To Hunt the Hunter (Girls Who Dare Book 11)

by Emma V. Leech

  Lucian laughed, shaking his head. “We will, you old witch. So don’t go casting any spells on us.”

  Pippin winked at him. “I make no promises I’ve no mind to keep, my lord. Now come along, Phoebe. Miss Peabody will have my guts for garters if I don’t take you up to bed now.”

  “Miss Peagoose,” Phoebe said, grinning at her.

  Pippin pursed her lips, wagging a finger at her. “I told you not to repeat that, you little devil. Come along with you.”

  Phoebe gave a crow of laughter and ran to kiss Lucian and then Matilda.

  “This is the happiest day of my life,” she announced, as Matilda had to resort to the handkerchief again.

  “That it is, my lamb,” Pippin said taking her hand. “While I think of it, my lord, would it be all right with you if Dharani Das were to come to visit me here tomorrow afternoon? It is my day off.”

  Lucian stared at her, a little frown between his eyebrows. “On the sole condition you do not cast spells in my kitchen. I do not wish eye of newt for my supper, I assure you.”

  Pippin returned a rather wicked smile.

  “As if you’d know,” she said, chuckling, and escorted Phoebe out of the room.

  “That’s the most terrifying thing I’ve ever heard,” Lucian said as the door closed behind her.

  Matilda laughed and ran into his arms. She pressed close as he pulled his arms tight, smiling down at her.

  “My love.”

  “Yes,” she replied, her voice quavering with happiness. “Always.”

  “Always,” he repeated softly.

  “What changed your mind?” she asked, still unable to believe it was really happening, that she would be his wife.

  “I love you too much to let you go,” he said simply. “And your letter made me realise that it was not only I who would suffer if I turned away from you. If I lost you, I would condemn generations to come to live without love. I read your words a hundred times at least, and each time they seemed to echo in my heart, louder and louder.”

  “Oh, Lucian,” she said, resting her head on his chest and holding on tight.

  He nuzzled her hair, breathing in the heady scent of orange blossom and the woman he loved.

  “You were right,” he whispered. “I had never considered my son as anything other than the next Montagu. I had not considered him as a real person, as a boy like Philip or Thomas… or like me. The thought of him living the life I have lived, or anything close to it….”

  He shook his head and pulled back to look at her, his beautiful eyes grave and full of adoration.

  “I want them to be loved, Matilda, to grow up in a family where they never doubt that each one of them is as valued as much as the next. I want them to know what happiness looks like, and that they are at liberty to find it.”

  “Then we must set a good example.”

  “Yes,” he said, smiling at her. “We must.”

  And then he kissed her.

  Chapter 24

  My dearest Prue,

  It was so lovely to see you and your beautiful daughter last week. How proud Bedwin looked too. The little dab has him wrapped about her finger already, the clever girl.

  I just had to write and tell you how much I am enjoying The Eagle and the Lamb. I have cried buckets and fallen profoundly in love with the hero. For heaven’s sake do not tell Jerome or he’ll be dreadfully cross. All the ton is abuzz with it, not to mention the entire world. I heard the servants discussing it this morning. The kitchen maids were all a-flutter, swooning over the icy marquess whose heart was melted by the lamb. I believe there will be quite a crowd outside St George’s tomorrow. It will be the wedding of the century and no mistake. The world has fallen in head over ears in love with Montagu and Matilda, and cannot wait to see their happy ending.

  ―Excerpt of a letter from Mrs Bonnie Cadogan to Her Grace Prunella Adolphus, Duchess of Bedwin.

  19th June 1815. St George’s Church, Hanover Square.

  “Good Lord, this crowd is ridiculous,” Nate complained, craning his neck to see the road ahead out of the window. “At this rate the eagle will not get a look at his lamb until sometime next week.”

  Matilda blushed a little at the reference to Prue’s outrageously romantic book, which had sold in its thousands the moment the first chapters had published. It was being released in instalments and the anticipation of the happy ending in tandem with a real life wedding had caused quite a furore.

