The Wolf's Pursuit (14 page)

"Never mind. I'll just call for the carriage
and return home."

Isabelle blushed and followed her husband up
the stairs.

Ton families were rarely as blunt and
familiar with one another. But most families hadn't been through
what Gwen's had. So to see her sister giggle like a little girl as
she went up the stairs with her husband didn't offend her. No, it
just made her heart sad, for her sisters had found their
matches.

And Gwen was alone with a drunk. The footmen
had all but retired, and it was commonly known that Dominique only
hired Russians, who were such independent sorts, it was a miracle
they were around to help at all!

She grabbed her wine glass and walked over to
Hunter, who had managed to fall asleep in a terribly uncomfortable
position on the floor. His mouth was slightly ajar, leaving the
perfect target for her attack.

First rule of spying. Never leave yourself
exposed to the enemy. First rule of being the Wolf? Don't insult
your partner repeatedly and expect her not to retaliate.

With a smirk, she poured a bit of wine down
his front, only a section of it dribbling into his mouth. Red
streaked down his chin. Curse the man, why the devil was he allowed
to be so handsome when he was foxed?

He murmured something inaudible. She poured
more wine.

His hand flew up and grabbed her arm. Quite
fast for being so drunk.

"Having fun, my dear?" he purred into her
ear, for he had pulled her down to the floor and nearly on his lap.
His breath smelled nothing like whiskey. It was sweet, with a hint
of wine and horse.

"Until you woke up, yes," she managed to
grind out, even though his hand was burning through the skin on her
neck.

"Wasn't sleeping," Hunter announced, nipping
at her ear. "Saints alive, what do you wash your skin with? It
smells…" He inhaled again, his fingers lightly brushing the
sensitive skin beneath her ear.

"Whatever it is…" She tried to jerk away. "At
least I know that it attracts wolves."

"That it does." He chuckled, still not
removing his hand. His fingers drummed against her pulse, and she
felt the rhythm of his touch all the way down to her toes as it
hummed through her blood. "I like touching you."

"You're drunk."

His other hand moved to her waist, where he
began sliding it across her stomach and down her hip toward her
thigh. She hadn't the strength to move, his touch was such
temptation, and she didn't know how to fight it.

His nose touched her neck as his lips moved
across her bare skin. "Not that drunk."

"Yes, you are."

"I've had two glasses of whiskey. Believe me,
I'm not drunk, but sometimes…" His lips moved to her jaw. "A person
has to be what he is not, in order to gain information that he
needs, yes?"

"Yes." She moaned. What was she saying yes
to?

"And sometimes—" His teeth grazed her jaw. "A
man has to do things he'd rather not do, for the sake of his
country, yes?"

What did he say? Something about living in
the country? Men in the country? His fingers moved from her neck
and slid down to the front of her dress. "Yes?"

"Oftentimes…" Why was he still talking? "It
is imperative to be reminded that you are not yourself when you are
owned by the Crown. And even when you want something so badly you
can taste it…" His tongue traced her lower lip. "You must say
no."

"Yes."

"Say no." Hunter moaned against her lips.

"Why?"

"Because I'm drunk and about to take
advantage of you."

"You said you weren't drunk."

"I feel drunk right now." He kissed her hard
across the mouth and all she could think was,
Me too, me
too
.

Red—

Forgive me if I am wrong, but did you just
first encourage me to bite and then act on instinct, and finally
refer to you? My dear! A worthy opponent you are, but do you truly
think it safe for your virtue to make advances toward an animal
such as me? You've done nothing but encourage the beast within, and
I guarantee you that soon, you will see why they call me the Wolf
of Haverstone. By the by, did you get my drawing? I worked hard on
that. Sheep are not the easiest of God's creatures to draw. Tell
me, my dear, do you like being compared to a farm animal? Or would
you rather be compared to a tiger? Spend the night in my bed and
let me decide. Woof.

—
Wolf

Blasted conscience. Why was he suddenly
developing one, now of all times? When he had the most beautiful
woman in his arms moaning and rubbing against him?

He sighed. "I have something for you." That
came out wrong. He tried again. "A surprise."

