Page 64 of To Hunt the Hunter

“What do you mean— Oh, no!” she said, shaking her head at Lucian and folding her arms as her heart raced. “Oh, dear me, no. You can’t mean it.”

“But my uncle is so eager for proof of my demise, love,” Lucian said, his eyes twinkling, and it was not mischief that shone there now. Now it was the gleam one saw on the edge of a blade in the moment before it struck with deadly precision. “I do think we ought to provide it. Don’t you?”

***

They made the Three Swans in Market Harborough just as the last rays of sunlight were sinking beneath the horizon. To Matilda’s intense disappointment, only two rooms were available. As the day had been fraught with tension on all sides, she could hardly complain at Lucian’s decision of giving one room to the ladies, and for him to share the remaining room with Denton. Still, she was bitterly discontent. They had so few nights together that losing even one of them seemed a heavy blow. Neither were they to have a moment alone, as they had arrived so late that dinner was served almost at once and everyone hurried off to bed immediately after.

They at least had the good fortune of securing the largest room, which had two good-sized beds. So, Matilda shared with Phoebe, and Mrs Frant and Pippin shared the other.

Though she was exhausted after the trials of the day, Matilda did not immediately fall asleep. Phoebe had snuggled into her, her soft curls tickling Matilda’s chin, one little arm flung about her waist. Matilda hugged the child tightly and allowed herself the foolish indulgence of an impossible dream, of a future where she could stay with Lucian and they could give Phoebe the parents she longed for. A place where the real world never interfered. Her eyes prickled with the impossibility of it and she scolded herself for a fool.

Instead, she turned her attention to the events of the day, how very bold Phoebe was, and how her daring plan had not been dismissed by Lucian, but executed. He never treated the girl with condescension, always listened and valued her opinion. What a marvellous father he would be. Cursing herself, Matilda tried again to turn her mind to other things, and worried instead about the night when Flash Jack was due to meet Theodore Barrington at High Tor on the Heights of Abraham.

A confrontation between Lucian and his uncle seemed to her to be a recipe for disaster. It could only ever end in bloodshed and, whilst Lucian may well prevail, he did not need that stain upon his soul nor the taint that such a scandal would leave upon his reputation. At the very least she must be with him, he must not be alone when he faced that wicked man, and she swore that he would not be. No matter the cost.

Chapter 18

We are having the most marvellous adventure and are now travelling with a real Highwayman. Though he is a villain and says himself he ought to have been choked by a hempen quinsy by now—he means hanged of course—he has given his word of honour to keep us safe. His honour seems as precious to him as it is to my uncle, so I believe him. Flash Jack—Jackie, he says I may call him—has also promised to teach me how to pick a lock, though I made him swear not to tell Uncle Monty. I would never tell my uncle a lie, but I don’t see why I should tell him about things before I do them.

―Excerpt of an entry by Miss Phoebe Barrington to her diary.

8th May 1815, on the road to Matlock Bath.

Matilda spent the entire day plagued by a dreadful sense of unease. They would arrive at Matlock Bath that night and Lucian would meet with the press at Liddon Mill the following morning. She stared at the countryside beyond the window as the journey progressed and the scenery became ever more dramatic. Leicestershire, Mount Sorrel and Loughborough came and went and the wide expanse of the River Trent, glittering in the afternoon sun. The weather closed in as they reached Derby, and by the time they arrived at the Old Bath Hotel the skies were dark and forbidding as evening settled over Matlock Bath like a heavy wool cloak.

Phoebe, who had been in high spirits all day, had finally given in and was sleeping with her head in Matilda’s lap. Matilda smiled down at her. In sleep, Phoebe’s usual mischievous expression was replaced by a peaceful one, as innocent as an angel. She reached out and tucked a stray curl behind the girl’s ear and stroked her satiny cheek. Saying goodbye to this funny child would break her heart as much as it would to turn away from her uncle.

Matilda blinked and forced herself not to think of it.

As the carriage finally rolled to a stop Matilda, looked up to find Lucian’s gaze upon her, and upon the hand that protectively cupped Phoebe’s head. Their eyes met and she saw something fierce and hot in the cool silver, but then a footman opened the door and Phoebe stirred, and the moment was lost.

Matilda admitted herself a little disconcerted to be shown into the hotel via a back door.

