Rachel Van Dyken

by The Wolfs Pursuit

  Wilkins shook his head. “I need you to make her desirable and in true rakish fashion, set yourself up as the name whispered upon young ladies’ lips. It will distract the gentlemen from pursuing the other ladies, leaving them to pursue Red.”

  “My, my.” Hunter laughed bitterly. “Is that all?”

  “No.” Wilkins rose from his seat. “If you have reason to believe she is dangerous, I need you to eliminate her from the equation.”

  “Eliminate her,” Hunter repeated, sick to his stomach as he remembered Gwen’s saucy smile.

  “Kill her, Hunter.” Wilkins never used Hunter’s Christian name. It made the situation too personal, too real. “Eliminate your target. After all, you are an assassin and the best spy the Crown has. It is what you do, is it not?”

  Hunter regained his composure and gave a stiff nod. “It is what I do best.”

  “Then we will meet again in a few weeks. My thanks.” Wilkins held out his hand and shook Hunter’s firmly. “Do say hello to your grandfather for me. Shame that he can no longer speak, for I fear he would be able to shed light on this situation for us.”

  Hunter paused with a grimace. The subject of his grandfather was not something he desired to pursue, even if his grandfather by marriage had been one of the best spies the country had ever seen. Not to mention one of the premier men next to Scovell, who worked with the codes.

  “You will need to speak to him about the three men we are investigating, Haverstone. After all, before his recent accident, he was very much still involved with the dealings of the War Office as well as the codes.”

  Hunter grunted, then left the room before he said something he’d regret. He had not spoken to Lainhart in years, and he had no desire to start now.

  Hunter refused to take the blame for his grandfather’s bitterness. They were not blood related, for he had been Lucy’s grandfather. The old man always did have something to complain about, whether it be his granddaughter marrying too young, or marrying a man who worked for the Crown.

  Hunter smirked. The old man got his wish in the end. For the week after his wife’s death, Hunter had attended one ball and ruined everything.

  ****

  “The chess pieces have been placed very nicely, don’t you think?” the gentleman asked as he took a long sip of whiskey. The London sky was darkening as if it were in tune with the plans that lay ahead. Plans that had taken over ten years to fulfill. Finally, riches would be his.

  “Yes, though I find myself at a loss. Why set up the girl when she is clearly innocent? Isn’t our goal to trap the Wolf?”

  “Bait, my friend.” The man chuckled. “Little Red will be our bait, and the very thing that will push him over the edge.”

  “How do you know?”

  The man threw the glass to the floor and stomped over to his partner, sneering in his face as he noticed the man’s lips tremble in fear. “Because this isn’t the first time I’ve betrayed the Wolf, and I doubt it will be my last.” He released his trembling partner and cursed. “Now, stop dallying. We have a war to win.”

  ****

  It began to rain, which fit quite perfectly into his already frustrated mood. Hunter slowly made his way down the stairs into the street. Once he was inside his carriage, he threw off his hat and leaned his head against the cold leather interior.

  London was the same.

  Everything was the same.

  From the dreary pungent smell, to the constant gray skies, it was as if the city was mocking him. How was he to do his job when it was difficult for him to put one foot in front of the other without becoming paralyzed with grief?

  The carriage moved slowly, causing an agonizing thump to begin in Hunter’s chest. He passed Lucy’s favorite park, her parents’ townhome, and finally they passed Gunther’s.

  Hunter hit the side of the door with as much force as he could, which was poor considering his ill state. With a loud curse, he threw the door open just in time to spew the contents of his stomach into the street.

  And directly onto a pair of shiny Hoby boots.

  “Drinking so early in the morning? That is not at all like you, old friend.” Dominique Maksylov, royal prince of Russia and new Earl of Hariss, shook his head in amusement while kicking his boots against the street in dismay.

  “Apologies.” Hunter cleared his throat and prayed his friend of ten years wouldn’t notice the exhaustion and worry etched across his brow.

  “For drinking or for being unable to handle your drink?”

