To Hunt the Hunter (Girls Who Dare Book 11)

by Emma V. Leech

  “They’re looking for us.”

  Lucian closed his eyes and drew in a rough breath. “Damnation.”

  With something like defiance, he stole one last kiss before he pushed away from her and stalked to the far side of the room, turning his back on her.

  Matilda took a series of shuddering breaths, trying to steady herself as she took a swift inventory of the state of her hair and dress. Satisfied that nothing was too dreadfully dishevelled, she pressed the backs of her hands to her cheeks to cool the flush that had consumed her. It was a hopeless task. She was burning inside, and she knew now just how reckless they had been. Before today, she had wanted him, but she had not known the touch of his lips, the reality of being in his arms. Even their kiss this morning had been a fragile thing, a simple promise of what could be, a match set against a forest fire compared to what had just happened between them. Her imagination had supplied images, conjured an idea of how it might be, but he had burned away those frail suppositions like tissue paper and left in their place the blazing heat of truth. How much harder now to walk away from him, knowing what she did.

  “There you are,” said a frustrated voice as Phoebe appeared, dragging a reluctant Miss Peabody in her wake. “We’ve been looking everywhere.”

  “I’m sorry, dear,” Matilda said, relieved that she could speak at all, and for once doing better than Lucian, who was still standing with his back to them. “Your uncle has been showing me around.”

  Somehow, she said it without blushing, not that it mattered. She could still feel the heat simmering under her skin, so she must be scarlet, anyway. To underline this fact, Miss Peabody was studiously avoiding her eye and looked remarkably uncomfortable. She wondered what the woman thought of her, and decided she didn’t care. People had been making assumptions about Matilda’s morals for years, at least now she’d done something to earn her reputation. There was some perverse sense of satisfaction in that.

  “It’s almost dinnertime,” Phoebe said, looking at Matilda in surprise. “Aren’t you going to get ready?”

  “Is it so late?” Matilda said, shocked as she considered how long they must have been wandering the building alone together.

  “We keep country hours at Dern,” Lucian said, a little apologetically.

  Somehow, she forced herself to meet his eyes to discover he was not quite as composed at he usually was, something dark and restless still visible in his eyes, and his hair slightly disarrayed. She must have done that, she realised, and had to look away as a blush threatened, remembering the warm silk of his hair sliding through her fingers.

  “Then I had best go and change at once,” she said, too brightly. “Can you guide me to my room, Phoebe? Or else I shall be lost for years and miss everything, never mind dinner.”

  Phoebe laughed and skipped up to her, taking her hand. “Of course. It’s not so difficult once you get used to it.”

  Matilda held back the obvious comment. The girl had recovered her good humour, and she did not wish to dent it again, so she followed Phoebe out of the room and did not look around to see if Lucian watched her go.

  She did not need to.

  Chapter 6

  Dear Prue,

  Have you seen Matilda at all? She seemed so distracted at Helena’s wedding. No doubt I’m just being silly, but I got the strangest feeling she was in some kind of trouble, or that something was wrong. I’m worrying over nothing, I expect. Only I called upon her, and her butler was most evasive. She’s gone away for a few days, but he would not say where and… Oh, ignore me. I’m just being a busy-body, no doubt.

  How are you feeling? You must be so excited. Not too long now before we all get to meet the newest member of the family.

  ―Excerpt of a letter from Mrs Minerva de Beauvoir to Prunella Adolphus, Her Grace the Duchess of Bedwin.

  25th April 1815. Dern, Sevenoaks, Kent.

  Matilda took her time to get ready for dinner. She needed as long as possible to quell the simmering heat thrumming in her veins. It was hopeless though, and there was little point in denying the danger she was in. Tonight, after Phoebe had gone to bed, they would be alone again. The idea filled her with a rush of anticipation, rather than the terror and anxiety she ought to experience. She reassured herself she would not be so reckless as to forget herself entirely and go to his bed. She was not so great a fool as that. Yet, how she wanted to be a fool! Would she ever have another chance to experience such passion? Not with Lucian. At some point this year he would take a wife, and she would not be here to watch him do so. It would break something in her to see him with another. She would go away, perhaps to stay with Ruth in Scotland for the summer, where news of Lucian would be far away, and she could tend the pieces of her heart in private.

