Page 88 of To Hunt the Hunter

Stop it, Lucian.

Why was he staring at her so? He was supposed to be saving her, not making it worse.

Suddenly, he was moving with the grace of a panther, stalking down the stairs to the ballroom, the crowd parting before him like prey before a predator. A murmur of delighted anticipation shivered over everyone assembled as they saw where he was going, expecting a delicious scandal to unfold before them as he headed for the woman they knew to be his mistress.

“What is he doing?” Matilda demanded, clutching at Aashini’s hand.

“Courage, Matilda,” Prue commanded. “It will be all right.”

Matilda wanted to look to her friend, to demand how she knew that, but she could not take her eyes off Lucian as he moved towards her. He looked as cool and untouchable as always, icy and remote, and yet she saw something in his eyes as he drew closer, something that had her heart skipping about in a mad dance behind her ribs. A flash and glitter of light under the glare of the chandeliers above drew her gaze to his lapel. The ruby-and-diamond witch’s heart he had sent her once before sparkled against his black coat. He had told her she had bewitched him when he had sent her his gift. She had refused it and sent it back again. Why on earth was he wearing it?

Matilda had no time to consider the question, as he was standing right in front of her.

“Good evening, Miss Hunt,” he said, giving her a deep and respectful bow, as the murmurs of shock and delighted fascination grew louder.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, her voice quavering.

He smiled at her and reached for the brooch at his lapel, unpinning it.

“You scolded me the last time I tried to give you this,” he said, holding the little heart in the palm of his hand. “You said a gentleman would never presume to send a gift of such value and intimacy to a lady unless they were betrothed. Not if he had any respect for her.”

“And I was right,” she said, furious now, too conscious of the hundreds of eyes upon them, watching him ruin her for good, announcing to the world the intimacy of their relationship.

To her horror, he stepped forward and put his hands to her gown, earning a gasp from all corners of the ballroom. Matilda was too shocked to react at all, only dimly aware of Bedwin fighting to restrain her brother. With perfect calm, Lucian pinned the heart to the neckline of her dress, his gloved hands brushing her skin, making her shiver with longing. His silver eyes glinted with satisfaction as he looked back at her.

“You have my heart now, Matilda, for always, and this time I should like you to keep it.”

“Lucian,” Matilda began, bewildered, tears gathering in her eyes as the declaration made her heart sing even as he cast her from society for good, and then he did the most extraordinary thing.

Matilda watched, astonished, as Lucian Barrington, the Marquess of Montagu, got to one knee.

***

His hands were shaking so badly he hadn’t the faintest idea how he’d pinned the bloody brooch on. When he’d seen her standing in the ballroom, proud as a queen, surrounded by those who loved her, he’d thought his heart would give out. He had always had to turn away from the things he’d wanted, to choose his duty over pleasure, over happiness. Could he really make a different choice this time? His chest had been tight with panic, with terror, for surely she could not be his, surely he had not the right to such a prize. Everyone here thought him the prize to be won, but that was because they were fools who could not see the truth.

God, she was beautiful.

The gown she wore sparkled beneath the light of hundreds of candles, making her look as if she was ablaze, a fairy queen dressed in starlight. He was certain he hadn’t breathed from the moment he’d seen her, his lungs locked down as he crossed the floor. All the world was watching and, if she refused him, he would be a laughingstock, ridiculed until the end of time. Which was why he had to do it this way, why he had to give her the power when he had taken that from her all those years ago. He loved her too much to do anything less than this, a public declaration of his love and esteem before all of those who had scorned her. Let them think less of her now, the woman who had brought the Marquess of Montagu to heel, and to his knees. He would crush anyone who so much as glanced at her with anything less than respect.

He could see the hurt in her eyes as he grew closer, her confusion, and prayed she would not run from him, but stand sure and proud until he could make clear his intentions.

“You have my heart now, Matilda, for always,” he said, aware that his voice trembled as much as his hands. “And this time I should like you to keep it.”

“Lucian….” She broke off with a gasp as he got to one knee before her and reached for her hand.

“My love,” he said, as everyone else disappeared and only she was before him, the woman who had melted the ice, who had stood beside him while he faced the monster from his childhood and all the ghosts that haunted him. “I have been dying a little more each day without you. I cannot live this way, cannot endure another day without you by my side. Please, Matilda, would you do me the very great honour of becoming my wife?”

Her mouth fell open, her beautiful blue eyes glittering with tears, wide with astonishment. She said nothing, just stared at him in silence, and Lucian’s heart thudded unevenly as panic bloomed in his chest.

“Say yes, Matilda!” cried a little voice from the balcony above. They both looked up to see Phoebe hanging over the balustrade, waving madly. “Say yes!”

Matilda gave a startled laugh and turned back to him, her smile wide and glorious.

“Yes,” she whispered, and Lucian let out a breath of relief. Louder this time, she said it again. “Yes. Yes, yes, yes!”

“Oh, thank God.”

He got to his feet as a shriek of horror echoed around the ballroom, loud even over the din of excited chatter and shock. Lucian saw his aunt Marguerite fall back in a swoon with a billow of black bombazine.