  “Neither.” Hunter smiled the first real smile that day. “I had only one drink, if you must know, Mother. I was merely sick from the carriage ride. Never could sit backwards.”

  “If it helps, keep your curtains closed, Hunter.” Dominique put his hand on Hunter’s shoulder, making him feel immediately worse. Why the devil did Dominique have to be so blasted sensitive to everything Hunter was feeling? Truly, God was giving him a taste of his own medicine. Was it only a few months ago that Hunter had involved himself in helping his old friend find happiness? A bit of calling the kettle black, he suspected, now that the roles were reversed.

  His eyes quickly scanned Dominique. Gone was his beastly appearance. His hair was trimmed short, and his smile appeared permanent. Hunter clenched his teeth and tried to pull away from Dominique’s heavy hand.

  But he held firm.

  “Stay with us.”

  No, the last thing he needed was to be reminded about how bitterly unhappy he was. Staying the Season with Dominique and his beautiful wife sounded just as fun as banging his head against a rock. “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “No, blast it all. Dominique, I cannot stay with you! I’ll stay at one of my homes. I do have means.” He jerked away and scowled.

  “So it is to be like that?”

  “I do not know what you are referring to. You always were vague with your words.”

  Dominique threw his head back and laughed before returning his twinkling gaze to Hunter. “I won’t take no for an answer.”

  “Well…” Hunter crossed his arms. “It seems we are at an impasse. Shall it be pistols at dawn, then?”

  Dominique squinted. “It is that bad then, isn’t it?”

  “What is?”

  His friend swallowed and looked away. “It is your first time back since the accident.”

  Accident? To say it had been an accident was nearly unbearable, for that meant it could have been prevented. Should have been prevented. Hunter felt the all-too-familiar sting behind his eyes, the lump in his throat, and the pain that came when one was trying to hold in a decade of tears. “It is.”

  “If shooting me will make you feel better, I’ll allow it. Just be sure to explain to my wife upon my death that your pride got in the way of taking help from a friend when you needed it the most.”

  Hunter rolled his eyes. “You always were dramatic.”

  “Compared to your current state, I’m a Greek comedy. I’ll expect your things later this afternoon.” Dominique turned on his heel and left.

  Hunter wasn’t sure how long he stared at the street. His footman cleared his throat several times, people passed him by, some pointed, others whispered. But he ignored everything save the sound of his heart beating. Thump, thump, thump. It should be a comfort, to know one had a healthy beat in his chest, but all it did was remind him that while his was beating, hers was not.

  Chapter Three

  Wolf—

  It seems we are to be partners. I would rather drown myself in the river Thames, but alas my country needs me, especially since their most notorious spy is rumored to have lost his touch. Shall we meet later, or did you need more time to bathe and eat chocolate?

  —Red

  Gwen looked down at the paper and grimaced. It was worse than she'd thought if Mrs. Peabody was already picking up on Hunter’s notorious affairs. What had he done that was so terrible all those years ago? She read on as her sister continued to laugh about their conversation.

  It seems
, dear readers, that the Devil Duke and Lord Rawlings have officially lost their titles as the worst sort of rake the ton has ever seen. They can thank me later for my kind words. Gentlemen, I enjoy tea and chocolates. You may send any sort of gift to my publisher.

  Now on to more important topics. How, you may ask, have two such notorious rakes been dethroned? Well, let us just say that the man many a rake used to look up to, has returned with a vengeance, and he doesn’t care a whit about what he says or does. It shouldn’t come as a surprise; after all, nobody could forget the incident of 1806, which I refuse to acknowledge, given the circumstances surrounding it. One thing I will say, however. Ladies, beware of the easy smile and devil-may-care demeanor. They lead to one thing, and it isn’t matrimonial bliss. Beware, the Wolf has returned and he, dear readers, is on the prowl. —Mrs. Peabody’s Society Papers

  “You may cease laughing now,” Gwen scolded her sister Rosalind as she took another sip of tea, throwing the gossip rag onto the chair in disgust.

