Running Wolf

by Jenna Kernan

  She was lucky no one had recognised her. If they had, not even Gabe could save her reputation.

  Minette was trouble. Reckless. Heedless. Things the male predator within him had recognised at their very first encounter on board ship. Apparently, she had no more idea than a baby about the harsh truths of the world in which he resided. The need to beat a little sense into the baby-faced Granby pulsed in his blood. How could the man have let her inveigle him this way?

  He escorted the pair along a carpeted passageway, the salacious pictures on the walls advertising the purpose of the rooms at the back of the house. Some of his customers preferred their amusements out of the public eye. Such as those who held political positions, where deep play would cause a raised eyebrow or two. Others demanded more carnal forms of entertainment.

  Minette carefully kept her eyes lowered, but he knew she saw them.

  He opened the door to a room set up for gentlemen who took their cards seriously to the point of utter ruin. Windowless, panelled in dark wood, the only ornament a marble fireplace and mantel.

  Once the pair were inside, Freddy closed the door and turned the key. Granby started.

  Freddy put up a hand. ‘To ensure we are not interrupted.’

  The lieutenant nodded and looked relieved.

  Freddy fixed him with a look designed to freeze. ‘Are there maggots in your brain, Lieutenant? What do you mean by bringing a gently bred girl to a hell?’

  ‘Pardonnez-moi,’ Minette said, her voice equally icy, ‘I do not believe what I do is your concern.’

  ‘Well, you believe wrongly,’ Freddy said. ‘Well, Granby? Are you indeed so bacon-brained you did not realise that any one of your friends might have walked in and recognised Miss Rideau?’

  The poor tongue-tied lad gulped and shifted on his feet. ‘Told you. Debt of honour.’

  Freddy leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms over his chest. ‘Tell me about this wager of yours.’

  ‘Lady Cargyle’s al fresco breakfast,’ he blurted in a rush.

  Freddy waited for the next burst of words. If memory served, the young man had a bit of a stutter, which he manfully controlled by these staccato deliveries.

  ‘Croquet,’ Granby choked out. ‘Wager. Ball through three hoops with only one knock of the mallet.’ He blushed. ‘Not possible.’

  ‘So did she?’

  ‘Kicked it through the last one.’ He looked at Minette with a wan grin. ‘Fair. No rule about kicking.’

  Minette lifted a defiant chin.

  Unwanted laughter bubbled in Freddy’s throat. With great effort he managed to hide it. The girl was a minx. As smart as paint and always got what she wanted—by fair means or foul, according to a harassed Gabe.

  Too bad she wouldn’t want— He cut the thought off before it fully formed. He wasn’t interested in respectable young females and if he had been, she had certainly never masked her dislike of him from the very first. Intelligent woman.

  Now she was staring at him in that direct way she had, as if daring him to criticise.

  He focussed on Granby. ‘What on earth made you agree to such a hen-witted wager?’ He waved a hand to encompass the club.

  Minette bridled, her brown eyes flashing sparks of gold. Saints, in a temper she wasn’t just beautiful, she looked like a goddess of war. Gabe really needed to take a firmer hand on her bridle or the girl would find herself dished before she had time to make an eligible marriage.

  The thought of her married painfully pierced the wall of ice he’d built around his emotions. Really? Mentally, he shook his head. It wasn’t possible. He didn’t care what she did, as long as it didn’t ruin his friendship with Gabe. One of the very few people he valued. He focussed his attention on her young idiot of an escort.

  The boy looked as if he wanted the floor to open beneath his feet. ‘I didn’t know. Secret wager. Written on paper. Held by the judge.’

  ‘I can imagine what you wrote on yours.’

  The blush turned fiery. That was the trouble with fair hair and skin—there was no hiding your embarrassment. Freddy felt a grim sense of satisfaction as the discomforted young man swallowed hard. ‘Nothing terrible. I swear.’

