The Wolf's Pursuit

by Rachel Van Dyken

  "It was not an attempt, and I believe I hit my mark quite well." He turned toward the two gentlemen. "I am, after all, an excellent marksman."

  "So we've heard." Redding glared.

  "At any rate, allow me to explain myself." Hunter cleared his throat and leaned forward. "That particular gown is a pretty enough gown, but in my mind it detracts away from the poetry of your face. The angle of your soft jaw, the billowy softness of your lips against that pale skin. Those are the things a man wishes to focus on, not gowns."

  Gwen squirmed in her seat. Never had a man been so forward. Unfortunately, the warmth she felt was entirely false. Hunter might desire her, in a lust-filled selfish way, but he cared nothing for her heart. In fact, she was convinced she would never find a man who would.

  Which was why this entire farce was almost as painful as it was difficult. It was akin to giving a child a beautiful new pony and then at the last minute ripping it out of their hands.

  She nodded in his direction and took a sip of tea to collect her thoughts. "Your attempt at flattery confuses me, but I thank you nonetheless. No doubt it took you days to come up with such a compliment, and even then it fell flat."

  Trehmont began to laugh. "Doesn't mince words, does she?"

  Redding joined in.

  Hunter, however, did not take his eyes off of Gwen.

  "Say, my lady," Redding spoke up. "Since you seem to be occupied with Trehmont tomorrow afternoon, would you be agreeable to a chaperoned walk in the park Monday?"

  "I would be honored." Gwen tried to keep herself from glaring at Redding. Something about him gave her pause, though she had no idea why.

  She sighed.

  "Perfect." Redding rubbed his hands together and leaned forward.

  Rosalind seemed to let out a deep exhale next to her. Most likely in relief, considering she had been so worried about Gwen ever since her return from Dominique's castle.

  If only her sisters knew. Her innocence had long ago been taken, by watching the horrors of what men with power could do. Not a night went by when she didn't see the nightmares of the torture Napoleon had inflicted on some of his people, women in general. She had barely escaped without becoming another conquest.

  And the Crown had done nothing to commend her except send her back into the darkness of Hades in order to glean more information.

  She was broken. Perhaps Hunter was right. She was a temptation for a man, but that was all. For she could offer nothing, save her body, to another human being, for who wanted a soul that was so tainted?

  Chapter Twelve

  Red—

  You truly looked beautiful today. I didn't mean to upset you. I was trying to goad the men into defending you. Lecherous idiots that they are. Do tell me what you learn after you spend your afternoons with both of them, and do not, I repeat, do not allow them to get you alone. Take a chaperone, or you will force the Wolf to become the Hunter, and we both know what happens when the Hunter is after you…

  —Wolf

  Hunter shifted uncomfortably in his seat as all three gentlemen sent dirty looks in his direction. Words flew freely from his mouth without his brain once discussing with his lips what should or should not come out. It was as if he had taken complete leave of his senses. What the devil had he been thinking? Perhaps Dominique had drugged him for kissing Gwen. If the Beast only knew that it had been several kisses and he had in fact captured and tortured her.

  The image of his body floating face-down in the river wasn't even enough to keep him from wanting to slap himself for his foolish words.

  For him, a man of excellent seduction skills, to tell a woman in front of other men, no less, that she looked awful! He'd nearly groaned when he saw her face fall. Her dress was awful. It had nothing to do with what was beneath it, but it was entirely too proper for his liking.

  He liked her in red.

  Curse the woman.

  Now every time he saw her, she seemed to be wearing some ugly color that made him want to rip the dress from her frame.

  Which his body quite agreed with.

  Though he imagined her sisters wouldn't have been pleased with him. In some ways, he was angry with Gwen. She was a temptation he could not afford, not with the lives of people he cared about in the balance. Yet there she was, a conundrum if there ever was one.

  It made him uneasy to see Trehmont and Redding in the drawing room and even more nervous that Gwen would be spending time with them. Yet the plan was working perfectly. Both men seemed entranced by her. Who would not be? Considering they were being pressured to settle down this Season, it was hardly difficult to get the men to fawn over her. Now at least it would be easier to follow them and keep a watchful eye on their actions. His nose suddenly pained him. He reached up and touched it. At least he knew she could defend herself.

  The tea became cold in his cup. He put it down on the table and rose to excuse himself, when the butler entered again.

  "The Earl of Eastbrook."

  Trapped, with no way to escape, Hunter sat back down.

  Redding and Trehmont seemed less than pleased that they had more competition, for Eastbrook had taken great care in making his appearance perfect. Stupid man. All Hunter needed was his cousin sniffing around Gwen's skirts. He had enough problems as it was.

  "Ah Haverstone, thought I might find you here!" Eastbrook slapped his gloves against his leg and smiled coolly. Then his eyes fell on Gwen. "And what a lovely creature, more lovely than even my best dreams."

