The Wolf's Pursuit (16 page)

The smell of medicine burned his nostrils.
Shaking, he slowly walked to the bed where the Duke of Lainhart was
lying.

"C-came," the old duke blurted. His glassy
eyes held unshed tears as he pointed his finger into the air.

"Oh." A maid appeared at the old duke's side.
"Pardon me, your grace. I did not hear anyone enter into the room.
I'll just leave you alone now."

She looked vaguely familiar. Then again,
everything in this house seemed familiar to Hunter. He nodded in
her direction as she exited, then called, "Wait, what is he
saying?"

Lainhart had one finger pointed in the air
while his other hand hastily wrote across a piece of
blackboard.

The maid smiled warmly. "When he points one
finger into the air, it either means
yes
or
wait
.
When he turns his thumb down, it means
no
or that he
disapproves."

"Right."

The maid disappeared and Hunter returned his
attention to Lainhart. His finger was still thrust in the air while
he concentrated on the board he was shakily writing across.

Nothing better than being disapproved of in
more than one language. Now he would have to suffer knowing that
Lainhart disapproved of him in English, sign language, and of
course, the written word.

Lainhart grunted and looked up, his gray hair
falling near his chin. The man had always been like a giant to
Hunter. Where muscles protruded, a nightshirt pooled around the
man's waist. His face was tired. Deep lines of exhaustion created a
map of age across the man's face. His eyebrows drew in as he turned
the blackboard toward Hunter and pointed.

"Disappointed."

"Me, too," Hunter agreed. "Though I imagine
we are disappointed for two entirely different things. There is,
er, something that needs your attention. As you know, I still work
for the War Office. It seems that some of the codes you created are
being broken and given to the French."

Lainhart shook his head violently and pointed
down.

"Right. I do not have the capability to
understand the codes and the three men who are suspected are ones
who worked directly under you. Before you retired, was there any
one of them you suspected?"

Lainhart closed his eyes and pointed up then
very slowly wrote on the chalkboard. "All."

Hunter cursed. "All of them? You suspected
all of them?"

Lainhart nodded.

"Why haven't you gone to anyone? Why haven't
you said anything?"

His grandfather drew a line through the word
and wrote again. "Need more evidence."

Hunter sighed. "I will find more evidence.
You can count on that."

Lainhart leaned forward and coughed. Hunter
held him so he wouldn't fall from the bed, but the minute he
touched him, Lainhart stopped coughing. His knobby hands pulled at
Hunter's jacket, and then he turned his head slightly to the
nightstand and gave a firm nod and released him.

Hunter reached into the nightstand and pulled
out a thick envelope. Evidence, it had to be. If anything, it would
at least help Hunter find whom his own grandfather suspected the
most.

The old man shook his head and pointed his
finger up into the air. Hunter waited patiently while Lainhart drew
a line through the word and wrote again.

This time it did not take long. He held up
the board and pointed to the phrase, "Find killer."

Hunter felt the blood drain from his face.
"What killer? Of whom are you speaking?" Were they not just talking
about codes a few minutes ago?

"L-l-lucy," Lainhart ground out, his speech
slurred. Sweat poured down his face as he shook his head back and
forth. A tear escaped his eye. "F-f-f-inddd."

So Lainhart had gone mad. "It was an
accident. She was not murdered."

Lainhart began yelling and thrashing his head
back and forth. "N-n-no!"

The door to the room burst open. The old
butler hobbled in and began yelling. "Is your plan to kill him,
then? His heart is too weak! Leave at once!"

Hunter didn't need to be told twice. His
heart twisted in his chest. How he wished that Lainhart was right,
for if Lucy had been killed, that meant Hunter could do something
about it now, which he couldn't.

He nodded to the butler, and made his way
down the hall and down the stairs. It wasn't until he'd almost
reached the door that he remembered he'd left the large packet on
Lainhart's bed. Quickly, he turned, and cursed. The butler stood
just behind him.

"His grace wanted you to have this. Please,
do not return until you have good news."

