To Hunt the Hunter (Girls Who Dare Book 11)

by Emma V. Leech

  “Matilda!” Lucian said, outraged, but Matilda just quirked an eyebrow at him.

  “Do you think I wouldn’t do it?”

  Lucian muttered a curse under his breath and turned to Mr Knight, who held up his hands in defeat.

  “Don’t look to me for help,” he said, shaking his head. “She’s one of the Peculiar Ladies. If she’s anything like this one—or the others, come to that—you’ve not a hope in hell.”

  Helena snorted.

  “She’s not just one of us,” she said, amused by the men’s frustration. “She’s the best of us, our leader and self-appointed mother hen. We’d be a deal less adventurous and strong without her.”

  “That I believe.”

  Matilda smiled at Lucian’s exasperated comment, and she felt her heart swell with gratitude as Helena winked at her.

  Lucian was quiet for a long moment before he spoke again.

  “My uncle is no fool, quite the reverse, and we underestimate him at our peril. He knows as well as we do that we can prove his words to be lies, and he knows how we should best go about it. He will have planned this as my next move if Mr Burton failed to kill me.”

  Everyone stared at him in horror.

  “Christ,” Mr Knight said. “He’s a cold-blooded devil, isn’t he?”

  Lucian returned a grim smile. “I learned from the best, I assure you.”

  “Lucian,” Matilda protested, but he hushed her, shaking his head.

  “I hope I am not the kind of man he is. I have tried not to be, but it is pointless to paint me as an innocent party. This game has been in progress for most of my life, and once I decided I had no desire to remain a pawn, to be moved about as he saw fit, I played it too. I know how his mind works, and I know what I would do if I were him.”

  “So, what do you think he is planning?” Mr Knight asked.

  Lucian shrugged as if the answer were obvious. “To get me to leave Dern, where I am less vulnerable, and ambush me on the road. There are fewer highwaymen around these days, but it could be arranged to look like a robbery gone wrong, I’m sure.”

  Matilda felt her blood run cold.

  “So, you see, love,” he said, turning back to Matilda and taking her hand once again, “I don’t want you in danger.”

  “And what if I would be in more danger without you?” Matilda countered. “I would be alone and unprotected. What if he took advantage of that fact—”

  “I know how we could all go, and no one be any the wiser. Then we would all be safe,” piped up a small voice.

  “Phoebe!” Lucian said in outrage as the girl appeared from a hidden panel in the walls. “You little wretch. How long have you been eavesdropping?”

  “Well, it’s not fair that you leave me out of it,” she protested, moving to stand beside her uncle and staring at him, quite unfazed by his fierce look of irritation. “That horrid man came here to hurt you, and he still wants to, and now people are saying dreadful things about you again and it’s not fair.”

  She stamped her foot, her eyes filling, and folded her slender arms tightly across her chest.

  “It’s not fair!” she said again, as a fat tear rolled down her cheek. “Not when Uncle Theodore is so villainous and you’re nothing like they say you are.”

  “Ah, Phoebe, sweetheart, don’t cry,” Lucian said helplessly, holding out his good arm to her.

  Phoebe gave a sob and scrambled into his lap.

  “I’m frightened he’ll hurt you again, and I don’t like all those people saying awful things about you,” she said, clutching at his coat so hard it would ruin the lapel.

  Lucian didn’t seem to care. He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head.

  “It doesn’t matter what anyone else says, Bee. If you know the truth, I don’t care about the rest of the world.”

  “Yes, you do. You care what Matilda thinks.”

  Lucian smiled. “Yes. I do care what Matilda thinks, very much, and perhaps Mr Knight and Lady Helena too, but the rest of the world can go to the devil.”

  “They won’t, though, will they?” she said. “They’ll come here. They’ll say you did terrible things and they’ll spoil everything. Great-Uncle Theodore will come, and he’ll take you away from me.”

  Her breathing became rapid, terror making her little face stark white and fearful.