  Gwen blushed.

  Why the devil did she blush?

  Could she not see how evil he was?

  Well, perhaps he wasn't particularly evil. After all, he hadn't necessarily done anything but set himself up quite nicely within society. Treat his friends with respect and keep from vices like gambling and heavy drink.

  Which, if you asked Hunter, meant he was a terrible human being. What man didn't engage in at least one vice or two? It was the quiet fellows a gentleman had to worry about. He narrowed his eyes in his cousin's direction.

  "Thank you," Gwen answered, folding her hands in her lap.

  If it was at all possible, Hunter's eyes narrowed even more as he watched his cousin smile seductively at Gwen. Hunter imagined his hands around his cousin's neck and suddenly felt calm enough to breathe again.

  "…Did you hear nothing I just said?" Eastbrook addressed Hunter.

  No, apologies, I was busy strategically planning your murder. Perhaps at the end of a pistol rather than my bare hands? Too messy. He cleared his throat and smiled. "What was it that you asked?"

  "Have you seen Lainhart yet?"

  The entire room seemed to take a sudden inhalation, making it impossible for Hunter to focus on anything except steadying the ramming of his heart against his chest. Why did the blasted man have to mention his grandfather again, especially in front of his former employees?

  "He's dying," Eastbrook continued.

  "Oh, that poor man!" Gwen patted Eastbrook's hand. Hunter clenched his fist. "Whatever is the matter with him?"

  "I imagine it is severe disappointment," Redding piped up.

  "Disappointment?" Gwen tilted her head.

  "Why, yes." Redding leaned forward, but not before his gaze quickly went to Hunter in what could only be described as a smug look. "His grandson by marriage is, after all, a disgrace."

  "A disgrace, you say?" Gwen looked uncomfortably between Hunter and Redding. Eastbrook reached for her hand. If he did that one more time, Hunter was going to remove it with a rusty fork.

  Trehmont had the audacity to laugh, as if he wasn't a stain upon his own family name, the lecher. "But of course, haven't you heard?"

  "I'm sure if she hasn't, it is only a matter of time," Hunter said smoothly.

  The drawing room was entirely too small for that much testosterone, Hunter knew that much. If one more man puffed out his chest, they would look like those ridiculous emperor penguins waddling around their mates.

  Goode walked in again, this time w
ith a grim expression on his face. Had all the gentlemen decided to call at the same time?

  "Sir Hollins to call."

  Hollins swept into the room with a flourish, making a ridiculous spectacle of handing his hat and gloves to Goode before sitting on the already-too-miniscule sofa near Trehmont. "Ah, Lady Gwendolyn, you are a thing of beauty."

  "So I've been told," she murmured to herself, but Hunter caught it. Fighting a smile, he looked straight through Hollins as if he were the most meaningless rat on the planet and then looked away, hoping his point had been made.

  "I say." Hollins chuckled uncomfortably. "Seems tense in here. Do tell what has everyone in such silence."

  Hunter grabbed another biscuit and chomped on it quite loudly, then threw his arm over the side of the sofa and grinned. "Why, my many sins. Care to join in, Hollins? After all, I'm sure your embellishments will be quite helpful in steering the dear lady away from my advances."

  Hollins tugged at his cravat. "I believe you make enough of a spectacle of yourself without my embellishments helping, your grace." The way he said grace almost sounded like a hiss from his lips.

  "Let us not speak of it anymore," Rosalind piped up. Hunter had almost forgotten the two sisters were even present. What they must think of him now. Even Isabelle did not know of his disgrace.

  "No, let's," Hunter said, voice hoarse. "Say what you came to say." This he directed at Eastbrook, whose eyes revealed years of hatred.

  "No, my ladies, this tale is too sordid for drawing room conversation. Wouldn't you rather talk about the weather, or the lovely Season?"

  "Or the rumor that we have a traitor within our midst! Apparently, and you did not hear this from me, but someone has been selling information to the French," Gwen piped up.

  All heads turned to her.

  She nodded just slightly to Hunter.

  He swallowed the knot of emotion in his throat. It seemed Red had saved the Wolf, from himself and from further disgrace. He found he could not even meet her gaze as he looked down at his hands, which were now trembling in his lap from years of pent-up anger and guilt.

  Trehmont sputtered as Eastbrook leaned in to grab a biscuit. "My lady, that is not at all proper information, nor is it true."

  "Oh." Gwen tilted her head and shrugged. "I overheard some of the servants, or was it Redding discussing something of the sort? I'm sure it was nothing." She smiled and waved into the air.

  Redding's face turned pale as he looked at all the gentleman. "Well, on that note, I believe it is time for me to go. Apparently I've gone mad, to make up such silly lies." He bowed to the ladies, and went to kiss Gwen's hand. "I look forward to our walk through the park Monday afternoon."

