The Wolf's Pursuit (London Fairy Tales #3)(46)

A maid was slowly walking down the stairway. "Apologies, it seems our butler has gone missing!"

"Clearly," Hunter said dryly. "I need to see Lainhart. We have a meeting of sorts."

"Of course. Just this way." She turned to go back up the stairs, but he caught her arm.

"Actually, I know where he is. I am, after all, his grandson."

The maid paled. "I'm so sorry, your grace, I had no idea! I—"

"It is of no consequence. I will see myself the rest of the way to his room."

Nodding, she nearly ran back down the stairs as he quickly walked in the direction of Lainhart's room.

Without knocking, he burst into the room, his eyes scanning for the maid who usually attended to his grandfather. She was sitting by his side, and she was writing.

Lainhart looked up and pointed down. Not good.

"Has he had enough time to decipher it?" Hunter outwardly remained calm, even though his heart was pounding in his ears.

Lainhart pointed up while the maid nodded. "Yes, it seems part of the code was destroyed, but there is enough to see the location and time. There is also a smaller code near the corner of the paper that says something disturbing."

"And?"

Lainhart shook his head slowly and pointed down as he opened his mouth. "A-again."

The maid sighed. "He's been saying that all day. Again, again. I have no clue what he means, and he often falls asleep after he tries to speak. The exertion is hard on his frail body. I do not know how this will help but I wrote down what he was able to decipher."

She held out a note.

Hunter greedily took it. "My thanks. I have an appointment. I must be going."

"S-stop!" Lainhart wailed.

Hunter watched as his grandfather's mouth shook, his lips trying to form words that his body was no longer able to pronounce. "D-danger."

Sweat ran down Lainhart's cheek as he repeated the same word again and closed his eyes.

"I know, grandfather. I know." His eyes flickered to Lainhart's hand. It twitched and then he pointed up and crossed his heart.

"What does that mean?" Hunter asked the maid.

She swiped a tear from underneath her eye and sighed. "A broken heart."

Anger and guilt slammed Hunter in the chest. Unable to breathe, he nodded and ran out of the room as fast as he could. He ran until he reached the front door and ran until he was in front of his carriage. All the while pushing the memory of what he'd just seen to the farthest point in his mind.

His fault.

He had broken the old man's heart.

And Lainhart had nothing to show for it. Nothing but a grandson by marriage who did exactly what Eastbrook had accused him of.

Abandoned his family, abandoned what was left of it, took up with the first whore he saw, and never returned to London.

Until now.

He truly was a poison. Would he ever get life right? Or would he for the rest of his existence be in purgatory, hoping that when he did die, what he did on earth was enough to atone for the sin of being late? Of not being the husband he should have been?

He shoved his hands into his pockets, then suddenly remembered he had the note still clenched tightly within his palm.

Hunter unfolded the paper and read the location.

Hyde Park. Three in the afternoon. Bring Lady Gwendolyn, and then near the side of the note, just as the maid had said, was the word death.

"No, no..." His hands shook as he jumped into the carriage. "Hyde Park! As fast as you can!"

The carriage jolted to life, but all Hunter could think as he waited an eternity to arrive, was that he could not go on living if he was to be late a second time.

He would rather die.

Within minutes, he was at Hyde Park. He jumped, or rather flailed, out of the carriage and began running — not sure which direction to run into and not caring that he looked a complete lunatic. The note hadn't said which area of the park, and considering it was quite large, he would have a devil of a time locating them.

His eyes greedily scanned the park. Most people were too caught up in their own lives to notice that he was having a near apoplexy as he tried to locate Redding or the crest on his carriage.

Just when he was about to give up hope, he saw him.

Across the park, near the Corner, and laughing as he got into his carriage.

Hunter ran across the grass, his legs burning as his muscles flexed and stretched.

An eerie sense of foreboding caused him to stop in his tracks as he watched the carriage drive away, and then explode. Pieces of debris went flying into the air as the horses neighed and galloped from the scene, both of them covered in dust. Blood was everywhere.

Hunter froze. Everyone around him screamed, women began running in every direction, men cursed and quickly herded people away from the disaster.

But Hunter was immobile.

Late. Again. His heart clenched. Funny, for he hadn't realized his still worked after breaking in two, but there it was, slamming into his chest and causing him more pain than he thought possible.

Hadn't he already lived through enough guilt?

Gwen was dead. And it was his fault. Because for the second time in his life, he was late and unable to stop catastrophe.

He choked back a sob and walked solemnly toward Montmouth's residence.

It was the same walk he had taken not nine years previous, when he'd had to announce to Lainhart that his granddaughter, his favorite little girl, had died.