  “No,” Lucian said, his voice firm. He put his hand to her cheek. “No. He won’t hurt you or me. He won’t hurt anyone I care for ever again. I shall stop him this time. One way or another.”

  He stared at Phoebe, and the little girl studied his face with an intense frown, perhaps reassuring herself of his resolve. Finally, she relaxed and nodded.

  “You said you knew how they could travel with no one knowing, Phoebe,” Helena said, her voice gentle. “What is your plan, love?”

  “Oh,” Phoebe replied, brightening and wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “That’s easy. We shall go in disguise.”

  Chapter 13

  My dear Kitty,

  I don’t know whether you will have heard about the dreadful scandal that is flying about the ton when you are all the way over in Ireland. I only discovered it myself today, as we had a visitor arrive from London who could speak of nothing else.

  They say that Montagu has gone mad and tried to murder Mr Burton, whose life hangs in the balance. Now poor Matilda’s name is being dragged through the mud too, as the gossips say she is the cause of the conflict, that Montagu is obsessed with her and Mr Burton in love with her. It’s all horrid and Matilda will need us to get through it. I am getting ready to leave this minute and I know the rest of the Peculiar Ladies will be there for her too, so that is a comfort. I thought I should let you know, in case you had not yet heard and could come and offer your support. What we can do, I don’t know, but whatever the truth of the matter, Matilda must know that the Peculiar Ladies will rally around her, we will not desert her. No matter what.

  ―Excerpt of a letter from Mrs Ruth Anderson to Mrs Kitty Baxter.

  5th May 1815. Dern, Sevenoaks, Kent.

  Though Matilda, Lady Helena and even Mr Knight, thought Phoebe’s plan an excellent one, it took a great deal more persuasion to get Lucian to agree to it. In the end, the only argument that worked was that while he was away from Phoebe and Matilda, they would be unprotected and were likely targets for his uncle. If the man got hold of either of them, Lucian’s hands would be tied. Therefore it was better they were all together and travelling incognito was the safest way to do that.

  Mr Knight and Lady Helena stayed for dinner but refused an invitation to stay the night, preferring to return to London and see what could be done to salvage Lucian’s reputation and to ensure the true story of what had occurred was being put about. For this, Helena needed their friends, and Mr Knight—or Gabe, as he had insisted they address him—would see what information he could turn up regarding the whereabouts of Theodore Barrington.

  Lucian was quiet once their guests had departed, though Matilda knew he was touched that they had hurried down here on his behalf.

  “He likes you,” she said, moving to stand beside him.

  He was standing before the large study windows, staring outside, though she doubted he saw the landscape. He tugged at his shirt cuffs, first one, then the other, and her heart clenched.

  “Knight is doing it for Lady Helena, who is doing it for you,” he said, not looking at her.

  Matilda sighed and took his hand. “I know this is hard to believe, my darling, but there are people in the world who would stand by you, if you would let them.”

  He made a low sound of amusement and turned to look at her. “If there are, it’s because of you. Don’t deny it, love. You know it’s true.”

  Matilda sighed. “Perhaps, but that’s only because I know you and they don’t. My friends trust me. If I tell them the truth of what you’ve been through, they will believe me.”

  To her frustration, Lucian shook his head. “They will believe I have convinced you. That is n
ot at all the same thing.”

  “Mr Knight and Helena believed you. They didn’t know I was here. They came for you alone.”

  Lucian shrugged. “I suppose so, but I have had dealings with Mr Knight these past years. We’ve worked well together, and we have come to trust one another. That counts for something.”

  “It counts for a great deal. Just think how many other people might take your side if they knew the truth?”

  He laughed, a weary sound of defeat that made Matilda’s heart hurt. “I tried that. No one believes me. My uncle is too charming, too likable. How much easier to believe a man that smiles and flatters and makes you laugh, than one like me.”

  “My friends would believe you. If you stood beside me and told them what had happened to you, they would believe you.”

