Page 24 of To Hunt the Hunter

The sound of metal on metal rang out once more, and this time Lucian snatched the sword from Burton’s hand with the tip of his own blade and sent the weapon skittering across the floor. Matilda could not fathom exactly how it had been done, and from the disbelieving look in his eyes, neither could Mr Burton.

Lucian’s sword point rested upon his chest, over his heart.

“You’re dead,” he said softly.

Burton glared at him with utter hatred as Matilda breathed a sigh of relief. It was over.

“Pick it up.”

She jolted at the sound of Lucian’s voice, dripping contempt. Surely he hadn’t…?

With disbelief, she watched as Lucian allowed his opponent to retrieve his sword, and the clash of metal rang out once more. She wanted to scream with frustration until once again Lucian flicked the sword from Burton’s hand, sending it sailing away from him. His sword tip trailed across Burton’s throat, leaving a delicate red scratch.

“Dead again, Mr Burton.”

“Lucian!” she shouted across the floor, but the wretched man was beyond hearing her, the look in his eyes quite terrifying.

“Pick it up,” he said, the words precise and bitten off.

Burton stalked across to his sword, never taking his eyes from Lucian. His expression was no less daunting, the passionate fury that came from humiliation, from the desire for retribution. When they came together this time, there was a new recklessness to Burton’s attacks, born of desperation. The cool insouciance Lucian had begun with had vanished now, a murderous glint in his eyes that Burton would have done well to heed. But Mr Burton was in the grip of the same bloodlust, and when the savage attack he let fly was turned back like all the others, his fury filled the room. He let out a bellow of rage and kicked out at Lucian, who danced back out of the way with a laugh.

Burton stood, seething, his chest heaving with effort, his face a savage mask as he reached back and flung the knife at Lucian. Matilda screamed as it arced through the air, falling to her knees with a sob as Lucian’s sword hit it with a crash, sending it clattering to the floor.

Oh God. Oh God.

Would this never end?

Burton flew at Lucian, smashing his sword down hard, and barrelling into Lucian’s side with his shoulder, sending him to the floor. Lucian rolled, and the flickering glint of a blade caught the light, a glimmer dancing across the edge as it struck out and slashed across Mr Burton’s thigh. The man dropped his sword and fell with a cry of agony as blood poured from the wound.

Lucian stood, staring down at Mr Burton before moving forward and kicking his sword out of reach.

“I believe you’ve had enough, sir,” he said coldly. “I will have a physician dispatched to tend your wounds, but I hope you’ll forgive me if I have you sent elsewhere for the treatment.”

He stepped back, breathing hard, and then turned to Matilda, his face clearing as he saw her, as though he’d been somewhere else entirely and was emerging from a thick fog into the light.

“Matilda,” he said, letting out a breath.

“My lord!”

They both turned as Denton and a dozen footmen hurried into the ballroom.

“Have someone fetch a doctor, Denton, and get this wretched fellow out of my home.”

“At once, my lord.”

Lucian turned back to Matilda and smiled, moving quickly towards her, but a flurry of movement behind him caught her eye. Mr Burton reaching for something in his boot, something that he clasped in his hand and raised.

“Lucian!”

The sound was so loud in the great expanse of the ballroom, it seemed to suspend time. It was a moment before she realised what it had been.

A gunshot.

Denton and the footmen shouted, all of them rushing towards Mr Burton as Lucian staggered.

No. No.

No, no, no.