It was possible the whiskey was talking, but
the butler's one eye seemed to penetrate through Hunter's soul.
Strange, his eyes were familiar. Hunter leaned forward to examine
the man's face further.

"My interests lie with women, I assure you."
The butler grunted and thumped Hunter on the back before leading
him toward the door.

"I wasn't, that is to say, I was just
examining your face to see—" Hunter scratched his head. "What did
you say your name was?"

The butler gently pushed Hunter out onto the
step. "I didn't. Now have a good day."

Wolf—

Then allow me to make myself clear. If you
were in my bedroom (and yes, I dare say bedroom again — careful not
to drool) I would most likely mistake you for a hairy intruder and
shoot you on the spot. Though have a care, I do not wish to see
blood on my floor. Perhaps then I would just push you out the
window and allow the ground to break your fall. Wolves always land
on their feet. Or wait, am I getting you confused with a more
intelligent species?

—
Red

Gwen tried desperately to seem interested
when Trehmont began discussing his desire to set himself apart as a
gentleman of fashion.

"For you see, French blood runs alive and
true through these sturdy veins of mine. Class and fashion are in
my blood, much like passion. Tell me, my dear, have you ever been
with a Frenchman?" He waggled his eyebrows and laughed, though to
be fair, his laugh was more of a gurgle. Apparently having a
perpetual cold was another one of the things that luckily ran
through his sturdy veins.

Gwen folded her hands tightly and tried
desperately to keep herself from screaming at the infuriating man.
She was here to do a job. If she must flirt in order to gain
information, then at least she could know that after this horrid
carriage ride, she would be able to plunge into a bath and wash the
filth of this encounter away.

"I do not believe that topic is appropriate
for an afternoon ride, my lord." She patted his hand, careful not
to jerk back when he grasped it between his clammy fingers.

"Ah, but I forget, you are pure." The way he
said
pure
made her very much doubt his intentions. Would she
never be viewed as such?

Trehmont pulled back on the reins and stopped
the curricle. "Shall we walk for a spell?"

Perhaps she could spook the horses in hopes
that he would be more concerned for his curricle than her?

He offered his hand. Why the devil wasn't he
wearing gloves anyway? She could practically feel the sweat from
his hand seep into her kid gloves. Disgusting.

"Now, where were we?" Trehmont made a grand
show of laughing, as if the topic of their previous conversation
had been amusing or interesting. Unfortunately Hyde Park was
anything but vacant. It seemed every fashionable soul was out and
about, wanting to be seen.

Just her luck, she was to be seen with the
slimiest of them all.

"Trehmont, do tell me, has this war been
difficult for you? All things considering?"

Trehmont gritted his teeth and looked away
from her. "I am not sure I gain your meaning, my lady?"

"You're half French," she stated rather
boldly.

He stopped in his tracks and after several
seconds of staring at the grass looked up to meet her gaze. "My
lady, the only French traits I possess are those of style and
passion, I assure you."

Which truly wasn't all that assuring,
considering his present style. A blue waistcoat with yellow buttons
was offset with a wildly tied orange cravat.

And if his clothing wasn't hint enough, when
he said
passion
and smiled, she noticed a piece of cabbage
stuck in his teeth.

Right. If he was innocent, Hunter was a
virgin.

"Now, where were we?" Trehmont tucked her arm
under his and patted it, as if she were a child he had just put in
her place.

"We were discussing your French blood. I am
so relieved, my lord, that you are not the type to align yourself
with the French while living in the country fighting for your
freedom." If he was guilty, he would at least flinch beneath her
statement.

"But of course," Trehmont said smoothly. "I
do owe England everything. Besides, my mother was English."

"Interesting. I—"

"Lady Gwendolyn, fancy seeing you here."
Hunter strolled up to them with a grim expression on his face. His
eyes flickered to Trehmont's hand on Gwen's. If possible, his
expression darkened even more.

"Is it, though?" Gwen said through clenched
teeth.

"Is what?" Hunter's eyes were still trained
on Trehmont's hand.

"Fancy?"

"Whose fancy?" Hunter's head snapped up.

