Page 42 of To Hunt the Hunter

He closed his eyes, trying to hold on to sanity.

“Stop.”

She did stop then, and he could feel her confusion, feel the weight of her gaze. He opened his eyes, his heart squeezing at the uncertainty in her expression.

“We can’t, Matilda,” he said, willing her not to test him. His resolve already felt about as substantial as smoke, and it would drift away into nothingness if she pressed him.

“But you brought me pleasure,” she said, frowning at him. “And I’m still a virgin—technically, anyway. I’m sure there must be things I can do….”

“Christ! No.”

She jolted in surprise and he cursed himself.

“Don’t make me any more of a devil than I already am, love,” he begged her.

He felt a little affronted by the laughter that comment received.

“Oh, I’m sorry, darling,” she said, noting his indignation, and looking not even a bit chastened. “But I spent many months believing you the devil and, I’m sorry to say, you’ve ruined all your hard work these past weeks. You’re nothing of the sort.”

He glowered up at her.

“Might I remind you,” he said, somewhat tersely. “That you are unmarried, in my bed, and half naked?”

“I know,” she said serenely. “Isn’t it lovely?”

“Hell’s bells, woman! What am I to do with you?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

Lucian groaned.

“It’s nearly midday,” he grumbled. “Denton will be bringing me some foul concoction of Pippin’s at any moment, so unless you want to put the poor fellow quite out of countenance, you’d best get yourself dressed. You look very much like you’ve been ravished.”

That, thank God, got her moving, though she still took the opportunity to give him one last, lingering kiss before she deigned to leave the bed. Lucian sighed, watching with deep regret as she shimmied back into her clothes, securing her lovely breasts into corsets and chemise and all the other layers he’d so enjoyed undoing. That he might never have another chance to touch her in such a way made his heart hurt. For the best, he told himself. It was for the best. The best for her, at least. It felt as if it might kill him.

Chapter 12

Tilda,

Why haven’t you replied to my letter? I do hope you are feeling better and that all this vile gossip about Montagu isn’t upsetting you. Surely you cannot be surprised by it. We always knew what manner of man he was. It has been clear from the start and it’s about time he was brought to heel. I don’t know what kind of hold he has over your heart, but surely even you cannot love a man who is so thoroughly wicked.

I will be in town in a few days and so I will call in and see you—if you can spare the time for your beastly brother.

―Excerpt of a letter from Mr Nathanial Hunt to Miss Matilda Hunt.

5th May 1815. Dern, Sevenoaks, Kent.

“Take your time!” Matilda scolded, as Lucian stopped dead and closed his eyes.

His left arm was in a sling—much to his disgust—his right arm draped about her shoulders for support, and he’d only succumbed that far when he was a third of the way down the stairs. His face had gone the colour of a milk pudding, and she was certain he ought not be up at all, but he’d been properly dressed and shaved, and as elegant as always, when she’d gone to see him this morning. The effort had clearly made him ill, and she knew full well he’d done it because he didn’t trust himself to be alone with her in his bed. Foolish man. He would have his own way, though, and so here he was, heading downstairs. It had taken her half an hour to get him to agree to the sling, which his valet had made up and which Lucian had initially tossed to one side in irritation.

Phoebe had been beside herself with excitement at seeing him up and about, but now she stood at the bottom of the stairs. Her grey-blue eyes stared up, grave with concern as Lucian breathed through the pain.

“Uncle?”

“I’m all right,” he said, forcing a smile. “Just a little… dizzy.”

“That’s why you ought to have stayed in bed,” Matilda muttered crossly.