Gwen stiffened in his arms.

He should have let his horse finish him off,
for he truly had fallen off of it. Not that it was his own fault.
Someone had shot at him.

But that was beside the point.

"Shall I start over?"

"That would be best," Gwen said.

"First, help me off the floor."

Gwen pushed herself away from him and onto
her feet. "Why are you on the floor to begin with, if you are not
even that drunk?"

"Attention." He chuckled. "Not but a few
months ago, Dominique was shot in the arm. Nearly died. I wanted to
see what it was like to be nursed to health by a fallen angel."

Gwen rolled her eyes. "Who says I'm
fallen?"

"All you need to do is ask, and I'll do the
pushing."

"Must everything be a joke to you?"

Hunter sighed. "If I cannot joke, then I must
settle with reality, which frankly makes me wish my horse would
have finished me off."

Gwen said nothing as he shrugged and
staggered to his feet. He probably should not have said that aloud
and was momentarily thankful that she chose not to comment. He
stumbled a bit and swore.

Gwen cursed and put an arm around him, then
gasped. "Hunter, you've been shot."

"Oh, now I remember!" He snapped his fingers.
"Yes, that was what I was going to tell you." He looked up into her
crystal blue eyes and grinned. Most likely from the alcohol, not
the simple fact that she had her arms around him, and he'd just
finished kissing her. "I've been shot."

"Yes. I can see that."

"But I didn't feel a thing. Remarkable!"

"Thus the drinking?"

Hunter suddenly felt faint. "Well, yes, I
didn't feel a thing immediately, that is, until I tried to get back
on my horse and that's when I began to wail like an adolescent
girl."

"Never been shot before, hmm?" Gwen
asked.

"No." Hunter took a steadying breath. Sweat
poured down his face. "Never been kicked by a horse before, either.
An entirely uninteresting experience I have no desire to
repeat."

Gwen stopped walking. Why had she stopped?
Did she not see that he was clearly bleeding all over the
place?

"Your horse kicked you as well?"

"Yes." He gritted his teeth. "But to be fair,
he's never been shot at, either. Easy mistake."

Gwen said something about the stupidity of
beasts and wolves, or perhaps she said wolves were just as stupid
as beasts. Whatever she said, he had trouble hearing, since he was
going in and out of consciousness. It did not help that his vision
was suddenly going very, very dark.

He cringed as she helped him walk. He decided
the only way he was going to make it any farther was to keep
himself awake and distracted. "I had two drinks at White's earlier
this afternoon and emptied the contents of my flask on the way here
to numb the pain, though I think your mouth helped more than the
whiskey. Care to give it another try?"

"That depends." Gwen sighed. "Are you feeling
the need to get shot again?"

Hunter waved into the air. "Take me to
Dominique's study. We will have to dress the wound."

"We?"

"Yes." He cursed aloud.

"As in you and I?"

"Is there anyone else here?"

Servants walked silently by them, for the
most part. The odd Russian butler ignored everyone anyway. Besides,
he could not call for a doctor. He didn't want anyone knowing that
his life was in danger. That would just draw more attention to
Gwen, and the last thing he wanted was her in the line of fire.

"I cannot simply…" Gwen waved her free hand
in the air as she braced him against her side. "Sew up your
wound!"

Hunter leaned against her even more heavily
than before. "But I thought you were a woman?"

"Pardon?" A perfectly arched brow lifted, as
if to taunt him into thinking she was upset. Surely she knew her
place in the world.

Hunter chuckled, partly because he was
somewhat foxed and near fainting, and partly because he found her
angry eyebrow intriguing. All dark and menacing, as if it had all
the power in the world to make him feel intimidated. "Women, they
sew all day long. They gossip, they sew, they drink tea, and they
gossip some more. Surely you know how to do some of those
things?"

Gwen was silent.

She helped him the rest of the way into the
study and promptly dropped him onto the floor — onto his wound, to
be more precise, and though the bullet had gone clean through his
side, it hurt like the devil.

"What was that for?" he roared, suddenly
seeing two of her standing before him.

"You son of a—"

"Sheep! Sheep! Bahhhh!"

