To Hunt the Hunter (Girls Who Dare Book 11)

by Emma V. Leech

  It seemed impossible to remember a time when he had hated her, resented her for being there that dreadful night. He’d retreated from society for a long time after Thomas had died, doing his imperfect best to care for Phoebe, to make a home for her where she was safe. When he’d returned, he’d assumed Matilda would have disappeared from the ton, but she had not. Far from it. She had been there, defiant and proud, her head held high. Little by little his hatred had turned to admiration, and then to fascination. When he’d finally spoken to her and received an accurate and stinging set down that had shredded his character with precision, he’d felt nothing but pride in her for standing up to him so fiercely.

  The rest had been beyond his control.

  He tried to imagine his life once she was gone, but his heart rebelled against the image. The bleak years that beckoned him without Matilda in his life made his chest tight with fear. He wasn’t at all sure he could survive it.

  Yet, no matter how many times he went through it, how many times he tried to justify everything he wanted, the answer never changed. It was too dangerous to keep her close while his uncle lived, and even if the monster died today…. He had a duty to the family, to his father and his brothers and the title. The idea of turning his back on generations of ambition, of letting them all down, made him feel hot and sick. He could hear his father berating him with disgusted fury, even though his voice had not been heard in this house for over twenty years.

  Lucian shivered with foreboding. Yet, no matter how much time he spent listing all the reasons why they must not be together, why Matilda must leave… his heart told him otherwise, and promised him he could not do it. It would destroy him in a way his uncle had never quite managed.

  Matilda murmured in her sleep, and Lucian shifted onto his side to look at her though his shoulder protested with vehemence, the pain of moving making his breath catch. He forced it further, enduring the pain and lifting his arm so he could touch her face, touch the silky skin, trace the line of her beautiful mouth.

  Tenderness welled in his heart. What had they done to him, these women? From the moment he’d set eyes on her, Phoebe had made him reconsider the kind of man he wanted to be, might have been, given half a chance. He had shut up his heart for so many years, it was so much safer that way, but then that child had come into his life and prised it open again with ease. He’d tried to repair the damage, but it had been too late, and little by little he’d discovered Matilda had found the breach too, and he’d been lost.

  “Don’t look so fierce.”

  He glanced up to find Matilda’s lovely blue eyes fixed upon him. She reached out and touched the space between his eyebrows, smoothing out the furrow.

  “I thought you were asleep,” he said, with just a touch of reproach.

  “Hmmm,” she said with an indulgent sigh. “Just a little bit. I was so sleepy.”

  “So I noticed.”

  She smiled at him, a mischievous light in her eyes. “Poor Lucian. Is there something I can help you with?”

  His breath caught as she moved against him, his arousal surging back to life with a vengeance.

  “Don’t,” he cursed. “Damn it, Matilda. Stop that. It’s not fair.”

  “What’s not fair about it?” she murmured, pressing closer, trailing small, open-mouthed kisses across his collar bone.

  She paused at the hollow of his throat before taking an experimental lick.

  He closed his eyes, trying to hold on to sanity.

  “Stop.”

  She did stop then, and he could feel her confusion, feel the weight of her gaze. He opened his eyes, his heart squeezing at the uncertainty in her expression.

  “We can’t, Matilda,” he said, willing her not to test him. His resolve already felt about as substantial as smoke, and it would drift away into nothingness if she pressed him.

  “But you brought me pleasure,” she said, frowning at him. “And I’m still a virgin—technically, anyway. I’m sure there must be things I can do….”

  “Christ! No.”

  She jolted in surprise and he cursed himself.

  “Don’t make me any more of a devil than I already am, love,” he begged her.

  He felt a little affronted by the laughter that comment received.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, darling,” she said, noting his indignation, and looking not even a bit chastened. “But I spent many months believing you the devil and, I’m sorry to say, you’ve ruined all your hard work these past weeks. You’re nothing of the sort.”

  He glowered up at her.

  “Might I remind you,” he said, somewhat tersely. “That you are unmarried, in my bed, and half naked?”

