The Wolf’s Pursuit (London Fairy Tales #3)(30)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

Gwen let out a heavy sigh. "I’ll be dressed as a shepherdess."

"Not a sheep?" Hunter grinned. Blast, how she hated that grin. His glaring white teeth irritated her. Was everything perfect about him? Without thinking, she looked down at his body again. Yes. It seemed everything was perfect. Stupid man.

"No, I thought it unsafe, considering the circumstances."

"Circumstances?" Hunter narrowed his eyes. "Whatever do you mean?"

Gwen began walking toward the door, then turned and gave him a wink. "I have it on good authority a wolf is to make an appearance. Wouldn’t want to tempt him, now, would I?"

"You tempt him by breathing," Hunter whispered.

"Is that your way of telling me to stop breathing?"

"No." Hunter’s eyes narrowed. He looked away and began to slouch against the bed. "Not at all. Gwen, be careful, please. I—" He looked away and cursed. "I cannot lose you. Do you understand?"

Confused by the sudden hurt she saw in his eyes, she nodded and gave him, the great Wolf, a curtsy. "I will be safe. I promise."

"Thank you."

"Goodnight, Hunter."

"Goodnight, my little Red…" His eyes slowly closed as his body fell against the bed.

Gwen quietly stepped out into the hall and made her way down the stairs, hoping and praying that her footman had had enough good sense to hide her carriage once the hour grew late.

Thankfully, when she came around the house, she noticed him sitting near the back of the servants’ entrance.

"Home, please," she announced. He nodded and offered his arm.

"I took the liberty of taking the carriage home and walking here myself when the hour grew late, my lady. I hope you do not mind, but I will escort you on the short walk to your sister’s residence."

William had been in the service of their family for nearly a decade. He was also one of the many servants who kept her secret. She paid him well for his silence, but even if she didn’t, he would still be loyal. For he had loved her father, and she knew that he wanted to protect her.

They walked home in silence. Gwen would never admit to Hunter that she was frightened, but she was. Whoever had shot at him had been trying to kill him, and she had no doubt in her mind that one of those men had to be the three they were suspicious of. She just needed to find out whom, and fast.

Chapter Sixteen

Red—

Tsk, tsk, tsk, you should know better by now. Any time you use the word bedroom, I take it as an invitation.

—Wolf

Hunter grimaced as he looked at the large structure in front of him. The house was monstrous Truly, it would have been better for the old duke to make a flag with his name sewn across it than build such a monstrosity that the whole of London could see his house from miles away.

But that was how the old Duke of Lainhart wanted it. Grumpy old man. Hunter paced in front of the gate for ten minutes before pulling out his flask and taking a sip of brandy.

He never drank in the mornings.

Since when had he resorted to drinking when he was to face the old man? He needed to face him sooner or later, especially considering Wilkins had just that morning sent him a note stating it was imperative he ask Lainhart about the three gentlemen they were investigating, considering at one point they had all worked for him.

If Lainhart still possessed all his sensibilities and was not half the man he used to be, he would be the best the War Office had as far as codes were concerned. It seemed that all the French did was try to break the codes of the English in hopes to discover where troops were stationed or how many English were truly hurt in the war. With the war looming like a dark cloud over all of England, it was a sure tragedy that one of their own was not only breaking the codes but gaining a profit from treason. Hunter sighed heavily and pulled out his pocket watch.It was still early. But then again, he was never late. He had dallied for as long as he could.

He walked slowly up the stairs and grasped the cold knocker between his fingers. Suddenly he was transported back to when he had first come to call.

"Hunter!" Lucy ran out of the house and into his arms. Much to the dismay of her parents and their stern butler. She always made a spectacle of herself.

"My love." Hunter grinned and set her on her feet. "I have come to call, as you demanded at last night’s ball."

"Rogue." She swatted him. "I did not demand. I merely asked if you would be happening by during the visiting hours."

"That you did." He grinned and kissed her hand. So began their quick courtship.

He shivered beneath the wet air and waited for the butler to answer.

Nothing.

He knocked again.

Finally, after an eternity, the door opened just slightly. "Yes?"

"Haverstone to see Lainhairt." This was always how it had been. Lucy’s grandfather despised him and still blamed him for his favorite granddaughter’s death. It did not help matters that both her parents had passed a short time after his and Lucy’s marriage as well. Leaving Lucy and Eastbrook as the only two remaining relatives.

And now, it was just Eastbrook.

"Haverstone, you say?" the scratchy voice said from the other side of the door.

"Live and in the flesh."

A snort was heard from the other end. "The duke is ill and not receiving callers."

"He will receive me." Hunter pushed the door open. "Now."

He’d expected the usual butler. But the man looking at him was anything but the pristine butler who had worked for their family for years.

"Who are you?"

The man shrugged. Hair covered his entire face. His hair, the same color as Hunter’s, hung down to his shoulders. A patch covered his eye, and he walked with a limp.

"I’m speaking to you," Hunter said crisply.

"I realize that," the man said. "But I imagine you like to hear yourself speak often. Therefore I will let you speak and give you the idea that I am listening, rather than counting down the minutes until you exit this house."

"How dare you speak to me that way. Do you not know who I am?"

"Oh." The man turned, this time glaring at Hunter. "I know exactly who you are, and it makes me sick. To think that poor Lucy’s memory is tainted by…"

Hunter lunged for the man. "Never speak of her!"

The butler backed up and laughed. "Always the same. Fighting and reacting. The duke is upstairs in his usual room. And when you speak, do yourself a favor: think beforehand."

The man hobbled off, leaving Hunter angrier than he’d been in months. How dare he speak to him in such a way! He knew nothing!