The Wolf’s Pursuit (London Fairy Tales #3)(12)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

"But what does one do…" Hunter asked as he rose from his seat, "when the hunter is also the Wolf?" With a wink in their direction, he walked toward the doors. "I assume I’m in the red room. I’ll just see to my things."

Hunter walked briskly out of the room and toward the stairs, but Samuel stopped him in his tracks. A grim expression passed across the old butler’s face before he held the platter in the air in front of Hunter, nearly taking off his nose in the process. "Your grace, this message was delivered for you."

"I feel at home already." Hunter grinned and slapped the butler on the back quite forcefully, making the man stumble a bit on his feet before rolling his eyes and turning away.

There was no seal on the letter. Curious, he opened it. A grin spread across his face so widely, he was sure he would be sore in the morning. A simple letter should not affect him so, but there it was, irritatingly making him want to smirk and pat himself on the back.

It read, I’ll be wearing a red cape. Try not to make a complete fool out of yourself. —Red

Yes, tonight was going to be a lovely night indeed. He decided to pen her something back.

"I will be wearing nothing at all. —The Wolf"

Laughing aloud, he scribbled quickly on the bottom of the note and passed it on to the butler. With great gusto, he gave a deep bow to the silly man and whistled on his way to his rooms. Maybe, just maybe it wouldn’t be such a horrible mission after all.

****

"Who is that from, dear?" Rosalind asked as Gwen stuffed the correspondence into her pocket. "Why are you so flushed? Are you feeling ill? Is this about tonight?"

Gwen gritted her teeth. Ever since her sister’s marriage, she had turned into something of a stand-in mother. Not that Gwen minded, but in times like these, she truly valued her privacy. "Nothing to be alarmed about. Merely an old friend wishing to inform me of his dress so we may match tonight."

"His?" Rosalind repeated. "Gwen, do you have a tender for a young gentleman?"

"He isn’t young, he’s old and quite flighty. In fact, I’m sure he’s just one drink away from dying. Do not trouble yourself with such things." Gwen gave her sister a cheeky grin before dashing up the stairs to ready herself for the ball.

Once she was inside the safety of her room, she pulled the letter out and bit back a curse. How was she to deal with this man every day of the Season? If anything, it made her resolve to finish up the mission that much more implacable. She needed to be finished with Hunter. It was hard enough that his face plagued her thoughts, his scorching kiss still made her dizzy.

Taking a calming breath, she rang for her maid. It was time to become Red. The type of scandalous girl worthy of a debut. If ruin was what they wanted, then ruin they were going to get.

Chapter Four

Red—

Bathe? Eat chocolate? You naughty little minx. If I bring the chocolate, will you supply the bath? I promise to feed you. I don’t, however, promise to be naked. I’ll allow you the pleasure of disrobing me. Until we meet.

—The Wolf

Gwen was a woman. Well, of course she was a woman, his body would never let him forget that little tidbit. Regardless, if she thought he wouldn’t want to brief her before their meeting, she was sadly mistaken. He’d never worked with a partner before, and he wasn’t about to allow her to ruin the mission by her inability to change her sex. He winced. Perhaps that was harsh. To change her sex meant…

With a curse, he rounded the corner where the servants’ entrance was located and waited. It was the only location, Gwen had assured him, that would not be run down with people.

After ten minutes, he began walking back and forth on the grass, or to be honest, stomping. The ball was to commence soon.

And she was late.

Women.

He huffed on a cheroot for five minutes and kicked some stones with his polished shoes. What the devil was taking her so long? One would think a spy, or at least a good spy, knew why it was important to be on time.

The cheroot suddenly went bitter in his mouth. He spit it out and cursed, running a hand through his hair. Would he always be haunted by his tardiness? Would everything serve to remind him of her?

"You’re early," a feminine voice announced from the doorway.

"No." He turned. "You’re l—" Not only was he instantly aroused but he suddenly could not remember what he was going to say. He felt his eyes widen as they strained to take in her dress. It was red. Not pastel, not white, but red. The very color only married women and those of ill repute chose to wear. Perhaps she could get away with it. If her hair wasn’t so dark and her skin so pale. Her lips were painted just slightly, and he couldn’t help but wonder if they tasted the same as before. Like fresh mint and warm berries.

He cleared his throat and regained his composure, but just by an inch. "You look beautiful."

"Well, thank you. I thought—"

"However," he interrupted, "you must change immediately."

"Pardon?"

"Did I speak too quietly? Perhaps I had a bit of a stutter? Or are you merely hard of hearing? Oh, I know!" He snapped his fingers and gave her a grin. "Were you so distracted by my appearance? Yes, I’ve had many a woman comment on that very thing. It’s the eyes. I like to think of them as golden amber. You may refer to me as a god if you like. I won’t mind." He stepped out of the shadows and peered down at her. "Regardless of how you address me, or your reason for not understanding, you still need to change."

"Absolutely not!" Gwen took a step back, but he snaked his arm around her and pulled her flush against his chest.

"I see you are going to be difficult." He smirked, quite enjoying the way her body felt in his arms. Curse the ball, he’d rather stay right where he was.

Her eyes narrowed as she pulled her head back so their foreheads wouldn’t touch. "I’m not trying to be anything. I’m merely offended that you want me to change. I happen to like my gown."

"You and every other gentleman with a heartbeat. You cannot simply waltz into the ballroom dressed like a courtesan."

"But Hunter," she leaned in and whispered, so near his lips it was painful, "who said anything about waltzing?" In a flash, she maneuvered her way out of his hold and winked. "I plan on walking."

"Not like that." He pulled her arm again. This time she tried pinning him against the wall, but he beat her to the task, his legs straddling hers in a hold he was certain she wouldn’t get out of. "Men will not take you seriously. You are supposed to be making a debut. You are husband-hunting, sweet." He ran his free hand down the side of her face. "And you look nothing like a dutiful wife."