Page 79 of To Hunt the Hunter

Theo staggered and clutched at the arm that held the pistol, a cry of pain leaving his throat. The gun went off, the report echoing around the vast room as screams rent the air, but the bullet had buried itself in the polished wood floor, and the pistol clattered to the ground as Theodore fell to his knees.

“You did this,” he said, staring at Pippin, wide-eyed with terror.

“Me?” Pippin said, scoffing at the accusation. “I’m just an old woman.”

“An old woman,” Aashini’s grandmother echoed from above, satisfaction in the words. “Just a silly old woman.”

Lucian looked up, staring at the women, all hand in hand, looking down upon his uncle with fierce concentration. No. That was… ridiculous. His gaze swung back to his uncle as Theodore gasped and clutched at his chest, falling backwards, his face a rictus of agony. And then… he was still. No one moved to help him.

“He’s gone,” Matilda said, holding Lucian’s hand tightly. “He can’t hurt you anymore.”

“He killed my family,” he said, too numb to take anything else in. “It was him. My parents and Philip. It was all him.”

“I’m so sorry, Lucian, so terribly sorry, my love.”

“Uncle! Uncle Monty!”

Lucian turned as Phoebe ran at him full tilt and he swung her up into his arms, holding onto her as tight as he could, turning her away from the sight of the dead man.

“It’s over, sweetheart. It’s all over.” His voice quavered and he breathed in deeply, inhaling the scent of her, soap and innocence and all that had been good in his life.

“Yes,” she sobbed, burying her face in his neck. “The monster is gone. Pippin killed him.”

“He’s gone,” Lucian agreed, hardly believing it himself. “But it was nothing to do with Pippin, love. His heart gave out, that’s all.”

Phoebe shook her head. “No. It was Pippin, with all the ladies, especially that Indian lady in the pink silk. I want to meet her. Can I go and talk to her now?”

“Not now, my lamb, perhaps in the morning. You come along now,” Pippin said, as Lucian set Phoebe down. “It’s late and there’s been far too much excitement. Time for a nice hot bath and bed, I think, whilst the grownups sort out all the unpleasantness. You come with me and I’ll have some warm milk and biscuits sent up for us. I think we’ve earned them.”

Lucian watched, too shocked to say or do anything at all as Pippin led Phoebe away.

“His heart gave out,” he repeated numbly as Matilda squeezed his hand. “I could see he was ill when he arrived. It was just his heart….”

“Yes, love,” she said, giving him a placating smile. “Come away now.”

Lucian went with her, suddenly exhausted. All he wanted was to go to bed and take Matilda with him, to curl his body tightly around hers and know that they were safe. For the first time since he was eleven years old, he and those he loved were safe. He wanted to sleep with Matilda in his arms, knowing that were true, and he knew he could not. He would never hold her that way again. Her brother and her friends were here. They had come for her, come like a rampaging army to save her from harm, from him. They loved her and wanted to protect her, and so did he, so he must let her go. No, not let her. She would not go willingly, she was too brave for that, too loving. He must make her go. His soul howled with misery at the idea, such pain in his heart he imagined he would follow his uncle to the same demise, for surely it could not endure such damage.

“What is it?”

He looked up to find Matilda studying him with concern, only then realising he had stopped moving.

Lucian shook his head, staring at her, committing her beautiful face to memory.

“I love you,” he said, wanting to say more, wishing he had words enough to explain everything he wanted, everything he felt.

She moved closer and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth, tender and lingering, ignoring the furious growl from behind them. Her brother, no doubt.

“As I love you,” she whispered.

Lucian nodded, accepting that, even though it was too extraordinary to be true, and made himself move on.

Chapter 21

My Lord Marquess,

I am writing to beg your forgiveness for the part I have unwittingly played in the actions of your uncle, Mr Theodore Barrington. He and I have been friends for decades, and never in my wildest dreams had I imagined him capable of such despicable acts. I am shocked and saddened and feel a burden of guilt and responsibility for all that has passed. Unhappily, I believed everything he told me of you and did not once doubt his sincerity. I cannot imagine what you have endured these past years, but if there is ever anything I can do to make amends, you may consider me your ally.

―Excerpt of a letter from Mr Charles Adolphus, Baron Fitzwalter to The Most Honourable Lucian Barrington, Marquess of Montagu.