The Wolf’s Pursuit (London Fairy Tales #3)(37)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

"And?"

Lainhart shook his head slowly and pointed down as he opened his mouth. "A-again."

The maid sighed. "He’s been saying that all day. Again, again. I have no clue what he means, and he often falls asleep after he tries to speak. The exertion is hard on his frail body. I do not know how this will help but I wrote down what he was able to decipher."

She held out a note.

Hunter greedily took it. "My thanks. I have an appointment. I must be going."

"S-stop!" Lainhart wailed.

Hunter watched as his grandfather’s mouth shook, his lips trying to form words that his body was no longer able to pronounce. "D-danger."

Sweat ran down Lainhart’s cheek as he repeated the same word again and closed his eyes.

"I know, grandfather. I know." His eyes flickered to Lainhart’s hand. It twitched and then he pointed up and crossed his heart.

"What does that mean?" Hunter asked the maid.

She swiped a tear from underneath her eye and sighed. "A broken heart."

Anger and guilt slammed Hunter in the chest. Unable to breathe, he nodded and ran out of the room as fast as he could. He ran until he reached the front door and ran until he was in front of his carriage. All the while pushing the memory of what he’d just seen to the farthest point in his mind.

His fault.

He had broken the old man’s heart.

And Lainhart had nothing to show for it. Nothing but a grandson by marriage who did exactly what Eastbrook had accused him of.

Abandoned his family, abandoned what was left of it, took up with the first whore he saw, and never returned to London.

Until now.

He truly was a poison. Would he ever get life right? Or would he for the rest of his existence be in purgatory, hoping that when he did die, what he did on earth was enough to atone for the sin of being late? Of not being the husband he should have been?

He shoved his hands into his pockets, then suddenly remembered he had the note still clenched tightly within his palm.

Hunter unfolded the paper and read the location.

Hyde Park. Three in the afternoon. Bring Lady Gwendolyn, and then near the side of the note, just as the maid had said, was the word death.

"No, no…" His hands shook as he jumped into the carriage. "Hyde Park! As fast as you can!"

The carriage jolted to life, but all Hunter could think as he waited an eternity to arrive, was that he could not go on living if he was to be late a second time.

He would rather die.

Within minutes, he was at Hyde Park. He jumped, or rather flailed, out of the carriage and began running — not sure which direction to run into and not caring that he looked a complete lunatic. The note hadn’t said which area of the park, and considering it was quite large, he would have a devil of a time locating them.

His eyes greedily scanned the park. Most people were too caught up in their own lives to notice that he was having a near apoplexy as he tried to locate Redding or the crest on his carriage.

Just when he was about to give up hope, he saw him.

Across the park, near the Corner, and laughing as he got into his carriage.

Hunter ran across the grass, his legs burning as his muscles flexed and stretched.

An eerie sense of foreboding caused him to stop in his tracks as he watched the carriage drive away, and then explode. Pieces of debris went flying into the air as the horses neighed and galloped from the scene, both of them covered in dust. Blood was everywhere.

Hunter froze. Everyone around him screamed, women began running in every direction, men cursed and quickly herded people away from the disaster.

But Hunter was immobile.

Late. Again. His heart clenched. Funny, for he hadn’t realized his still worked after breaking in two, but there it was, slamming into his chest and causing him more pain than he thought possible.

Hadn’t he already lived through enough guilt?

Gwen was dead. And it was his fault. Because for the second time in his life, he was late and unable to stop catastrophe.

He choked back a sob and walked solemnly toward Montmouth’s residence.

It was the same walk he had taken not nine years previous, when he’d had to announce to Lainhart that his granddaughter, his favorite little girl, had died.

Hollow. That’s how he felt. As if his insides no longer existed. The only reason he knew he was still living was because he was in his own living Hell. And if he were dead, he would be reunited with Gwen, with Lucy. Instead, he was on his way to announce the death of one of the most brilliant women he’d ever known.

The carriage ride was too short.

The air too calm and peaceful.

Laughter echoed from inside, and Hunter argued with God for a minute. Why hadn’t He taken him in her place? Why snuff out the life of someone so young, so beautiful? Why allow him to live through such horror twice? Perhaps this was his punishment; maybe he truly was in Hell and his reality was to live through the pain of loss for the rest of his existence.

Legs like lead, he walked slowly to the door and prayed Montmouth would just shoot him and put him out of his misery. It took more than five minutes for Hunter to keep his hands from shaking, and another two minutes to wipe the tears that had suddenly filled his eyes and spilled over.

He knocked softly on the door. Laughter from inside again mocked him, mocked what he was doing at this residence.

The door swung open.

With twinkling eyes, the butler nodded to him.

"Haverstone to see Montmouth. I have… news. It is urgent." He nearly choked on the last word. He had to control his emotions before they got the best of him. His lower lip trembled. He bit down to keep it from moving.

"But of course!" The butler nodded. "Though weren’t you just here not but an hour ago?"

"No." Hunter walked into the house and sighed. "No, I was not."

"Are you sure?" The butler questioned him.

Irritated, Hunter snapped, "I’m sure! Now I need to see Montmouth!"

"Quite demanding for someone who just imprisoned me in my own home," came that sweet voice.

Hunter’s head snapped up.

Gwen stood there, arms crossed and eyes blazing, as if she wanted to murder him where he stood. Which truly wasn’t all that new.

"G-Gwen?" he sputtered. "Is it truly you?"

She rolled her eyes. "Must you always get yourself foxed before we have conversations?"

"Gwen?" he repeated again, this time walking toward her with his arms open. A tear escaped his cheek before he could stop it. Exhaustion or perhaps madness set in, and he collapsed to the floor.

"Hunter!" Gwen raced to his side. "Rosalind!"