The Wolf's Pursuit (London Fairy Tales #3)(12)

Hunter rolled his eyes. "You always were dramatic."

"Compared to your current state, I'm a Greek comedy. I'll expect your things later this afternoon." Dominique turned on his heel and left.

Hunter wasn't sure how long he stared at the street. His footman cleared his throat several times, people passed him by, some pointed, others whispered. But he ignored everything save the sound of his heart beating. Thump, thump, thump. It should be a comfort, to know one had a healthy beat in his chest, but all it did was remind him that while his was beating, hers was not.





Chapter Three





Wolf—

It seems we are to be partners. I would rather drown myself in the river Thames, but alas my country needs me, especially since their most notorious spy is rumored to have lost his touch. Shall we meet later, or did you need more time to bathe and eat chocolate?

—Red





Gwen looked down at the paper and grimaced. It was worse than she'd thought if Mrs. Peabody was already picking up on Hunter's notorious affairs. What had he done that was so terrible all those years ago? She read on as her sister continued to laugh about their conversation.





It seems, dear readers, that the Devil Duke and Lord Rawlings have officially lost their titles as the worst sort of rake the ton has ever seen. They can thank me later for my kind words. Gentlemen, I enjoy tea and chocolates. You may send any sort of gift to my publisher.

Now on to more important topics. How, you may ask, have two such notorious rakes been dethroned? Well, let us just say that the man many a rake used to look up to, has returned with a vengeance, and he doesn't care a whit about what he says or does. It shouldn't come as a surprise; after all, nobody could forget the incident of 1806, which I refuse to acknowledge, given the circumstances surrounding it. One thing I will say, however. Ladies, beware of the easy smile and devil-may-care demeanor. They lead to one thing, and it isn't matrimonial bliss. Beware, the Wolf has returned and he, dear readers, is on the prowl. —Mrs. Peabody's Society Papers





"You may cease laughing now," Gwen scolded her sister Rosalind as she took another sip of tea, throwing the gossip rag onto the chair in disgust.

"I just cannot help myself." She wiped a tear of mirth from under her eye and gave Gwen's hand a squeeze. "It is just too funny for words. Debut? You?"

"I am of age!" Gwen raised her voice and then cleared her throat. "Do you not think it is time for me to settle down and find a husband?"

Rosalind sobered and looked down at her lap. "I wish every sort of happiness for you, sister. It is just…" She bit her lip. Gwen waited. "Do you think it is too soon since…?"

Gwen rolled her eyes. "How many times do I need to reassure you? Absolutely nothing happened while I was on my own. I realize I'm not ruined in your eyes and that the rumors have been extremely painful to hear, but sister, I am ready."

"…To enter into the lion's den, hmm?" Montmouth strode into the room and kissed his wife briefly across the mouth before taking a seat. It wasn't at all odd for him to take tea with them. He was, after all, family. Not to mention he acted in the place of their deceased father while their mother was currently in Bedlam.

"It will be fine." Gwen was reassuring herself as much as she was them. It would never be just fine. She knew she was a social pariah. The ton caught wind that she had gone after her sister, alone, in a traveling coach as well as aboard a ship, and she was considered a jezebel of the first order. To add pain to the entire situation, there wasn't a day that went by when she wasn't propositioned by some sort of gentleman to be his mistress.

"Lady Gwendolyn, I've always admired you from afar, and now that you are ruined…" The man would always pause here, as if to give sensual effect to his words as his hand traced her collarbone. "Do you not wish for some sort of male protection? Or companionship? I believe we will get along quite well together."

Just thinking on it made her angry.

The last man who had propositioned her, Sir Kirkland, had hobbled away holding himself and cursing all women to perdition. She'd been quickly escorted from that ball.

"Gwen." Montmouth exhaled. "Are you sure you wish to debut, tonight of all nights? Why not wait a year, wait until another scandal."

"Do you truly think people would ever forget about mine, Stefan?" She'd always addressed him as such, and considering he was the closest family she had other than her sisters, he didn't seem to mind, but one could never be sure with Stefan.

He closed his eyes as if in pain. Rosalind patted his arm. "I do not wish for you to do this."

Gwen gave them each a warm smile and leaned forward. "I will be fine. Through all of this I have seen that I am stronger than even I give myself credit for. I very much wish to be married. At least by debuting, we will put a stop to all the propositions for being someone's mistress."

"Doubt that." Stefan snorted, clenching his fist. "But if you wish it, I will allow it."

Gwen had expected her heart to stop beating in that moment. The last thing she wanted was to debut and go to a ball where everyone would stare at her and wonder if she still held her virginity. The women would gossip, the men would openly stare, and she would count herself lucky if she could escape the evening without at least three attempts from young gentlemen to kiss her or pull her into a corner.