Page 25 of To Hunt the Hunter

“Lucian!” she screamed, struggling to her feet, hindered by the ties binding her wrists together. “Lucian!”

She ran towards him as a red rose bloomed at his left shoulder, staining the pristine white of his shirt. He put his hand to it, staring in surprise as his fingers came away dripping blood, and laughed softly.

“Honour be damned,” he said, and fell to his knees.

Chapter 8

I don’t know if I shall ever send this. If I will ever tell you all that is in my heart. I don’t know if it would be a comfort to you or a curse and I would not bring you pain for all the world, though I do not expect you to believe that. When did it happen, this thing that has taken me over, invaded my heart and mind, my every waking moment and my dreams? This is something I still cannot answer. Yet the why of it is obvious enough.

I have been too used to having my character assassinated to pay any heed to harsh words. They lost their sting too long ago to penetrate my callous hide, and it has been decades since a barbed comment could hurt me. Your words of condemnation were different. Why did I care so much what you thought of me? Perhaps because your goodness shines from you, because everyone who is taken under your wing is protected and cared for and loved, no matter what it costs you to do so. I envied your friends so much I was sick with it. I wanted to be one of the chosen ones, those whose lives were gilded by your care and attention. There are so many things I regret in my life, Matilda. There have been so many terrible decisions, so many missteps. Yet despite the pain it brings me, I shall never regret loving you. I do love you, you see, so much it terrifies me. You make me want to be better, to be a man you might have looked upon with pride. A man you could have loved, if things had been different.

―Excerpt of a letter from the Most Honourable Lucian Barrington, Marquess of Montagu to Miss Matilda Hunt—Never sent.

25th April 1815. Dern, Sevenoaks, Kent.

Finally someone freed her wrists of their bindings, and Matilda sank down beside Lucian.

“Fetch a doctor!” she screamed, to which the infuriating man shook his head.

“No. Denton, fetch Pippin.”

“Pippin!” Matilda exclaimed, beside herself with terror. Blood was welling from the wound, dripping between his fingers where he’d pressed his hand against it. “You’ve been shot, you impossible man. You need a physician, not a cook!”

He smiled at her, though the expression was a little strained. “Pippin is from a lengthy line of wise women, my love. She’s a skilled healer, and I’d rather have her tend me than any blasted quack. Denton, I take it Mr Edwards remained to attend our meeting in the morning? Good. Fetch him. I need him here at once.”

“Is Mr Edwards a physician?” Matilda asked hopefully, still a little dubious how a cook could double up as a competent physician.

Lucian frowned.

“No, my solicitor,” he said, before returning to issuing orders about what must be done with Mr Burton and who must be sent for.

Deciding that the ridiculous man was too busy to care that his lifeblood was exiting his body at a terrifying rate, Matilda yanked up her skirts to expose her petticoats and tore at the seam.

Lucian fell silent, his gaze falling to her ankles.

“Oh, now I have your attention, do I?” she said tartly, wadding up the material before taking his hand from the wound and pressing the cloth hard against it.

Lucian blanched, sucking in a breath.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Contrite, she burst into tears, and Lucian lifted a hand to her face, only to pause as he realised it was red with his own blood.

Matilda snatched it up and held it to her face, not caring about anything but that he should know he was loved.

“You must find Phoebe, sweetheart,” he said softly. “She’s hiding. She’ll be frightened.”

“Oh, yes, I will,” She said, though the thought of leaving him for a moment tore at her heart. “But—”

“I’ll be fine. Go and get her and put her to bed. Tell her not to worry.”

“Oh, h-how can I?” she demanded, her eyes drawn to the wad of material that was growing dark with his blood.

“My lord? Someone said you’d been hurt…. Oh, my stars!”

They both looked up as Mrs Appleton hurried towards them.

“Pippin,” Lucian said, his relief palpable. “I’m very glad to see you.”

“Oh!” The woman said, pressing her hand to her mouth, her eyes filling with tears. “Oh, my boy. What has that wicked man done now?”