  Hunter noticed Redding's hand was clenching Gwen's quite forcefully. He was ready to jump to her rescue when Eastbrook suddenly jerked to his feet, nearly knocking Redding away, considering how close in proximity they were.

  "Oh, apologies." Eastbrook looked anything but apologetic. Interesting indeed that he would be so perceptive of Gwen's discomfort. Hunter wasn't sure if he should be grateful or irritated. He decided on both.

  "Let us have that wonderful discussion over a glass of whiskey," Eastbrook addressed Hunter. Reluctantly, he rose from his seat and followed his cousin out of the house.

  ****

  Hunter wasn't sure why he felt such a glutton for punishment, nor why he had even agreed to this ridiculous meeting. He ordered a whiskey and took a seat next to the famous bay window of White's.

  The same window that had witnessed men lose entire fortunes. For who was stupid enough to bet how many people would walk by and what type of hats they would be wearing?

  Hunter drank greedily from the glass and sighed. Eastbrook took a seat opposite him and glared.

  "At least allow me the pleasure of being foxed, so when you attempt to murder me, it won't aggravate my nose."

  Eastbrook smirked. "Got yourself into a little scratch, did you?"

  A vision of Gwen flashed through Hunter's mind. A scratch? Did that make her a kitten? Blast, what he wouldn't give to be the man to help her retract those claws. He shifted uncomfortably and smirked into his glass before answering, "You could say that."

  An awkward silence followed, if one could ever call White's silent.

  "You must make amends before he dies."

  "For what?" Hunter all but yelled, as the pain of that day came back full force and hit him squarely in the chest. "Don't you think I know it was my fault?"

  Eastbrook said nothing, so Hunter continued. "Have I not suffered enough? I am a shell of a man." He hadn't meant to say that part aloud.

  Eastbrook reared back as if he had just been slapped. Hunter cursed and went to order another whiskey. When he returned, Eastbrook was looking out the window.

  "Do you remember when we first met?"

  Hunter cringed. "Do not tell me you are becoming sentimental."

  "Do you remember?" Eastbrook looked at him and grinned. "I told you I was going to grow up and marry a beautiful woman, and that when she said yes I would howl like a wolf does unto the moon. I would howl with excitement, with pleasure."

  "We were but lads." Hunter felt the need to clear his throat of the emotion that now clogged it.

  "You said if I was a wolf, then you and Ash would be the wolf's companions. We would grow up, marry beautiful women, and howl together at the moon in our excitement."

  Hunter hadn't heard his brother's name on anyone's lips for ten years. It hurt more than he'd realized it would.

  "The three of us, we were best friends."

  "And then I ruined it. Was that what you were going to say?" Voice hoarse, Hunter had to look away to keep himself from lashing out.

  "No," Eastbrook said calmly. "I was going to say, you abandoned the dream."

  Unable to believe his ears, Hunter jerked back toward Eastbrook. "I had no choice! In one blasted day I lost the love of my life and my only remaining blood relation. Tell me, if you are so wise, cousin, what would you have done?"

  Eastbrook sighed. "I wouldn't have shamed my family by abandoning them when they needed me most. I wouldn't refuse to respond to letters. I wouldn't disappear without a trace. I wouldn't leave a dying old man without saying goodbye, and I sure as fire would not have disgraced my dead wife's memory by screwing the first whore that smiled at me."

  Hunter focused on a tiny speck on the window. It was the only way to keep himself from killing his cousin with his bare hands. He had no idea of Hunter's pain. How dare he judge him! He hadn't been there. He hadn't seen the blood. Oh, the blood.

  He swallowed another gulp of whiskey and put his mask firmly back into place before looking back at his cousin. "You're boring me. Are we done?"

  "Yes." Eastbrook's eyes narrowed. "But you need to visit him. Promise me, if our past friendship meant anything to you, promise me you'll visit him. And soon."

  "Fine," Hunter said hastily. "I'll visit him first thing Monday morning, if that pleases you. But you will do me a favor in return."

  "Do you truly think you are in a position to be asking me a favor?"

  "Yes." With a smug grin, Hunter raised his glass to his lips. "I believe I am."

  Eastbrook nodded, just once. "Let's have it."

  "Stay away from her."

  "I'm sorry, you are going to need to be more specific as to who you are referring to."

  "Lady Gwendolyn. Stay away from her."

  Eastbrook swallowed the rest of his whiskey and set the glass on the table in front of them. Without answering, he turned and walked toward the door, then seemed to think better about it and stole a glance back at Hunter. "Do not ask me to make promises I cannot keep."

  "She is…" Hunter couldn't very well say mine. That sounded possessive. Yet all he wanted to do was slug his cousin across the jaw for the condescending smile pasted on his face.

  "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?"