“I don’t.”
“But…”
“I’m no longer recognized by that side of the family.”
“But surely there is a mistake! They are your family, blood related and—”
Hunter shook his head. “Not blood related. My family line was snuffed out the minute my father and brother died. Eastbrook is my cousin by marriage.”
Gwen felt her stomach drop to her slippers. “You rogue! You’re married!”
Hunter chose that moment to turn around and glare. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no I’m no longer married.”
“So you are divorced.”
Hunter cursed. “This conversation is finished.” Cursing, he pulled her flush against his body and kissed her lips. The kiss was forceful and aggressive, then he pulled a tendril of hair from her coiffure allowing it to fall to her shoulders. “There. Now return to the ball.”
“But I look like I’ve been out here having an assignation with a man.”
“Precisely,” Hunter said in clipped, even tones. “But only a man will notice the look of a woman in a lust-filled haze. And the type of men you need to attract will want to sample some of your goods.”
“Lovely,” Gwen said dryly.
“Play nice, sweetheart.” Hunter winked and patted her bottom as he slipped past her. The absolute devil! She lunged for him but he was already down the stairs to the balcony, leaving her no choice but to sneak back into the ball. Looking and feeling very much like a whore. Some debut.
Chapter Seven
Red—
If you murder me in my sleep, does that mean we shall be sharing a bed? Imagine my surprise that you would be so forthcoming with your feelings. My dreams await you, sweet.
—Wolf
Hunter watched as Gwen entered back into the ballroom. He’d had enough family dramatics to last him a lifetime tonight. The last thing he wanted to do was go visit Lucy’s grandfather and allow him to lecture Hunter about why her death was on his head. He’d probably blame Hunter for the fact that someone was deciphering the codes for the French as well.
He reached for the flask of brandy in his jacket and took a few swallows. The night was eerily quiet. He took a few soothing breaths and leaned against the stone wall.
No doubt Gwen was inside, blushing to the roots of her hair. He hadn’t meant to kiss her. Well, actually that wasn’t entirely true. He’d meant to kiss her, just not so forcefully, nor did he mean for his tongue to accidently slip past the barrier between her lips and into the honey of her mouth. It also wasn’t planned that his body would flare to life in such an embarrassing way that he could think of doing nothing except lifting her skirts against the wall and having his way with her.
He really did need to find a female companion, especially when difficult shrews who could be French spies were making him aroused.
The music trickled out of the ballroom. He hated balls. What was the point of women and men dancing around when the end was still the same? Marriage? Death? Sex?
Why not just skip the dancing and go straight to sex?
Why not skip the marriage and save yourself from impending depression.
He took another swig of brandy and groaned.
Clearly, he was getting too old for this. He wanted to go home and drown his sorrows in whiskey. He wanted to sit by the fire and pout. Female companionship, again, he needed it desperately.
Laughter echoed into the night air.
“But Viscount Redding, it isn’t proper for us to be alone! And so soon after meeting!” Gwen giggled.
Hunter rolled his eyes. Any idiot could see Gwen was not prone to giggling. It was blasted irritating, seeing Redding put a hand across Gwen’s arm as if she was his possession.
She belonged to no one.
Not even to Hunter.
He ignored the slight pain in his chest; must be too much drinking out in the cold. Even though his eyes begged him to look away as Redding caressed Gwen’s face. He stayed trained on the man, ready to pounce at any moment.
“But my lady, you said you had something important to discuss with me. How could I, in good nature, allow us to have such a discussion with such impressionable people around?”
Hunter perked up. Something sounded wrong. What the devil was Gwen doing? He peeked around the corner. Gwen was grinning wildly at Redding, making Hunter want to rip the man’s throat out.
Obviously that was the brandy speaking.
Not his need to have her.
Or his desire to bed her.
His breath quickened when she lightly touched Redding’s arm. “They say you are a man of great secrets.”
Redding pulled her flush against him. “And who are they, my dear?”
Gwen leaned in and whispered in his ear. Hunter strained to hear. Cursing, he listened for something — anything.
But soon Gwen’s laughter filled the air as Redding kissed her hand and announced his departure. “I will think on these things, my dear, and thank you for your information. I find it enchanting.” He kissed her hand and walked away, a stupid grin that Hunter wanted to destroy all over his face.
Gwen’s smile fell. She pulled something out of her reticule and dropped it onto the ground and then briskly walked toward the side of the house where Hunter was standing.
She was up to something.
Spy or no spy. Partner or no partner. If he was to find the mole, he needed to snuff out the suspects. Starting with Gwen. He only hoped she would forgive him for what he had to do.
****
Gwen had done several things in her lifetime that she found disgusting. Flirting with a man should have been easy, but when that particular man sneered at her all the while leering at her breasts — she wanted to do nothing more than kick him in the shin, or perhaps his favorite anatomical part? Yes, her fingers itched for her knife.
