To Hunt the Hunter (Girls Who Dare Book 11)

by Emma V. Leech

  “Lucian,” she said breathlessly, desperate for him to touch her.

  “What, love?” he asked, a now familiar quirk to his lips that made her pulse thunder. “Is there something you want?”

  She huffed out a breath. “You just want to make me say it.”

  “Of course I do,” he said. “I want to hear what you want me to do to you. I want to know that you want it, that you want me.”

  “I don’t think there’s much doubt of that,” she said, feeling the truth of her words as heat pooled inside her.

  He stepped closer, not quite touching her, his lips ghosting over hers in a teasing caress. “You don’t?”

  Matilda shook her head.

  “Show me then, show me your desire.”

  Matilda saw the challenge in his eyes and felt the answering blush colour her skin, blooming all over her.

  “Such a pretty colour,” he murmured, chasing it from her cheeks, down her neck, to the peak of one nipple with a fingertip.

  Matilda shivered.

  “Show me,” he whispered, moving to stand behind her, his soft command tickling her neck and he pressed a kiss to her nape.

  Gathering her courage, she reached for his hand and put it flat against her stomach, and then drew it slowly down, guiding him between her legs. She heard his slow exhale as his fingers slid through the soft curls, to find the wet heat beneath.

  “You do want me.” The words were smug, spoken against her skin and sending goosebumps rushing over her. “Very badly.”

  “Yes,” she agreed, leaning back against him as his fingers found the source of her pleasure and circled the little nub of flesh with expert caresses.

  She closed her eyes, her head falling back against his shoulder as he kissed her neck.

  “Do you remember your friend Prue’s Christmas ball?” he asked her, and Matilda struggled to open her eyes, to consider the question as his clever fingers commanded her body to succumb to the pleasure of his touch.

  “Mmmmm,” was all she could manage by way of reply, and he chuckled.

  “I took you for a walk about the house. I intended to seduce you that night, may God forgive me. I was so desperate for you, out of my mind with jealousy whenever you danced with another man.”

  She laughed at that. “You could have fooled me.”

  “No, I couldn’t. You knew it soon enough, once we were trapped behind those curtains. And you loved it, didn’t you, my wicked angel?”

  He pressed closer and the hard length of him burned hot against her even through his clothes. Just like that night, when she had felt the evidence of his desire for her for the first time.

  The blush burned her cheeks. She was unable to deny it. She had loved it. The sounds of another couple’s lovemaking and Lucian’s arm about her waist, holding her close, trapping them in the darkness, had been the most erotic thing she’d ever known. Not that she’d had much experience of such things, though she suspected that was about to change.

  “Answer the question, Matilda.”

  “Yes,” she said, as one lazy hand caressed her breast, tweaking the nipple until she gasped, the other still occupied between her thighs, slowly driving her out of her mind. “I loved it.”

  “You wanted me too,” he murmured. “You told me no, but you didn’t want me to stop. Did you?”

  She shook her head, but that did not satisfy him.

  “Tell me.”

  “No,” she said, the word breathless as desire made her giddy, her knees weak. “I wanted you to touch me.”

  “How? How did you want it?”

  “Like this. I wanted your hands, your mouth, I wanted you to touch me, to make me cry out with pleasure like the woman on the other side of the curtains.”

  He groaned and slid a finger inside of her. Matilda cried out as the pleasure of it broke over her, her body clenching around him as he drove her higher. Helpless in the crisis' wake, she was relieved when Lucian swept her up before her knees gave out entirely. He carried her to the bed, laying her down.

  Matilda collapsed against the soft counterpane, her body pliant, limbs cast wide in abandon. How wanton she must appear, not that she cared… until she saw the look in his eyes, the hunger there. Then she cared, and she loved it.

  “You were jealous,” she said happily, gazing up at him as he slowly stripped off his coat, casting it aside, and his long, elegant fingers undid the buttons on his waistcoat.

  “I was. Madly jealous,” he agreed, his voice dark.

  “You wanted me.”

  “More than I have ever wanted anything. I thought I would die when you told me no.”

  “Did you think of that night often?” she asked, feeling the curve of a decadent smile move over her lips.

  He laughed then, low and wicked. “Oh, that pleases you, my lady. Yes. Yes, I thought of it often, though in my dreams you never denied me. Such depraved things you did. You gave me everything I asked, and more.”