  The eagle was a thinly disguised version of Lucian, and referred to the Montagu crest of an eagle with wings outstretched. Matilda had protested somewhat at being compared to a lamb. Prue, however, had assured her that the imagery was necessary to capture the audience’s heart and that the lamb would be proven to have the heart of a lioness as the story progressed. She’d been correct, of course, and Matilda was overwhelmed by her newfound celebrity. Everyone wanted to know her, and in truth it was becoming a little tiresome. She longed for Dern, for the peace and tranquillity of the beautiful countryside, and for her life with Lucian to begin.

  She had been bitterly disappointed when Lucian had refused to buy a special licence, determined that they should conduct the marriage just as it ought to be done. He was insistent that they would be married in the full view of the ton, with no hint of embarrassment or anything rushed or hidden. When he had told her he wanted the world to see how much he loved and admired her, all her arguments had evaporated. Although the month he had forced her to endure in waiting had been excruciating, she was glad that they had. Through his efforts, his public display the night of the ball, and Prue’s beautiful story, her reputation had been restored to her. They had become society darlings, their presence sought at every event, their names on everyone’s lips, and their likenesses in every print shop window.

  Phoebe had begged for one particular image that Lucian had gone into a print shop himself and bought for her, much to the delight of the scandal sheets. It depicted him down on one knee, with Matilda falling into a swoon. Meanwhile Phoebe dangled precariously over the edge of the balustrade shouting encouragement whilst Pippin held her by the ankles. Phoebe was enchanted with the image and had immediately pasted it to the wall behind her bed.

  At long last the carriage rocked to a stop outside St George’s having fought its way through the crowds. The door was opened, and Nate got down, holding out his hand to her.

  “We’re late,” he said, looking far too pleased about that. “Montagu will think you’ve changed your mind.”

  “No, he won’t,” Matilda retorted, giving Nate a warning glare that instructed him to be nice.

  Whatever Nate might have said in reply was drowned out by the swell of cheers from the crowds gathered outside the church when they caught their first glimpse of her. People were waving prints of her and Lucian, and shouting encouragement, and Matilda laughed, shaking her head in wonder.

  “They’re all barking mad,” her brother complained, helping her with the voluminous train on her gown as their footmen made a path through. Finally, they made it under the grand portico supported by its six Corinthian columns and to the doors of the church.

  “Well, then,” Nate said, as a swell of music could be heard from inside. “Last chance to change your mind.”

  Matilda sighed and kissed his cheek. “No, thank you, Nate. I should very much like to get married now.”

  “Oh, very well,” her brother said with a heavy sigh. “If you insist. It’s about time the fellow took you off my hands.”

  Matilda resisted the urge to kick him as he moved forward, and her heart thudded with excitement. She was going to marry Lucian. It was happening, and she could not wait.

  ***

  Lucian looked at his watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. “She’s late.”

  Gabriel gave him an amused grin and shook his head. “Bride’s prerogative, isn’t it?” he said mildly and then laughed. “Don’t panic. The world and his wife has descended on Hanover Square this morning. The carriage will be struggl
ing to get through.”

  “That ought to have been accounted for,” Lucian muttered darkly, knowing he sounded like a sulky boy, but he had waited about as long as his nerves could stand. An entire month was enough for any man to endure, another five minutes and he would lose any semblance of his legendary composure for good. His best man wasn’t helping particularly, seeming to take great delight in Lucian’s inability to hide his nerves.

  Lucian cast another surreptitious glance at his watch before slipping it back in his pocket. He looked up to see Gabe casting him a pitying smile.

  “Friends are greatly overrated,” he said, folding his arms.

  Gabe just chuckled and handed him a small silver flask.

  “We have our compensations,” he assured Lucian. “I have the ring and brandy, what more could you ask for?”

  Happily, Lucian did not have time to think up an appropriate retort to that. Phoebe, as ever, saved him from a rapid plunge into gloom by hitching up her skirts and running down the aisle, yelling “she’s here!” at the top of her lungs.

