The Wolf's Pursuit (London Fairy Tales #3)(11)

"You will need to speak to him about the three men we are investigating, Haverstone. After all, before his recent accident, he was very much still involved with the dealings of the War Office as well as the codes."

Hunter grunted, then left the room before he said something he'd regret. He had not spoken to Lainhart in years, and he had no desire to start now.

Hunter refused to take the blame for his grandfather's bitterness. They were not blood related, for he had been Lucy's grandfather. The old man always did have something to complain about, whether it be his granddaughter marrying too young, or marrying a man who worked for the Crown.

Hunter smirked. The old man got his wish in the end. For the week after his wife's death, Hunter had attended one ball and ruined everything.





****





"The chess pieces have been placed very nicely, don't you think?" the gentleman asked as he took a long sip of whiskey. The London sky was darkening as if it were in tune with the plans that lay ahead. Plans that had taken over ten years to fulfill. Finally, riches would be his.

"Yes, though I find myself at a loss. Why set up the girl when she is clearly innocent? Isn't our goal to trap the Wolf?"

"Bait, my friend." The man chuckled. "Little Red will be our bait, and the very thing that will push him over the edge."

"How do you know?"

The man threw the glass to the floor and stomped over to his partner, sneering in his face as he noticed the man's lips tremble in fear. "Because this isn't the first time I've betrayed the Wolf, and I doubt it will be my last." He released his trembling partner and cursed. "Now, stop dallying. We have a war to win."





****





It began to rain, which fit quite perfectly into his already frustrated mood. Hunter slowly made his way down the stairs into the street. Once he was inside his carriage, he threw off his hat and leaned his head against the cold leather interior.

London was the same.

Everything was the same.

From the dreary pungent smell, to the constant gray skies, it was as if the city was mocking him. How was he to do his job when it was difficult for him to put one foot in front of the other without becoming paralyzed with grief?

The carriage moved slowly, causing an agonizing thump to begin in Hunter's chest. He passed Lucy's favorite park, her parents' townhome, and finally they passed Gunther's.

Hunter hit the side of the door with as much force as he could, which was poor considering his ill state. With a loud curse, he threw the door open just in time to spew the contents of his stomach into the street.

And directly onto a pair of shiny Hoby boots.

"Drinking so early in the morning? That is not at all like you, old friend." Dominique Maksylov, royal prince of Russia and new Earl of Hariss, shook his head in amusement while kicking his boots against the street in dismay.

"Apologies." Hunter cleared his throat and prayed his friend of ten years wouldn't notice the exhaustion and worry etched across his brow.

"For drinking or for being unable to handle your drink?"

"Neither." Hunter smiled the first real smile that day. "I had only one drink, if you must know, Mother. I was merely sick from the carriage ride. Never could sit backwards."

"If it helps, keep your curtains closed, Hunter." Dominique put his hand on Hunter's shoulder, making him feel immediately worse. Why the devil did Dominique have to be so blasted sensitive to everything Hunter was feeling? Truly, God was giving him a taste of his own medicine. Was it only a few months ago that Hunter had involved himself in helping his old friend find happiness? A bit of calling the kettle black, he suspected, now that the roles were reversed.

His eyes quickly scanned Dominique. Gone was his beastly appearance. His hair was trimmed short, and his smile appeared permanent. Hunter clenched his teeth and tried to pull away from Dominique's heavy hand.

But he held firm.

"Stay with us."

No, the last thing he needed was to be reminded about how bitterly unhappy he was. Staying the Season with Dominique and his beautiful wife sounded just as fun as banging his head against a rock. "No."

"Yes."

"No, blast it all. Dominique, I cannot stay with you! I'll stay at one of my homes. I do have means." He jerked away and scowled.

"So it is to be like that?"

"I do not know what you are referring to. You always were vague with your words."

Dominique threw his head back and laughed before returning his twinkling gaze to Hunter. "I won't take no for an answer."

"Well…" Hunter crossed his arms. "It seems we are at an impasse. Shall it be pistols at dawn, then?"

Dominique squinted. "It is that bad then, isn't it?"

"What is?"

His friend swallowed and looked away. "It is your first time back since the accident."

Accident? To say it had been an accident was nearly unbearable, for that meant it could have been prevented. Should have been prevented. Hunter felt the all-too-familiar sting behind his eyes, the lump in his throat, and the pain that came when one was trying to hold in a decade of tears. "It is."

"If shooting me will make you feel better, I'll allow it. Just be sure to explain to my wife upon my death that your pride got in the way of taking help from a friend when you needed it the most."