  “Then I shall make it up to you,” she said, opening her legs wider, a shameless invitation.

  His hands stilled, his gaze riveted upon her, his breathing harsh.

  “Yes,” he said. “You will.”

  A thrill of excitement shivered over her. She watched as he rid himself of the rest of his clothes, taking his time, deliberately, the beast.

  “Lucian.”

  She spoke his name like a plea, a complaint, an urge for him to hurry. He ignored it, moving closer to the bed, his cravat held loosely in one hand, the other reaching out to draw lazy circles over her skin, until she shivered.

  “Please,” she said.

  “I love you.”

  She sighed and stretched, feeling the pleasure of his words like a caress. “I know. Show me.”

  “I will,” he promised. “Do you trust me?”

  “Of course.”

  He smiled and moved onto the bed. “You can say no to me, Matilda. At any time. Do not be afraid to do so.”

  “I’m not,” she said, a little puzzled by his words, unable to comprehend what she might say no to. There was nothing she wanted to deny him.

  He laughed then. “No, that is true enough, I think. You’ve never been shy of denying me what I want in the past.”

  “What do you want, Lucian?” she asked, intrigued at the heat in his eyes at her question. He leaned down and brushed his lips over hers.

  “Everything,” he murmured. “But for now, I should like to blindfold you.”

  Matilda’s eyebrows rose. “Why?”

  “Because I want to see you that way, because it is erotic. If one sense is denied you, the others become heightened.”

  “They do?” She was intrigued, only too eager as he nodded. “Yes, then. I should like you to.”

  Matilda shivered as he drew the soft cloth over her eyes and the world went dark. There was nothing then, nothing else but the feel of his hands upon her, gentle and caressing, touching her so carefully, making her heart and soul sing with the knowledge that she was loved. She cried out as his mouth joined the assault on her senses, and he was right, of course. The darkness was freeing and she let her inhibitions fall away, writhing with abandon beneath him, asking him for what she wanted—more, and more and don’t stop—until she was quaking with the force of yet another climax, clutching at the bedcovers and crying out his name.

  She was gasping, wrung out, when the blindfold was carefully drawn away and she blinked in the dim light.

  “So beautiful,” he murmured, nipping at her ear, nuzzling her neck until she shivered. “And all mine.”

  “Yes,” she said, a little astonished at the way her body responded at once as he moved over her, taking his place between her thighs, sliding his arousal over the slick flesh that still throbbed with pleasure. “Oh, yes, Lucian, please.”

  “Tell me what you want,” he whispered. “Like you did before. Ask me.”

  She looked up at him, wrapping her arms about his neck and drawing his mouth down to hers for a lingering kiss. “And if I do, w
ill you deny me?”

  He laughed at that, shaking his head. “I’ll never deny you anything again, my love. I would give you the world if you asked me for it.”

  “I just want you, Lucian. All of you. I need you, inside me.”

  He made a harsh sound and responded at once, pushing into her. Matilda stilled at the sudden invasion. The sense of fullness she had wanted so badly was more than she had expected. A little too much. He stopped at once.

  “Matilda?” His voice was taut, filled with concern.

  “Yes. Don’t stop.”

  “Relax,” he murmured, exhaling with relief, distracting her with a kiss that stole what little remained of her mind, and then he was thrusting deeper and it was delicious.

  She sighed and wrapped her legs about his hips, urging him deeper still, wanting more. He groaned with pleasure and the sound thrilled through her.

  “Yes,” she said, clutching at his shoulders, sliding one hand into the warm silk of his hair.

  He sighed and ducked his head, closing his mouth over her breast, suckling until she cried out, the pleasure close to unbearable. She laughed with the joy of it and he looked up, his eyes alight with happiness.

  “I’m sorry. I probably ought not laugh at such a time,” she managed, smiling anyway.

  He shook his head.

  “I love to hear you laugh, to hear your pleasure. I want to make you happy, always.” His breath caught as she tilted her hips, seeking her own pleasure and exclaimed at the same time he did. “Oh, God, love.”

  He moved again, repeating the angle for her to hit the spot she had discovered and Matilda saw stars.

  “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.”

  He snorted and shook his head. “I can have a kiss whenever I like. My wife is very obliging, you know.”

