. If the purple
and yellow stains across your features aren't enough evidence to my
case, then allow me to once again show you how worthy of an
opponent I truly am.

—
Red

"Your eyes are like flowers."

Gwen blinked rapidly; perhaps she could cause
herself to faint if she did so?

"Your hair like spun…" Oh, this should be
good. The man coughed. "Spun wool."

Gwen smiled. "Like a sheep?"

"A black sheep," he confirmed.
Baah
.
The man turned red.

She could only refer to him as
man
because he had been the fifteenth man to come calling and by then
she had come up with nicknames for every male present. She'd quit
listening to their names after the third caller. This one she
called
man
, because truly there was nothing identifying
about him. He was average height, average weight, and most likely
average intelligence, at least so she'd thought.

And then he compared her hair to wool.

"Yes, well, I do love farm animals." Gwen
truly didn't know what else to say. Rosalind had quit the room
hours ago while Isabelle still sat poised at Gwen's side. Poor
dear. If Gwen was tempted to jump out the window or slip and fall
on a table so she'd have a blunt head wound, she could not even
begin to imagine her sister's trauma at having to live through this
with her.

"You do!" the man shouted and clapped his
hands. Clapped. As if he had just witnessed a play. "I always say
that the best wife is one who appreciates God's creatures."

"Yes, well—"

"Do you cook?" He leaned forward and licked
his lips.

Gwen eyed the cane behind him and wondered
how fast the man could move if she were to strike him with it. "No,
I'm a gently bred lady."

"Oh, of course." He tugged at the sleeve of
his too-tight jacket and winced. "I was merely making conversation,
and my house, well, it is in the country and I do not exactly have
the funds to keep a cook full time, so when we marry—"

Presumptuous squatty little man! "I'm going
to have to bid you good afternoon. The light grows dark, and I
promised my sister I would attend her house for dinner this
evening."

The man looked to Isabelle and grinned. He
couldn't be waiting for an invitation, could he? Of all the
fool-hearted notions!

"Y-yes." Isabelle smiled sweetly. "We are to
meet with my husband, the Beast of Russia. I'm sure you've heard of
him."

"The Beast." Merciful heavens, why the devil
were the man's hands trembling? Was he going to wet himself as
well?

"Yes." Gwen nodded urgently. "And he is ever
so cross when we are late."

"Oh, well then, I'll just…" The man jerked
out of his seat and walked briskly out the door.

"Well." Isabelle huffed.

Gwen felt a headache push through her
temples. "Listen to me very carefully, Isabelle."

"Sister, if I have to listen to anyone talk
for another minute, including you, my head shall explode on the
spot."

Gwen ignored her. "It is imperative that you
convince your husband to attend afternoon calls, or at least make
an appearance toward the end. Let us hope that all irritating men
will run with their tails between their legs when they set eyes
upon him."

Isabelle threw her head back and laughed.
"Clearly, you're delusional, not that I blame you. If I had to
listen to one more man wax poetic about your hair, I was going to
grab the scissors and cut it all off."

"I would have allowed it."

"I know."

"Please?" Gwen was not against begging.

Isabelle sighed. "How do you imagine I could
convince Dominique to do such a thing? He's still quite reclusive
in society, and he despises socializing."

Gwen tilted her head to the side and patted
her sister's hand. "Oh, I'm sure you can find a way to… convince
him."

"Tart."

Gwen lifted her hands in innocence. "Says the
one who's going to be convincing her husband all night long…"

"Gwen!" Isabelle scolded. "You shouldn't
speak of such things!"

"We are sisters."

"You are unmarried," Isabelle pointed out,
which truly just made Gwen feel worse, but she didn't want her
sister to know she had unintentionally hurt her feelings. So she
merely shrugged and gave a saucy grin. "Just because your
reputation is less than pristine does not make this type of talk
appropriate."

"I've had worse," Gwen said without thinking,
then quickly rose from her seat to leave.

"Wait." Isabelle grabbed her hand. "You still
haven't talked about what happened when you were gone those many
months."

If Isabelle only knew the sacrifices Gwen had
made for the family, sacrifices that made it so she gave away
pieces of herself, of her pride, until she had nothing left. "It
was nothing, dear, just an innocent adventure. Let us retire so I
may ready myself for dinner. Apparently I'll be dining at your
house."

"Hunter will be pleased."

"Hunter is easily pleased."

Isabelle lifted an eyebrow toward Gwen. "Are
you sure there isn't more between the two of you? After all, he is
an honorable man, though he does have his secrets."

Gwen sighed and felt her shoulders slump. "We
all do."

****

Dinner progressed nicely, mainly because
Hunter was nowhere to be seen, so Gwen was able to calmly enjoy a
meal where she didn't have to fight off his seductive stares or
cutting remarks. Which on one hand was nice — she did so enjoy
dining with her sister and Dominique.

But her eyes kept glancing to the chair where
Hunter had been sitting that morning. Suddenly overheated, she
fanned herself and took a long drink of wine. Whatever was coming
over her? Perhaps she was getting ill.

Her mind flashed to Hunter's seductive grin
from that morning, and then his gentle touch this afternoon. She
shouldn't have felt his warm hand through her skirts at all, but
she had.

He had touched her, softly, when she came to
his defense.

"Dear, are you well?" Isabelle asked.

"Of course." Gwen took another soothing drink
of wine and watched as Dominique made lustful glances toward his
wife. Now she truly felt like the third wheel.

"I have returned!" a loud voice announced
from the doorway.

Gwen turned to see Hunter, cravat undone, a
sort of substance down the front of his shirt, and swaying on his
feet.

"Lovely." Dominique ignored Hunter and took a
sip of wine. "I was wondering when the prodigal was to return. Got
in another scuffle, did you?"

"With my horse." Hunter nodded and leaned
against the wall, slowly sliding down it. Was no one going to help
him?

He hit the floor with a thump.

Dominique took another sip of wine and kissed
his wife's hand. "Shall we retire, my love?"

Isabelle sighed and rose from her chair. They
walked arm in arm, taking special care to step over Hunter as they
made their way from the room.

Had they forgotten about her?

"Oh, Gwen." Isabelle turned. "I'm so sorry. I
don't know what came over me. I'm sorry, I forgot you were even
sitting there."

Gwen knew exactly what had come over her
sister. A very tall, dark, brooding, handsome prince wanted to have
his way with her. She'd forget others existed if it were her in
that position, as well.