The Wolf's Pursuit (London Fairy Tales #3)(31)

"She is…" Hunter couldn't very well say mine. That sounded possessive. Yet all he wanted to do was slug his cousin across the jaw for the condescending smile pasted on his face.

"She is what?" With a laugh, Eastbrook walked out of the establishment, leaving Hunter alone and very much wanting to murder the next person that dared speak to him.

"Fancy seeing you here."

He knew that voice. Please let it not be true. Please let him be already foxed and conjuring up dukes.

He looked to his left and saw Montmouth with another fellow in tow. God was surely punishing him. He hadn't the temper to talk with Montmouth longer than two seconds.

Hunter imagined his body would be thrown through the glass window if he engaged in a longer conversation.

"May we sit?" Montmouth motioned to the two empty chairs. Hunter quickly took a long swig of his drink.

"Rawlings, do take a seat. You look positively ill."

The man with dark features, named Rawlings, sat on the chair but looked like he was ready to either murder someone or strangle himself, his hands were wrung so tightly.

"This…" Montmouth pointed to Rawlings, who was now staring at the floor as if it were to come alive at any moment. Was he foxed? "This is Lord Rawlings. His wife at this very instant has kicked him from his home so she may bring his heir into the world without him pacing the floorboards, most likely ruining the new floors in the process."

That explained his ill look.

For whatever reason, Hunter took pity. "I'm sure she will do nicely."

Rawlings' head snapped up.

Instant recognition flashed across his features.

Truly, Hunter should have looked away or at least said something, but all he could do was sputter. "Phillip!"

"Hunter!"

"What?" Montmouth's reaction was filled with more dread then excitement.

Hunter jumped to his feet and pumped Phillip's hand with glee. "I haven't seen you since France!"

"Yes, about that…" Phillip turned slightly red and glanced back at Montmouth before scratching his head and shifting his feet. "Not many know the sordid details."

"It was you!" Montmouth nearly shouted.

"Shh!" both men said in unison, all three of them now taking their seats and huddling together.

Monmouth looked between the two of them and finally addressed Phillip. "He was the one that bet you to swim naked in France?"

"Nothing but rumors." Hunter tried to defend him but failed miserably.

Rawlings shook his head, shoulders finally relaxing. He leaned back and laughed. "In his defense, the man was drunk when he bet me."

"And in his defense…" Hunter joined with them in laughter. "He was drunker, and if I remember correctly, gaining a little too much attention from a certain courtesan who would have robbed him blind if given the opportunity."

"And there's also that." Rawlings laughed. "It is good to see you, Hunter. Or shall I address you as Haverstone? It's odd, really, I hadn't ever thought about your title before."

"Yes, well, I didn't even know you had inherited until now, so you are forgiven."

Montmouth was glancing between the two as if he had just created some grievous sin. His face had turned pale. "How do you two know one another?"

"He's a spy," Phillip blurted and then quickly looked to Hunter. Who nodded his head in amusement.

"Pardon?" Montmouth hooted with laughter. His head fell back against the chair as he wiped tears from his eyes.

Hunter fought the urge to shout his own name aloud in order to gain attention, for he truly was that famous. How had Montmouth not heard of him? Or at least put two and two together?

"Glad I amuse you," Hunter said dryly, for once not putting his foolish smile or rakish lazy mask in place.

Montmouth looked at him, really looked at him. Hunter waited and tilted his head.

"I don't understand."

It was time for Phillip to laugh. "Surely you jest! You truly did not know that you've been waltzing around with the Wolf?"

"Wolf?" Montmouth said, then his eyes widened. "The Wolf?"

"The one and only." Hunter saluted.

Montmouth looked between the two of them. "But he's an idiot." This directed at Phillip.

"He's brilliant." Phillip defended his old friend and rose to his feet. "This truly has been a pleasure. I hadn't thought to see you again. By the by, thank you for keeping me out of trouble in France."

"Not a problem." And Hunter meant it.

"Do call upon us soon." Phillip smiled and pumped his hand. "Wish me luck. I'm off to meet my son or daughter."

"Son," Hunter said without realizing he had spoken. Both men looked at him. "A man like you deserves a son."

Phillip nodded and walked off.

"Explain yourself," Montmouth growled before Hunter could even find his seat again.

"No."

"No?"

"Are you deaf?"

"Are you stupid?" Montmouth fired back.

"Clearly not. But I take it you are."

"I'm ignoring that slight to my intelligence, but only because I'm interested in what you're doing back in London and living with Dominique and Isabelle."