To Hunt the Hunter (Girls Who Dare Book 11) Read online

  His fever had finally broken as the sun had risen, and though he’d been sweating and fractious throughout the night, he was sleeping now and the hectic flush in his cheeks had subsided.

  Phoebe turned into Matilda and hugged her, burying her face against her.

  “I was so frightened,” she said, her voice muffled.

  Matilda got to her knees and pulled the child into a proper hug, holding her tightly. “So was I, but Pippin is terribly clever and knew just what to do.”

  “And you stayed,” Phoebe said, the words thick. “You promised to stay, and you did.”

  “Of course. I would never break a promise, Phoebe.”

  “And you do love him, don’t you?”

  Matilda opened her mouth, knowing she ought to tell the girl some lie to make her accept the future would not change, but the terror she’d felt these past days had worn her down and she could not think of a way to sidestep the truth.

  “Yes,” she said helplessly, for what else could she say. “Yes, I do.”

  “I wish you were my mother.”

  Matilda gasped, the words darting into her heart with the precision of an arrow shaft. “Oh. Oh, Phoebe, love.”

  “I dream of it sometimes,” she said, still clinging to Matilda. “I don’t remember my real mother, and I never knew my father at all. When I dream of having a mother and father they look like you and my uncle.”

  Matilda tried to speak, but she could not. She took a deep breath and forced herself to answer, to blink back the tears. “That sounds like a lovely dream, Phoebe, but sometimes dreams are only that, pretty imaginings that disappear like smoke if we try to hold on to them. Real life isn’t as simple, and sometimes the things we want most are the things that are furthest from us.”

  “But you ought to fight for them,” Phoebe said stubbornly. “Uncle says, if you know something is right, you must stand up and say so. He says dreadful things happen when people pretend not to see something bad or unjust because it’s easier to ignore it.”

  Matilda nodded, hearing Lucian’s voice, and knowing now why he said such things, why the truth was so dreadfully important to him, and why he did not shield Phoebe from reality with pretty lies, but gently told her what she must expect of the world.

  “Yes, that’s true, love, but sometimes the world is too big and too powerful, and you know you can’t win.”

  The mutinous expression glinting in Phoebe’s eyes as she looked up was not encouraging.

  “All the more reason to stand up to it,” she said, stubborn to the last. “I hate bullies. Great-Uncle Theodore is a bully, and I hate him too.”

  Matilda admitted herself thankful when a soft knock at the door brought Denton to fetch Miss Barrington for her French lesson. The little girl went reluctantly, and Matilda returned to Lucian’s bedside.

  A thick lock of pale blond hair had fallen over his forehead and Matilda brushed it back, relieved to discover the terrifying, burning heat was no longer blazing like a furnace lived beneath his skin. He stirred beneath her touch, turning his head towards her, and she could not resist the desire to stroke his face. The prickle of his beard was a secret delight, something she’d never imagined she’d experience. She smiled, entranced by the feel of it, sharp and soft all at once, and then her breath caught as his eyes flicked open.

  They were lucid this time, clear if weary.

  “Stubborn girl,” he murmured. “Ought to have gone.”

  “You know very well I’ll never do something if you order me to do it,” she retorted, trying very hard not to throw herself upon his chest and weep with relief.

  Somehow, her voice was reasonably calm, only the faintest tremor betraying her emotion.

  He sighed, closing his eyes again.

  “Thirsty.”

  “Oh, of course. Here.”

  She poured him a fresh glass of water and sat beside him, sliding her arm beneath his neck to help him raise his head. He drank, draining the glass.

  “More,” he demanded, before adding, “Please.”

  Matilda hid a smile. “I think you’d best wait a moment and see how that settles first. Your poor stomach is empty.”

  As if on cue, his stomach made a vociferous sound of protest and Matilda laughed.

  “How unbecoming,” he said with a sigh. “You are determined to leave me no dignity whatsoever, aren’t you?”

  Matilda began to make some comment to placate him and soothe his wounded male pride, but instead a sob rose to her throat, and all the fear she’d been holding in check so furiously rose in a wave. She put a hand to her mouth, trying to hold it back, but it was no good and the dam burst.

