"In public."
Hunter sighed. "I was foxed."
"Believe me, nobody will forgive you that even if you were foxed. I believe you left town the next day."
"Forgive me," Isabelle interjected. "But is that to mean that tonight will be your first night in society since?"
"The incident," both Hunter and Dominique finished in unison.
Her mouth formed an O before she closed it and smirked to herself. "So you're to be playing the rake?"
"My dear." Hunter leaned forward and brushed her arm with his gloved hand. "I am a rake."
Dominique cleared his throat as Isabelle jerked back and giggled behind her hand. "I'm sorry, Hunter. I just don't see it. You've always been so…" She shrugged. "Happy."
Her admonition made his heart lurch. Of course he acted happy. It was the only way to convince himself he was. If he stopped jesting and making a fool of everyone around him, then the silence would kill him. He was convinced that if he even spent one day without finding humor, even if it meant hurting others, then grief would destroy him. He had come close today. So dangerously close while he was in his carriage.
He could not. No, he would not allow himself that same weakness again. She was dead. It was his fault. He would burn in Hell, and he needed to pay for his sins by living through certain torture every day without her. By breathing when air was suddenly missing.
Shrugging, he gave her a seductive smile, the kind where he purposefully drew his lips across his teeth as his eyes boldly scanned her body and then in a husky voice he said, "My lady, was that a challenge?"
Dominique took a step between them "Do not encourage him, my dear, truly. I do not wish to see him talk you out of your gown."
"I am a married woman. I am in love! I would never! Hunter is my friend!" Her words came out at a rapid speed.
"My dear." Dominique chuckled. "I do love you, and I trust you, but Hunter is…" He glared at Hunter then looked softly back at his wife. "The very devil possesses that man, for I've never seen so many married woman fall at his feet. He truly is the best kind of hunter."
"But what does one do…" Hunter asked as he rose from his seat, "when the hunter is also the Wolf?" With a wink in their direction, he walked toward the doors. "I assume I'm in the red room. I'll just see to my things."
Hunter walked briskly out of the room and toward the stairs, but Samuel stopped him in his tracks. A grim expression passed across the old butler's face before he held the platter in the air in front of Hunter, nearly taking off his nose in the process. "Your grace, this message was delivered for you."
"I feel at home already." Hunter grinned and slapped the butler on the back quite forcefully, making the man stumble a bit on his feet before rolling his eyes and turning away.
There was no seal on the letter. Curious, he opened it. A grin spread across his face so widely, he was sure he would be sore in the morning. A simple letter should not affect him so, but there it was, irritatingly making him want to smirk and pat himself on the back.
It read, I'll be wearing a red cape. Try not to make a complete fool out of yourself. —Red
Yes, tonight was going to be a lovely night indeed. He decided to pen her something back.
"I will be wearing nothing at all. —The Wolf"
Laughing aloud, he scribbled quickly on the bottom of the note and passed it on to the butler. With great gusto, he gave a deep bow to the silly man and whistled on his way to his rooms. Maybe, just maybe it wouldn't be such a horrible mission after all.
****
"Who is that from, dear?" Rosalind asked as Gwen stuffed the correspondence into her pocket. "Why are you so flushed? Are you feeling ill? Is this about tonight?"
Gwen gritted her teeth. Ever since her sister's marriage, she had turned into something of a stand-in mother. Not that Gwen minded, but in times like these, she truly valued her privacy. "Nothing to be alarmed about. Merely an old friend wishing to inform me of his dress so we may match tonight."
"His?" Rosalind repeated. "Gwen, do you have a tender for a young gentleman?"
"He isn't young, he's old and quite flighty. In fact, I'm sure he's just one drink away from dying. Do not trouble yourself with such things." Gwen gave her sister a cheeky grin before dashing up the stairs to ready herself for the ball.
Once she was inside the safety of her room, she pulled the letter out and bit back a curse. How was she to deal with this man every day of the Season? If anything, it made her resolve to finish up the mission that much more implacable. She needed to be finished with Hunter. It was hard enough that his face plagued her thoughts, his scorching kiss still made her dizzy.
Taking a calming breath, she rang for her maid. It was time to become Red. The type of scandalous girl worthy of a debut. If ruin was what they wanted, then ruin they were going to get.
Chapter Four
Red—
Bathe? Eat chocolate? You naughty little minx. If I bring the chocolate, will you supply the bath? I promise to feed you. I don't, however, promise to be naked. I'll allow you the pleasure of disrobing me. Until we meet.
—The Wolf
Gwen was a woman. Well, of course she was a woman, his body would never let him forget that little tidbit. Regardless, if she thought he wouldn't want to brief her before their meeting, she was sadly mistaken. He'd never worked with a partner before, and he wasn't about to allow her to ruin the mission by her inability to change her sex. He winced. Perhaps that was harsh. To change her sex meant…
With a curse, he rounded the corner where the servants' entrance was located and waited. It was the only location, Gwen had assured him, that would not be run down with people.
After ten minutes, he began walking back and forth on the grass, or to be honest, stomping. The ball was to commence soon.
And she was late.
Women.
