The Wolf’s Pursuit (London Fairy Tales #3)(4)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

As his hands touched that perfect ivory skin, he felt the cold blade of a knife against his throat. "I said, who are you?" The steel edged deeper into his skin, blood began to trickle down his neck, but it could have been water for all he cared. Stunned, he could only watch her eyes darken. A haunting look passed between them both.

And he knew.

It was the eyes, for they were the windows to the soul, were they not? Filled with anguish, pain, bitterness, and yes, guilt.

Her very eyes reflected his own, for only two types of people in the world carried such a heaviness within them. Those who have had innocent blood on their hands too many times to count, or those who have loved and lost everything important to them.

He wondered which she was.

With a flick of his wrist, faster than she could respond, Hunter manipulated her hand, causing the knife to clamor to the floor.

They stood, face to face, breathing heavily. He assessed her coolly, calculating each movement of her face, noticing her pupils as they dilated and her nostrils flared, only for her to stare back with unwavering strength.

"I’m a spy," they said at the same time.

Gwen lifted an eyebrow and moved to walk past him. "Well, you aren’t a very good one."

Amused, Hunter threw out his foot, tipped her over it, sending her sprawling into his arms. He held her hands high above her head as he leaned in close to her face. "Darling, I’m the best."

Her chest heaved with exertion. "Impossible. The Wolf is the best, everyone knows that. And you cannot possibly be him."

"Alright." Perhaps he could escape without giving her his identity, without compromising himself or her. With a sigh, he dropped her to the floor and marched over the wash basin to clean the blood from his neck. "And your name?"

"Gwen."

Hunter laughed, bracing a hand on either side of the basin as he leaned forward, allowing the water droplets to splash into the bowl. "Not your real name, love. The one you go by when you’re out spreading your legs for God and country."

With a scream, she lunged for him, as expected, for no man could insult a woman in that way and not expect some sort of bloodshed. Patiently, he waited until she was seconds away from removing his head. Then he jolted to the side, elbowed her in the back, causing her to curse and stumble.

She kicked him hard in the stomach as she went down, then flipped onto her back and pulled his body toward hers, again holding the knife to his neck. Blast, and he had just cleaned himself up. Well, now they were just wasting time.

"Your name, if you don’t mind," Hunter ground out through clenched teeth. It was deuced hard, trying to keep his arousal in check. The blasted woman had drawn him to his knees twice within ten minutes, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want her.

A surge of pride stormed her eyes, making them widen for just a second before indifference returned. "Red, I go by Red."

Hunter was silent.

Quite a bad habit to suddenly develop.

He cleared his throat. "As in the very Red who was able to infiltrate the highest ranks of Napoleon’s trusted elite and gain secrets that even the Wolf could not obtain, and all within the first month of employ?"

"The very one."

"I don’t believe you." But truly, he did. Mainly because he was ready to spill his entire life story based solely on the fact that she was the only woman who had ever used violence on him.

He found it wildly arousing.

"It is more believable than you being the Wolf." Her laugh echoed within the room. Pride taking another huge blow, he almost blurted out his identity for a second time, but thought better of it. After all, if she truly did not know him, then that would mean it would be reasonable for him to experiment. After all, there was enough sexual tension in that room to make a vicar sin.

"Then I guess I truly am the worst spy," he purred into her ear, minding the steel flexing against his neck. "After all, you were the one who noticed the men on the ship as well as the men in the inn. You truly must be the notorious Red. An honor, I assure you."

"The pleasure’s all mine," she said breathlessly as her grip on the knife loosened. Beginner’s mistake, for it was all the chance he was going to get.

Seduction, for Hunter, had always been simple, a strategic battle plan of sorts. Make her desire him, mirror that desire, compliment, touch, please, and finally leave. After all, he was always starving after such an encounter, and it was always best to keep all seductions and encounters under twelve hours.

Always.

His hand moved to her neck. Closing his eyes he breathed in the scent of her skin. A spicy mix of cinnamon and honey. His thumb rubbed her bottom lip. A pink tongue snuck out and licked playfully at his thumb. Gwen’s eyes darkened.

And he had her.

Precisely where he and other parts of his anatomy wanted her.

On her back.

And at his mercy.

She didn’t even see the pistol slip out of his pocket, for he had already knocked her cold by the time her eyes widened in realization.

He lifted her onto the bed and cursed. "Worst spy in the history of the Crown? I think not." She would wake up within the hour, cursing him to perdition, but he would be long gone, never to see her again.

But before he left, he had a little spying to do. Spying that even Red couldn’t accomplish without getting her pretty little self shot.

Without another thought to the woman lying in the bed, Hunter left to sneak into the Englishmen’s rooms. After handing the innkeeper some blunt, he was extremely helpful in giving Hunter the information he needed as to the rooms rented to the men.

After five minutes of picking the lock, he was finally able to make it into the first room. Nothing. It was as if the gentleman hadn’t brought a thing with him on the trip.

He tried the next three.

All empty.

Cursing, he made his way down the stairs. The chairs where the gentlemen had been sitting were empty. Money left on the table.

They’d left. The inn had been a front.

Hunter cursed again and made his way to the front door, only to see it burst open. A Norse-looking fellow barged in, demanding to know where a certain English girl named Gwen had disappeared to. If Hunter hadn’t been so tired after fighting off the wench, he’d have the good sense to be alarmed that an Englishman was boldly yelling such incriminating things about the girl.

"How dare that strong-willed defiant child leave home!" the duke screamed, "Selfish, selfish woman!"

Hunter lifted a brow at the man’s words, her reputation truly was well and ruined by now.

Either she was his wife or a family member. Judging by the wild look in the man’s eyes, Hunter assumed she must be his sister. For any man with even an ounce of pride would not announce to perfect strangers that he was not man enough to keep his wife happy in his bedroom.