Page 59 of To Hunt the Hunter

Matilda’s heart gave a flutter of anxiety and she told herself not to panic. “Perhaps it was someone who knew you and you could not see them.”

Lucian shook his head. “I never doubted my uncle had a variety of unsavoury characters in hand to watch this route for any travellers matching my description. They just wanted to make sure.”

He fixed his gaze to the world beyond the window as the carriage moved slowly through the crowds. His hand remained upon the pistol on the seat beside him, his tension palpable.

“Idiot!” he cursed under his breath.

“Lucian, you cannot blame yourself for turning at the sound of your name. It has been yours for decades and it is a natural reaction.”

He snorted.

“Perhaps, but I can blame myself for bringing you with me. How I ever let you talk me into this madness….” He shook his head. “No. That is unfair. I needed little enough persuading. I wanted you with me. It was pure selfishness, and now I have put you both in danger.”

“Nonsense,” Matilda retorted. “If we’d been left behind, we would have been targets too. Your uncle would have known he could manipulate you if either one of us was in danger.”

“And you would not have been in danger!” he snapped. “I’m a marquess for the love of God. Do you not think I could have hired an army of men to keep you both safe? But no, instead I brought you with me on this hare-brained adventure, and now—”

“And now, someone has figured out who you are, and we must be on our guard,” Matilda said, keeping her voice soothing even as her heart was beating a rapid tattoo in her chest. “We must make haste and lose them, that is all.”

“That’s no good.” Phoebe shook her head, staring at her uncle, her little face grave and thoughtful. “We could not be certain we’d lost them. We would not know if we were safe or not. So, we ought to trap them, confront them. Then we’d know exactly where they were.”

“I’m afraid that sounds rather dangerous,” Matilda said with a placating smile, taking Phoebe’s hand.

“No.” They both looked up as Lucian stared at Phoebe, frowning. “She’s right.”

Phoebe beamed and jumped up and down in her seat.

“Shall we trick them, Papa? And then tie them up and throw them in the river? A pity we’re not at sea, we could make them walk the plank,” she added, clearly beside herself that Lucian approved of her mad scheme.

“What a bloodthirsty creature you are,” he observed mildly, though his expression was still grim. “And I’m not your papa, sweetheart, much as I wish otherwise.”

Phoebe frowned, but Matilda did not have time to consider her feelings for the moment, too alarmed by what on earth Lucian was considering.

“Lucian,” she said, praying he was not serious. “You cannot possibly think that is a good idea. Surely, if we make haste….”

He shook his head. “No. They’ll look for a quiet place to ambush us or murder us in our beds. No, this needs meeting head on.”

“But—”

“Let me think, love,” he said, sounding distracted as he returned his attention to watching the world outside.

Matilda could do nothing but hold her tongue for the moment and hope to goodness she could make him think again.

***

“This is insanity,” Matilda said, for at least the fifth time. “We don’t even know if they are following us.”

Lucian held her hand, one arm about her waist as he guided her over the steep ground that led down to the river’s edge.

“They’re following us,” he said, not needing to see the men his uncle had sent to know that much.

“But, Lucian, you don’t know how many there are, or what they have in mind.”

Lucian thought he had a pretty fair idea of what they had in mind, and all of those ideas ended up with him dead. The other thing he knew was that these villains were likely nothing more than cutthroats, paid to do a job. Therefore, they owed no allegiance to Theodore past wanting to collect their money. Money which his uncle would struggle to obtain, since Lucian had a stranglehold on his finances and Mr Burton, who had been financing Theodore’s vendetta, had troubles of his own. Lucian might be travelling in disguise—and might be furious with himself for allowing his desire to keep Matilda and Phoebe close to override good sense—but he had no problem with securing appropriate funds. What’s more, he was Montagu, no matter his uncle’s ambitions, and these devils knew it.

He guided Matilda and Phoebe down the steep bank that led to the River Ouse and under the dark, dank arches of Stratford Bridge. They’d changed horses as Stony Stratford, less than a mile back, and though there had been no sign of pursuit, Lucian could feel their presence like a storm on the horizon.

“I will not hide here whilst you put yourself in danger,” Matilda objected, folding her arms and glaring about the gloomy environs beneath the bridge with disgust.