The Wolf's Pursuit (4 page)

Perhaps she could strangle him in person now
that he would be making an appearance.

"Brilliant." Mr. Wilkins grinned. "I'll send
word to him posthaste. I just need to iron out a few details with
the man. I hope you realize, my lady, that you will be entirely on
your own in this operation. The Wolf will be there if you need him,
he will provide protection and work as a distraction, but you will
be the one to do the dirty work. Do you understand what I am
saying?" At Gwen's silence, he continued, "There are some things a
woman may do to persuade a man and gain information of a certain
type… now do you understand?"

Only too well. For hadn't she done the exact
same thing with Napoleon's elite? Only she had been the distraction
as the man salivated over her, touched her, and made her feel like
a whore. At least now she would have someone to look after her —
that is, if the Wolf could keep his paws to himself.

Gwen gave Wilkins a tight smile. "But of
course I understand. Good day." He gave her a quick nod, and she
walked to the door, her heart pounding, for she finally realized
what she had just agreed to.

A debut into society, with none other than
the Wolf as her partner. She only hoped she could finish the Season
with her wits still intact, and if not that, at least her
virginity.

****

It's easier to believe you're a failure. So
much easier than trying to wrap your mind around the simple truth
or perhaps the idea that you are so much more than you choose to
be.

Growling, Hunter stared down at the papers
and sighed. Nine years. It had been nine blasted years since he saw
her face, felt her lifeless body in his arms, and not a night went
by that he didn't feel the stab of regret slam into his chest.

He should have been on time.

Because when a person has regrets they always
go through every other possibility, every outcome, every situation,
tossing and turning the puzzle around, trying to make sense of the
awful situations that befall them. And Hunter had come to one
conclusion, and one conclusion only.

The love of his life, his sun, his moon, his
morning star, lost the light in her eyes because he was not but a
few minutes late.

Which is why, as he crossed the street into
Mayfair that dreary afternoon in London, he felt the need to be
early. So early, in fact, that he was able to see the flash of
ebony hair as it left the exact place he was to be meeting with
Wilkins.

Blast, now he was even seeing Gwen in broad
daylight, forget his dreams. The woman was an absolute terror on
his peace of mind, and to think, he had only known her for such a
short period. To spend more time in her company would be inviting
madness right into his life.

And he'd had enough of madness, thank you
very much.

With a curse and loud whistle, he thrust his
hands into his pockets and marched up the stairs and into the large
townhouse.

In the past, he had always let himself in,
and often went into the green salon to pour himself a brandy while
waiting for Wilkins to finish with his current victim.

If he was lucky, he would barge in on his
boss torturing a poor soul for information. Not one to get his
hands dirty, Hunter was quite good at delivering empty threats, as
well as slicing a man from head to toe without once drawing his
knife.

The stale smell of the house was the same as
he remembered it.

Always the same.

Hunter cursed, irritated that a smell would
cause such melancholy to fall onto his shoulders. He hated when he
let his emotions get the best of him. It made him feel like every
other sorry idiot out there, just sitting in a room, alone,
thinking about the one thing he'd rather die than think about.

He poured himself a brandy and cursed aloud.
How was it that, in the time it took for him to take a sip from a
glass, everything could change in an instant? How does a person go
from smiling to crying? The only obvious answer was that life was
not fair. It had never been fair to him. It didn't make sense that
within a minute, his smile was replaced with fear, and his joy
replaced with tears.

No, life was not fair, and if it was, he
certainly wasn't on the receiving end. The brandy sat like a brick
in his stomach. Hunter set the glass on the table and rubbed his
eyes, the turmoil of the morning getting to him. He needed to stop
thinking so much and just get the blasted job done.

Emotions were of no use to him. He laughed
bitterly in the empty room. As much as he preached to others about
being open and carefree — he was actually quite the opposite of
everything he pretended to be.

The sad truth of his ability to laugh through
life was based solely on the fact that he didn't care if he lived
or died, and that sickened him more than he could bear, for his
wife wouldn't have wanted him to live his life in such a way.