  “She is?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

  “Oh, yes,” he murmured, stalking closer. “Very. She’ll give me anything I want.”

  He leaned one gloved hand on the tree beside her head, the one holding the snowball raised on her other side.

  “Why would she do that?” Matilda asked, her lips twitching.

  “Because she wants it too.” He spoke the words so close she shivered, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin beneath her ear. “She’s insatiable.”

  “So are you,” Matilda retorted, and then she looked up at him, a little anxious at the truth of her words.

  “What?” he said at once, instantly aware of the change in her mood. He dropped the snowball, taking her into his arms. “What’s wrong?”

  Matilda shook her head and laughed. “N-Nothing is wrong.”

  “Then why do you look so worried?” he asked, his eyes full of concern, searching hers. “Is it the baby?”

  Matilda stared at him, her mouth falling open.

  “You know!” she exclaimed in astonishment. “I hardly dared believe it myself, and… Oh, drat you, Lucian. I wanted to surprise you.”

  He laughed and pulled her closer against him, cradling her head against his chest. “I can count, love. We spend every night together, and it’s been sometime since you told me you were indisposed.”

  Matilda blushed, as aware as he was that she would never tell him she was indisposed if it were possible. “Well. You might have pretended. I was so looking forward to telling you.”

  “Were you?” he asked, his beautiful eyes troubled. “Then why did you look so worried?”

  Matilda pouted and then gave a huff of frustration. “Because I shall be indisposed for some time, and fat too, and you won’t want me anymore.”

  She was well aware of the whiny note to her words and looked up, a little affronted all the same to find Lucian struggling to keep a straight face.

  “Don’t you dare laugh at me,” she scolded him.

  He shook his head, making a heroic effort to rearrange his face.

  “I’m not,” he managed, though his voice quavered a little. “But really, love. How could you be so addle-pated? Not want you, indeed. Are you mad?”

  She looked up at him, the knot of worry that had kept her awake the past few nights falling away.

  “Are you sure?”

  He smiled and moved to her side, so he could lay his hand over her belly, to the place where his child had taken root.

  “I’ve never been surer of anything in my life. I love you, both of you, so much. So, you may get as fat as you like, and I shall still find new ways to make you cry my name to the rafters and frighten the ghosts, no matter how ungainly you become.”

  Matilda snorted and buried her face in his coat. “I’m not that loud.”

  “You are,” he murmured, nipping at her ear. “And I love it.”

  “Papa!”

  They turned to see Pho
ebe running towards them, her face pink with the cold, her golden ringlets all a tumble.

  “It’s time for cake,” she said, staring at them in frustration. “Oh, do come along. Everyone is waiting for you.”

  Lucian looked back at her. “Can we tell her?” he asked softly.

  Matilda nodded, adding. “But only if she can keep a secret.”

  Phoebe eyes grew wide and she hurried closer, tugging at Lucian’s coat. “I can. I can. Oh, you know I can, Papa. Do tell me.”

  Lucian grinned and got to his knees in the snow.

  “I have one last present for you today, Bee, but it won’t arrive for….” He looked up to Matilda. “A little over six months?”

  Matilda harrumphed, rolling her eyes at him, but nodded.

  Phoebe stared at him, then at Matilda and back again.

  “A baby!” she shrieked, throwing her arms about Lucian’s neck so hard he almost fell over backwards.

  “Hush,” he said, pressing a finger to her lips. “A secret for a little longer, Bee.”

  Phoebe returned a sheepish grin and then danced on the spot.

  “A brother or sister,” she squeaked quietly.

  “Yes,” Lucian said, and Matilda heard the emotion in his voice. “Though nothing will change. You know that, don’t you? I could never love you less, no matter how many brothers and sisters come along.”

  Phoebe gave a snort of laughter as though that were obvious.

  “I know that,” she said, kissing his cheek and sounding a little exasperated. “How could you love me any less? I’m adorable.”

  With a wicked laugh, she gave Lucian a little push, sending him sprawling back into the snow before she ran away, giggling madly, skirts flying as she went.

  “Hurry up, I want my cake,” she yelled over her shoulder.

  Lucian looked up from the snow with a rueful grin. “Heaven help us.”

  He got up, and Matilda helped him brush the snow from his clothes.

  “Well, we’d best go and have cake,” she said, taking his hand, but he stilled her, his expression growing serious.