She’d only meant to lure him away from the crowds of people in order to solidify his interest. If she was to be done with this mission, she needed to make sure the men put forth an effort to court her, and she would get absolutely nowhere with Hunter constantly interfering! Goodness. It was her job to help find the mole. But it was getting increasingly difficult as she realized that she knew nothing. Redding seemed innocent enough, and didn’t seem the type to betray his country for money he clearly did not need. But Trehmont seemed to lack the backbone.
Her gaze flickered to the wall where she saw Hunter attempting to hide. The fool, did he not trust her to do her job? She pulled a note out of her reticule and let it fall to the ground. It said something akin to: “Touch me again and I’ll murder you in your sleep.”
Which would truly be a nice little love note for Hunter to read, suspicious man that he was. She had meant to send it the following day, but now was as good a time as any to make open threats. Especially considering he was spying on her rather than doing his job.
Did he expect her to do everything while he patiently flirted and watched from the sidelines?
With a sigh, she walked back toward the house. Hunter had apparently disappeared, which was fine by her. She was getting tired, and hadn’t the energy to fight his wit or his charm.
She stumbled toward the front of the house and yawned when a loud crunch was heard behind her and then something struck her head. She fought to keep her eyes open, but failed as she succumbed to the darkness.
Chapter Eight
Wolf—
To visit you in a dream would be my worst nightmare. In fact, as I write this very note, I find myself shaking with fear. Not because I am afraid of the big bad Wolf, no, of course not. It is because in your dreams you deem what is appropriate and naturally I have certain morals against walking around naked with a salivating wolf gazing upon me, ready to eat my flesh. Hope you understand. Perhaps the woman from the inn is still available. After all, she did feed you, and we both know how much wolves like meat.
—Red
“It seems the Wolf has taken Red captive,” the man announced, rubbing his eyes
with the back of his hand. It had been a long night. To make matters worse, the Wolf was going to get all the answers he needed within the next few hours, throwing quite a hitch in their plans.
His partner laughed. “Why, that is more perfect that I could have planned it!”
He stared at the man he’d called friend for the past ten years and cursed. “What do you mean? He will discover her innocence!”
“He will torture her in order to obtain it, then spend the rest of his days feeling like the guilty sod he is. He’ll lick her wounds for her, he’ll pant after her, and again, I say, it is more perfect than we could have planned.”
He chose to say nothing.
“Have you the codes?”
He walked forward and slid them across the table. “The new codes, as you asked. Will you be planting them this week?”
A long pause and then, “No, the time is not yet right. We must wait until every player is either engaged or eliminated.”
“And who will be doing the eliminating?”
“Why, me, of course. After all, I failed so many years ago. I will not fail again.”
****
Hunter felt like an absolute cad. Ten years. Ten years of being a spy and torturing people for information, and his blasted hands still shook as he tied the ropes firmly around Gwen’s hands.
He hadn’t any choice. That was what he kept telling himself as he gagged her and put the blindfold on. That was what he said to himself when he lit the fire and put her chair dangerously close to it.
And that was what he told himself when he returned to his abandoned house, the same house he had shared with Lucy, only to find it dusty and hollow.
Gwen had no idea this ghost of a house existed, nor that it was his. It would be the perfect hideaway until their little visit was complete.
One thing was for certain, when she woke up, she was going to be furious. But he had to test her loyalty. Not just for him, but for the protection of her family and Montmouth, even though the man clearly hated him. If Gwen, a part of their family, truly was a French loyalist, then they were all in grave danger.
“Wake up,” he snapped, kicking the chair.
Gwen moaned, her head dropped, and then she jerked back and yelled, “Where am I?” Astonishing that she could form the words against the gag — perhaps he had tied it too loosely?
“Does it really matter? After all, you are tied to a chair.”
“Get this off.” Her head jerked from side to side. Amazing, how silky her hair was up close. His obsession was bordering on insanity.
“That I cannot do.” He purposefully spoke in perfect French to keep her from guessing his identity.
“Why?”
“You have something I want.” He rolled his eyes at his choice of words, and then fought the urge to curse himself as he watched her bosom rise and fall with exertion. And then an entirely new plan formed in his mind.
Torture. For both of them most likely, but torture nonetheless. This way he wouldn’t have to scar that perfect skin, or worry about truly frightening her.
He just wasn’t sure if he could do it without exploding on the spot.
“My love,” he purred, as his voice dropped into a seductive whisper. “You are such a fine, fine beauty.” He gently pulled the gag down so she could speak. His gaze lingering on her lips like a man starved.
“I’m rolling my eyes right now, but you can’t see me,” Gwen said boldly.
Minx. “I would love to see your eyes but then you would know my identity and we cannot have that, my beauty.” He was laying it on thick and arousing himself in the process. Who was seducing whom?
“Of course we can’t,” Gwen agreed. “Then it wouldn’t be nearly as fun, hunting you down and killing you.”
“Are you a good hunter?”
“The best.”
“Hmm.” Hunter stood behind her, his hands on her creamy shoulders, then with slow movements, he slid his hands down roaming her chest. “I highly doubt that, my sweet.”
She froze under his touch, and then the witch actually relaxed and leaned her head against his arm. “That feels good.”
