Rachel Van Dyken

by The Wolfs Pursuit

  Not only had Ash changed from the easygoing brother Hunter had always loved, but he was unpredictable. He would be perfect, that is, if the woman did not kill him first.

  “Love,” Hunter murmured in Gwen’s ear. “Love, you need to wake up. We should talk.”

  “This early?” Gwen stretched across the bed and moaned. Saints alive, how he wished he could possess his wife instead of having to have such a conversation, but it was necessary.

  “Yes, I’m afraid so.” He pulled her into his arms and leaned against the headboard while he played with her soft hair.

  “What is it?” She yawned again.

  “You asked before, why me? Why would Wilkins target me? When he could have set up Trehmont or Hollins, even Redding.”

  Gwen nodded in his arms. He took a deep breath and continued. “It seems, my love, that Wilkins had somewhat of a grudge against my family, against me.”

  He grinned and began his story, trying to make it sound as lighthearted as possible. “Once upon a time, there was a beautiful woman. Everyone loved her. Obviously she had the face of a goddess. After all, she was my grandmother by blood.”

  Gwen laughed in his arms, and he kissed her head. “A man, an untitled man, wanted her for himself. But she refused him. You see, she loved him desperately, but her parents would never approve of the match. So he ran away with her. But her parents intercepted them before they made their marriage legal.”

  “What happened?” Gwen sat up.

  “She married another, and they had beautiful children. Handsome, strapping men, who then had even more handsome sons.” He grinned as Gwen swatted him.

  “Wilkins was the man?”

  He nodded. This was the part he hated, the part that made him sick. “Wilkins was so angry, so bitter over what had taken place, merely because he did not have the station or the money in order to provide for her, that he developed a strong hatred for the gentry, for royalty, anyone in a higher station.”

  Hunter closed his eyes. “He never stopped loving my grandmother. She would be hard to forget. She often entertained royalty from other countries and on the night of a party, she entertained some of Russia’s royalty. Wilkins snuck in uninvited. Grandmother and he had another fight and my grandfather, bless his heart, tried to kick Wilkins out, but Wilkins was drunk. He had a pistol. He shot my grandfather and then shot my grandmother.”

  “Hunter!” Gwen wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheeks. “So he decided to kill off your entire family.”

  “No, I do not believe so, though his hatred was strong. I always knew my grandparents had been shot by a madman. I just hadn’t known who had done it until now.”

  “Then how do you know this information? I guess I don’t understand. It is horrible, truly horrible, Hunter, but how do you know?”

  “He left a book of conquests, people he’d killed, things he’d done. Hollins offered it as a peace offering in order to lessen his sentence.”

  Gwen held him for a long time before sighing into his chest. “Are you happier, now that you know how your grandparents died?”

  “Yes and no. It saddens me to think of their lives cut short, merely because of a man’s jealousy and hatred. I’m surprised he was able to look at me, let alone stand in the same room as me.” Hunter swallowed the dryness in his throat. “There is one other thing.”

  Gwen tensed. “The woman you spoke of earlier?”

  “Love, it is not what you think. Calm down before I am forced to frolic with you again.”

  Gwen blushed bright red and pushed at his chest. He tightened his hold around her and sighed. “Dominique has asked me to go on a mission. A private one.”

  “No.” Gwen shook her head. “We’ve just been through a mission, and you know I would not let you go alone.”

  “Don’t I know it?” Hunter kissed her pouted lips. “Ash has it in his mind that he needs to do a penance for disappearing for so long, even though he saved our lives. Apparently it will never be enough.”

  “So he is to find a woman?”

  Hunter kissed Gwen’s neck. “Not just any woman, Dominique’s cousin. I do not know the specifics, but she was forced into hiding. It is Dominique’s wish to bring her here and give her a Season, thereby marrying her off and offering her his protection.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “She was brought into Scotland a day or so ago and has been waiting for communication from Dominique, but considering everything that has recently taken place, it hasn’t been a smooth transition.”

