Page 29 of To Hunt the Hunter

“You’ll take your medicine, my lord, if I have to prise your jaws open and tip it down myself.”

Lucian glared at the woman and Matilda discovered herself relieved to see his iron will had not left him. That was a comfort.

“I’m no longer five years old, Pippin, much as you might like to think it. I can manage quite well without….”

His breath caught and his lips clamped shut, his body growing taut as he succumbed to the obvious pain he was in.

“You were saying?” Mrs Appleton said, with an imperious lift of one eyebrow he could not have bettered himself.

“Damn you, you interfering old—”

“And you’ll keep a civil tongue in your head, marquess or no, and in front of Miss Hunt too. What will she think of you, arguing with me like a sulky boy and not taking your medicine when you know I’m doing what’s best for you?”

Lucian returned an arctic glare, but held his tongue as Mrs Appleton measured out a dose of laudanum.

“Wait,” he said, huffing as Mrs Appleton gave him a warning glare. “I wish to speak to Miss Hunt in private before you dose me, you blasted tyrant. If I may?” he added tersely.

“Five minutes,” the woman replied, giving him a stern wag of her finger. She moved towards Matilda on her way out, speaking in an undertone. “Don’t let him talk too long. He’s fighting the pain, but he’s wearing himself out. He must rest.”

Matilda nodded and waited until she’d gone to sit beside Lucian, taking his hand in hers. He sighed, gazing at her under heavy-lidded eyes, exhaustion catching up with him.

“Matilda,” he said, her name little more than a breath of sound.

“I’m here.”

He laughed softly. “I’m still having difficulty with that idea. Am I delirious with fever already? Did I dream you?”

“No.” She raised his hand to her lips and pressed her mouth to his palm. “No,” she repeated against his skin, her voice cracking with emotion.

“Say it again,” he said, his silver eyes intent, though a little too bright.

She knew what he meant and laughed this time, or perhaps it had been a sob, a strange hiccoughing sound that caught in her throat. “I ought not.”

“I know. Say it anyway.”

She stared down at him and reached out with her free hand, cupping his face and stroking his cheek. “I love you.”

He stared at her, happiness and bemusement tangled in his expression. “Why?”

“Don’t,” she said as tears welled in her eyes. She shook her head. “I’ll tell you when you’re well.”

He made a disgruntled sound and she kissed his palm again.

“I’ve had papers drawn up,” he said, the turn in the conversation making her start. “If… If anything happens to me….”

Matilda shook her head vehemently. She could not think of that.

He smiled a little and squeezed the hand that held his.

“I’m not so feeble as that, and I have no intention of going anywhere just yet, I assure you, but… but things happen. Life is… uncertain, and… he’ll try again, Matilda.”

Matilda gave a sob and covered her mouth.

“Don’t cry,” he said, tugging at her hand, drawing her down to lie beside him. She went, moving carefully, snuggling into his good side. “I need to tell you this, and Pippin will be back insisting on making me swallow that vile stuff, though it will make me sick as a dog. Please don’t stay to witness that, I beg of you.”

Matilda shook her head. “I promised Phoebe. I don’t break promises, and I’ve nursed my father and Nate too, occasionally. Your sickbed holds no horrors I’ve not witnessed.”

“You were not in love with them,” he said curtly. “Leave a man a little dignity.”