  “I know,” she said serenely. “Isn’t it lovely?”

  “Hell’s bells, woman! What am I to do with you?”

  “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

  Lucian groaned.

  “It’s nearly midday,” he grumbled. “Denton will be bringing me some foul concoction of Pippin’s at any moment, so unless you want to put the poor fellow quite out of countenance, you’d best get yourself dressed. You look very much like you’ve been ravished.”

  That, thank God, got her moving, though she still took the opportunity to give him one last, lingering kiss before she deigned to leave the bed. Lucian sighed, watching with deep regret as she shimmied back into her clothes, securing her lovely breasts into corsets and chemise and all the other layers he’d so enjoyed undoing. That he might never have another chance to touch her in such a way made his heart hurt. For the best, he told himself. It was for the best. The best for her, at least. It felt as if it might kill him.

  Chapter 12

  Tilda,

  Why haven’t you replied to my letter? I do hope you are feeling better and that all this vile gossip about Montagu isn’t upsetting you. Surely you cannot be surprised by it. We always knew what manner of man he was. It has been clear from the start and it’s about time he was brought to heel. I don’t know what kind of hold he has over your heart, but surely even you cannot love a man who is so thoroughly wicked.

  I will be in town in a few days and so I will call in and see you—if you can spare the time for your beastly brother.

  ―Excerpt of a letter from Mr Nathanial Hunt to Miss Matilda Hunt.

  5th May 1815. Dern, Sevenoaks, Kent.

  “Take your time!” Matilda scolded, as Lucian stopped dead and closed his eyes.

  His left arm was in a sling—much to his disgust—his right arm draped about her shoulders for support, and he’d only succumbed that far when he was a third of the way down the stairs. His face had gone the colour of a milk pudding, and she was certain he ought not be up at all, but he’d been properly dressed and shaved, and as elegant as always, when she’d gone to see him this morning. The effort had clearly made him ill, and she knew full well he’d done it because he didn’t trust himself to be alone with her in his bed. Foolish man. He would have his own way, though, and so here he was, heading downstairs. It had taken her half an hour to get him to agree to the sling, which his valet had made up and which Lucian had initially tossed to one side in irritation.

  Phoebe had been beside herself with excitement at seeing him up and about, but now she stood at the bottom of the stairs. Her grey-blue eyes stared up, grave with concern as Lucian breathed through the pain.

  “Uncle?”

  “I’m all right,” he said, forcing a smile. “Just a little… dizzy.”

  “That’s why you ought to have stayed in bed,” Matilda muttered crossly.

  He shot her a rueful glance.

  “Hmmm, so you could have the pleasure of driving me out of my head?” he mused, his tone low and wicked.

  Matilda flushed, whispering in return. “That was your own silly fault, so don’t go playing the martyr now.”

  “Cruel,” he murmured, moving slowly down the steps. “So dreadfully cruel.”

  “What are you talking about?” Phoebe demanded, folding her arms. “Why is Matilda all
red?”

  “Because I’m making her cross,” Lucian said easily, pausing again as the sound of raised voices made themselves known.

  “I don’t give a damn if he’s not at home,” came an imposing and irritated voice. “He’ll bloody well see me. It’s for his own good.”

  “Matilda,” Lucian said, stiffening at once. “Go. Go quickly.”

  Even if she’d wanted to accede to his wishes, there was no time as Gabriel Knight burst through the doors with Helena in tow. They stopped in their tracks as they looked up the stairs to see Lucian and Matilda together, his arm about her shoulders.

  “Matilda!” Helena’s shock was palpable, her eyes growing wide. “You’re… here.”

  “So I am,” Matilda said placidly.

  “Not a word,” Lucian said, his voice as cold and autocratic as she’d ever heard it. “If either of you—”

  “If the next word out of your mouth threatens my wife, there will be consequences,” Mr Knight growled, his eyes growing dark. “But no one will hear a word against Matilda from us.”

  “Never!” Helena said staunchly.

  Matilda smiled and laid a hand on Lucian’s chest.