  It was for the best.

  “Are you all right, miss?”

  Matilda looked up, realising too late she’d barely spoken a word to Sarah and had been staring into the far distance for some time, though she was ready to go down.

  “I beg your pardon, I’m afraid I was wool gathering.” Matilda began pulling on her gloves, shaking herself from thoughts of the bleak prospect awaiting her.

  “He kissed you, didn’t he?” the girl said with a wistful smile. “Was it lovely?”

  Matilda didn’t even blush this time. She just gave a soft laugh and nodded.

  “Yes,” she said, realising how ridiculously inadequate the description was. “It was certainly lovely.”

  Sarah gave a happy sigh and hugged herself, no doubt filling her head with visions of living at Dern and being a lady’s maid to a marchioness. Matilda had neither the heart nor the energy to remind her she was living in a dream world. Not when she was there too, right beside her. The only difference was, Matilda knew it was a fantasy, and in the morning, she would have a rude awakening.

  She opened the door to find Phoebe waiting for her.

  “At last,” she said, grinning at Matilda and running to take her hand. “Oh, my. What a beautiful dress. It’s the same colour blue as your eyes, you know. You do look pretty.”

  “Thank you, and I must return the compliment. How lovely you look. You’ll be a great beauty one day.”

  Phoebe nodded. “I know. Uncle said so too. Is it nice, being beautiful?”

  Matilda laughed a little at that. “Well, yes. I suppose it is. Though I think you will by far exceed me. Your poor uncle will be beset by your admirers.”

  Phoebe shrugged, apparently unimpressed with this idea. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I shan’t marry anyone. Uncle would be so sad if I left him alone. I couldn’t bear it.”

  “Oh, but he won’t be alone by the time you’re grown up.” Somehow, Matilda kept her voice light, though the words threatened to choke her. “He’ll get married soon, and then you’ll have lots of little cousins to play with. So, you see, he won’t be alone.”

  A belligerent expression settled upon the child’s delicate features. Matilda’s scolded herself for the surge of pleasure it gave her to know Phoebe wanted her here, and not one of the prospective brides on Lucian’s list.

  “He doesn’t want to marry any of those stupid women, and they won’t want me here. I’ll just be in the way. They’ll just end up arguing over me because Uncle will want me to stay and his new wife will want me gone, and with good reason, for I shan’t like them. If he marries any one of them, we shall all be miserable.”

  “Phoebe,” Matilda began, knowing she must do something, say something to ease the poor girl’s heart.

  “No.” Phoebe stamped her foot and stared up at Matilda. “I’m not blind. I know he loves you, and you love him, and you should be married to each other. It’s so stupid. Who cares about a name? They’re all dead! They’re all dead! Mother and Father are dead, but he’s not dead, and neither are you.”

  Matilda got to her knees and hugged Phoebe tightly, feeling her little frame trembling with emotion. “I’m so sorry, Phoebe. I know it must seem very stupid to you. Indeed, it is stupid. There are so many thin
gs about life that are cruel and unfair, but there are lots of lovely things too. Don’t make yourself hate someone before you’ve even met them. I’m sure whoever your uncle marries will be someone you’ll like. After all, if he likes her well enough to marry her, you are bound to like her too.”

  Phoebe made a sound of quiet rage but said nothing. Matilda sighed, wishing this were not so dreadfully hard. She tried again.

  “Besides which, your uncle does not love me, not well enough to marry me. We are just friends, good friends. That’s all.”

  Phoebe fumbled for a handkerchief, retrieving one from the sleeve of her dress. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose before sending Matilda a look of such pitying disbelief, Matilda might have laughed if the circumstances were otherwise.

