The Wolf’s Pursuit (London Fairy Tales #3)(21)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

"Yes, let us all applaud her for assault." Hunter clapped loudly and groaned, leaning his head onto his hands.

"He tried to kiss me," Gwen blurted.

Isabelle gasped and then burst out laughing.

"What!" Dominique roared as he stomped toward Hunter and grabbed at the lapels of his smart jacket.

"Ah, so the Beast returns," Hunter joked, though truly he was expecting Dominique to blacken his eye as well. He even turned his face just slightly so the Beast would hit the right instead of the left. After all, the left was his good side.

"I’m not going to hit you."

"He screams like a girl when you do," Gwen helpfully added.

Hunter cursed again.

"Cease cursing in front of gently bred ladies," Dominique growled, releasing him.

"Calling the kettle a bit black, are we?" Hunter smirked, then took a step back as Dominique lunged for him again.

"Why her? Out of all the women you can dally with."

Gwen began choking. Isabelle hit her across the back.

"Why my sister-in-law?"

"It was dark."

The room fell silent.

"Pardon?" Dominique’s eyes widened. "That is to be your excuse? It was dark? What, pray tell, were you trying to do, then? And how did it turn into a kiss?"

"Assault," Gwen said. "It was more of an assault."

"Helpful," Hunter muttered. "Oh, calm down, Dominique. Truly I meant no harm. I thought she wasn’t breathing. I was merely trying to help."

"By kissing her?" Isabelle piped up, her grin wider than that of the cat that got the cream.

"Why, yes. Thought it would shock her system and all that."

"And why wouldn’t she be breathing?" Dominique clearly felt the need to ask something intelligent.

"After the robbery, she panicked. You know women, they tend to get all out of sorts when there is danger. I believe she even screamed." He peered around Dominique and saw Gwen roll her eyes. "Truthfully, you should thank me."

"For?" Dominique was incredulous.

Hunter grinned smugly. "Saving her life."

Isabelle cleared her throat. "Thank you." She truly was the sweetest woman, and the only one to tame Dominique. He glared at her, and she glared back, standing her ground, then nodded toward her husband.

Dominique’s eyes narrowed at Hunter. He leaned in and whispered into his ear, "If you touch her again, I shall kill you and bury the body in Russia."

Hunter felt himself pale, mainly because he could see his friend doing it. Dominique’s family had all but betrayed him, and his father had tried to kill him twice, so his remaining family was immensely important, and he was fiercely protective, which suited Montmouth’s needs just fine, considering he was no longer the only protector of the three sisters.

"Have I made myself clear?" Dominique asked.

"Crystal." Hunter squirmed beneath his stare and went back to his seat. Gwen smirked at him and winked.

He smirked back, made sure Isabelle and Dominique wouldn’t be the wiser, and then licked his lips and blew her a kiss.

She turned red.

He bit his bottom lip, allowing his gaze to travel down the expanse of her dress in approval, then looked away.

They finished breakfast in what could only be described as a pregnant silence, where Dominique took special care to play with the knife on the table and Isabelle glared at her husband every time it clanked against a glass.

Gwen chose to ignore Hunter completely, which irritated him. How could she ignore him when he was having the devil of a time keeping his gaze away from her perfection?

Pride told him it was because he looked like he’d had a fight with the devil and lost. Perhaps women weren’t attracted to men they could successfully punch.

"Gwen, are you taking callers this afternoon?" Dominique asked, clearing his throat in the awkward silence.

Gwen stole a glance at Hunter then looked down at her lap. "Why yes, I believe I will be receiving callers at Montmouth’s residence. I do hope some men show up. After all, I desire a husband above all else." She blushed convincingly and ducked her head like an innocent virgin, which of course made Hunter think of all the ways his body was willing to rid her of said virginity.

Hunter flexed his hand, causing the fork to clatter to the floor. He mumbled his apologies and quickly picked up the discarded silver.

Dominique smiled genuinely at Gwen. "I’m sure you will be the toast of the ton."

"Yes, I’m sure," Hunter said dryly.

"What has gotten into you?" Dominique snapped.

"Forgive him," Gwen intervened. "After all, Hunter had a rough night. Not many men escape my presence unscathed."

There was too much truth to that statement.

"And we cannot all be as clever as wolves when it comes to escape, now, can we, Hunter?"

Isabelle looked at Gwen curiously. Dominique did the same. Hunter wanted to laugh. The girl had no idea that both of his dear friends knew of his current involvement with the War Office, as well as his plans this Season. She was doing nothing more than causing them to be suspicious of her.

So he added more. "But of course, if a woman in a red cloak was to lead me down the path, I would have no choice but to follow her out, in hopes that she wouldn’t lead me astray."

"Red is the color of treason."

"No, my dear." Hunter grinned. "It is the color of lust."

Her eyes narrowed.

Dominique lifted his eyes heavenward.

But Hunter kept his eyes trained on Gwen. A challenge had just been given. He was not about to run away from a tiny woman. No matter how much of a punch she possessed. No, he was going to hunt her, he was going to chase her, and make her wish she had never awakened the Wolf in the first place.

With a cheerful smile, he lifted the coffee to his lips and chuckled. He had plans to make.

Chapter Eleven

Wolf—

Imaginations are a funny thing. For this moment, I am imagining you being shot with my favorite pistol. Do tell, how many duels have you had to fight because of your lack of self-control? After all, wolves are rarely known for their restraint, and I believe I’ve experienced that firsthand.

—Red

Gwen donned her afternoon gown and sat demurely on the sofa. Isabelle had begged to join her during her first day receiving callers. The three sisters sat in relative silence as they waited for the first gentleman to arrive. According to Rosalind, flowers had been delivered all morning. They now littered the blue salon, making her eyes water.

Weren’t flowers supposed to make a woman swoon? Or perhaps smile? It did nothing except fill her with disgust. None of these men knew her, knew who she really was, or the things she had put herself through for the wellbeing of her family.