  Lucian let out a breath and beamed at her, ignoring the gasps and mutters of all the old dowagers who exclaimed at her dreadful behaviour.

  “Thank you, Bee,” he said, shooing her back to her position as Matilda’s bridesmaid.

  The organ began to play, the sound resonating in his ears as the congregation stood for the bride. Lucian’s breath snagged in his throat. Matilda glimmered as she walked down the aisle, shafts of sunlight catching the silver thread in her gown and making it sparkle, making her sparkle. There were diamonds at her throat, her ears and wrists, and a heavy tiara to match: jewels that had been in their family for generations and worn by every Marchioness of Montagu on their wedding day. Lucian knew, without a doubt, that not one of those women had been loved by their marquess as he loved her. They would break the mould, the two of them together, and make their family great and powerful, though not through wealth or politics or brilliant marriages, but by living life to the full. Their success would come by finding happiness and love and joy, and all the things he realised now could not be bought or taken, but had to be given, selflessly and with your whole heart.

  Suddenly, she was standing beside him and, as always when she was near, the rest of the world fell away.

  “My love,” he said, holding out his hand to her.

  She smiled at him, her eyes alight with happiness, and held on tight.

  ***

  “Bee, if you eat another slice of cake, you’ll be sick,” Lucian warned, though he was smiling at her.

  Phoebe shrugged and popped another piece in her mouth.

  “I don’t care,” she said around the cake.

  Matilda hid a smile as Lucian sighed. “It’s hopeless,” he lamented. “No one will ever marry such a hoyden. I’ll have to send her to a nunnery.”

  “They wouldn’t have me either,” Phoebe said cheerfully. “Besides, I’d escape. Flash Jack taught me how to pick a lock.”

  Lucian groaned. “That’s it. No one will ever take her off my hands.”

  Phoebe snickered and climbed into his lap, heedless of her sticky fingers on his immaculate wedding clothes. “You said you couldn’t part with me unless it was someone I liked very much, enough that I couldn’t bear the thought of not being married to him.”

  “I’m sure I said no such thing,” he remarked. “You’re a diabolical child and you know it.”

  She stared up at him, batting her eyelashes shamelessly. “I love you, Papa.”

  Matilda’s eyes burned, her heart squeezing in her chest. From the fierce glitter in Lucian’s eyes, he was similarly afflicted.

  “Phoebe, sweetheart,” he began, but Phoebe cut in over him.

  “I know you’re not really my papa,” she said softly. “I know it was Thomas and I shall never forget that, but I never really knew him, nor my mother either, and… and I should like so much to have a mother and father. Couldn’t we pretend again, like we did before?”

  Matilda reached for Lucian’s hand and squeezed, and he looked to her, his beautiful eyes no longer cold, but filled with warmth and love. She nodded at him and he smiled, a full, wide smile that showed the dimples she adored all the more for how elusive they were. Though she thought perhaps they would be more familiar from now on.

  “Well, Bee,” he said, his voice a little thick. “Perhaps we can see about making it official, not just pretend. If… If you are certain it is what you would like?”

  Phoebe stared at him, eyes wide with wonder, and then threw her arms about his neck. “Oh, yes! Oh, yes, please!”

  Lucian hugged her tightly and kissed her cheek before she scrambled off his lap.

  “I must tell Pippin!” she shrieked, running full tilt across the room to the door.

  “You don’t mind?” he asked Matilda, holding her hand tightly.

  “Of course not,” she said, torn between laughter and tears as how perfect the day had been. “It’s a wonderful idea, and it will make her so happy.”

  He let out a soft huff of laughter and spoke quietly, his voice low and dark, mischief glinting in his eyes.

  “Speaking of making people happy,” he said, “I think I have endured quite enough. I want to be alone with my wife.”

  “You’ve endured enough?” she retorted indignantly. “It was your idea to wait so long.”

  She blushed a little as he cast her a smile that made something hot and liquid erupt deep inside her.

  “Ah yes, you’d have had your wicked way with me back in Matlock Bath if I’d not protected my virtue so fiercely.”