  “Come along,” Phoebe said, her voice terse, though making it obvious that this conversation was not over.

  Matilda followed obediently, wishing Phoebe was a little less perceptive, and hoping fervently that they’d manage the rest of the evening without any further incident.

  ***

  Phoebe simmered all the way through dinner. She suspected her uncle was quite aware of her mood, as he’d dismissed all the staff as soon as the meal had been served. No doubt he didn’t want them witnessing a scene. For the moment she was too cross to speak, so she just ate and pretended that she was behaving herself whilst concocting all manner of ways to keep Matilda at Dern. She considered creeping into Matilda’s bedroom and painting her with spots so everyone thought she had measles, but reflected that these would wash off too easily and be unconvincing. She thought then about finding something in the medical cupboard to make her sick, or sleepy, but that was obviously far too dangerous. That was a shame, for if it was like in Sleeping Beauty it would be terribly romantic, but life was never like it was in fairy stories and she wasn’t such a ninny as to believe it was.

  Next, she considered setting all the horses free so there would none to draw Matilda’s carriage, but Phoebe would never get past all the grooms without someone seeing her, so that was no good. The best idea she had was to lock Matilda in her room and hide the key. The doors were solid oak and the locks very strong indeed. It would take some time to set her free. That was only a short term solution, though, and one that would get her into a lot of trouble, but it was the best she had at present, and it would give her time to think.

  “What are you plotting, miss?”

  Phoebe looked up and found her uncle watching her. Drat. He always knew when she was up to mischief. He had the kind of impenetrable gaze that made you want to squirm in your seat, like he knew exactly what you were thinking. She’d had plenty of practise at meeting it, however, and though she never lied to him, she did not think she needed to tell him her every thought.

  “How to make you see sense,” she muttered under her breath.

  “I beg your pardon. How to what?” he asked, as she’d deliberately spoken too quietly for him to hear. She was surprised he’d heard that much.

  “Nothing.” She glowered at the bowl of syllabub in front of her, wondering if she should push it away in protest at his stupidity, but she did love syllabub, and it wouldn’t stop him being stupid, so that was a waste. Huffing, she picked up her spoon and took a defiant mouthful.

  “You’ll get indigestion if you scowl at your food like that,” he observed.

  “I don’t care.”

  “You might if you curdle the cream.”

  Phoebe snorted in disgust. “You can’t curdle the cream with a look, no more than you can pretend you’re not in love with Matilda. Both things are so obvious it’s ridiculous!”

  There was the kind of silence that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end and her cheeks grow hot, but she wouldn’t apologise. Instead she snatched up her bowl and spoon and ran from the room, slamming the door behind her.

  ***

  Matilda swallowed, not knowing quite what to do or say.

  “Perhaps I’d best go after her.”

  She got to her feet, but Lucian reached out and took her hand.

  “No,” he said. “No, let her go. She’ll find Pippin. Our cook is a wonderful source of comfort. Not to mention fresh biscuits.”

  “She was here when you were a boy, I believe?” Matilda said, hoping to steer the conversation to safer ground as she sat down again.

  Lucian nodded. “I’m not sure how I’d have survived if not for Pippin. Mrs Frant and Denton too, actually. They are far more loyal than I deserve, I’m sure.”

  “I doubt that’s true. If people are loyal, it is because they wish to be, because you’ve earned their trust, and their respect.”

  “Or because they are too kind to be anything else.” He smiled at her, releasing her hand and she let out a breath.

  “She’s afraid your—” Matilda had to pause for a moment, to take a breath and start over, well aware she overstepping the mark. “She is afraid that when you marry, your wife will not want her here, that she will be the cause of resentment or antagonism.”

  His face darkened. “This is Phoebe’s home and I am her guardian. There is no question of her ever being anywhere else. It will not be a cause for argument, for it is not something I will negotiate over.”

  Matilda could not help but smile a little. There spoke the marquess.