I know. Believe me, I know. He dipped his hands further into the top of her dress and tugged it down.
“Is your plan to seduce me?” Gwen asked. Hunter was so distracted by her creamy white skin he almost didn’t hear her question.
“But of course. Love always comes before war, does it not?” He kissed the top of her head. “And I plan on loving you several times before the evening is done.”
“And then?”
“I kill you.”
“Oh.” Gwen shrugged. “At least I’ll be loved before I die.”
Frustrated that she wasn’t responding, Hunter growled and kicked the bottom of the chair, making it skitter closer to the fire.
She smiled. “A pitiful kick. Are Frenchmen not stronger than that?”
Hunter hated himself in that moment. Hated that he was doing this to her, but it was a means to an end. Cursing, he kissed her and bit her bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood. Immediately regretting the action, he jerked back.
“More animal than man, it seems,” Gwen noted as her tongue reached out to lick the blood from her bottom lip.
“You have no idea.” Hunter swore. Angry at himself that he was aroused the whole time he was causing her emotional distress, but it wasn’t what he was doing, it was her cool indifference, her reactions to what he was doing, that made his blood boil with lust. Blast, but she was strong.
****
Terror did not even begin to describe what Gwen was feeling. She’d never been tortured, or captured for that matter. Oh, men had put their hands on her, thinking her nothing but a French whore, for that had been one of her many identities, though she hadn’t shared that little piece of information with anyone. It wasn’t as if she had slept with any man, but it had been a close call. But her current predicament was spiraling out of control. If she escaped, it would not be without losing something important to her. The only thing she had left of any worth. Her virginity.
But something about the man’s kiss was familiar. Enough to make her hate herself for enjoying the pleasure of his lips upon hers. Obviously, she was losing her mind and going just as mad as Hunter, for even though she had a blindfold across her face, she almost thought it was he and not some mad Frenchman.
The man paced in front of her, cursing in French.
“Well,” Gwen sighed. “Get on with it then.”
“With pleasure.” He straddled her lap and kissed her firmly across the mouth. His kiss was her end. It had to be. For no man had ever kissed her in such a way, with such raw passion, such desire. His tongue pushed into her mouth, forceful and aggressive. He tasted so sweet. His warm hands cupped her cheeks and then moved lower down her shoulders. Every single caress was like a fire being lit inside her. But, to be fair, she was also dangerously close to the flames. She could feel the heat licking at her slippers. The passion mixed with heat was a painful yet arousing situation.
The man moaned into her mouth. She briefly contemplated kicking him but it would do nothing except arouse him more, considering he was straddling her. Perhaps this was his torture, and what a magnificent torture it was.
Gwen’s lips parted, and a small cry escaped them as her head fell back. “More,” she said. “Give me more.” Although it was no pretense, she hoped that he would at least untie her hands so that she could wrap them around his neck, and in that moment she would escape. She would flee, even if his kiss was the very devil.
“First, tell me what I want to know.” A large smooth hand reached underneath her skirts, trailing up her calf to the ties of her satin stockings.
“What would you like to know?” She swallowed the bile in her throat. Was he going to rape her?
“Who do you work for?”
“Myself.” She grinned, though she became more ill by the minute.
“And the French?”
“Are no longer a threat,” she
answered boldly. Why would he ask about his own people?
“Oh?”
****
Gwen nodded and squirmed beneath him, making it absolute torture to be in that position and do nothing about it. “I’m loyal to my country.”
Hunter leaned forward and kissed her again. “Even in the midst of absolute torture, you would still stay loyal to your country?”
“Yes.”
“So we skip to the main course.” Hunter pulled away from her lap and went to the table to grab his knife. He also needed time to cool his arousal.
“I thought we were going to make love first.”
“I changed my mind,” he snapped. “I have no use for you.”
Gwen said nothing.
He came up behind her, holding the knife to her delicate throat, his hands shaking as he did so.
“One more chance, my sweet. Tell me who you work for. Betray your country. Just one tiny little piece of information. Anything I can put to good use. Perhaps who is decoding the ciphers? Say the word and I’ll set you free.”
“Freedom is in the eye of the beholder. I would be physically free, but my heart would be imprisoned with guilt. If you must kill me, do so.”
Stunned, Hunter gripped the knife closer to her neck. She gasped. He swore, and then cut her ropes and pulled her blindfold off.
“I’m sorry,” he said in English.
Gwen looked up, tears brimming in her eyes. “You will be.”
Chapter Nine
Wolf—
I would apologize for breaking your nose. But I’m not sorry. Besides, it was more of a snout, and you deserved every broken bone for holding a knife to my throat. Do it again and I’ll hold a knife to… well, use your imagination.
—Red
Furious, Gwen could only look at Hunter in shock. The cad had kidnapped her! Tortured her! What the devil was wrong with him? And why had he done it? Why the kissing? Why the… touching?
“You’re insane,” she blurted as she jumped from the chair, while simultaneously pulling a knife from her sleeve.
Rachel Van Dyken Page 7