He huffed on a cheroot for five minutes and kicked some stones with his polished shoes. What the devil was taking her so long? One would think a spy, or at least a good spy, knew why it was important to be on time.
The cheroot suddenly went bitter in his mouth. He spit it out and cursed, running a hand through his hair. Would he always be haunted by his tardiness? Would everything serve to remind him of her?
"You're early," a feminine voice announced from the doorway.
"No." He turned. "You're l—" Not only was he instantly aroused but he suddenly could not remember what he was going to say. He felt his eyes widen as they strained to take in her dress. It was red. Not pastel, not white, but red. The very color only married women and those of ill repute chose to wear. Perhaps she could get away with it. If her hair wasn't so dark and her skin so pale. Her lips were painted just slightly, and he couldn't help but wonder if they tasted the same as before. Like fresh mint and warm berries.
He cleared his throat and regained his composure, but just by an inch. "You look beautiful."
"Well, thank you. I thought—"
"However," he interrupted, "you must change immediately."
"Pardon?"
"Did I speak too quietly? Perhaps I had a bit of a stutter? Or are you merely hard of hearing? Oh, I know!" He snapped his fingers and gave her a grin. "Were you so distracted by my appearance? Yes, I've had many a woman comment on that very thing. It's the eyes. I like to think of them as golden amber. You may refer to me as a god if you like. I won't mind." He stepped out of the shadows and peered down at her. "Regardless of how you address me, or your reason for not understanding, you still need to change."
"Absolutely not!" Gwen took a step back, but he snaked his arm around her and pulled her flush against his chest.
"I see you are going to be difficult." He smirked, quite enjoying the way her body felt in his arms. Curse the ball, he'd rather stay right where he was.
Her eyes narrowed as she pulled her head back so their foreheads wouldn't touch. "I'm not trying to be anything. I'm merely offended that you want me to change. I happen to like my gown."
"Y
ou and every other gentleman with a heartbeat. You cannot simply waltz into the ballroom dressed like a courtesan."
"But Hunter," she leaned in and whispered, so near his lips it was painful, "who said anything about waltzing?" In a flash, she maneuvered her way out of his hold and winked. "I plan on walking."
"Not like that." He pulled her arm again. This time she tried pinning him against the wall, but he beat her to the task, his legs straddling hers in a hold he was certain she wouldn't get out of. "Men will not take you seriously. You are supposed to be making a debut. You are husband-hunting, sweet." He ran his free hand down the side of her face. "And you look nothing like a dutiful wife."
"What do I look like?"
"A whore."
"Better a whore than a has-been."
Rage took over, pumping through his veins. "Did you just call me a has-been?"
"Did you just call me a whore?" she countered.
He loosened his hold on her, but her haughty eyebrow chose that exact moment to lift, as if announcing to the world that she had bested him.
"Let me see." His lips came crushing down on hers. He forced his tongue into her mouth, shamelessly ran his hands down her naked arms. She pushed him back, her face a mixture of hurt and anger. "That is why you cannot wear that dress."
"Why?" Her lower lip quivered.
"Because, my dear, a whore would never respond like you did. It would be a dangerous game to play. And you, love, would not be the victor."
He brushed his lips against her cheek and began walking away.
"Hunter." Her voice was hoarse and angry. "What was so bad about my response?"
He froze in his steps and turned around. "I don't recall saying it was bad." With a smirk he walked away, clenching his fists as hard as he could so he would not be tempted to run back to her. That would put an immediate stop to his mission.
That dress. Lust screamed at him to do something about that dress. Blast it all! The woman was going to get herself killed! Men were not as feeble as she would like to believe. One look from her, in that dress, and a man would move mountains for one night with her. Unfortunately, because of her reputation, they would merely attempt to steal her away into the dark gardens. The thought made anger anew flush through his system. He wasn't sure what made him feel so protective of her. He'd never worked with a woman before. It wasn't as if he'd never seen a woman either! He'd had his share of… excursions. Granted, none of them had her breasts or lips, or smile, for that matter. But he had always thought it easy — a simple transaction and they parted ways.
With Gwen, he had this insane desire to protect her. Yet what if he was the one who needed protection? If she wasn't who she said she was, if her loyalty had been bought? It was a dangerous game they were playing.
One thing was for certain, he didn't need to make the girl desirable. After tonight, she'd have every available gentleman prostrate at her feet. The rub, it seemed, was how he was going to discover if she was a double agent. And if not, what influential person was no longer loyal to the Crown?
****
That went well. He waited in the shadows while the Wolf stomped off in the opposite direction of the girl. Red put her hands on her hips and scowled after him. Yes, his partner was very correct in his assumption. The woman would be quite a tasty morsel for the Wolf. He would feast upon her until he was weak, both physically and emotionally, and in the end, he would sacrifice his soul to keep her alive. Even if it meant treason.