  “Oh, you devil!” she whispered as her blush increased and turned her scarlet. “I can’t believe you said that.”

  “Truly?” he replied, all innocence. “My, you are in for a shock, wife. For I have many things I want to say to you that will make you blush far harder than that.”

  She met his gaze and held it, recognising the challenge there.

  “I should like to see you try,” she said, watching his eyes grow dark as a sloe berry, the silver almost swallowed entirely.

  “Should you?” he asked, leaning in, his breath fluttering against her ear.

  Matilda shivered and turned back to him, returning the favour, brushing her lips against his ear as she spoke.

  “I dare you….”

  There was a brief, electric silence and then he stood, so fast his chair would have toppled back if Gabriel hadn’t been passing and caught it.

  “In a hurry, Lucie, old man?” He said, his voice warm with amusement and quite obviously a little foxed.

  Lucian turned to glare at Matilda in outrage.

  “I didn’t!” she squeaked, realising he thought she’d told Gabe of Thomas’s pet name for him. “My word, Lucian, I never told him.”

  Gabe snickered at Lucian’s narrow-eyed glare.

  “You’re lucky I have more important things to consider,” Lucian grumbled. “But I promise dire consequences if you ever say that aloud again.”

  “Yes, my lord marquess,” Gabe replied, with as much insincerity as he could muster.

  Lucian growled at him impatiently and took Matilda’s hand, hurrying her out of the room before anyone else could waylay them.

  “You like him,” she said happily, while Lucian dragged her across the hallway towards the stairs, struggling to keep up as her heavy skirts weighed her down.

  “He’s a pain in the neck,” Lucian replied succinctly. “He’s rude, has almost as many enemies as I do, no respect whatsoever for my station, and insists I muddy my hands with some dreadful moneymaking scheme he’s all excited about.”

  He turned then, his silver eyes glinting.

  “Of course I like him.”

  Matilda laughed as they got to the top of the stairs and then squealed in shock as she was swept off her feet and into his arms.

  “You’re too slow,” he said, smiling at her as he carried her along the corridor to the bedroom.

  “It’s these dratted skirts, they’
re so heavy.”

  “Then we had best dispense with them at once.”

  Matilda gave a happy sigh as the sounds of the wedding breakfast below grew quieter the farther they got from it. Lucian kicked the bedroom door shut behind them, and set her gently down, his hands at her waist. She looked up at him and he leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers.

  “I love you, Lady Montagu.”

  Matilda let out a breath. “How marvellous that sounds.”

  “It does,” he agreed. “And you are magnificent, love. I think my heart stopped when I saw you walk into that church. You looked so exquisite.”

  “It is a lovely gown,” she said, stroking one hand over the fine silver material. “I knew I had to have it the moment I saw it. It’s the colour of your eyes.”

  He frowned a little, shaking his head. “My eyes are grey.”

  Matilda laughed, finding herself laughing harder still at the perplexed expression he was giving her.

  “They’re grey,” he insisted.

  “N-no, my love,” she said, shaking her head helplessly. “I promise you, they are not, and I am your wife now, so you must agree with me.”

  “Oh, is that how it works?”

  “It is,” she said gravely. “And I seem to remember you have a dare to complete.”

  “So I do,” he said, and all at once her skin was alive with anticipation. “Then I had better get to work. Turn around.”

  He took his time, undoing every button and hook with what seemed to Matilda to be excessive care.

  “Oh, do hurry,” she complained.

  Lucian only laughed and shook his head. “No, my wicked darling. This time, you are mine. Mine to do with as I please, there is no escape for you. I will make you beg for me, love.”

  “I’ll beg now, if you like,” she said, frustrated already, but he only chuckled again, a dark sound that shivered over her skin like a caress.

  Finally her chemise slid to the floor with a soft flutter, to join the puddle of silver fabric at her ankles. She was naked but for her stockings and the silver ribbons that held them in place. Lucian walked a circle around her, his eyes glinting as he looked her over.