  “I was s-so a-afraid,” she said through her tears.

  There had been so many times she’d wanted to weep, for her own terror, for the danger he was in, for the danger he had always been in and for all the wrongs that had been done him. So, she wept now, for him, for the past days of worry and the sleepless nights.

  “Matilda!”

  He reached for her with his good arm and she went to him, weeping into his chest.

  “Don’t cry, my love. I beg of you. I can’t… I can’t bear it. Oh, Lord, has Phoebe taught you she can wrap me around her thumb if she cries, the dreadful creature?”

  “N-No,” Matilda sobbed unsteadily. “B-But I can well believe it.”

  She made a heroic effort to calm herself and settled against him, sniffling a little. It was so lovely to be here, with her head on his chest, hearing his heartbeat thud at a steady pace, strong and even. The sound was reassuring and wonderful after seeing him brought so low. With a sigh of relief, she listened to it and closed her eyes.

  ***

  Lucian looked up, stiffening as the bedroom door opened. Matilda had fallen asleep next to him and he’d had neither the heart nor the will to wake her. She was exhausted, dark shadows beneath her beautiful eyes, and she fit beside him so perfectly. He never wanted her to be anywhere else. Yet, she was an unmarried woman with a damaged reputation and something like this, if it got out… it would ruin her utterly. No amount of influence from her brother or her friends could save her.

  With relief, he saw Pippin come in. She paused for a moment, surveying the scene without comment, though Lucian was certain that was a gleam of approval in her eyes. Hardly surprising that she’d approve of Matilda. He’d known she would. They were alike in an odd way, braver and more resilient than anyone could ever imagine.

  “Well, you’re awake, then,” Pippin said, moving to the bed and giving him a critical once over.

  “You make it sound as if I’ve been malingering,” he replied a touch reproachfully.

  Pippin snorted.

  “Don’t be daft, but you’ve had us all sat upon thorns and no mistake.” She nodded at Matilda. “She’s a Trojan, that one. Wouldn’t have left your side for a moment, had I not thrown her out a time or two.”

  Lucian felt his throat grow tight.

  “She can’t stay, Pippin. You know she can’t.”

  To his surprise, Pippin scowled at him. “You tell her that, for I shan’t. She’s no child to be protected, but a woman grown with a strong heart and a mind of her own.”

  “But Theo—”

  “Damn that man,” Pippin said, shocking him. “We shan’t let him ruin any more lives.”

  Lucian laughed, a bitter sound he was well used to. “I tried, Pippin. I thought I’d built the monster a cage that would hold him. I thought we might be safe.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Pippin said, not unkindly. “You know as well as I do some evil has to be vanquished absolutely. You can’t turn your back on it. Not for a moment. Even Phoebe knew it, and that’s because you taught her. I don’t know what you were thinking, taking your eyes off that Burton creature.”

  He snorted. “I wasn’t thinking. I was looking at Matilda.”

  She smiled at him and shook her head. “Men. Too easily distracted.”

  “You think I ought to have killed him. Theo, I mean, not that
pathetic excuse for a man who came here to do his bidding.”

  It wasn’t a question and Pippin looked at him, one of those penetrating stares that made you wonder if she could read your mind. Her expression remained thoughtful.

  “No. No, I don’t think that. You don’t need such a stain on your soul. You’ve dealt with enough for one lifetime. I do believe he needs to die, though.”

  “Then who?” he demanded. “Who else will deal with him, if not me?”

  Pippin shrugged. “Sometimes the world sets things to rights by itself, and I think it’s past time he paid for his sins. His game isn’t over just yet, but we’ve not finished playing either. Don’t you trouble your head about it, though. Not yet. It will become clear. The goddess will provide. She always does.”

  Despite himself, a prickle ran up the back of his neck. Not that Lucian was about to ask her what she meant by that. To begin with, he was too tired to figure her out, not that there was any figuring Pippin out when she got all mystical.