  The fact that Freddy had sympathy for Minette’s victim didn’t mean he would be let off the hook. ‘What? Are you a sheep to be led by the nose?’ Some other part of his anatomy more like. ‘You are fortunate I do not intend to report you to your colonel for conduct unbefitting.’

  Resentment flared in the boy’s eyes at the slur. No doubt he was thinking his tormenter was a pot calling the kettle black, but Freddy held his gaze and knew he’d made his point when the lad’s shoulders slumped. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘You can go. As a family friend, I will see Miss Rideau home.’

  Granby looked at Minette in question.

  An expression flickered over Minette’s face. If he had to guess at the meaning of that brief flash in her eyes, he would have said it was triumph. It didn’t make sense. Chagrin more likely. Annoyance at being stuck with him as an escort. She knew very well he’d not put up with her nonsense.

  She gave Granby the nod of acceptance. He felt as much relief as Granby clearly did that she’d decided not to refuse or make a fuss.

  He really ought to tell Gabe about this little escapade, but he wouldn’t, as long as she was reasonable. It would only worry Nicky, who he had heard was in a delicate condition. No, Miss Rideau would have to endure a lecture from him instead.

  Freddy unlocked the door and opened it wide. ‘Lieutenant?’ he said softly, making sure the other man heard the authority in his voice. ‘Not a word of this evening to anyone. Do I make myself clear?’

  The young man snapped a quick salute in reply. ‘Wouldn’t dream...’ he blurted. ‘Mum’s the word.’ He scuttled out.

  Freddy closed the door and turned to face the real villain of the piece.

  Taking in her false expression of innocence, something inside him snapped. Fear for what might have happened had she chosen some other club in which to exercise her need for adventure. ‘What the devil did you think you were doing? Did you want to marry the fellow, or simply ruin his career?’

  She recoiled, the colour draining from her face, but, pluck to the backbone, she recovered in a second, squaring her shoulders. ‘I wanted to see inside a hell.’

  He narrowed his eyes, instinctively sensing dissembling. ‘Why?’

  The defiant gaze met his square on and, like the first time they had met, he was struck by her fragile beauty and the shadows in those beautiful doelike eyes. Secrets and pain. Once more, he was aware of a very real desire to shield her from a harsh world, even knowing she’d seen far more of it that any gently bred girl should have to witness during the years she’d wandered revolutionary France.

  He gestured for her to take a seat. When she did so, he strode to the decanter of brandy and the two glasses on a side table. As was usual in the presence of a beautiful woman, he was aware of his awkward gait. He carried the glasses back to the table, taking care not to spill the contents yet not showing he was in any way conscious of making an effort. He’d had years to practise what other men took for granted. And while the slight halt in his left leg was so much a part of him it rarely discommoded him, it did demand more care in some of the simplest actions of life.

  She looked at the glass he set in front of her with an expression of surprise.

  ‘You will find it to be the finest cognac,’ he said.

  ‘Smuggled, no doubt.’

  He shrugged and sat down in the seat on the other side of the table. ‘Naturally. How else is one to obtain French brandy?’

  Her shoulders relaxed. She sipped and nodded her approval. ‘Excellent.’

  ‘I am glad you approve.’

  Her gaze shot to his face as if she suspected him of s
arcasm. He was careful to show nothing of what he was feeling. Anger that she’d risked her reputation on a whim. The wish that she’d chosen some other club in which to play her games. No. He was glad she had come to Heaven. At least here she was safe. He took a mental inventory of those present in the subscription room who might know who she was and spread gossip. None sprang to mind.

  ‘What do you think Gabe will say?’ he asked. ‘Or your sister?’

  His jab clearly hit home. Though she disguised her reaction well, the winding of the strings of her reticule around her fingers gave away her nervousness. She had small hands, neat and quick as they knotted and unknotted the delicate cord. Hands that would feel wonderful on his body, stroking and caressing— He cut the thought off, dragged his gaze from their restless twisting. He hated it that he’d made her nervous, but it was as he had intended.

  ‘Does Gabe know you own such a wicked place?’ she asked.