  “I just cannot help myself.” She wiped a tear of mirth from under her eye and gave Gwen’s hand a squeeze. “It is just too funny for words. Debut? You?”

  “I am of age!” Gwen raised her voice and then cleared her throat. “Do you not think it is time for me to settle down and find a husband?”

  Rosalind sobered and looked down at her lap. “I wish every sort of happiness for you, sister. It is just…” She bit her lip. Gwen waited. “Do you think it is too soon since…?”

  Gwen rolled her eyes. “How many times do I need to reassure you? Absolutely nothing happened while I was on my own. I realize I’m not ruined in your eyes and that the rumors have been extremely painful to hear, but sister, I am ready.”

  “…To enter into the lion’s den, hmm?” Montmouth strode into the room and kissed his wife briefly across the mouth before taking a seat. It wasn’t at all odd for him to take tea with them. He was, after all, family. Not to mention he acted in the place of their deceased father while their mother was currently in Bedlam.

  “It will be fine.” Gwen was reassuring herself as much as she was them. It would never be just fine. She knew she was a social pariah. The ton caught wind that she had gone after her sister, alone, in a traveling coach as well as aboard a ship, and she was considered a jezebel of the first order. To add pain to the entire situation, there wasn’t a day that went by when she wasn’t propositioned by some sort of gentleman to be his mistress.

  “Lady Gwendolyn, I’ve always admired you from afar, and now that you are ruined…” The man would always pause here, as if to give sensual effect to his words as his hand traced her collarbone. “Do you not wish for some sort of male protection? Or companionship? I believe we will get along quite well together.”

  Just thinking on it made her angry.

  The last man who had propositioned her, Sir Kirkland, had hobbled away holding himself and cursing all women to perdition. She'd been quickly escorted from that ball.

  “Gwen.” Montmouth exhaled. “Are you sure you wish to debut, tonight of all nights? Why not wait a year, wait until another scandal.”

  “Do you truly think people would ever forget about mine, Stefan?” She’d always addressed him as such, and considering he was the closest family she had other than her sisters, he didn’t seem to mind, but one could never be sure with Stefan.

  He closed his eyes as if in pain. Rosalind patted his arm. “I do not wish for you to do this.”

  Gwen gave them each a warm smile and leaned forward. “I will be fine. Through all of this I have seen that I am stronger than even I give myself credit for. I very much wish to be married. At least by debuting, we will put a stop to all the propositions for being someone’s mistress.”

  “Doubt that.” Stefan snorted, clenching his fist. “But if you wish it, I will allow it.”

  Gwen had expected her heart to stop beating in that moment. The last thing she wanted was to debut and go to a ball where everyone would stare at her and wonder if she still held her virginity. The women would gossip, the men would openly stare, and she would count herself lucky if she could escape the evening without at least three attempts from young gentlemen to kiss her or pull her into a corner.

  Add that to the already nervous sensation of seeing Hunter Wolfsbane, Lord Haverstone, and she was ready to scream. But if this was the only way to be sure her family and her country were safe, she would do it. One last mission, one last time to prove to herself and Hunter that she was above the gossip, above the stares. She was her own woman, a modern woman. And if she wanted to debut after such a scandalous winter, then that was what she was going to do.

  A plan began forming in her head.

  “I see this makes you happy, Gwen, and for that I am happy.” Rosalind rose and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Oh yes,” Gwen answered, twirling a piece of hair between her fingers. “This makes me very happy.” She smiled warmly and rose from her seat. “If you’ll excuse me then, I just have some preparations to make before this evening's ball.”

  “If you need help…” Rosalind touched her arm. “Allow me?”

  “Of course.” Gwen left the salon, her slippers sliding quickly across the floor as she made her way up to her rooms.

  ****

  Hunter gazed up at the mansion in front of him and sighed. Clearly things were bad when he was going to the Beast for some cheering up. Dominique had been the most depressing fellow to be around before his marriage, and now it seemed that he needed to cheer up Hunter. There was something so tragically wrong with the thought.