  “What?”

  She shook her head, knowing it was not her place to interfere. Too much had been said already.

  “No,” he insisted. “You have an opinion, speak it.”

  Why was she doing this to herself? She would have wondered, except it was not for her, it was for Phoebe.

  “Lucian, no matter how big this house is, your wife will become a part of your family, of your and Phoebe’s lives. She will be with you at mealtimes. It would be natural for her to involve herself in Phoebe’s world, perhaps to choose her clothes, or take her on outings.”

  “And so?”

  “And so, if Phoebe is correct and your wife resents her, how many opportunities to make the poor girl’s life unpleasant will present themselves during the day? Conversely, if Phoebe takes your new wife in dislike, as she seems determined to do, she will make the poor woman’s life a misery.”

  Lucian frowned at his wine glass, twisting the stem back and forth between his fingers. “And what would you have me do about it?”

  Matilda laughed. “I have not the slightest idea, but you must choose carefully. It is all very well to say your marriage will be for power and land and breeding, and whatever other lofty ideals your title demands, but just remember Phoebe is caught up in the mix too, and that your decision will affect her, whether or not you mean it to.”

  She knew the words were edged with bitterness, but she could not help that. The last thing she wanted was to speak of his marriage, but she would endure it for Phoebe’s sake.

  An uncomfortable silence settled between them. Lucian did not speak, his brow furrowed with displeasure. She wondered if he was angry with her for having spoken of things that did not concern her.

  “I’m sorry. I ought not have said anything. It is none of my affair.”

  She did her best not to sound brittle and defensive, but suspected she failed.

  Lucian slid her a glance from under his lashes. “No. You’re not the least bit sorry, and neither should you be. I asked for your opinion, and it is duly noted.”

  Matilda let out a breath, hoping they could change the subject, though she knew he would be reluctant to keep his promise to her. “You said you would tell me about your uncle, about Thomas.”

  He sighed, swirling the remaining wine in his glass, and staring despondently down into it. She knew what he was thinking, for she was thinking the exact same thing. There were far more pleasant ways in which they could spend their evening, their only evening together. Talking of things which Lucian would likely find painful was hardly something he would wish for instead.

  Yet he had promised, and Matilda felt he needed to speak of it. Whenever her friends had unburdened th
emselves of their troubles, they had always felt better for it. Solutions had become easier to see once the problem had been aired and shared with someone who had their best interests at heart. That at least she could give him. It was why she had come.

  “Lucian?”

  He closed his eyes for a moment.

  “Very well,” he said, but with such reluctance she felt wretched for insisting. “Come along, then. We’ll retire to the library.”

  Matilda set aside her napkin and stood when Lucian pulled out her chair for her. As they retired, Lucian instructed Denton that they were not to be disturbed and that the staff could retire once their work was done. Matilda suppressed a thrill of anticipation, reminding herself sternly that it was only because they must speak of private matters.

  “I still don’t remember which way it is,” she said, trying to lighten the mood a little as she took his arm.

  “The place is a maze,” he admitted. “And heaven help you if you set something down and don’t remember where it was.”

  “Marvellous for playing least in sight, though.” She squeezed his arm, smiling up at him.

  “You might think so,” he said wryly. “However, it is possible to hide indefinitely in a house like this. It is full of secret rooms and hidden passageways. It can be tiresome if you’re not found after half an hour or so. Here you could wait an eternity, and if you can’t find your way back out… you might not have a choice.”

  Matilda shuddered. “Very well, have it your way. I’ve quite gone off the idea now.”

  He chuckled, and she was pleased his good humour had been somewhat restored.

  Lucian opened the door to the library and gestured for Matilda to go through. She stepped into the room, smiling with pleasure to be back in the lovely space.

  “I think this is one of my favourite rooms,” she said, turning back to him, her breath catching in disbelief as a dark shape detached itself from the shadows behind the open door.

  Matilda screamed.

  Chapter 7