“We are incognito,” Lucian reminded her gently at seeing her confusion. “And you ought not be here, but I know the manager, and we may rely upon his discretion. I have taken the entire south wing of the hotel to ensure our privacy, however.”

Matilda nodded, wondering if she ought to care more for her tattered reputation. She wondered if the whole of the ton was abuzz by now. Word must have spread. It always did. Did the world know she was his lover? Did her friends, her brother? She waited for the burn of shame, but it did not come. There was regret for any pain or embarrassment she would bring to those she cared for, but all her friends were happily settled, and she could do them no harm now. She was as free as she would ever be to follow her heart, and so she would and, when it was over, she would travel and see how far away she could get from everything she loved most.

The Old Bath Hotel was large and luxurious, and the manager, Mr Elliot, greeted Lucian with an effusion of obsequious delight guaranteed to irritate him. Matilda watched, a little amused as Montagu surfaced, dealing coolly and efficiently with Mr Elliot, ensuring dinner would be served as soon as it was convenient—which the manager correctly interpreted as at once—and that the hot bath, which the hotel was famous for, be made available for the private use of the party should they wish it.

Dinner was excellent, but everyone was too weary to indulge in the hotel’s attractions and so they were shown to their rooms. Matilda was not the least bit surprised to discover she had a room of her own, but took careful note that Lucian’s bedroom was at the end of the corridor on the right. She bade him goodnight without a murmur of complaint, ordered a hot bath, and smiled a little at the suspicion in his eyes when she closed the door on him.

Matilda soaked in the large copper tub provided, the scent of orange blossom filling the room as she’d added a generous amount of her favourite bath oil to the water. Wishing once more that she had something a little more seductive to wear, she put on the lace nightgown and the wrap that went with it, slid her feet into a pair of dainty satin slippers, and brushed out her hair until it shone. She pinched her cheeks and gently bit her lips until they were rosy, and regarded her reflection with satisfaction. Well, it was certainly the best she could do in the circumstances. Snuffing all but one candle, which she took with her, Matilda cracked open her bedroom door and looked down the darkened corridor. All was quiet.

Her slippers made a soft shushing sound as she padded upon the thick carpet that led to Lucian’s room. She paused for a moment outside his door, wondering if she ought to be more nervous about seducing him. No, she decided, smiling. That horse had certainly bolted. The irony of the situation did not escape her.

Lucian had been pursuing her for almost a year. The cat-and-mouse game they had played had put him firmly in the role of predator, stalking his prey. Yet now, here she was, willing to give him everything he’d wanted, and the wretched cat had turned tail. Well, it was high time she played the part of feline seducer. She’d been dubbed The Huntress, had she not? That wretched name had followed her, been whispered behind her back and flung in her face. It was well past time she embraced it. Better yet, it was beyond time to live up to it. She opened the door.

Lucian was sitting at the writing desk. He looked up as the door opened, his profile cast in gold by the single candle burning on the desk beside him. It was the kind of profile that ought to be stamped on a coin, the austere angles of his face, the straight nose and uncompromising line of his jaw that of a king or a Roman emperor. He turned to look at her, his expression revealing nothing, which told Matilda more than he could have guessed. It had not taken her long to realise that the less he showed—the harder he worked to hide any trace of emotion—the more deeply he felt.

“Ah,” he said softly. “I thought you’d acquiesced a little too easily.”

“Far too easily,” she agreed, closing the door behind her.

Matilda turned back to study him: the long, elegant fingers holding the quill, the fine white shirt open at the neck, his cravat discarded, and his sleeves rolled up to show surprisingly powerful forearms. A result of all that sword play he must practice so keenly, no doubt. No one else saw him like this, without the armour he had fashioned from his impeccable clothes, lofty title, and that frigid silver glare. Far more than others of his rank, he held the world at a distance and allowed no one close, not even his equals. No one saw beyond the façade except for her and Phoebe. Even his trusted servants only caught glimpses of what they knew to be true of him, that he was kind beneath the rigid exterior, that he was not as cold as ice, but warm and loving, and that he wanted so much to protect those he loved, to keep them safe.

He set down the quill. “I won’t do it, Matilda.”

She did not pretend to misunderstand him. “Why not, when I want it as much as you do?”