  “If you’re going to invoke the goddess and cast spells, you can just do it elsewhere, you mad old witch,” he murmured, though with such obvious affection she only smiled at him.

  “Ah, one day I’ll convince you.”

  “Not today,” he said with a sigh, closing his eyes.

  “That’s all right,” Pippin said, her voice soothing now. “She looks after you all the same, whether or not you believe. She always has.”

  “That’s nice.”

  He was exhausted, and Matilda was a warm weight by his side. In some far off place, he could hear Pippin speaking still, the words too far away and sounding oddly foreign, but it sounded like a blessing. Lord, but she was a curious old sorceress, with her heathen ways. His father would have dismissed her on the spot had he known. Luckily for Pippin his father paid his staff little mind. Lucian loved her dearly for all she had done for him, though. He didn’t give a damn if she practised magic in the kitchen after dark or wanted to dance naked around a bonfire, so long as he didn’t have to watch it. She had protected him when no one else would, she had seen what everyone else refused to see, but she was simply a flesh and blood woman with a good heart, and a knowledge of herbs, no witch. He chuckled at the idea of Pippin in flowing white robes, worshiping her pagan idols under his father’s nose, and drifted into sleep, pleased with the image.

  Chapter 11

  Dearest Aashini,

  I write in haste only to say I am well, and you must not worry for me. So much has happened I cannot possibly explain. I can only tell you I am where I want to be, where I am needed more than I could have imagined. I know I am stretching our friendship badly in asking you to lie for me, but please, please… give me a little longer if you can.

  P.S. I enclose a letter which I would ask you to forward to Nate and Alice for me.

  ―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Matilda Hunt to Aashini Anson, Countess of Cavendish.

  4th May 1815. Dern, Sevenoaks, Kent.

  “If I have to look at these four walls for another minute, I shan’t be responsible for the consequences.”

  Matilda sighed, noting the implacable glare in Lucian’s eyes with misgiving. He clearly was not a man who fared well sitting about with nothing to do. Lucian had been too tired to protest too vociferously until today, but now he was getting fractious. He’d already scared the rest of the staff off, which Matilda was wicked enough to be pleased about. She wanted him all to herself.

  “One more day,” she countered, keeping her voice conciliatory. “For me. That’s not so much to ask, is it?”

  He glowered at her and huffed, folding his arms across his chest. “Damn you, that’s not fair.”

  “How so?” she demanded, biting back a laugh at the frustration in his eyes.

  “You know very well I can deny you nothing, not after… after everything.”

  “Oh, Lucian.” She laughed, shaking her head. “Don’t look so mortified. I was more than happy to do it, and it wasn’t like it was me alone. Pippin is a marvel. You’re very lucky to have her. She loves you like a son, you do realise that?”

  Matilda watched him, amused by his discomfort.

  “Lord knows why,” he muttered. “This family has brought her nothing but trouble, I’m sure. It’s a wonder she doesn’t despise the lot of us.” He sent her a sideways glance, his silver eyes glinting with curiosity. “What do you think of her?”

  “I just told you,” she said with a laugh. “She’s a marvel.”

  Matilda noted the way he was studying her, and considered the question. There was something remarkably reassuring about Pippin—calming.

  “She’s a tremendously strong woman, confident and capable. I like her very much. She’s… warm. Motherly.”

  Lucian nodded, apparently satisfied.

  “Shall I read to you?”

  He cast one longing look at the sunshine outside the windows and sighed. “No. Thank you.”

  Matilda bit her lip, a little amused. She’d begun reading Pride and Prejudice to him, which he’d seemed to enjoy at first, but he’d become tense and discomfited from the moment Elizabeth Bennet had given Mr Darcy her stinging refusal to his marriage proposal. Matilda sat down on the bed beside him and took his hand, linking their fingers together.

  “You ought not be here.” His voice was taut now and he turned to look at her, concern in his eyes. “What is the gossip among the ton? Have you heard? He’ll be working to discredit me, you know that. There will be some story doing the rounds painting me as a villain or a madman, or both.”

  “Not today, Lucian,” she said.

