The Wolf's Pursuit(6)

"The pleasure's all mine," she said breathlessly as her grip on the knife loosened. Beginner's mistake, for it was all the chance he was going to get.

Seduction, for Hunter, had always been simple, a strategic battle plan of sorts. Make her desire him, mirror that desire, compliment, touch, please, and finally leave. After all, he was always starving after such an encounter, and it was always best to keep all seductions and encounters under twelve hours.

Always.

His hand moved to her neck. Closing his eyes he breathed in the scent of her skin. A spicy mix of cinnamon and honey. His thumb rubbed her bottom lip. A pink tongue snuck out and licked playfully at his thumb. Gwen's eyes darkened.

And he had her.

Precisely where he and other parts of his anatomy wanted her.

On her back.

And at his mercy.

She didn't even see the pistol slip out of his pocket, for he had already knocked her cold by the time her eyes widened in realization.

He lifted her onto the bed and cursed. "Worst spy in the history of the Crown? I think not." She would wake up within the hour, cursing him to perdition, but he would be long gone, never to see her again.

But before he left, he had a little spying to do. Spying that even Red couldn't accomplish without getting her pretty little self shot.

Without another thought to the woman lying in the bed, Hunter left to sneak into the Englishmen's rooms. After handing the innkeeper some blunt, he was extremely helpful in giving Hunter the information he needed as to the rooms rented to the men.

After five minutes of picking the lock, he was finally able to make it into the first room. Nothing. It was as if the gentleman hadn't brought a thing with him on the trip.

He tried the next three.

All empty.

Cursing, he made his way down the stairs. The chairs where the gentlemen had been sitting were empty. Money left on the table.

They'd left. The inn had been a front.

Hunter cursed again and made his way to the front door, only to see it burst open. A Norse-looking fellow barged in, demanding to know where a certain English girl named Gwen had disappeared to. If Hunter hadn't been so tired after fighting off the wench, he'd have the good sense to be alarmed that an Englishman was boldly yelling such incriminating things about the girl.

"How dare that strong-willed defiant child leave home!" the duke screamed, "Selfish, selfish woman!"

Hunter lifted a brow at the man's words, her reputation truly was well and ruined by now.

Either she was his wife or a family member. Judging by the wild look in the man's eyes, Hunter assumed she must be his sister. For any man with even an ounce of pride would not announce to perfect strangers that he was not man enough to keep his wife happy in his bedroom.

The man continued to yell at the innkeeper. The money Hunter had given the innkeeper had been sufficient it seemed, considering he had to be lying through his teeth.

Poor sod, he was going to get his ears boxed if Hunter didn't intervene.

With a quick shake of his head, his hair fell wildly about his face. He limped heavily toward the Englishman and winced. Cursing as if he was in pain from a war injury but too foxed to realize why. A large black coat was left on a nearby chair, and he quickly put it over his shoulders. Hunter stopped in front of the Englishman and scowled. "Gwen, you say?"

His words were purposefully slurred.

"Yes," the man clipped. His eyes narrowed fiercely as he clenched his teeth together.

"I believe she's already been found, just up there in that room." Hunter pointed to where he had left her, but made sure to keep his head low as to not give away his identity. "Some spy was boasting about how he rescued her from certain ruin, as well as getting herself shot! Can you believe she was spouting out nonsense that some Beast had stolen her sister? Truthfully, if this very capable and well known — and let's not forget infamous — spy, the Wolf, hadn't stumbled across her, she may have very well been killed, or worse ruined, if you get my meaning." Blazes, he forgot to slur. Well, that's what pride did to a man. He winced and toppled to the side, then stole a glance at the man.

The man's gaze turned murderous. Clearly he got the innuendo.

"My thanks," he finally said, reaching into his pocket.

"No payment necessary. I shall truly sleep better this very night, knowing such a diamond of the first water is safe in her…" Hunter blinked innocently. "I'm sorry, old fellow, who did you say you were? What kind of man would I be if I let some fluffy-looking fancy person take advantage of the poor lass?"

"Montmouth."

Blast. If she was his charge, Hunter had half a mind to feel sorry for him. The savage duke had just recently been married to Rosalind Hartwell, who was in fact Gwen and Isabelle's sister. The only way he was even privy to such information was because he had spent the better part of the past two months with the Beast of Russia, whose wife was none other than Isabelle Hartwell. It was rumored that their family was quite mad, or at least used to be. Some sort of curse had befallen them all. But the rumors had been quickly laid to rest after Montmouth married Lady Rosalind. Though Hunter hadn't found it good timing that his best friend Dominique Maksylov, the Beast, had chosen that opportune time to pay off the family and take Isabelle for his own. The entire sordid tale of that family was one fit for the storybooks or at least a Greek play.