  She did not know what he might have said in response, for then the study door flew open and an elderly woman swept through it. She was dressed in heavy layers of black bombazine in the style of the last century, and the fabric rustled furiously as she moved. Whoever she was, she was not a tall woman, and was as thin as a whippet, with icy grey eyes and white hair drawn up into a severe style that highlighted high cheekbones and an austerely beautiful face. Lucian had dropped Matilda’s hand and stepped away the moment the door had been flung open, but now the woman’s frigid gaze moved from him to Matilda without a flicker of surprise, though there was a contemptuous curve to her narrow lips.

  “Miss Hunt, I collect,” she said, her voice hard and the words clipped and precise. “I see you finally persuaded her to be your mistress, Montagu. That is one less thing to worry about, at least. Perhaps now you have satisfied your baser instincts, you can concentrate on matters of importance?”

  Lucian stiffened, his face devoid of emotion.

  “Miss Hunt is not my mistress, Aunt Marguerite,” he said coldly. “And you will apologise for speaking to her so. She is a guest in my home and deserves to be spoken to with courtesy.”

  So, this was Lady Astley, his Aunt Marguerite.

  The woman snorted. “Dress it up how you like, but she’s here with you alone, no chaperone in sight. I’m no fool, my lord, and I’ve seen it all before, so don’t think to pull the wool over my eyes.”

  “Damn your impudence! I believe you forget to whom you speak,” Lucian said, and though he did not raise his voice, there was such intense fury in his words that his aunt’s eyes grew wide.

  From her reaction, Matilda knew he’d never spoken to her so before.

  Marguerite’s eyes narrowed as she looked from Lucian to Matilda and back again. “Forgive me, my lord, Miss Hunt,” she said, inclining her head a little, though there was no apology in her eyes.

  “Why are you here?” Lucian demanded.

  Matilda wanted to go to him, to take his hand. She could feel the tension rolling off him in waves. This was the woman who had slapped his face as a child and called him a vile liar when he’d tried to explain that his Uncle Theodore, her favourite nephew, had tried to kill him. This was the woman who had supported Theodore when his doctors—paid nicely for the diagnoses, no doubt—suggested Lucian was unstable when he persisted in trying to make someone, anyone, believe him. She had always favoured Theodore over Lucian, had never believed what he’d tried to tell her, and yet surely this woman could not be so blind?

  “I had no alternative. The ton is alight with scandal, all of it revolving around this creature.” She gestured to Matilda as if she was something unpleasant that ought not be spoken of. “And some jumped up mushroom called Mr Burton. I take it you are aware of the gossip. Apparently, you attacked him and left him a cripple.”

  “And no doubt you believed every word,” Matilda retorted as the anger that had burned inside of her erupted. “As you have not offered a word of concern, asked for the truth of what happened or if Lucian is well, bearing in mind you can see he’s been injured. I suppose you’ll still deny the fact Theodore Barrington is at the heart of it all. Do you really not know the truth, that your nephew sent Mr Burton here to murder Lucian? Or perhaps you are in on the scheme? Would you prefer it if Theodore were Montagu? Would that suit you better?”

  His aunt blanched, her complexion becoming that of fine old parchment before a rush of colour stained her high cheekbones.

  “I don’t know what you are speaking of,” she said, though her previously icy tone sounded a touch breathless now. “Montagu, what does she mean by this wild accusation?”

  Lucian stared at her for a long moment and then made a sound of disgust.

  “Damn you,” he said, and turned his back.

  “I will have an answer!” The old woman’s imperious tone rang out through the study. “I came here to save the family from disaster, to save our name from being dragged through the dirt. Your poor father and brother must be spinning in their graves. How disappointed they would be in you. The only answer is that you marry, and at once. If the ton has a wedding to focus upon, they will be less inclined to tear you to pieces. With that in mind, I have invited Lady Constance to Dern. She will arrive the day after tomorrow.”

  “You’d just ignore it,” Matilda said in wonder, staring at her in disbelief. “His uncle is trying to kill him, has been trying since he was a small boy, and you’d still just brush it aside and pretend it isn’t happening. You’d still make out as though it were all his fault. You wicked old harridan.”