  Pippin had warned her not to let a scandal sheet near him, not until he was stronger. Not that Matilda knew either. She was too afraid to look, and Pippin seemed to think it could wait. He let out a frustrated sigh and turned his head away again, laying back against the pillows and staring at the window.

  “Tell me about Thomas.”

  He didn’t answer at first, and for such a long time that she thought perhaps he’d fallen asleep.

  “Thomas loved me. Father only had time for Philip, and Mother doted on Thomas because he was such a sickly child and needed her, but Thomas loved me. He followed me everywhere, and he called me Lucie.” Lucian turned back to her, sending her a warning glance that promised retribution. “I’ll never speak to you again if you repeat that,” he said tersely. “And I’d have murdered anyone else for calling me that too, but I didn’t mind when he said it. My little shadow, that’s what Pippin said of him.”

  Matilda squeezed his hand, encouraging him. “That’s sweet.”

  “He was sweet, the sweetest-natured child you ever saw. Never cross with anyone, always smiling. Hated arguments or disputes and, if Father shouted at us, he’d hide behind me, which only made Father crosser still. Thomas was afraid of our tutor and not very good at schoolwork, so I taught him his letters. He said he understood better when I taught him things.”

  “I wish I could have met him,” Matilda said.

  Lucian laughed, turning back to her. “Oh, he’d have adored you, and you him. He was tremendously funny and charming. Everyone loved him. I’d have been horribly jealous, no doubt, but he loved pretty things. Pretty things and everyone happy, everyone smiling....” He gave a wistful sigh. “Poor Thomas.”

  “Did… Did he kill himself?”

  Lucian shrugged. “Yes. Perhaps not intentionally, not on the night he died, but that was his goal. It was going to happen, no matter what I did. I’d come to town a week earlier, looking for him. I was worried. Pippin would have you believe it was some sixth sense, and perhaps there is truth in that. I don’t know. I just knew I had to find him.”

  “You couldn’t?”

  Lucian shook his head. “We did not mix in the same circles. Thomas had turned his back on respectable society years earlier. I barely saw him, no matter how I pleaded with him to come home. He believed he was beyond redemption, tainted by his sins and unworthy of my forgiveness. Strangely, that night, he’d gone to
his club, though, not that it was any less a den of iniquity, just a fashionable one for the wealthy to entertain their vices in comfort. He hadn’t been there in months, but I had paid the staff to send me word if he appeared.”

  “You went after him.”

  “Too late.”

  Matilda shifted closer, sensing his tension, though his voice remained calm.

  “I’d been looking in lower hells, his usual haunts. No doubt he hoped, by going to such dreadful places, someone would do the job he was trying to accomplish and murder him.”

  “I’m so sorry, Lucian.”

  “He looked rather peaceful. There was this strange smile on his face, like he’d discovered the answer to a fine joke. I’ve never been able to shake the image from my mind.”

  Matilda lay down beside him, holding him as best she could. She felt the warm weight of his arm go about her, resting on her hip.

  “You were there. That night.”

  Matilda looked up. “What?”

  “It took a great deal of money and organising to hush it up. There were still whispers about his death, naturally, but I took his body home with me. I waited as long as I dared, almost a week, and then put it about that it was a riding accident at Dern. But that night, the night I found him, I had sent for men who worked for me, men I trusted implicitly, to come to the club and get him, to take him home. I intended to wait until the place was closed and then have Thomas taken out the back. As I was waiting in one of the private rooms… you came in.”

  “That was the night?” Matilda repeated, hardly able to believe it, and yet she remembered.

  She remembered walking into that room and not knowing he was there because it was so terribly quiet, and then she had turned. She had almost screamed, uncertain if he was real. He was so still, unearthly, standing by the window in the moonlight. The most beautiful man she’d ever seen, like a fallen angel. She’d known something was wrong, though. It was as though he wasn’t there at all, as though something was missing, some evidence of life. In the nights that had followed she’d ascribed it to cruelty and indifference, a callous nature that didn’t give a damn for lesser mortals. She had not even considered….