Page 98 of To Hunt the Hunter

“Oh!” she cried. “Oh, that makes me happy. Do it again.”

Lucian chuckled.

“Here?” he asked, holding her in place and nudging against the place that made her gasp. “Ah, yes.”

Matilda could not laugh, too enraptured, too committed to chasing sensation as they clung together until his body grew taut and he shuddered in her arms, calling her name and holding her close. His pleasure in her was entrancing, the hot spill of his seed inside her enough to tumble her over the edge with him and leave her gasping and dazed in his arms.

“Oh,” she said, once she could speak again, once words were remembered and she could bring the right ones to mind. “At last.”

She felt his shoulders quivering under her hands as he laughed, helpless with relief and love and happiness.

“At last,” he echoed, rolling onto his back and taking her with him. “At last. Thank God.”

Epilogue

Dear diary,

It has been the best day ever in the world!

I know I have written that before, but each time it is true. Today was my birthday and I have friends. They came to celebrate with me, and we had cake and presents, and Mother arranged parlour games. We played blind man’s bluff and snap dragon and it was marvellous. Tomorrow the grown-ups are coming and there will be more cake and more presents and Papa says I am quite dreadful and horribly spoiled. He smiles when he says it, though, so I know he doesn’t mean it. He smiles all the time now.

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

7th February 1816. Dern, Sevenoaks, Kent.

Seven months later…

Gabe gave a yell of triumph as the snowball hit Lucian smack in the head, knocking his hat off.

“Oh, good shot!” Helena cried, clapping enthusiastically.

Matilda snorted with laughter, earning herself a reproachful glare from her husband.

“Think that’s funny, do you?” he demanded, scooping up a large handful of snow.

“No,” she said, holding her hands out and backing up, correctly interpreting the look in his eyes, which were dancing with mischief. “No, Lucian, don’t you—”

She shrieked, hitching up her skirts as her husband pursued her.

“Don’t you dare!” she shouted again, dodging behind a tree.

“Get her, Papa!” Phoebe yelled in delight, then screaming as Bonnie stuffed a snowball down the back of her neck. “Oh, you’ll regret that!”

Bonnie darted away, skirts hiked up to her knees, shrieking with laughter.

Matilda pressed on into the undergrowth, the sound of their friends enjoying the snow fading until nothing but the snap of twigs and the crunch of snow was heard. She stilled, leaning breathless against a tree as Lucian stalked toward her.

“Now you’re in trouble,” he said with satisfaction, brandishing the ball of snow.

Matilda shook her head, grinning. “I’m not. I shall make a deal with you.”

“A deal?” he said, silver eyes glinting. “What kind of deal?”

“The kind that stops you stuffing that snowball down my neck,” she said, laughing.

“Intriguing,” he replied, moving closer. “What did you have in mind?”

“A kiss. A kiss for the snowball.”