  Wicked. His body tightened at the image of the sort of wickedness he’d like to engage in with this girl who had become a woman since they’d last met. A beautiful desirable woman he had no right to be near. But, of course, it was the gambling she was talking about, not the other vices rampant beneath his roof. He considered the other import of her words. ‘What makes you think I own it?’

  ‘Bah. I’m not a fool. The pugilist dressed as a maître d’ went to fetch you and stood back as if you were in charge.’

  No, she wasn’t a fool. ‘I own a part share.’ He wondered what she’d think if she knew who owned the other share. Sceptre had thought it a grand joke.

  Her head tilted. ‘An odd enterprise for a duke.’

  He’d inherited his title a little over a year ago, six or seven months after he had invested in the Fools’ Paradise. He still had a nasty feeling in his gut it had been the last straw for his father. The last straw in a long line of them that had caused the apoplexy that had taken his life. He took a long pull at the warming liquid in his glass. ‘Why are you here, Minette? If you think I am fooled by that tale of a wager, you can think again.’

  Women never did anything without an ulterior motive. Not the intelligent ones. And he had no illusions about the sharpness of her mind.

  A crease formed between her straight brows as if she was trying to make up her mind about something. Probably whether she could trust him with the truth. She couldn’t, of course, but that was something he didn’t intend to point out.

  ‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘Or explain it to Gabe later. Your choice.’

  Looking down at her hands, she slowly unravelled the twisted strings.

  Not going to trust him. The hollow ache of disappointment in his gut was a surprise. Perhaps it was merely because he was left with no recourse but to force the issue. He tossed back the balance of his brandy and went to pull the bell.

  ‘Wait,’ she said. ‘I need to locate someone. I thought you might help me.’

  Yet another surprise. His breath caught in his throat. She’d come to him for assistance. The cold inside him seemed to melt a little. As if he liked the idea she’d turned to him for aid. Not good. Not good at all. He was the wrong man to be offering his help to a woman with a reputation to protect. He strode back to the table and looked down at her. ‘Who?’

  A defiant lift of her chin. ‘You must swear to say nothing of this to Gabe or Nicky.’

  ‘Not tell them verbally, or in writing, or both?’ Two could play at the game of cheating. She needed to understand that, unlike Granby, he was nobody’s fool.

  She glared at him. ‘Not to tell them in any manner, shape or form through your own actions or that of any other person.’

  Another bubble of laughter fought for escape. It was so long since he’d wanted to laugh, no wonder it hurt. But this was no laughing matter. ‘You would have made a good lawyer, I think.’

  ‘Women aren’t allowed to be lawyers. They are not allowed to do anything useful.’

  Oh, was that was she thought? ‘Oh, believe me, they have lots of uses.’ He let the wicked ideas in his head show in his eyes, echo in his tone of voice.

  Undisturbed by the innuendo, she lifted one shoulder in a very Gallic gesture of disdain. ‘Men.’

  Not a blush in sight. His blood heated. Was it her boldness that attracted him, when most debutantes had him running for the hills? ‘So jaded?’

  A flash of pain in her eyes, followed by an acceptance he didn’t understand, robbed him of amusement. He should not have resorted to idle teasing. They weren’t on those kinds of terms. ‘I beg your pardon, but that is the sort of male jocularity you exposed yourself to by coming here.’

  ‘Thank you for your concern, but I am perfectly able to take care of myself.’

  ‘Are you?’ He pulled her to her feet, tilting her chin with one hand to look down into a stormy gaze that reminded him of trees in autumn lashed by the wind, pulling her hard against his body with the other. Her sweet curves were an aphrodisiac in his blood. His body hardened as he took her mouth in a punishing kiss. Show me, sweetheart, he willed. Resist me. His heart thundered and blood roared in his ears.

  For a satisfying moment he felt her tense, but even as he prepared to force himself to let her go, she melted sweetly, kissing him back with a passion that would have seared his soul. If he’d had one.