  Gwen said nothing for a minute and then turned to him and kissed him firmly across the mouth. “So you are staying?”

  “As long as you want me.”

  “Forever,” Gwen whispered across his lips.

  “That, my dear, is a long time to live with a wolf.”

  Gwen leaned back and winked. “I’ll be sure to keep my pistol loaded.”

  Hunter kissed her chin. “Good. You know how I like violence before frolicking.”

  Another blush stained Gwen’s cheeks. “Stop using that word!”

  “Frolic, frolic, frolic.”

  “Sheep, sheep, sheep, sheep,” Gwen taunted. “Wasn’t that your choice word before?”

  “No.” Hunter shook his head seriously. “I believe I also talked a great deal about nuts and breadcrumbs. And squirrels.”

  “You are a strange man.” Gwen sighed and then giggled.

  “It is why you love me so much. Life is too predictable with other fellows. With me you’ll always be guessing.”

  With that Hunter pulled her into his arms and dove under the blankets.

  Another hour later, Gwen rubbed Hunter’s back and whispered, “I love you.”

  “And I you…”

  “Good.” She sat up in the bed. “Because we have to attend Dominique and Isabelle’s house for dinner tonight.”

  “Will Montmouth be there?”

  “Oh, I hope so.” Gwen winked. “Perhaps he will get his wish and finally get to shoot you.”

  “One can only dream,” Hunter said dryly, and then attacked his insatiable wife for the third, fourth, perhaps it was the fifth time that morning.

  Epilogue

  One month later, following the battle of Waterloo

  Hunter glared as Montmouth placed his pistol atop the table, as was his custom every time Hunter and Gwen came to visit. He was convinced Hunter was going to slip up at least once, giving him the pleasure of being able to steal Hunter’s life from him. At least now it was a joke, or at least Hunter told himself that so he wouldn’t strangle the man. They had come to an agreement of sorts. Hunter kept his flirtatious comments to his own wife, which of course had been his intention all along, and Montmouth would keep his gun out of reach.

  Dominique shook his head and rolled his eyes at Hunter as Montmouth polished the gun and then began clearing his throat.

  It had been one month since Ash had left in search of Dominique’s cousin Sofia, and none of them had heard word about their whereabouts.

  “Something has happened,” Dominique said quietly to Hunter. “I am not being paranoid. Shouldn’t he have contacted us by now? To at least say she was safe? That he had her?”

  Dominique wasn’t one to worry, but Hunter had the same fears. After all, they had just discovered not but two days ago what Ash had been doing for the past nine years, and it hadn’t been taking up the arts of painting or poetry.

  No, his twin, his own flesh and blood, had been a gun for hire. To be exact, an assassin for hire. Hunter had even heard of the famous Grimm, for they said every time a mark of ash was found anywhere near a person, they would die three days later, and the Grimm Reaper, or Grimm, would be responsible.

  Hunter shivered. No wonder his brother had felt the need for repentance. He had spent half of his life killing people.

  Dominique trusted Hunter, therefore Dominique trusted Ash, but now Hunter wasn’t so sure Ash deserved that trust.

  Gwen placed her hand on Hunter’s s
houlder and then kissed him lightly on the cheek. With a laugh, Hunter pulled her into his lap and kissed her hard across the mouth.

  “Do you mind?” Montmouth roared. “We are eating!”

  “I am having my dessert early,” Hunter announced between kisses. Gwen laughed as she kissed him back and then the room was somewhat silent. Hunter looked up and smiled as he found Rosalind and Montmouth sharing an intimate embrace, and Dominique and Isabelle kissing as well.

  It seemed, in that moment, that perhaps fairy tales did come true.

  When Ash Falls

  London Fairy Tales

  Book 4

  Ash didn’t want to remember her this way. Her beautiful face, which had been often in a breathtaking smile, was now cold and dead.

