Page 33 of To Hunt the Hunter

It was not Thomas who answered, though.

“I won’t leave you, darling.”

Lucian snatched at the lovely voice again, trying to haul himself free of the nightmare, away from the ghostly, ghastly face of his brother the night he’d found him, dead, all alone in the bedroom of a gentlemen’s club.

Lucian remembered the room, the club. One of the fashionable gaming halls, full of darkness and vice and all kinds of debauchery on offer. Thomas had died there, alone and eaten alive with guilt, eaten alive by the demons that drove him. A sob tore at his throat and he tried to turn his face away from the scene in that sordid room that stank of opium and despair and death. He turned his head and Matilda was there. She was there, too lovely and innocent to be there, in that dreadful place. She was incongruous, like a mirage, a dreadful temptation, the most dangerous desire of all….

“Hush, Lucian.”

Warm fingers curled about his, holding on tight, anchoring him.

“Matilda. You shouldn’t have been there… Shouldn’t have…Shouldn’t be… here.”

“Yes, I should. I am here. I’m not going anywhere. Rest now, my love.”

He slept.

***

30th April 1815. Dern, Sevenoaks, Kent.

“Miss Hunt. Wakey, wakey.”

Matilda blinked. Her head hurt and her mouth was dry, her eyes all scratchy. She jolted up with a lurch as panic struck her heart.

“Lucian!”

“He’s all right, don’t get yourself in a lather. I just brought you a nice cup of tea.”

Matilda rubbed at her gritty eyes, a little disorientated but relieved to discover Pippin was right. Lucian had been fretful and restless ever since the fever set in, but he was relatively peaceful now. A flush seared his high cheekbones and he’d thrashed the sheet off again at some point, exposing a beautifully sculpted chest and muscular arms. Matilda blushed as she realised Pippin was watching her admire him. She twitched the sheet back up, covering him. She ought to be inured to the sight now, after tending him so personally these past days… but apparently not.

“I’m sorry to wake you, but you’ve barely eaten a morsel, nor drunk a drop all day, and I’ve not the time to nurse you too, so that won’t do.”

Matilda nodded and took the teacup from her hand, sipping at it gratefully. It was only now she realised how thirsty she was.

“There’s a nice big piece of fruitcake there, too, so make sure you eat it. It’ll perk you up.”

“Thank you,” Matilda said, her gaze drifting back to Lucian.

“He’ll be all right.” Pippin soothed her. “You’ve seen how fit and strong he is and, more than that, he’s determined to protect those he cares about. He’s not going anywhere.”

Matilda sighed, comforted by this woman’s assurances. She had been impressed and relieved to discover that Lucian’s trust in Pippin was well founded. How many days had it been since he’d been hurt? Three? Four, perhaps? She’d lost track of time. They’d taken shifts, nursing him between them, only allowing his valet to do the things Lucian would have died of mortification rather than have them do. Though Matilda had been more than a little anxious to discover Pippin meant to treat the bullet wound with nothing more powerful than honey and herbs, the results spoke for themselves. Fever had set in, but the infection was under control. It had not grown worse, at least.

“Lucian said your ancestors were wise women.”

Pippin looked up at her and smiled wryly, her expression placid. “Yes. Two hundred and forty years ago, one of my maternal grandmothers was hanged as a witch. Men have always feared women with knowledge. Makes us dangerous, you see, powerful in ways they don’t like nor understand. Happily, such nonsense is forgotten now, but I was taught the same as she was. I by my mother, as her mother was taught before her, and so on. Lucian—his lordship—came to appreciate my skills as a boy. He needed them, too, more often than I care to remember.”

“Because of his uncle?”

Pippin nodded. “He told you.”

“Only a little. That Mr Barrington had tried to kill him.”

Pippin made a disdainful noise. “Oh, no. He did worse than that. He tried to destroy him, and is still trying. That horrible man won with poor Thomas, twisted and tortured that poor boy into such knots….” She shook her head, clamping her lips together against what was obviously strong emotion. “Thomas was so young, fragile too. He didn’t stand a chance against a vile creature like Theodore Barrington. That man told such lies. He made Thomas hate Lucian, and it was years before Thomas realised how he’d been manipulated. When he did, when he understood he’d turned against his own brother and it had all been lies, it destroyed him. Theodore might have got my Lucian too, sent him down the same path, only I saw what he was. Not as quick as I ought to have done, but I saw, and I made sure Lucian knew I’d seen. That I believed him. I made sure he was protected after that. The best I could, anyway.”

“Was it very bad?” Matilda felt sick as she saw the look in Pippin’s eyes.

“Worse than you can imagine.”