  His mind blanked of everything except the sensations scorching through his body, the feel of her softness melding into him, the taste of brandy on her silken tongue sliding against his, the scent of her, jasmine and hot summer nights. Delicious. Tempting.

  Luscious and...not for him. He pushed her away before he forgot himself entirely.

  Twin spots of colour blazed on her cheekbones. Embarrassment. Shame.

  Self-loathing burned like acid in his throat. ‘See how vulnerable you are?’ he said harshly, all too aware of his raging desire and uneven breathing. ‘No woman has the strength to prevent a determined man from taking what he wants. Dressed as you are, you told every man in the establishment that you are available and willing.’

  Her eyes widened as if he’d wounded her feelings. Good. Perhaps she had learned her lesson. He’d certainly learned his. Keep his distance. ‘Give me your word you won’t try anything like this again and I’ll take you home.’

  He reached out to take her arm.

  She jerked away. ‘If you promise not to tell Gabe about this evening, I will not tell him of your insult to my person.’

  Though he showed nothing on his face, he was surprised to discover her words hurt more than a slap would have done. Yet she was right. It had been an insult. Deliberately so. Outcast by the more respectable members of the ton, his attentions should be unwelcome. He’d used his reputation for vice to gain the trust of the dregs of society, the informants, the spies, and earned the scorn of his peers. He raised a brow. ‘Blackmail. How unworthy. And what do you think Gabe would do? Call me out? He’d be more likely to insist we marry.’

  A strange look came to her face. Yet another one he couldn’t read. She shook her head. ‘No, thank you.’

  He did not bother to keep the bitter edge from his tone. ‘My sentiments exactly.’ He intended never to marry, and certainly wasn’t going to let a little chit like her change his mind.

  ‘I wouldn’t have had to come here,’ she shot back, ‘had you responded to my notes.’

  Notes he should have returned unopened, instead of stuffing them in his desk drawer. ‘A young lady doesn’t demand a gentlemen wait on her. It is not good ton.’

  ‘Oh, and I suppose you are good ton,’ she muttered, then lifted her gaze to meet his face. ‘You avoided me on purpose.’

  He’d been avoiding her like a man avoided the hangman’s noose. She was too damnably attractive. ‘Well, here I am now.’ He poured chill into his voice. No easy task when his body burned with lust. ‘Tell me who it is you want found and then I’ll ta
ke you home.’

  ‘You’ve no doubt heard that Moreau is back in England.’ Clear, velvet-brown eyes met his in challenge.

  A spy placed in England by Fouché, Moreau had very nearly succeeded in a plan to assassinate King George. He had used Minette to lure her sister Nicky, now Gabe’s wife, into helping him. He’d almost captured Gabe into the bargain. It had been a near-run thing, but ultimately Nicky and Gabe had outwitted him. Moreau’s spectacular failure had resulted in him being relocated to Madrid, where he must have helped Napoleon’s brother gain the throne of Spain. No doubt back in favour, he was once more assigned to help in the downfall of the only country stopping Napoleon from ruling the whole of Europe. Britain.

  ‘Nothing I didn’t already know,’ Freddy said. ‘And not your concern.’

  Her eyes darkened. ‘Is it not?’ She took a deep breath. ‘What if he goes after Nicky? After the way she tricked him...’ The slight gesture of her hands encompassed the enormity of what a man like Moreau could do to an enemy.

  Admiration caused something in his chest to expand. She looked like such a fragile creature, with her glowing skin and fine bones, while the blood of a Valkyrie ran in her veins. The understanding shook him to the core. He forced himself to focus on the very real danger within her words.

  ‘He will be found and dealt with.’

  ‘Like you dealt with him before? You don’t even know what he looks like. I do. And if you won’t help me, I will find him by myself.’

  The challenge in her voice, her manner, raised his hackles. The Frenchman had a network of informants all over England. One hint that he was at risk of discovery and he wouldn’t hesitate to kill.

  Anger at her bravado chilled him to the bone. He kept his voice was calm. ‘What have you heard?’