Gwen made it a point to glare at him. Perhaps
he could read her body language and know he was not welcome.

"Might I join you two for a walk?"

Or not.

"Of course," Trehmont answered as he pulled
Gwen closer to his side.

Hunter, clearly not getting the hint, fell
into step beside them. "By the by, Trehmont, you will never guess
what I heard on my way over here."

"Hmm." Trehmont nodded to a passing couple.
"And what is that?"

"You own a small estate outside of Bath, do
you not?"

Trehmont scowled. "Not that it is any
business of yours, but I own several properties, as I said the day
before." This he directed at Gwen. "Rumors of my ruin are grossly
exaggerated. I do quite well."

"Oh, dear." Hunter stopped walking. "Then
perhaps you should sit for a spell."

"Sit?" Trehmont looked at Hunter as if he
were going mad. "Why the devil would I sit?"

"Your property. It seems there has been a
fire, and well…" Hunter pulled out a handkerchief and wiped beneath
his eyes. "Everything is lost."

Trehmont paled. "Everything, you say?"

Hunter nodded. "Everything. But never fear!
For you said so yourself. You have plenty of property! Come into
money, have you?"

Trehmont cursed a blue streak, threw his
beaver hat to the ground, and began stomping wildly around it.

Gwen leaned in toward Hunter. "Does he
believe his hat is on fire, as well?"

Trehmont yelled again and stomped, cursing as
he did so.

"Perhaps he's finally gone mad," Hunter
observed quietly.

"All of my…" Trehmont paused.

"Possessions?" Hunter offered. "You mean
possessions, do you not? But why, if you have so much property,
would you choose to store all your valuables at such a
location?"

Trehmont's face turned red. "I do not answer
to you! Good day!"

"They will kill him in prison." Hunter sighed
and looked at the poor beaver hat. "Silly, but I feel sorrier for
the hat."

"Prison?" Gwen nearly shouted.

"Hats are too beautiful not to have feelings,
don't you agree, Red? I'd expect you to slap me if I ever treated
my things in such a fashion."

"Prison?" Gwen said again, this time nearer
to Hunter's ear. Clearly he was having trouble hearing.

"Hats are quite expensive. Did you know that
just last week, when I was on my way to Hoby's to buy some new
boots, I—"

"Hunter!" Gwen grabbed his arm and pinched.
"What the devil is wrong with you? Stop spouting nonsense about
hats. Why is Trehmont going to prison?"

"Oh. That." Hunter smiled and jerked his arm
away, careful to smooth down the nonexistent wrinkles on his
perfect jacket. "Seems the man has been smuggling for the past few
years. But what I find interesting is that the War Office has known
all along. They've used his smuggling business as a front to
transfer messages back and forth during the war. Seems the money
wasn't enough for Trehmont, and he started his own side business. I
do wonder what the War Office will think of that."

"Smuggling?"

"Yes. And gaining quite a profit."

"How did you know?"

"I read minds," Hunter stated dryly.

"Can you read mine now?" Gwen purposefully
thought of pushing Hunter into the river.

"Death." He choked and then laughed. "See, I
told you I could read minds."

"Aghh!" Gwen stomped her foot and lunged for
him.

He pulled her into a tight embrace and
whispered in her ear, "Have a care, my dear, we are in public and
we cannot look too familiar."

"Then release me."

Hunter sighed but did not relinquish his
grip. "If I release you now, it will look like a lover's
quarrel."

"What differences does now or five minutes
make?"

Hunter whispered into her ear, his breath
tickling the delicate flesh around her neck. "A lover's embrace, my
dear. It must look like we are engaging in something
forbidden."

"I am ruined already. The only men who are
interested are ones who smuggle and apparently keep food saved in
their teeth."

"Not all of them, Gwen." Hunter's voice was
gruff as he released her and set her to rights. "Not all of
them."

He offered his arm. She took it, nearly
forgetting that her maid had been following them the entire time.
She motioned for her to continue behind them and allowed Hunter to
lead her away from Trehmont's discarded hat.

"How did you find out about the
smuggling?"

"I read."