  He needed to get ahold of himself.

  With another soothing breath, he ran up the stairs and knocked on the front door.

  The butler answered and lifted an eyebrow.

  And because Hunter needed a bit of cheering up…

  And because he was feeling slightly inebriated since he had taken a few strengthening drinks of brandy before making his way over to the Hariss residence…

  He sneezed in the butler's face.

  “Apologies!”

  The butler cursed, which everyone knew could get the man sacked; must have been a good sneeze. Hunter grasped the lapel of the butler’s stiff jacket and wiped his face.

  “State your business and be gone…, sir.” The butler stepped away.

  “My business is not your business, George.”

  “It’s Samuel.”

  “Nathanial, listen here.” Hunter leaned in. “I’m having my trunks sent over, and I’ll also need a room.”

  “The hotel is down the street.”

  “Daniel! Where is your sense of humor?”

  Samuel’s shoulders puffed up, and his cheeks soon followed. Interesting fellow, but Dominique was never one to hire conventional butlers. Weren’t they supposed to be seen and not heard?

  “Sir, I must ask that you—”

  “Hunter!” Isabelle ran down the stairs. Silly girl, clearly she hadn’t learned the ways a lady should behave. Not that he would want her any other way. Blast, she absolutely glowed.

  “My lady, it seems your current state agrees with you.” He leaned down to kiss her cheek but was interrupted by Samuel clearing his throat.

  “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Hunter asked.

  Samuel turned red.

  Isabelle swatted Hunter. “I am so sorry, Samuel. The Duke of Haverstone is an old friend, and will be staying with us for the Season.”

  Was it Hunter’s imagination or did the butler just curse under his breath as he walked away?

  “Cheeky fellow.”

  “He’s Russian.” Isabelle shrugged. “Now, come have tea with me and tell me all about your reason for spending a Season in London. We both know you’d rather get trampled by a horse than marry.”

  Hunter flinched at her words.

  Isabelle paused and looked at him with curiosity. “I didn’t mean anything offensive, Hunter. It’s just that...” Her eyes watered. Blasted emotional woman.

  “It is nothing. I was
merely shocked you still possessed a sense of humor after living with Dominique for a few months.”

  “I missed you, too,” Dominique said, bounding through the room looking healthy, virile, and extremely satisfied with himself. Curse the man. Maybe Hunter merely needed to find himself a mistress.

  After all, it had been several months since his last encounter, and that one had scarred him to such an extent he hadn’t had the courage to face a woman again. The lady in question had drugged him within an inch of his life and then proceeded to eat her dinner whilst on top of him. The thought gave him a shudder.

  “Still feeling under the weather?” Dominique poured them both a glass of brandy. At this rate, Hunter would be foxed before the ball this evening.

  “No, simply repulsed that Isabelle would find you charming enough to share your bed every night.”

  Isabelle smirked. “Believe me, he’s—” Her face flamed red as she looked down at her hands, making Dominique laugh aloud.

  Incredible. Hunter was now in his own version of Hell. Marital bliss surrounded him, and memories of his dead wife plagued even his waking dreams. He hadn’t thought anything could possibly get worse.

  “What are your plans for the Season?” Isabelle tried her best to engage him in conversation.

  Unfortunately, his mind was working quite slowly. He blamed the brandy. So he blurted out, “I’m to find a wife.”

  Dominique began coughing wildly while Isabelle laughed.

  “I was not jesting.”

  “Oh,” they said in unison, causing a painful silence to blanket the room.

  “It is a mission of sorts, so if you see me acting…”

  “Strange?” Isabelle offered.

  “Like an idiot?” Dominique felt the need to chime in.

  “Yes.” Hunter gritted his teeth. “All of the above, I guess. It is of the utmost importance that you do not deter me from my act. After all, it must be believable.”

  Dominique sat across from him. “Mind if I ask what part you shall be playing this Season? Perhaps the prince? Mayhap the devoted lover?” His friend grinned and leaned back, clearly enjoying himself.