But it was the only way he knew to
survive.

"Ah, Haverstone, always a pleasure." Wilkins
barged into the room, wiping his hands with a cloth.

So it had been dirty business.

Immediately Hunter's mind went to Gwen. Had
she been involved? Was she still working for the Crown? Had she
come to her senses and quit?

"I believe…" Wilkins cleared his throat and
took a seat, "that this particular mission may be something you
will find…" He looked to the ground and grinned before gazing again
at Hunter. "Shall we say, distasteful?"

Hunter tried to appear amused though his mood
proved quite the opposite. "Oh? Pray tell, will I need to seduce
half of London in the name of the Crown? Perhaps I need only seduce
the dingy half, yes?"

"No." Wilkins grinned and leaned back. "Would
you care for a brandy?"

"I see." Hunter nodded. Perhaps if he drank
more, this sick feeling in his stomach would alleviate. "So it is
to be that type of mission."

"But I have not yet explained what it is you
need to accomplish."

"You don't need to." Hunter stretched his
arms above his head and sighed. "If you find it necessary to give
me brandy before the assignment, then it must be nasty business
indeed."

Wilkins merely nodded in agreement. After a
pregnant silence, he rose from his seat and walked over to the
cabinet to pour some brandy. He handed Hunter a glass and threw
back the contents of his own before filling it up again.

So it truly was that bad.

"What is it that His Majesty needs me to do?"
Hunter asked plainly as he slowly sipped the amber liquid.

"Enter into society." Wilkins winced as he
took another sip of brandy. "That is to say, if you can manage it
successfully and without seducing the lesser half of London in the
process."

Irritated, Hunter drank the rest of the fiery
liquid and cursed. "If I can manage? I believe I've been adequately
managing for over ten years, Wilkins. Entering into society will be
easier than entering into Napoleon's bedroom, I assure you."

"It will not be that easy,
I assure
you
." Wilkins fired back.

"Do you so easily forget who I am?"

"No, but clearly you do." Wilkins took a seat
opposite Hunter and sighed. "You cannot be absent from society for
near a decade after your wife's accident and your brother's
mysterious death without causing a debacle. It isn't in the ton's
nature and you very well know it. Besides, your cover has long ago
been blown, no thanks to you."

It hadn't been Hunter's fault that the papers
had taken stories of his escapades and made him famous. Known as
the Wolf of Haverstone, he was probably more of a target than
anyone. Truly, he wouldn't be surprised if someone was trying to
assassinate him this very minute, even though rumors of his
retirement had hit the papers. It mattered not, for he was still a
dangerous man, which is what made this mission seem odd. How was he
to gain information when he hadn't the trust of anyone?

Suddenly uneasy, Hunter leaned back and
exhaled. "What is it? What aren't you telling me?"

"We've secured you a partner."

"I work alone."

Wilkins shook his head. "Not this time."

"You force me to be disagreeable in having to
repeat myself a second time, sir. I work alone. I always have."

"Without offending your obviously delicate
sensibilities about needing any sort of help, I assure you, you are
working with a partner this time. You have no cover; therefore, you
will be making sure this person does the job and gleans the
information needed from our list of suspicious gentlemen."

Anger welled in Hunter's chest. He bit his
lip and looked away, into the empty dust of the fireplace.
"Who?"

"Red."

"Absolutely not." He jerked his head toward
Wilkins and cursed. "No. A woman? Are you mad?"

"No, but perhaps I'm a bit tired and
desperate." Wilkins smiled then, and Hunter noticed the dark
circles under his eyes as well as the lines forming around his
downturned mouth.

Hunter sighed and closed his eyes. Never had
he worked with a partner, and surely not a woman. It wouldn't be a
good match. How was he to be agreeable with the same woman he
wanted to bed as well as fight every second of the day? "Has
something happened that I need to be aware of?" Hopefully Wilkins
would take the bait. There was only one reason that the Crown would
be this desperate.

