Page 32 of To Hunt the Hunter

“Lucian, calm down. I promise you I’m not the least bit revolted. Indeed, you look ridiculously handsome in the circumstances, so do stop fretting.”

He groaned, a little outraged yet relieved too. She wouldn’t leave him. Despite the fact he was bedbound, sweating, vomiting, and out of his head with pain, she would stay by him. He had no right to it, this loving devotion, his mind lucid enough to comprehend that truth down to his bones. Yet he wanted it, needed it so badly, and he loved her. Oh, God help him, he loved her so much he feared the emotion would swallow him whole, like the whale had swallowed Jonah. Yet, he could not have her. Even if he dared to consider defying generations of Barringtons, hundreds and hundreds of years of breeding, of grasping at power….

He could feel his father’s fury and scorn burning him from wherever he was in the hereafter at the mere idea. Even then, though, even if he could defy everything he’d been raised to believe in and cast aside his chance to increase the power and wealth of the family as was his duty… it was too dangerous while his uncle lived. Everyone he’d ever cared for had been taken from him, whether by accident or design. Only Lucian had been so dreadfully hard to kill, as though some benign spell had been cast on him, making him untouchable.

Almost….

He felt a gentle finger trace over the scar on his wrist and his breathing hitched. His uncle had nearly succeeded. Once. And he’d not had to lift a finger himself. Lucian had been too weak and too lonely to fight him any longer. Shame rose again and he tugged his hand free of the anchor that held him, sliding it under the covers. Matilda must leave. If Theodore discovered her here, if he realised it was more than desire that Lucian felt for her….

Oh, God.

“You… must go.” He forced the words out, though his heart protested vehemently. “Dangerous, too dangerous.”

“I’m not going anywhere, my love, and if you want to throw me out, you must get well so you can do it yourself.”

Frustrated, Lucian tried to open his eyes, to focus. Damnation, Pippin must have dosed him again, for it was like swimming through treacle. A sudden memory snatched at his mind, dragging him off course, down into the darkness. His lungs were burning, his mind closing down, the pressure of the water smothering him as he drowned. Drugged. He’d been drugged. It had felt like this, heavy… disorientating. Had the lemonade tasted odd?

“Let’s go for a picnic at the lake, boys. We can go swimming and cool off.”

His uncle’s jovial face was full of pleasure at the idea, him and Thomas laughing with excitement.

Lucian’s breath caught in his throat.

“Thomas!” he said, trying to shout but the water rushed in, taking his cry and sinking it, down into the green depths.

He saw his little brother splashing merrily at the edge of the lake as Lucian flailed, in too deep. His limbs felt like lead. He was so tired, and it would be so easy to sink to the bottom. Uncle Theo was standing by the lake and Lucian tried once more to shout, to make him see, but then came clarity. That dreadful moment when he could no longer fail to acknowledge the truth. Theo could see. He was watching him drown. It all became obvious in an instant. He was supposed to die here, like this, a tragic accident that was no accident at all.

Rage had burned through the drug, giving him a last burst of energy, enough to struggle his way back to where he could touch the bottom. He staggered and collapsed in the mud at the edge of the water, Thomas running to his side, shouting, and suddenly he was being carried back to the house.

Lucian thrashed helplessly, the vile touch of the monster’s hands on him, his sweet, jovial voice scolding him gently before the staff and Great-Aunt Marguerite.

“Naughty scamp must have been nipping at my flask of brandy,” Theo said, tutting a little, an indulgent uncle not wanting to scold his wayward nephew. “Half drowned himself, the foolish lad.”

“Oh, Lucian, whatever next?” Marguerite was as disgusted as always.

Mouldy Marguerite, chanted Phoebe’s voice.

“Yes, mouldy,” he agreed with Phoebe, who was sitting on his knee, eating biscuits.

Marguerite was a wretched old woman, and he hated her.

“Ah, don’t scold him, Marguerite. Boys will be boys and he’s learned his lesson. He just had a tot too much. He won’t do it again.”

“No!” Lucian forced the word out, tried to tell them. “No, it wasn’t me, it was him. It was him!”

But he could see their smiles, see that they believed his uncle and they would not believe him. Only Pippin scowled. Pippin, who came to his bedside though she was not his nurse. Pippin, who wouldn’t let him be alone….

“Lucian, hush now, love. Calm down. Your uncle is not here. Everyone is safe.”

“Phoebe!” he cried, terror clutching at him. Phoebe must not be dragged into dark places, not into the lake, not shut in the tunnels, not tortured with lies and benign smiles that hid razor sharp teeth. She would not live in the nightmares. “Don’t leave her… she must not… not alone.”

“She’s not alone. I promise. Miss Peabody is with her and there are footmen outside her door. Denton arranged it all. There are extra staff in the grounds, too. I will keep her safe for you, darling.”

Lucian subsided. His heart was thudding, too fast, too slow, too… something…. Everything hurt. He felt strange. Cold. Cold and dead, like Thomas had been. Dead and gone with that strange smile upon his face. No…. He shook his head, not wanting that memory to surface, fighting it, but Thomas was there, waiting.

“So sorry, Lucie. I didn’t understand what he was until it was too late, I didn’t see it. Made amends, though…couldn’t live with it… with what I did. Couldn’t taint my little girl with it. It was my fault. All my fault, not yours…. So sorry….”

“No, Thomas, don’t… don’t… it wasn’t you. Don’t go… don’t leave me…. We can fight him together this time.”