Page 61 of To Hunt the Hunter

Matilda’s expression changed at once and she flung her arms about his neck. “I promise. Oh, of course, I promise. Only you must promise me not to do anything foolish. Please, my love.”

“I am in no hurry to allow my uncle his victory, I assure you. Do have a little faith in me,” he added with reproach.

“Very well.” Matilda nodded and stepped away from him, moving to Phoebe and laying her hands on the girl’s shoulders. “We shall do as you’ve asked.”

Lucian nodded, satisfied, and then looked around as he heard Denton hailing him.

“Someone is coming.” He hesitated at speaking out before Phoebe, but the child was no fool. “I love you both,” he said, and then turned and left them.

Chapter 17

It grieves me to ask such a favour of you, indeed; I find it mortifying in the extreme, but I am running out of options. Montagu has frozen my accounts and any line of credit, and I find myself somewhat embarrassed.

May I be so crass as to ask if you might lend me some funds until I can remedy the situation?

―Excerpt of a letter from Mr Theodore Barrington to Charles Adolphus, Baron Fitzwalter.

7th May 1815. Stratford Bridge. Stony Stratford. Buckinghamshire.

To the casual observer the carriage had been damaged and was immoveable, blocking the far side of the bridge. The horses had been unhitched and were contentedly cropping grass at the side of the road whilst Denton made a show of rummaging through a tool chest stashed under the driver’s box. Their driver, and the driver of the carriage they’d left behind in the village, were both ducked down behind the bridge. All were armed.

Lucian sat in the carriage, waiting. They would hardly expect a marquess to dirty his hands with manual labour, no matter what manner of man he was disguised as.

His hands were steady on the pistol as he heard the horses approach. Four, by the sounds of it, which gave them even odds. He heard a coarse voice yell at Denton to leg it and he’d come to no harm, and prayed the man remembered to play his part and get to cover. The door swung open and a large, ruddy faced villain filled the opening. A spotted red cravat was tied about his face, and on seeing Lucian, he tugged it down. He was a huge brute with a broken nose and pockmarked skin and the odours of stale sweat, liquor, and smoke permeated the carriage. His bloodshot blue eyes swung to the pistol Lucian held and he grinned, showing a row of tombstone teeth in various stages of decay.

“Well, good day to you an’ all, lord,” he said, apparently undaunted by the sight that had greeted him. Naturally, he too held a pistol.

“Good day,” Lucian said, not batting an eyelid. “I take it you have come to murder me on my uncle’s behalf and collect your reward?”

“That I have, your grace,” the chap said, quite amicably.

Lucian returned a withering look. “‘My lord’ is sufficient, I am a marquess, not a duke. I do hope this does not diminish your comrades’ estimation of your talents, as the title is less elevated than you imagined.”

“Ah, no, bless you, lord. Everyone knows Montagu is a wicked devil. You is as good as any duke by my reckoning. Better, even.”

“How reassuring,” Lucian replied dryly. “But before you put a period to my life, I wonder if we might have a little chat?”

The fellow sighed and pushed back his tricorn hat with the barrel of his pistol, returning a regretful expression. “Well, that would be right nice, but murdering a peer is a perilous business, and I’d rather get the messy part of the job done and get clear, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Well, as it is my life in the balance, it is not all the same to me,” Lucian said, crossing one leg over the other and sitting back against the squabs, apparently quite at his ease. “And as you say, murdering a peer of the realm is a perilous undertaking. I promise you you’ll never sleep sound again. You see, my solicitor knows to publish a deal of exceedingly unpleasant material if I were ever to die in suspicious circumstances. Which means many equally unpleasant men would be most displeased if I were to meet an untimely end. So, you see, it would not just bring you the inevitable difficulty of dodging the noose for having murdered a peer. Not only would justice need to be done quickly to set an example, but those men whose dirty secrets had been published to the world would likely want to seek retribution for the trouble that had befallen them.” Lucian gave him the benefit of a cool smile. “You do take my meaning?”

A glimmer of doubt flickered in the bloodshot eyes, and his would be assassin rubbed at his jaw, his expression thoughtful.

“They do say ’ow you is a dangerous fellow to cross,” he replied, his tone considering.

“I’m afraid that’s true,” Lucian said. “And I must also assure you I would by far rather shoot you before I die, than go peacefully. I’ve never been in the least biddable, I’m afraid. However, I have a proposal for you I believe you will find worth your while, should you decide to stay for that little chat after all?”

“Oh, aye?”

Lucian held his gaze. He’d had too many decades practise of hiding his own feelings to betray any glimmer of doubt or anxiety. This fellow would see nothing beyond the facade, just Montagu at his most icy and disdainful.

“I beg you to consider the facts, sir. I am the Marquess of Montagu and as such I control the purse strings of my entire family. Including my uncle. As I severely curtailed his spending some years ago, and recently crippled the man who has been financing his little schemes in the meantime, where do you think he’ll find the money to pay you?”

“You reckon he’d bilk me?” the fellow said, his head rearing back in disgust, his indignation genuine.

“I’m afraid he will have no option. He’s not got a feather to fly with.”

“Well, damn me, if the old gentleman hasn’t taken old Flash for a fool,” he said, shaking his head and then turning back to Lucian with narrowed eyes. “’Ere, how do I know you’re not telling me some Banbury story?”