Page 43 of To Hunt the Hunter

He shot her a rueful glance.

“Hmmm, so you could have the pleasure of driving me out of my head?” he mused, his tone low and wicked.

Matilda flushed, whispering in return. “That was your own silly fault, so don’t go playing the martyr now.”

“Cruel,” he murmured, moving slowly down the steps. “So dreadfully cruel.”

“What are you talking about?” Phoebe demanded, folding her arms. “Why is Matilda all red?”

“Because I’m making her cross,” Lucian said easily, pausing again as the sound of raised voices made themselves known.

“I don’t give a damn if he’s not at home,” came an imposing and irritated voice. “He’ll bloody well see me. It’s for his own good.”

“Matilda,” Lucian said, stiffening at once. “Go. Go quickly.”

Even if she’d wanted to accede to his wishes, there was no time as Gabriel Knight burst through the doors with Helena in tow. They stopped in their tracks as they looked up the stairs to see Lucian and Matilda together, his arm about her shoulders.

“Matilda!” Helena’s shock was palpable, her eyes growing wide. “You’re… here.”

“So I am,” Matilda said placidly.

“Not a word,” Lucian said, his voice as cold and autocratic as she’d ever heard it. “If either of you—”

“If the next word out of your mouth threatens my wife, there will be consequences,” Mr Knight growled, his eyes growing dark. “But no one will hear a word against Matilda from us.”

“Never!” Helena said staunchly.

Matilda smiled and laid a hand on Lucian’s chest.

“Helena is my friend,” she reminded him gently, feeling the rabbit-fast beat of his heart beneath her palm. “They won’t say anything.”

He nodded, his face taut with strain.

“Perhaps you should go back to bed,” she said quietly.

He sent her a fierce look which made her clamp her mouth shut, and she resolved not to mention the idea again. Not in front of Mr Knight, at least. Men and their bloody pride.

“What’s wrong?” Mr Knight demanded, eyeing the sling and walking closer.

“He was shot,” Matilda said, seeing from the horrified looks on their faces, this part of the story had not made it into the gossip sheets.

“Shot?” Helene squeaked in alarm.

“By that horrid Mr Burton,” Phoebe said, taking Helena’s hand, her little face furious. “They had a duel and uncle beat him fair and square, and then the scoundrel shot him when his back was turned. Isn’t that vile?”

“Christ,” Mr Knight said before hurrying to Lucian and easing Matilda aside. “Here, lean on me.”

“I’m not a blasted invalid,” Lucian snapped, subsiding with a frustrated huff as no one seemed to take a blind bit of notice, least of all Mr Knight.

They made it into the library and Matilda settled him in a chair with cushions to support his injured shoulder, while Lucian protested that she must stop fussing. Much to the child’s indignation, Phoebe was sent away so the grown-ups could talk, and was only mollified by a promise from Helena to visit her before she left. Once Lucian was comfortable, his sharp silver gaze descended upon his guests.

“Well,” he said. “I imagine you’ve got some interesting story about what I’ve been up to of late. You’d best share it. I don’t doubt it is salacious.”

Matilda watched with misgiving as Helena exchanged a glance with her husband.

“Yes, that’s why we’re here,” Mr Knight said, staring at Lucian. “And, for the record, I didn’t believe it.”

Lucian snorted. “I rather suspect you’re in the minority.”