“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?”
“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.
Chapter Thirteen
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 avera
ge 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.
“Never mind. I’ll just call for the carriage and return home.”
Isabelle blushed and followed her husband up the stairs.
Ton families were rarely as blunt and familiar with one another. But most families hadn’t been through what Gwen’s had. So to see her sister giggle like a little girl as she went up the stairs with her husband didn’t offend her. No, it just made her heart sad, for her sisters had found their matches.
And Gwen was alone with a drunk. The footmen had all but retired, and it was commonly known that Dominique only hired Russians, who were such independent sorts, it was a miracle they were around to help at all!
She grabbed her wine glass and walked over to Hunter, who had managed to fall asleep in a terribly uncomfortable position on the floor. His mouth was slightly ajar, leaving the perfect target for her attack.
First rule of spying. Never leave yourself exposed to the enemy. First rule of being the Wolf? Don’t insult your partner repeatedly and expect her not to retaliate.
With a smirk, she poured a bit of wine down his front, only a section of it dribbling into his mouth. Red streaked down his chin. Curse the man, why the devil was he allowed to be so handsome when he was foxed?
He murmured something inaudible. She poured more wine.
His hand flew up and grabbed her arm. Quite fast for being so drunk.
“Having fun, my dear?” he purred into her ear, for he had pulled her
down to the floor and nearly on his lap. His breath smelled nothing like whiskey. It was sweet, with a hint of wine and horse.
“Until you woke up, yes,” she managed to grind out, even though his hand was burning through the skin on her neck.
“Wasn’t sleeping,” Hunter announced, nipping at her ear. “Saints alive, what do you wash your skin with? It smells…” He inhaled again, his fingers lightly brushing the sensitive skin beneath her ear.
“Whatever it is…” She tried to jerk away. “At least I know that it attracts wolves.”
“That it does.” He chuckled, still not removing his hand. His fingers drummed against her pulse, and she felt the rhythm of his touch all the way down to her toes as it hummed through her blood. “I like touching you.”
“You’re drunk.”
His other hand moved to her waist, where he began sliding it across her stomach and down her hip toward her thigh. She hadn’t the strength to move, his touch was such temptation, and she didn’t know how to fight it.
His nose touched her neck as his lips moved across her bare skin. “Not that drunk.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I’ve had two glasses of whiskey. Believe me, I’m not drunk, but sometimes…” His lips moved to her jaw. “A person has to be what he is not, in order to gain information that he needs, yes?”
“Yes.” She moaned. What was she saying yes to?
“And sometimes—” His teeth grazed her jaw. “A man has to do things he’d rather not do, for the sake of his country, yes?”
What did he say? Something about living in the country? Men in the country? His fingers moved from her neck and slid down to the front of her dress. “Yes?”
“Oftentimes…” Why was he still talking? “It is imperative to be reminded that you are not yourself when you are owned by the Crown. And even when you want something so badly you can taste it…” His tongue traced her lower lip. “You must say no.”
“Yes.”
“Say no.” Hunter moaned against her lips.
“Why?”
“Because I’m drunk and about to take advantage of you.”
“You said you weren’t drunk.”
“I feel drunk right now.” He kissed her hard across the mouth and all she could think was, Me too, me too.
Rachel Van Dyken Page 10