Wilkins gave him a sad look then cursed as he
walked to the door, shut it, and locked it. As he walked back to
his seat he explained. "There are only a handful of people who are
familiar with what I am about to tell you." Wilkins took a
shuddering breath and closed his eyes. "The ciphers are being
cracked. Somehow the French have unlocked the code."

Hunter shifted uncomfortably as his mind went
back to the night he and Gwen had met. Was that what the gentlemen
in Belgium had been passing back and forth?

No, it had to have been something else, for
the French were currently losing the war. Though to be honest, many
Englishmen had been slowly losing their fortunes by idly twiddling
their thumbs at White's rather than taking care of their own lands.
In thought, he shook his head. Impossible. If they had broken the
ciphers, it would be evident from the course of the war. If
Napoleon knew the disposition of the Seventh Coalition's forces, he
would not be in retreat. He'd turn with one of those lightning
strokes for which he was known, and defeat this coalition the way
he'd defeated the six that had preceded it.

"Impossible."

"Apparently not. There are three men who know
the code. We have reason to suspect it is one of them."

"How are the ciphers taken to the front
lines?"

"Sir Hollins writes the codes taught to him
by his mentor. The cipher is then given to Viscount Redding. Every
Tuesday at precisely four o'clock in the afternoon he takes a
carriage ride down Rotten Row, where he meets with the Earl of
Trehmont. They discuss the weather and if a certain phrase is
exchanged, they shake hands and the code is given to Trehmont to
post." Wilkins bit his protruding lower lip, another tell of the
man's nervousness.

"And if the phrase is not exchanged?"

"Each man goes on his way, a sure indicator
that a code does not need to be delivered. The process is
flawless."

Hunter thought about this for a moment. "So
one of these men is a traitor."

"A dangerous traitor, Haverstone. We've
followed each of them for weeks and come up with nothing." Wilkins
looked down. "The war is not yet over. Wellington is forcing
Napoleon's Imperial forces to retreat, but the emperor remains
dangerous and if he defeats Wellington, the war could drag on for
another decade. France cannot afford to lose and we cannot afford
to let them win. We need our people to be behind us, to believe us.
If not, our fate will be the same as theirs. We both know what
happens to single-minded people when they lose their leaders. They
become like sheep, and are easily led astray. We are at a critical
moment in our country's history. You will enter into society with
Red and eliminate the moles if necessary."

"And our only suspects are Trehmont, Redding,
and Hollins?"

"All of those gentleman are of high priority,
but their help in the War Office has been outstanding. Part of your
mission will be dependent on entering into these men's lives
without appearing too obvious."

Hunter cursed. "Is that all, then?"

Wilkins coughed and looked away. "There is
one more person we are investigating; however, it is much more..."
Wilkins paused. "Delicate. We need to be sure he or she is not able
to communicate any more with Napoleon's elite."

"He or she?" Confused, Hunter leaned his full
weight on his legs as he pushed forward out of his chair, closer to
Wilkins.

"Your partner, Red. Though it was not our
fault that she was with Napoleon as long as she was, she suffered
tremendously under the pressure of the assignment. Although we have
no reason to believe she changed sides, we are concerned that she
may be tempted to. Too long on the field and all that."

Gwen? Surely not! Hunter laughed aloud. "A
woman?"

"It is no laughing matter."

"A woman?" he repeated, and shook his head.
What was the world coming to? A woman was not intelligent enough to
pull something like this off. Yet his heart clenched at the
thought. For he used to know a woman who was more intelligent than
the ton combined, but she was no longer breathing. Her smile was
gone as was her soul.

His heart twisted painfully in his chest.

"I refuse to believe it."

"Be that as it may. We need you to help stage
a debut. We believe if we set her up in society that the chips may
fall precisely as we like. Not only will she be the center of
attention given her certain reputation, but the men who you are
investigating are all single and in need of wives. It has been
blatantly suggested that they begin their search. Gwen is very
capable of making a man want her."