"Are you mad? What nonsense are you
spouting?" Gwen knelt by his side, concern etched in her brow as
she pressed a hand against his forehead.

Hmm, that felt good. "Sheep," he repeated.
Perhaps pretending to be mad with fever had its advantages.

"Sheep," she agreed. "Why are you screaming
about sheep? Why are you making sheep noises? Oh, I've gone mad.
Why do I even ask you these things when I know you're going to
somehow turn it into something sensual or erotic?"

"I hate to break it to you, my dear, but
there is nothing erotic about a sheep."

Gwen smacked him across the shoulder.

Hunter winced. "Sorry, I was just trying to
keep you from screaming at me, causing Dominique and Isabelle to
stop dallying upstairs and the servants to come running. We are
spies, you know. Show a little decorum."

Hunter could have sworn that, in that moment,
he saw her eyes flash pure murder, as if she dreamt she could have
a pistol and shoot him repeatedly with it, or perhaps knock him
upside the head with her hand or a blunt object, or perhaps throw
him off his horse or— "Ohh…" He moaned. "I cannot decide what hurts
worse, the bullet or my backside."

"Finally turned into a horse's a—"

Hunter clamped his hand over her mouth.
"Whiskey, towels, and please cease your cursing before I'm forced
to cover that dirty and delicious mouth with my lips again."

Gwen jerked away and went to the sideboard.
She loudly pulled out two glasses and poured the whiskey, sloshing
it over the side.

He muttered his thanks as she returned, only
when he held out his hand for the glass, she lifted it to her own
lips and drank heavily. "I believe you've had enough. This is for
me. I know nothing of wounds, and I fear I may be a hindrance."

Hunter grimaced as pain shot down his side
again. Gwen left the room and quickly returned with a cloth. "This
will have to do."

"It is dirty." Hunter stared at the revolting
cloth. What did she do? Stomp on it before bringing it in here?
Feed it to his horse? Allow a chicken to relieve itself on the
threads?

Gwen huffed and sat down. "It is fine.
Besides, it is only to catch the whiskey after I pour it across the
wound."

"Do you know?" Hunter felt the sweat drop
from his chin. "I'm feeling much better. I—"

"Be still." Gwen was already lifting up his
shirt. That was nice. Perhaps if he closed his eyes, he could
imagine that she was seducing him. Her cold hands felt like heaven
against his hot skin. He sighed loudly and then moaned.

Gwen gasped. He opened his eyes. "What?"

"There is a lot of blood." Her face went
white as a sheet.

"Red," Hunter urged, not sure why he was
using her little pet name. "Sweetheart, it must be cleaned.
Besides, I'm a wolf. We are tolerant of flesh wounds."

"Are you now?" Her lower lip trembled before
her teeth bit down on it and chewed. Oh, what he wouldn't give to
be that lip instead of a wolf. Perhaps he should change his name.
Yes, Gwen's lip, sounded much more fierce.

Obviously he was more foxed than he'd
realized, considering he was contemplating changing his nickname to
something so absurd. But blast, how she had plump lips.

"This is going to hurt." She tilted the glass
of whiskey.

"Already does," he grumbled, as the first
remnants of alcohol washed over his wound. He clenched his teeth.
He would not scream, not in front of Gwen. Distraction. He needed a
distraction.

He felt the sweat pour down his neck as she
began to pour more whiskey. All the while Hunter focused on nothing
but her eyes.

And then she looked at him.

A
moment
is what the storybooks would
call it. Time did indeed seem to stand still, but it could have
been his inability to think straight. All he knew in that moment
was that it was probable he was developing perhaps a small
attachment to the woman.

Not an "Allow me to begin naming our future
children" type of attraction; more of one that perhaps a fellow
feels deep in his soul when he sees a type of loneliness in someone
else's eyes and realizes he could be the one to take it away.

"Sleep with me," he blurted.

Gwen's mouth dropped open. Carefully, she
placed the glass on the floor and used her dress to press against
the wound.

Hunter's breath came in short gasps. "Blast,
woman! Must you be so rough?"

Gwen turned a brilliant shade of crimson. "I
bet you say those sweet words to all the ladies."