  “Lucian! Get this creature out of here at once. How I am supposed to carry on a sensible conversation with—”

  “With what, Aunt?” Lucian demanded, turning now to face her. “With the truth staring you in the face, do you mean? You’ll forgive me if I am inclined to stand beside Miss Hunt, as she has never betrayed my trust, even when I had no right whatsoever to expect it of her. She came here, risking everything, because she was afraid for me, because she could see there was something terribly wrong. You… You, who ought to have looked to the safety and happiness of your own flesh and blood, did not wish to look beyond the facade, and now Thomas is dead and I hope the knowledge that it is in no small part your fault follows you to the grave. Should you prefer me to join him and save you any further unpleasantness?”

  “Montagu!” she said, one hand going to her slender throat. “This melodrama is quite unbecoming—”

  “Answer the damn question!”

  Matilda and Marguerite both leapt in shock as his fury rang out through the room. Matilda suspected he’d never raised his voice in such a way in his entire life. The impact was clearly too much for Marguerite, who swooned and crumpled to the ground.

  “Good lord!” Matilda cried, and ran to pull the cord for a servant before falling to her knees beside the old woman and taking her hand, chafing it to revive her.

  “Is she dead?”

  If Matilda hadn’t known him so well by now, she would have thought he didn’t give a damn, so cold was the enquiry. She did know him, though, and knew just how profoundly he must be hurting to realise that, even in light of everything that had happened, his aunt still did not believe him. Even now, she would believe Theodore over Lucian. She had come only to blame Lucian for the horrid scandal and make him feel wretched, even invoking his father’s and brother’s names to pile the guilt higher.

  “No, sadly,” Matilda replied, seeing no reason not to wish the miserable old cow six feet under.

  She looked up as Lucian gave a startled laugh. He was staring at her with such adoration that her breath caught.

  “I love you,” he said.

  Matilda smiled, though her heart was breaking.

  “I know,” she said softly. “I love you too.”

  They could say no more, as Denton appeared and helped get Marguerite into a chair. Another servant was sent running for hartshorn and water. Matilda looked up as Lucian watched the proceedings with a detached expression.

  “Go and see Phoebe,” she said, not wanting this wicked old woman to hurt him anymore than she already had. “She’ll be wanting to see you before bedtime, and will cheer yo
u up. I can deal with your aunt, I assure you.”

  “Oh, I can see that,” he said, a thread of amusement in his voice. “I see no reason why you ought, though.”

  “Because someone other than you ought to,” Matilda said, her voice gentle. “Someone ought to have done it when you were a boy, and it is a crime that no one did, but I am here, and I will stand beside you for as long as I am able to.”

  She did not acknowledge the fact that it would only be until he married. It did not need saying aloud, they both knew it. Marguerite was right about one thing, the public announcement of his engagement to some pristine lady of the ton would go a long way to repairing the damage his uncle had wrought. They both knew it. As hard as it would be after everything that had passed between them, after hearing him say the words she had never dreamed he would give her, one fact had not changed. She could not be with him if he married another. That was the road to misery and madness. She would never love another man, she knew that and accepted it. Therefore, she would not marry, not have the family she had longed for, but she would have this time with Lucian, no matter how short that was. She was resolved to embrace it, to both the joy of giving herself to him entirely, and the devastation of walking away from him. Her decision had been made and she was, if not at peace with that, then at least accepting of it.

  “Lucian,” Matilda said again, holding out her hand to him.

  He came to her and bent over it, kissing her fingers tenderly, such a courtly, old-fashioned gesture that her eyes filled.

  “Now run along and see that dreadful niece of yours. She’s bound to be up to mischief by now and she’ll have something to say about Mouldy Marguerite that will make you smile, I don’t doubt.”

  Lucian held her hand for a long moment, watching her, his expression unreadable. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll let you make it up to me,” Matilda whispered, earning herself a flickering smile and the glimmer of a dimple.