  The first time he had seen her, he’d thought she was an angel. He’d said that very thing under his breath when she’d made her debut that season.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured as Lucy took a turn about the room, gaining introductions to all the available gentlemen who came her way. Taking an earth-shattering breath, the kind that every man takes when he is about to approach a beautiful woman, he made his way over to her.

  Music faded into the background with each step. All Ash was aware of was the clicking of his boots against the floor as he progressed toward the beauty. One dance, if only she would give him one dance, he would secure her hand forever. He knew it in his heart, in his soul — she was meant to be his.

  Heart beating out of his chest, he could barely contain his excitement as she lifted her eyes and met his gaze. Blue eyes twinkled in his direction and then she lifted her hand in a wave. A wave? Something was wrong. Ash paused, and then looked behind him. There was no one but him and then he gazed back at her. She crooked her finger, beckoning him forward.

  Completely under her spell, he couldn’t deny her anymore than he could cease from taking his next breath. Finally, he stood before her, at least a foot taller than she.

  “Where have you been, you rogue?” She swatted him on the arm and gave him a coy laugh. “I have been looking everywhere for you!”

  “For me?” Ash questioned. “Are you sure we have met?”

  “Must you always joke at such serious times!” The girl laughed again and he was caught at the sight of her dimples as they danced along her cheeks. Carefree. She appeared so carefree, so perfect, unweighted by the things of this world, by responsibility and darkness, by disappointment. He tilted his head and then reached out to touch her, perhaps she truly was a dream, and then a voice broke out into the pounding in his ears.

  “Ah, sweetheart, you’ve met my brother.” Hunter stepped beside the girl and wrapped his arm around her. Ash stepped back, his heart sinking down to his feet. She hadn’t been looking for him at all, but his older brother, his twin, the duke. It was such a sad joke, a sad existence really. Would he ever be first in anything?

  Months progressed into a year as he watched his brother and Lucy fall into such a deep love that all he could do was be happy for them and try to spend as much time away as possible. After all, it was not done to want your brother’s wife, to want to care for her and protect her. It was fate’s final cruel trick to allow Ash to feel something for another and then have that person ripped away by his brother. Though he loved his brother more than his own life, it seemed Ash was always left with nothing while his brother was given everything.

  His name fit.

  For he was the ash after the fire of Hunter burned out.

  He was nothing but soot, but darkness, and sand. One day, his ashes would trickle away into the wind, never to be remembered and never mourned, but forgotten.

  “Ash! Do you hear me! I love you! I love you!” Hunter yelled at his brother as he shook his shoulders and then in one final attempt to thrust him out of his daydream, slapped him across the face.

  Ash stared at the blood staining his hands. He tried to wipe it off. Tried but failed as it continued to drip down his wrists into his jacket. “I’m so sorry,” he kept repeating over and over again, but it did not matter.

  The carriage had come too fast. Lucy had thought Ash was Hunter and ran to him, ran right into the street.

  The fault was his.

  He knew it, Hunter knew it, and Lucy, beautiful Lucy, his brother’s innocent wife, was dead and it was all because he had lied about who he was, tried to be better than just the second son.

  He backed away, slowly at first, and then he ran.

  His feet ached, his stomach heaved. Finally he stopped in the middle of the street, hoping, praying that someone or something would hit him. Death, it seemed, was his only option. It was his wish, his choice. For how could he live with himself after what he had done?

  Hunter had loved Lucy, but so had Ash. She was his everything, his only relative other than Hunter, and although he had wanted her for himself, he had pushed those emotions so far beneath the surface of his heart that he hadn’t understood how far the love ran until now, until it was too late.

  Legs like lead, he walked until he reached his parent’s tombstones. Both taken from him too soon. What would they think of him now? He was the disappointment in the family, the second son by two minutes. And now he was a murderer.