  “Helena is my friend,” she reminded him gently, feeling the rabbit-fast beat of his heart beneath her palm. “They won’t say anything.”

  He nodded, his face taut with strain.

  “Perhaps you should go back to bed,” she said quietly.

  He sent her a fierce look which made her clamp her mouth shut, and she resolved not to mention the idea again. Not in front of Mr Knight, at least. Men and their bloody pride.

  “What’s wrong?” Mr Knight demanded, eyeing the sling and walking closer.

  “He was shot,” Matilda said, seeing from the horrified looks on their faces, this part of the story had not made it into the gossip sheets.

  “Shot?” Helene squeaked in alarm.

  “By that horrid Mr Burton,” Phoebe said, taking Helena’s hand, her little face furious. “They had a duel and uncle beat him fair and square, and then the scoundrel shot him when his back was turned. Isn’t that vile?”

  “Christ,” Mr Knight said before hurrying to Lucian and easing Matilda aside. “Here, lean on me.”

  “I’m not a blasted invalid,” Lucian snapped, subsiding with a frustrated huff as no one seemed to take a blind bit of notice, least of all Mr Knight.

  They made it into the library and Matilda settled him in a chair with cushions to support his injured shoulder, while Lucian protested that she must stop fussing. Much to the child’s indignation, Phoebe was sent away so the grown-ups could talk, and was only mollified by a promise from Helena to visit her before she left. Once Lucian was comfortable, his sharp silver gaze descended upon his guests.

  “Well,” he said. “I imagine you’ve got some interesting story about what I’ve been up to of late. You’d best share it. I don’t doubt it is salacious.”

  Matilda watched with misgiving as Helena exchanged a glance with her husband.

  “Yes, that’s why we’re here,” Mr Knight said, staring at Lucian. “And, for the record, I didn’t believe it.”

  Lucian snorted. “I rather suspect you’re in the minority.”

  Mr Knight nodded. “Much as I’d like to bring you good news—after all, I feel responsible for letting the wretch slip through my fingers—well, the word is that you set the whole thing up. That the reports about the state of the mills in Derbyshire was pure fabrication. The story goes that you slandered Burton because of his interest in Miss Hunt here, and… and that when he came to plead with you to leave him be….”

  “I cut him down in cold blood, no doubt?”

  Matilda’s heart clenched at his icy tone. Here was Montagu in full panoply. She could see the mask slide into place, the change in him sharp edged and vivid. He seemed utterly indifferent to the news they’d brought him when she knew it must hurt him deeply.

  Mr Knight nodded. “They say he’s crippled after your little run-in. I don’t know if that’s true, or more wishful thinking by the gossip mill. After all, we heard he was dead two days ago, but that rumour seems to have been scotched, at least.”

  “What did happen?” Helena asked, looking to Matilda, not Lucian. “Were you here?”

  Matilda nodded and reached out to Lucian, wanting to take his hand, but he moved it away. She sighed, knowing why he did it. Not to be thwarted, she reached farther across and took it anyway, twining their fingers together. Lucian glared at her and then sighed, closing his eyes, holding on tight.

  “I knew something was very wrong, that Lucian’s uncle was up to something, and so I came here, to Dern, to discover the truth.”

  “Foolish creature,” Lucian muttered, but with affection this time.

  Helena looked between them, her expression one of rapt fascination. Matilda blushed, but carried on.

  “His uncle is a monster,” she said bluntly, and with such force they could not dispute her feeling on the matter. “I cannot tell Lucian’s story for him, but he has been greatly wronged by that dreadful, wicked man. Theodore Barrington sent Mr Burton here to murder his nephew so he could claim the title. It was not his uncle’s first attempt, I might add. It was only Lucian’s cleverness and skill that saved us both from having our throats cut, and he nearly died anyway, because that vile man hasn’t a scrap of honour.”

  Her voice trembled and she took a breath, trying to compose herself. She looked up to find Lucian’s eyes upon her, shining with adoration, and could not help but smile. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.

