Page 6 of To Steal a Kiss

“And what if she recognises me?” he asked, his displeasure obvious. “Won’t she feel foolish when she discovers it’s your brother you forced into meeting her?”

Matilda shook her head. “She’s never met you, and it will be dark but for the moonlight. With the hours you keep, it’s unlikely you’ll meet her again anytime soon. Besides,” she added, smiling, “if she ever discovers it, I’ll tell her you needed no persuading. In fact, you leapt at the chance. It wouldn’t be hard to believe, would it?”

“Naturally,” Nate said. There was a flash of something in his eyes, something raw and hurt. He moved away from her.

Belatedly, a pang of guilt struck at her heart for using her brother so, but there was no one else she could ask.

“I just want her to be happy, Nate. That’s all.”

There was more emotion in the words than she’d meant to show. For all her thoughts of blackmailing him, she didn’t mean to burden him with her unhappiness. Indeed, she took great efforts in appearing happy and vivacious, everything she’d always been before… before her father, her brother, and the Marquess of Montagu had stolen her future from her.

“I know, Tilda,” Nate said, turning to look at her, his mouth quirking a little in a crooked smile. “Fine,” he said with a sigh, clearly unhappy, but resigned at least. “Your Alice will have her kiss in the moonlight, you have my word, but you’d better keep a sharp eye out, for I’ll not get leg shackled. Not even for you.”

Matilda held her tongue, knowing he’d never ruin Alice like she’d been ruined, no matter how he despised the idea. Instead she let out a breath of laughter and nodded her agreement.

“Fair enough.” She went to him and kissed his cheek. “Very best of brothers.”

Nate gave a bark of laughter at that.

“Too much?” she asked, smirking a little.

“Far, far too much,” he agreed.

Chapter 3

I have seen your brother, Matilda. If Alice finds herself indisposed, I might be persuaded to take her place. What a handsome rogue he is. If anyone’s kiss could change a woman’s life, I’d wager his could.

―Excerpt of a letter from Senorita Lucia de Feria to Miss Matilda Hunt.

The evening of the 13th June 1814. Half Moon Street, Mayfair, London.

Nate watched as his sister left the room, and sighed. Would it always be like this? Would he never be free of the guilt?

No.

A stupid question, in any case. He didn’t deserve to be free of it. He never would.

Nate rubbed his eyes, dry and gritty from too little sleep and the smoky atmosphere of the club. Regret lay heavy upon him for so many reasons. He dropped back into the elegantly upholstered chair by the fireplace, and his thoughts returned to that fateful night. The night his father had lain dying.

Hunt Senior had taken to his bed and slowly but steadily declined, the doctor diagnosing pneumonia. During his illness, his father confessed to having run up something of a debt. Totally in the dark as to his spendthrift ways, Nate had cheerfully bade the old man not to worry, he’d sort things out. What a bloody laugh.

Soon enough it became clear that their father had not run up something of a debt, he’d ruined them. Sums the like of which Nate could hardly conceive of were owing left, right, and centre, with bailiffs hammering on the door at all hours of the day and night. They’d had to sell everything. All the land, the property—that which wasn’t already mortgaged to the hilt—artwork, furniture, and even every piece of jewellery that mother had left Matilda. When all was said and done, they barely had the clothes on their back to call their own.

Added to that, their feckless parent didn’t even have the decency to make a clean break but lingered on for weeks, adding doctor’s bills to their endless list of debts.

Furious and sick at heart, terrified of what would become of them, Nate had gone out to drown his sorrows.

Feeling like doing much the same now, Nate got up and refilled his glass, moving to stand by the window that Matilda had left open. He leaned against it, resting his forehead on the cool glass and enjoying the breeze that ruffled his hair as he stared down at the darkening street.

Matilda had come to fetch him that night. His father was dying at last, and had been asking for him, wanting to beg his forgiveness. The servants had all gone by then, save a maid who came in for a few hours during the day. At that hour of the night, though, his sister had been alone, playing nursemaid to a dying man. The old devil had been selfish to the last, begging her to fetch Nate so pitifully that she went out into the night. Alone.

Matilda had taken it upon herself to come to the men’s drinking club of which Nate had always been a member. He, at least, had no debts and his membership had been paid in full until the end of the year. He’d had every intention of remaining there until they kicked him out at midnight on the thirty-first of December.

Somehow, and Nate still didn’t know how she’d done it, Matilda had begged the proprietor to let her in, and he’d shown her to a private room to wait, while they tracked Nate down.

Except the room had been neither as empty nor as private as they’d supposed.

Nate groaned. He regretted so much about that night. He regretted the fact he’d refused to go to her, once her message had been relayed. He’d hated his bloody father by that point, and he was damned if he’d give him leave to rest in peace when the bastard had condemned both his children to live in penury. He regretted that too. His father had been a fool and a spendthrift, but Nate had loved him, and he regretted never having told the old devil as much.