The Wolf’s Pursuit (London Fairy Tales #3)(17)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

"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 br**sts — 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.