Page 17 of To Hunt the Hunter

He laughed a little, standing with his forehead touching hers. “You ought not want me. I’m not worthy of you and I was an utter fool to think otherwise. Anyone who cannot see that is a damned fool, but the world is full of fools and liars.”

He took her mouth again and there was nothing left inside of her but needing him. Her body ached and clamoured, the empty sensation deep in her core demanding to be filled and she arched her hips against him, seeking relief. Shifting impatiently, she gasped at the jolt of pleasure she found as she moved against his body.

He made a harsh sound, tearing his mouth from hers. “Oh, Christ, Matilda. If you want to leave here the same way you arrived, don’t….”

The words died in his throat as she moved against him again, beyond rational thought, all instinct and desire and longing. This man had always been the one. No matter how she’d fought it, he was her destiny and that fact seemed to override all else.

She stared up at him, entranced by the darkness of his eyes, the black swamping the silver.

“Matilda,” he said, his voice soft, reverent. “Matilda, I know I ought not say it, I have no right to, but….”

He paused, muttering a curse, and turned his head towards the door through which they’d entered.

Voices pierced her consciousness, far off yet, but growing closer, and some ragged sense of self-preservation belatedly asserted itself.

“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.