The Wolf’s Pursuit (London Fairy Tales #3)(10)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

It seems, dear readers, that the Devil Duke and Lord Rawlings have officially lost their titles as the worst sort of rake the ton has ever seen. They can thank me later for my kind words. Gentlemen, I enjoy tea and chocolates. You may send any sort of gift to my publisher.

Now on to more important topics. How, you may ask, have two such notorious rakes been dethroned? Well, let us just say that the man many a rake used to look up to, has returned with a vengeance, and he doesn’t care a whit about what he says or does. It shouldn’t come as a surprise; after all, nobody could forget the incident of 1806, which I refuse to acknowledge, given the circumstances surrounding it. One thing I will say, however. Ladies, beware of the easy smile and devil-may-care demeanor. They lead to one thing, and it isn’t matrimonial bliss. Beware, the Wolf has returned and he, dear readers, is on the prowl. —Mrs. Peabody’s Society Papers

"You may cease laughing now," Gwen scolded her sister Rosalind as she took another sip of tea, throwing the gossip rag onto the chair in disgust.

"I just cannot help myself." She wiped a tear of mirth from under her eye and gave Gwen’s hand a squeeze. "It is just too funny for words. Debut? You?"

"I am of age!" Gwen raised her voice and then cleared her throat. "Do you not think it is time for me to settle down and find a husband?"

Rosalind sobered and looked down at her lap. "I wish every sort of happiness for you, sister. It is just…" She bit her lip. Gwen waited. "Do you think it is too soon since…?"

Gwen rolled her eyes. "How many times do I need to reassure you? Absolutely nothing happened while I was on my own. I realize I’m not ruined in your eyes and that the rumors have been extremely painful to hear, but sister, I am ready."

"…To enter into the lion’s den, hmm?" Montmouth strode into the room and kissed his wife briefly across the mouth before taking a seat. It wasn’t at all odd for him to take tea with them. He was, after all, family. Not to mention he acted in the place of their deceased father while their mother was currently in Bedlam.

"It will be fine." Gwen was reassuring herself as much as she was them. It would never be just fine. She knew she was a social pariah. The ton caught wind that she had gone after her sister, alone, in a traveling coach as well as aboard a ship, and she was considered a jezebel of the first order. To add pain to the entire situation, there wasn’t a day that went by when she wasn’t propositioned by some sort of gentleman to be his mistress.

"Lady Gwendolyn, I’ve always admired you from afar, and now that you are ruined…" The man would always pause here, as if to give sensual effect to his words as his hand traced her collarbone. "Do you not wish for some sort of male protection? Or companionship? I believe we will get along quite well together."

Just thinking on it made her angry.

The last man who had propositioned her, Sir Kirkland, had hobbled away holding himself and cursing all women to perdition. She’d been quickly escorted from that ball.

"Gwen." Montmouth exhaled. "Are you sure you wish to debut, tonight of all nights? Why not wait a year, wait until another scandal."

"Do you truly think people would ever forget about mine, Stefan?" She’d always addressed him as such, and considering he was the closest family she had other than her sisters, he didn’t seem to mind, but one could never be sure with Stefan.

He closed his eyes as if in pain. Rosalind patted his arm. "I do not wish for you to do this."

Gwen gave them each a warm smile and leaned forward. "I will be fine. Through all of this I have seen that I am stronger than even I give myself credit for. I very much wish to be married. At least by debuting, we will put a stop to all the propositions for being someone’s mistress."

"Doubt that." Stefan snorted, clenching his fist. "But if you wish it, I will allow it."

Gwen had expected her heart to stop beating in that moment. The last thing she wanted was to debut and go to a ball where everyone would stare at her and wonder if she still held her virginity. The women would gossip, the men would openly stare, and she would count herself lucky if she could escape the evening without at least three attempts from young gentlemen to kiss her or pull her into a corner.

Add that to the already nervous sensation of seeing Hunter Wolfsbane, Lord Haverstone, and she was ready to scream. But if this was the only way to be sure her family and her country were safe, she would do it. One last mission, one last time to prove to herself and Hunter that she was above the gossip, above the stares. She was her own woman, a modern woman. And if she wanted to debut after such a scandalous winter, then that was what she was going to do.

A plan began forming in her head.

"I see this makes you happy, Gwen, and for that I am happy." Rosalind rose and kissed her on the cheek.

"Oh yes," Gwen answered, twirling a piece of hair between her fingers. "This makes me very happy." She smiled warmly and rose from her seat. "If you’ll excuse me then, I just have some preparations to make before this evening’s ball."

"If you need help…" Rosalind touched her arm. "Allow me?"

"Of course." Gwen left the salon, her slippers sliding quickly across the floor as she made her way up to her rooms.

****

Hunter gazed up at the mansion in front of him and sighed. Clearly things were bad when he was going to the Beast for some cheering up. Dominique had been the most depressing fellow to be around before his marriage, and now it seemed that he needed to cheer up Hunter. There was something so tragically wrong with the thought.

He needed to get ahold of himself.

With another soothing breath, he ran up the stairs and knocked on the front door.

The butler answered and lifted an eyebrow.

And because Hunter needed a bit of cheering up…

And because he was feeling slightly inebriated since he had taken a few strengthening drinks of brandy before making his way over to the Hariss residence…

He sneezed in the butler’s face.

"Apologies!"

The butler cursed, which everyone knew could get the man sacked; must have been a good sneeze. Hunter grasped the lapel of the butler’s stiff jacket and wiped his face.

"State your business and be gone…, sir." The butler stepped away.

"My business is not your business, George."

"It’s Samuel."

"Nathanial, listen here." Hunter leaned in. "I’m having my trunks sent over, and I’ll also need a room."

"The hotel is down the street."