The Wolf’s Pursuit (London Fairy Tales #3)(46)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

His eyes had to be deceiving him, for the man who came into the chapel was Lainhart.

And his butler was with him, looking as shaggy as ever. Did the man ever shave? Or bathe for that matter? The butler pushed Lainhart’s wheeled chair in front of Montmouth and then spoke in hushed tones.

Montmouth jerked his head back and then asked Gwen a question. She nodded her head yes and kissed Montmouth on the cheek, and then she took Lainhart’s knobby hand within hers and turned toward Hunter.

The music started again.

But this time, it was Lainhart who proudly held his head as high as he could as he gripped Gwen’s hand. The butler pushed the wheeled chair forward. People continued to whisper. Hunter looked to Gwen for confirmation that everything was all right, that she was indeed happy to have Lainhart escort her, a man she knew Hunter did not do well with.

Her smile was bright, her eyes glistened with tears, and then she nodded her head to Lainhart who, with his free hand, pointed at the blackboard in his lap and showed it to the audience as they continued down the aisle.

"My new granddaughter" is what it said.

And Hunter found that the emotions he’d been trying so desperately to keep inside, the ones that had been threatening to overtake him for years, burst free.

And he was again a man broken.

Only this time, his undoing was not death.

But life.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Wolf—

You may be waiting a very, very long time. Perhaps it would be wise to lower your expectations. I know I did.

—Red

Gwen gripped Hunter’s hand. It was sweaty and shaking, and then she saw it. If she had been looking the other way she would have never known, but a stray tear made its way down his chiseled face and dropped onto the floor.

And then he turned his golden eyes to her. Their gazes locked and all she cared about was kissing away his pain, of being his partner in more than one way, of being his savior. His everything.

The vicar announced them husband and wife. People clapped, but she could barely hear anything going on around her. All she was focused on was Hunter’s eyes. He leaned in and touched his lips lightly to hers and then placed both hands on either side of her face, pulling her in for a longer kiss. It was a branding, a burning kiss, and one that showed possession.

When he pulled back, she leaned forward. He shook his head in amusement and offered his arm.

They walked to the carriage amidst cheers from the crowds. Hunter helped her in. When the carriage pulled away, she sighed.

"So, where are we going?" She hadn’t given it much thought earlier, but the last thing she wanted to do was spend her wedding night at Dominique and Isabelle’s house! Imagine! Everyone would know, and it would be… uncomfortable. They’d already decided to forgo the wedding breakfast.

"Well…" Hunter grinned wolfishly. "Over the river and through the woods, of course."

"There is no forest, Hunter."

"Says whom?"

"I say. This is London, after all."

"Ah." Hunter tapped the side of her head with his finger. "But where is your imagination, sweetheart?"

She lifted an eyebrow at him as the carriage pulled to a stop. They were at the same house Hunter had brought her to, not but a week ago, when he had tortured her. Lovely. "Last time we were here, you assaulted me," she pointed out.

"True." He grinned.

"Do you plan to whip me this time?"

His half-lidded eyes smoldered. "Do you want me to?"

"Only if I can hit back," she countered.

"But of course." He chuckled. "After you."

Gwen approached the house with dread. Was this his idea of romance? Take her to an abandoned house he hadn’t lived in for over nine years? He did not even have a full staff!

Hunter wrapped his arm around her as he pushed the door open and led her in.

How the man had managed to bring a forest into his own home was quite beyond her. Everywhere she looked were different types of trees in pots, and hanging from each one of the trees were candles in glass jars.

"A forest." She breathed. "You actually have a forest."

"Don’t forget the river." He pointed to a small water fountain that indeed resembled a river as it trickled beside one of the trees.

"Why?" She quickly turned to Hunter, hands on hips. "Why did you do this?"

He swallowed and looked down. "When I asked Gwen and Rosalind what to buy for your wedding gift, they said you already had all a girl could ask for."

Gwen nodded slowly. "I still do not understand."

Hunter cleared his throat and continued to stare at the floor. "I got to thinking, what do you buy for a woman who has everything? And then I overheard Dominique and Isabelle talking yesterday afternoon about your love for fairy tales."

Gwen froze. What the devil had they been talking about her for?

"A specific fairy tale was brought up…" Hunter chuckled and raised his eyes to meet hers. "Though the end of that tale is quite alarming. I must say I finally understand how you chose your nickname."

"Red," Gwen mumbled, and tried to hide her smile. "I thought it fit."

"It sure attracted the Wolf." Hunter reached for her hand.

"I assure you that was not my intention."

Hunter laughed. "Clearly. Yet at any rate, you caught one, and considering the Wolf is always painted as the villain, I took it upon myself to clear up the story a bit, do a little rewriting, if you will."

"So the Wolf does not attack the grandmother and Red in the end?"

Hunter drew her into his arms and whispered in her ear, "I cannot promise not to attack you. What I can promise you is romance. Now, follow me through the forest."

Gwen’s heart beat out of her chest. "How do I know that the Wolf is not leading me down a path of destruction?"

"Oh, you can be sure he is, but it will be such a lovely destruction, I doubt you will care."

"Oh?" Gwen bit her lip.

"Yes. I aim to make you forget reality for a while, Red."

"And how do you plan to do that?" She placed her hand in his as he began leading her through the small forest in his entryway and farther into the house.

"By becoming your dreams."

****

Hunter cringed when the words left his mouth. Becoming her dreams? Had he lost his mind? Since when had he started spouting such romantic nonsense? Perhaps it was just his heightened emotions.

He felt completely drained. And irrevocably in love. Which was odd. He hadn’t planned for that to happen on his wedding day, of all days. Nor had he thought it would be so swift in taking him out. Wasn’t love supposed to develop? Or was it truly different each time?