Page 8 of To Hunt the Hunter

“It’s true.”

She closed her eyes for a moment and when she opened them, his hand still rested beside hers on the table, palm up, close but not touching. He wouldn’t, she realised. He’d given his word and he wouldn’t break it. That brief touch was as much as he would allow himself. Matilda swallowed, knowing she was a fool, but she inched her hand closer. Her heart thudded unevenly, and her conscience screamed danger, but she ignored it and lifted her hand, resting her palm upon his. Their fingers twined together, neither of them saying a word, neither of them looking at the other, only at the place their hands met. The moment was unbearably sweet, ridiculously innocent and yet the air between them simmered with everything that was unsaid, everything they could not have.

The door burst open and Matilda snatched her hand back as Phoebe ran into the room.

“She stayed!” she cried, triumphant as she crossed the floor in the space of a second and threw her arms about Lucian’s neck. “I told you so. I told you.”

“So you did,” Lucian said dryly. “And, seeing as you are in such good spirits, do you think you could refrain from strangling me and ruining my cravat? And sit down like a young lady. I’d rather Miss Hunt did not believe you have been raised by wolves.”

“Oh, pooh. Miss Hunt doesn’t mind. Do you, Miss Hunt? And your cravat is just as perfect as it always is, but I will sit down because I’m famished! Oh, is that cherry jam? Lovely. It’s my favourite. Have you tried it, Miss Hunt? Can we call you Matilda, please? I should like it if you called me Phoebe. She can, can’t she, Uncle?”

“I doubt it, bearing in mind she cannot get a word in edgewise at present.”

Phoebe snorted and Lucian raised his eyes to the heavens. Matilda just watched, utterly enchanted, and with a fatalistic sense of panic growing in her chest. She was in deep, deep trouble.

***

After breakfast, arrangements were made for their outing. Matilda had been to picnics given by those of the haute ton on many occasions. It differed little from eating in a lavish, formal dining room, except that the poor servants had the onerous task of carrying everything outside and setting it up under an awning. So she admitted herself surprised when she met Phoebe and Lucian outside the house to discover a very modest pony and gig, which had an enormous wicker basket strapped on the back. Lucian held the reins, with Phoebe practically bouncing with impatience beside him.

“How charming this is,” Matilda exclaimed as a footman handed her up. She settled herself beside Phoebe.

“There’s a lovely spot under a great oak tree at the Mast Head, and at the bottom of the hill there’s a little stream,” Phoebe said, her eyes alight with excitement. She held up a large glass jar with string tied about the neck to make a handle. “You can catch sticklebacks, too, and it’s ever so pretty, but it’s too far to walk. I suggested the gig. It is a good idea, isn’t it?”

“It’s perfect,” Matilda assured her as Lucian urged the pony into a smart trot.

Lucian glanced over at her. “Did you think me too high in the instep to sit on a blanket and eat with my fingers?”

“Yes,” Matilda admitted, earning herself an amused smile.

“What an opinion she has of me, Bee.”

“And what would you expect me to think?” Matilda countered.

“Oh, but I told you he’s not like people think he is,” Phoebe explained. “Not nearly so proud and cold as he seems.”

Matilda smiled at Phoebe’s earnest assurance. “That’s because he loves you best, Phoebe. It’s different for the rest of us mere mortals.”

“Oh, but not for you, Matilda. I know he feels the same way about you. Don’t you, Uncle?” It was an innocent, childish remark, but the impact on Matilda’s heart was a devastating one. A blush crept up her throat and she turned her head away, pretending to be engrossed in the passing scenery.

“Not quite the same way, child,” Lucian replied, though the teasing note Matilda had expected to hear was not in evidence.

“Well, no, of course not. Matilda is a grownup, a lady.”

“Indeed.”

An uneasy silence settled over them which Phoebe was oblivious to, thank heavens, and the little girl chattered and laughed and soon the atmosphere dissipated. It was impossible to be uneasy with her animated company and the droll things she said.

On the way, Lucian halted the pony so that they might admire the deer which abounded in the vast parkland surrounding Dern Palace.

“The park was first enclosed in the mid-fifteenth century,” Lucian said as they viewed dozens of deer peacefully grazing in an open field. “Today there are close to four hundred fallow deer in the park.”

“They’re wild,” Phoebe said with a heavy sigh.

“Phoebe is determined to tame one.” Lucian gave his niece a reproachful glance.

“Oh, but they are so pretty,” Phoebe retorted. “I just want to stroke one.”

“Oh, yes, and feed it cake and tie it up with ribbons, no doubt,” Lucian said with the lift of one eyebrow. “What a pitiful fate for such a beautiful creature.”