The Wolf’s Pursuit (London Fairy Tales #3)(29)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

Chapter Fifteen

Wolf—

Better to be compared to a sheep than become a wolf’s prey. Apologies, but the minute I saw the picture I quickly threw it into the fire. It frightened me, you see. I was under the impression it was a self-portrait and you know how I feel about you being anywhere in my bedroom, real or not.

—Red

Gwen tapped Hunter’s shoulder.

Had she killed him?

She pushed him a bit.

He moaned.

Should she retrieve the smelling salts? Did men need smelling salts? She whispered into his ear, "Hunter, are you able to hear me?"

Motionless. She snapped out of her panic and ran to the sideboard and poured some more whiskey into the glass. When the rim was near spilling over, she brought it over to Hunter and threw it in his face.

"What the—" Hunter jerked out of his state. Whiskey droplets fell from his chin. He blinked, once, twice, and then shook his head. "Am I not foxed enough that you felt the need for me to bathe in whiskey?"

"I thought you died."

"So you were burying me in my sin, is that it?"

Gwen swallowed. "I- I didn’t know what else to do."

"Yes, well, apparently whiskey is the answer to everything, or so good Englishmen say. Now help me up. I must somehow make it up the stairs and into my room, where I can properly bandage myself without passing out again."

"You mean fainting?"

"Men do not faint." Hunter struggled to get to his feet. "We merely close our eyes for a spell."

"You were unconscious."

"I was dreaming of a beautiful woman…"

Gwen rolled her eyes and helped him up.

"…she was wearing red. And she confessed her love to me not once, not twice, but thrice!"

"Interesting."

"My story?" Hunter held tightly onto her as she led him down the hall and slowly up the stairs.

"No." Blast, but the man was heavy. "The fact that alcohol could so easily be soaked in through the skin that you would start to hallucinate."

"Hmmph," Hunter grumbled, as they made their way up to the second level and slowly stumbled down the hall.

They walked the rest of the way in silence. Hunter winced as Gwen used her free hand to push the door open. Once they were inside, Gwen gently laid him onto the bed, not because she wanted to but because she figured if she went about it more aggressively he would get the wrong sort of idea.

Even though the idea of being alone with him in his room was causing her treacherous body to heat. No self-respecting woman should be alone with a man, especially not one whose reputation hung in the balance.

Hunter groaned and pointed toward a small dresser. "Inside the first drawer are enough supplies to pack the wound. If you would be so kind."

He lay back across the bed.

Gwen briskly walked to the dresser and pulled open the first drawer, then she really wished she wouldn’t have.

"How many knives do you possess?" Knives of every sort littered the inside of the first drawer. Did the man actually use them with his victims or have a strange fascination?

"Under the knives," Hunter said, ignoring her question. "Look under the knives."

She lifted the board where the knives lay. It clicked open and then pulled back, as if it was on some sort of mechanical device. "Fascinating."

"Yes, perhaps we can discuss my many treasures before I bleed to death. Once I’ve closed my eyes, you may touch as many knives as you want, including mine."

Gwen felt herself blush but ignored him. Was everything a joke to this man? Every blasted little thing? She quickly grabbed the bandages and marched over to him. He leaned up on his elbows. Sweat still marked his brow. With a curse, Hunter got to a sitting position and attempted pulling off his jacket. But once he raised his arms, he cursed a blue streak and paused. "A little help, please."

The sooner she helped him, the sooner she could go home. Gwen licked her lips and began tugging at the jacket. She tried, she really tried to keep her eyes framed onto his jacket as she helped him tug out of it. But the minute she removed it, she was faced with his shirtsleeves.

Gulping, she helped pull that off of him and told her hands to stop shaking. The situation seemed too intimate. It felt too intimate, as if they were about to share the same bed. Hah, if she ever shared his bed, it would be a product of lust and nothing more. The man had no heart, and even if he did, she highly doubted he would share it with a virgin.

"My thanks," Hunter breathed as he placed the bandage on his side. Her eyes trailed down his muscular stomach. It seemed the Wolf liked to box or play, or do whatever wolves did out in the wilderness.

Her eyes flickered down as Hunter finished bandaging himself. "Now." He winced, commanding her attention. She looked into his eyes. "I think it’s safe to say I’m in danger."

"Your powers of deduction astound me." Gwen swallowed and fought to keep her eyes on his, though it was one of the most difficult things she’d never tried, for the man was beautiful. It shouldn’t be allowed for a man to have such smooth skin. Tight muscles rippled across his stomach and chest. His skin wasn’t pale like that of most Englishmen. No, it was the perfect color, almost bronzed, as if he spent a great deal of time out of his clothes, which honestly made a lot of sense.

"The people of London believe me to be retired. There is no reason I would be an open threat. The traitor has to be one of those three men. I do not think the person shooting at me aimed to kill. It was more of a warning than anything. It’s possible what you said during their visits struck a nerve." He winced and continued. "Gwen, you need to find out who the mole is. When you go on your walks and dally in the carriage, have a care. You are not debuting in order to win a husband. You have a job to do."

"Are you scolding me?" And drunk? Unbelievable!

"No." Hunter reached out and grasped her hand. "I’m merely telling you the truth. You must be careful. After your carriage ride with Trehmont, find a way to meet me so we can discuss any information you may find. Talk with him about the French, see if he gets nervous, study his mannerisms, is he always looking at his pocket watch? Does he seem to defer your questions at all? You know what I mean." He leaned up and winked. "Where shall we meet?"

"The masquerade." Gwen nodded. "Nobody will recognize us."

Hunter groaned. "Please tell me you’re not referring to Madame LaMont’s masquerade?"

"It will not be so bad."

"I will want to shoot myself the minute I arrive, but yes, if you say it won’t be so bad, I’ll take your word for it."