  Matilda glanced back at Helena and her husband to find both of them gawking in astonishment. Mr Knight gathered himself first.

  “Well,” he said, clearing his throat. “I came to see what we could do. The thing is, the story being circulated is that the vile conditions in Burton’s mills was nothing but a fabrication. Now, that in itself should be easy enough to prove. We need only send some representatives of the press to interview those involved….”

  “We?” Lucian said, staring at Mr Knight with suspicion. “Why would you involve yourself in this?”

  Mr Knight frowned, nonplussed. “Because it isn’t true. You’ve been slandered and I know it.”

  “And so?” Lucian pressed, looking truly bewildered.

  “And so,” Mr Knight said cautiously, “I shall help you clear your name.”

  Matilda watched as Lucian’s face cleared. He nodded.

  “I see. The usual terms, I suppose?”

  Mr Knight frowned. “Terms? No… No. I… I don’t want anything. There will be no debt, no payment.”

  Lucian looked more bewildered than ever, and rather suspicious. “Why not?”

  “Oh, Lucian,” Matilda said helplessly. “He wants to help you, love, because it’s the right thing to do. Because he’d be your friend, if you’d let him.”

  Lucian stared at Matilda, then Mr Knight, and then looked away, still frowning and uncertain.

  “We can trust them, Lucian.”

  His grip on her hand tightened, but he said nothing. How impossible it must be to accept that someone was on his side after so many years of being isolated by his uncle, trusting no one whilst he was painted as a cold-hearted devil. She wondered how he had survived, how his heart hadn’t shrivelled and died when he’d had no friends, no one to trust beyond Pippin and Denton and Mrs Frant. Thank God Phoebe had arrived in his life.

  Mr Knight cleared his throat. “I had been thinking the ideal thing would be for you to go to Derbyshire yourself to speak with the press in person. I have contacts with several men who’d kill for the story. You did an admirable job of hiding your light under a bushel, but modesty is doing you no favours now. People need to know of everything you did there to help those who were injured, and to put things to rights. Of course, I didn’t know that you’d been shot, so that rather puts paid to that idea.”

  “No,” Lucian said, shaking his head. “It doesn’t. You’re right. I must go.”

&nbs
p; “Oh, Lucian, how can you think it?” Matilda protested. “That’s at least three days travel on bad roads. You barely made it down the stairs!”

  He stiffened and Matilda’s temper overrode good sense.

  “Oh, damn your pride! Blast you, Lucian! Mr Knight does not think you any less a man for being injured by a bloody bullet! Will you undo all mine and Pippin’s work in nursing you, you obstinate creature?”

  There was a long, crackling silence, during which Mr Knight and Helena stared between them, wide-eyed, and Lucian was very still. Then he slid Matilda a wary glance.

  “Forgive me,” he said, a little uncertainly. “I do not mean to… to worry you, but I must go, Matilda. You would not wish me to let my uncle succeed in destroying my name?”

  “Of course not,” she said at once, knowing it must be strange for him to have to explain himself at all, let alone take anyone’s else’s feelings into account. “But could you not wait a day or two?”

  Lucian turned back to Mr Knight. “I suspect that is not going to be possible.”

  Matilda looked to him too, and the man spread his hands in a helpless gesture, clearly wishing he could tell her otherwise.

  “Then I shall go with you,” she said, folding her arms.

  “That you won’t!” Lucian retorted, sitting up so fast he had to grab at his shoulder, what little colour had returned to his face leaving it all in a rush. He gritted the next words out between clenched teeth. “You will go home with Mr Knight and Lady Helena and, with luck, no one will be any the wiser about you having been here. God alone knows how the story hasn’t got about by now. You ought to have left days ago.”

  “I’m not leaving you.” Matilda folded her arms tighter, mostly so he couldn’t see her hands were shaking at the idea of leaving him at all. She glared at his stony face, knowing he was only so cross because he wanted to protect her. “If you don’t take me with you, I shall just follow on by myself and then see what a scandal you shall make of me, forcing me to chase you across country.”