  Disgusted with himself, he sat down on the cold grass, leaned his head against the stone, and cursed. His brother, his only living relative, and he had ruined his life, and ruined his parents’ memory in the process. All he had ever wanted as a boy had been to please his father, yet all he’d received had been disapproval. One time, just one time, he wanted to make someone proud, make himself proud.

  But it was impossible.

  He looked down at blood-stained hands.

  His future stared right back at him.

  Flee. He needed to flee, to get away. No, not just get away. He needed to die. A life for a life, so he set about doing exactly that. It was not fair that he was able to live, to survive, when the one woman who did nothing but bring happiness to everyone she met was dead in the street.

  “Lucy,” he whispered as salty tears ran down his cheeks and across his lips, “I’m so sorry… But I will see you soon. I will see you soon.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the pistol. With shaking hands he lifted it to his chin and pulled the trigger.

  About the Author

  Rachel Van Dyken is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of regency and contemporary romances. When she’s not writing you can find her drinking coffee at Starbucks or plotting her next book while watching The Bachelor (she’s convinced the best villains exist on reality T.V.). She keeps her home in Idaho with her husband and snoring boxer, Sir Winston Churchill. She loves to hear from readers! Follow her on Facebook and Twitter! You can also keep track of her works in progress and release dates by visiting her website: www.rachelvandyken.com.

  Also by Rachel Van Dyken:

  The Ugly Duckling Debutante

  The Seduction of Sebastian St. James

  The Redemption of Lord Rawlings

  Every Girl Does it

  The Parting Gift

  Waltzing With the Wallflower

  Savage Winter

  Upon A Midnight Dream

  Whispered Music

  Beguiling Bridget

  Compromising Kessen

  The Devil Duke Takes a Bride

  Also from Astraea Press:

  Chapter One

  Lady Clara Huckabee trembled. She felt it in her traitorous knees, which threatened to deposit her in an undignified heap on the Grecian Axminster carpet, and in her throat, tightened almost unbearably beneath her morning gown’s simple velvet neckline. Disappointing her guardian was bad enough, but since he started this fiasco, surely he’d endeavor to bear it. Shocking her aunt, though — for shocking her response would be — was far worse, because it must necessarily cause a measure of pain and Aunt Helen’s sweet soul outweighed her silly, old-fashioned notions. Clara steeled herself. It was their actions, their insistence, which forced her to this miserable necessity. If th
ey refused to consider her wishes in the selection of a husband, her husband, then they must accept some of the blame for the contretemps that ensued.

  Hopefully the housekeeper wasn’t listening behind the closed drawing room door.

  A deep breath, and Clara softened her clenched hands into gentler folds. Only then did she trust herself to meet the Viscount Maynard’s black eyes, unblinking and glittering. No matter how many times she ordered herself to be meek and affable, he still looked like a possessive lizard.

  “It distresses me to cause grief in anyone, particularly a gentleman as eminent as my Lord Maynard, and I find no pleasure in disappointing my esteemed aunt and uncle.” She paused. Those reptilian eyes widened and bulged; perhaps she was the first person to dare cross the arrogant booby. Clara hurried on before she could be interrupted. “However, the selection of a lifetime partner is too delicate an operation to be entrusted to any third party, no matter how revered. Kingdoms will neither rise nor fall on my lineage and therefore I believe my own desires and tastes should be consulted. I am sorry, but I cannot accept my lord’s offer of marriage.”

  Viscount Maynard’s gaze drifted from her face, drifted lower. “The child has an opinion of her own.” When he’d asked for her hand, his voice had been courteous and correct; now he drawled his words, taking twice as long to state a simple sentence. His lips curled as if he smelled something unspeakable. “How precocious.”

  Her skin crawled. His gaze boasted weight and mass, as if his hand explored her without permission. So much for meek and affable; the viscount was surely more interested in her inheritance, in Papa’s money, than in her or her hand. “My lord, your anxiety to change my opinion must be unbounded.” She dropped her most formal curtsey and escaped from the drawing room. Let him eat cake; just not hers.