****
Confusing, irritating, ridiculous man! Who kisses like a god. "Gwen!" she yelled at herself and closed her eyes, trying to focus on her mission, focus on her one goal for the night. But all she could think about was his lips against hers. She hated that the minute he kissed her, she was lost. Her knees had gone weak, her breath had mingled so tightly with his that she wasn't sure if she was even breathing anymore. His touch made her shiver. The very reason she had for working with the man seemed to dissipate. She thought in vain that, if she were merely reminded of his rakish ways and ridiculous smile, her heart and mind would immediately reject him. He would be a poison to her. Never faithful, never kind, always teasing. Besides, there was something about his eyes, some hidden secret, or perhaps it was an agenda. Or maybe he really was just, plainly, a wolf. A predator.
How was she to ever experience happiness if she had to compare Hunter's kisses with others? Unfortunately, he knew just how desirable he was. Which meant she had to work that much harder to keep him away if she wanted to escape the Season unscathed.
She looked down at her dress and sighed. Blast the man, he was right. Though she would never admit it to him, she'd known it was a bad idea from the start, but her nerves and determination had gotten hold. Her pride no longer existed. It had disappeared the day she arrived back in London, only to find her name scattered about Mrs. Peabody's society papers.
Things had become progressively worse when she'd gone to a small gathering only to find herself being whispered about and ignored. A few even gave her the cut direct. She was labeled as used goods. Never mind that she had only ever kissed one man. But that one kiss might as well have ruined her, for ever since that day, she hadn't felt the same.
Cursing Hunter for a good five minutes, using as many languages as she could think of, she finally ran back through the servants' entrance and up to her rooms.
"The white one," she directed to her maid. "I've decided to change into the white gown and I will wear the red hooded shawl as planned."
"As you wish." Her maid gave her an odd look but made quick work of undressing her. The red gown had been daring in color, but the white gown was daring in a completely different way. For starters it was dangerously low, even for a married woman to be wearing. The bodice had pearls sewn into the material and a very tiny slit went up to her knee underneath the first layer, making it possible if one looked very hard to see part of her leg.
It was all part of her plan. Look daring, be daring, and gain secrets. After all, the only way she could imagine gaining an offer and learning information about those disloyal to the Crown was to have gentlemen find interest in her.
Before tonight, she could have had the best personality in the world and they would only offer her companionship.
After tonight, she was planning on unleashing everything she had. Hoping, desperately that it would work.
****
Hunter waited a half hour before going through the front entrance. He pulled a flask out of his pocket, ran a hand roughly through his hair, and loosened his cravat, just slightly.
All in all, he hoped his appearance looked as if he had just finished having the best night of his life and eagerly sought more companionship. Not the type of entrance he had hoped to make upon returning to London. But then again, he hadn't wanted to return. Ever.
When he was announced the room went silent.
He always did like being the center of attention. At least then he could ignore that irritating pain in his heart that told him he was alone.
"I don't believe I've ever had such a warm welcome. You are, of course, allowed to applaud as you see fit." He winked in Montmouth's direction. The duke narrowed his eyes. His wife, however, looked quite amused as she began clapping wildly.
The rest followed suit, most likely trying to figure out why the devil they were clapping for a man they'd rather see hanging by a noose, especially considering how much he offended their delicate sensibilities.
He gave a little bow to his audience, and immediately went to Montmouth's side. "A pleasure, as always, your grace."
"Doing it a little brown, aren't we, Haverstone?"
"Whatever do you mean?" Hunter tilted his head and boldly eyed the Duchess of Montmouth. "I was merely trying to remedy an awkward situation."
"You did lovely." The duchess reached out to him.
He grasped her hands and pulled her close. "Do you really think so?"
She gasped as Montmouth pried her hands away from Hunter's grasp.
T
he duke cursed but a small smile danced across his lips. "I think I speak for every married man here: find yourself a woman and settle down before you find yourself fighting in a duel."
"But your grace…" Hunter tried to look horrified. "Those are illegal! I am, after all, a lover, not a fighter."
The duchess burst out laughing as Hunter was ushered away by Montmouth at alarming speed.
"Must you always be so—"
"Charming? Dashing?" Hunter filled in, suddenly enjoying himself now that the pain in his heart had begun to slightly fade.
"I was going to say irritating," Montmouth ground out as he reached for a glass of champagne. "Just be careful not to seduce any women who are married and you will do just fine."
"Why, Monmouth! Are you of all people giving me sane advice? Is it because you care for my welfare? Must admit, my tastes haven't ever swung in that direction, you silly man, but I thank you for your concern."
"I do not care a whit for you."
"Surprising." Hunter gulped the rest of his wine and placed the empty glass on a passing tray, then grabbed another. "And here I thought we were to be going shooting and riding tomorrow, all the while laughing into the sunset. I'm so disappointed."
"Clearly." Montmouth grunted. "Just be careful. This is the duchess's first ball of the Season and she is nervous."
"Then perhaps her husband should go about easing her nerves." Hunter grinned wolfishly, and when Montmouth made no move in her direction, Hunter added, "Or perhaps her tastes are running more on the wild side tonight, hmm?"
Montmouth's arm shot out to stop Hunter. "One week."
"Pardon?" Hunter shrugged out of the duke's hold.
Montmouth slapped him forcefully on the back. "One week before you fight your first duel."