The Wolf's Pursuit (London Fairy Tales #3)(9)

"No." Wilkins grinned and leaned back. "Would you care for a brandy?"

"I see." Hunter nodded. Perhaps if he drank more, this sick feeling in his stomach would alleviate. "So it is to be that type of mission."

"But I have not yet explained what it is you need to accomplish."

"You don't need to." Hunter stretched his arms above his head and sighed. "If you find it necessary to give me brandy before the assignment, then it must be nasty business indeed."

Wilkins merely nodded in agreement. After a pregnant silence, he rose from his seat and walked over to the cabinet to pour some brandy. He handed Hunter a glass and threw back the contents of his own before filling it up again.

So it truly was that bad.

"What is it that His Majesty needs me to do?" Hunter asked plainly as he slowly sipped the amber liquid.

"Enter into society." Wilkins winced as he took another sip of brandy. "That is to say, if you can manage it successfully and without seducing the lesser half of London in the process."

Irritated, Hunter drank the rest of the fiery liquid and cursed. "If I can manage? I believe I've been adequately managing for over ten years, Wilkins. Entering into society will be easier than entering into Napoleon's bedroom, I assure you."

"It will not be that easy, I assure you." Wilkins fired back.

"Do you so easily forget who I am?"

"No, but clearly you do." Wilkins took a seat opposite Hunter and sighed. "You cannot be absent from society for near a decade after your wife's accident and your brother's mysterious death without causing a debacle. It isn't in the ton's nature and you very well know it. Besides, your cover has long ago been blown, no thanks to you."

It hadn't been Hunter's fault that the papers had taken stories of his escapades and made him famous. Known as the Wolf of Haverstone, he was probably more of a target than anyone. Truly, he wouldn't be surprised if someone was trying to assassinate him this very minute, even though rumors of his retirement had hit the papers. It mattered not, for he was still a dangerous man, which is what made this mission seem odd. How was he to gain information when he hadn't the trust of anyone?

Suddenly uneasy, Hunter leaned back and exhaled. "What is it? What aren't you telling me?"

"We've secured you a partner."

"I work alone."

Wilkins shook his head. "Not this time."

"You force me to be disagreeable in having to repeat myself a second time, sir. I work alone. I always have."

"Without offending your obviously delicate sensibilities about needing any sort of help, I assure you, you are working with a partner this time. You have no cover; therefore, you will be making sure this person does the job and gleans the information needed from our list of suspicious gentlemen."

Anger welled in Hunter's chest. He bit his lip and looked away, into the empty dust of the fireplace. "Who?"

"Red."

"Absolutely not." He jerked his head toward Wilkins and cursed. "No. A woman? Are you mad?"

"No, but perhaps I'm a bit tired and desperate." Wilkins smiled then, and Hunter noticed the dark circles under his eyes as well as the lines forming around his downturned mouth.

Hunter sighed and closed his eyes. Never had he worked with a partner, and surely not a woman. It wouldn't be a good match. How was he to be agreeable with the same woman he wanted to bed as well as fight every second of the day? "Has something happened that I need to be aware of?" Hopefully Wilkins would take the bait. There was only one reason that the Crown would be this desperate.

Wilkins gave him a sad look then cursed as he walked to the door, shut it, and locked it. As he walked back to his seat he explained. "There are only a handful of people who are familiar with what I am about to tell you." Wilkins took a shuddering breath and closed his eyes. "The ciphers are being cracked. Somehow the French have unlocked the code."

Hunter shifted uncomfortably as his mind went back to the night he and Gwen had met. Was that what the gentlemen in Belgium had been passing back and forth?

No, it had to have been something else, for the French were currently losing the war. Though to be honest, many Englishmen had been slowly losing their fortunes by idly twiddling their thumbs at White's rather than taking care of their own lands. In thought, he shook his head. Impossible. If they had broken the ciphers, it would be evident from the course of the war. If Napoleon knew the disposition of the Seventh Coalition's forces, he would not be in retreat. He'd turn with one of those lightning strokes for which he was known, and defeat this coalition the way he'd defeated the six that had preceded it.

"Impossible."

"Apparently not. There are three men who know the code. We have reason to suspect it is one of them."

"How are the ciphers taken to the front lines?"

"Sir Hollins writes the codes taught to him by his mentor. The cipher is then given to Viscount Redding. Every Tuesday at precisely four o'clock in the afternoon he takes a carriage ride down Rotten Row, where he meets with the Earl of Trehmont. They discuss the weather and if a certain phrase is exchanged, they shake hands and the code is given to Trehmont to post." Wilkins bit his protruding lower lip, another tell of the man's nervousness.