Page 9 of To Hunt the Hunter

“Oh, pooh,” Phoebe scoffed. “I bet it would like cake and ribbons if it had the chance to try them.”

Lucian laughed, a proper full-hearted laugh, and Matilda was so astonished that she stared at him, wide-eyed. He caught sight of her shocked expression and stopped abruptly.

“What?”

“Dimples,” she said faintly.

Oh lord, she was doomed.

Lucian frowned, glancing between her and Phoebe.

Phoebe snorted. “I told you,” she crowed, laughing at her uncle, and bouncing in her seat. “Ha ha! I told you so.”

Lucian mock glowered at her. “Don’t be ridiculous. I do not have dimples.”

“He does, doesn’t he, Matilda?”

“I’m afraid so. How shocking,” Matilda replied, shaking her head as though it was the most scandalous thing she’d ever heard. “Just wait until the ton hears about this.”

“Now we have something to blackmail him with,” Phoebe said with a smug smile. “We can make him do anything we want.”

“Two against one. How cruel you women are,” he lamented, and Matilda could not look at him, could not withstand the warmth in his eyes. She ought not have come. She knew she ought not have come, yet she could not regret a moment of this day, would not regret it.

Lucian turned the pony onto a narrow ferny path that led uphill, winding through hawthorn bushes and thick clumps of yew and hornbeam, and graceful, lofty ash trees. A pheasant lifted from the bracken with an indignant squawk and a flurry of wings, and Lucian soothed the startled pony, who shook his head and huffed before walking on.

“This part of the park hasn’t changed since the middle ages,” Lucian said. “There are vast areas which have been replanted recently, that’s to say two centuries ago. Beech stands and tree-lined avenues. There’s the chestnut walk and others of beech and oak. They’re very grand, but I rather like it here. It’s wilder and terribly ancient. You can sense it, I think. The ancient nature of the place, a connection to an undisturbed earth which is sometimes missing elsewhere. It’s peaceful.”

Stop it. Matilda wanted to say it out loud. To demand he not speak so, not reveal more of a man about whom she wanted to know everything. She had been attracted to him from the start, though she’d never understood why. His beauty, perhaps, or his damned arrogance, for she had never been able to refuse a challenge. Yet, over the past months, that had changed. He had changed. He had allowed her a glimpse of the man, not the marquess, and with each glimpse her interest had grown, her desire for more of him had led her on. She had foolishly offered her friendship, and that she could not take back.

Now, here she was, falling too hard and too fast for a man she could never have, unless she would share him with a wife. How could she love a man and watch him go to another, have a family with another, and call his wife beloved in public? No matter the truth of his feelings… no. No. Her heart hurt.

The woodland opened out again and they crested a hill crowned by a single, proud oak tree. It was thick and gnarled, with a vast trunk and a heavy low-hanging green canopy. Lucian drew the pony to a halt and climbed down, moving around to the other side to give Matilda his hand. Matilda took it, avoiding his eye, and releasing her hold the moment she’d stepped down.

“Come along,” Phoebe said, grinning at Matilda and holding the jar she’d brought aloft as she jumped down from the gig with a flurry of skirts, before her uncle could lift her down. “I want to show you the stream.”

They left Lucian to see to the pony and walked down the hill to where a twining stream glittered and burbled in the spring sunshine, worrying its way around rocks and over glistening pebbles. It was exactly the kind of place Matilda had loved as a child, hiding from her governess and escaping to her own world of small adventures, where she could strip off her stockings and paddle, and search for little creatures under rocks and catch tiny, darting fish. She watched with amusement as Phoebe did just that, hitching up her skirts and splashing into the water as she tried to catch the elusive silver sticklebacks, with their sharp spines and glaring eyes.

Matilda watched for a while, calling encouragement and commiserating when the fish proved too speedy and slippery. Taking her own turn, she very nearly fell in, much to Phoebe’s delight, and soaked her gloves. It was a good excuse to take them off, though, as it was growing hot, and the lovely day Phoebe had promised hung warm and golden upon the lush green surroundings. She could not resist an occasional glance up the hill. Lucian had unhitched the pony, who was nosing at the grass and chewing with peaceful content. What a beautiful spot this was. She could see why it was a favourite place for them to visit. She did not see Lucian at first and had to search for him, finding him sitting deep in the shade of the great oak, his back against the trunk.

“You can go back if you like.”

Matilda looked around to see Phoebe watching her with a satisfied smile, and she felt a surge of embarrassment for having been caught staring. Phoebe only laughed, grinning broadly.

“Oh, go on,” the child urged. “He’ll be pleased if you go and talk to him. Can’t you tell how happy he is that you’ve come?”

Yes, Matilda thought desperately. Yes, she could. Despite knowing better, she walked back up the hill, her skirts swishing through the meadow grass, brushing past yellow cowslips and shiny buttercups, bold dandelions and drifts of cow parsley.

“You look like a meadow sprite,” Lucian observed as she drew nearer. “Like the embodiment of sunshine in that yellow gown.”

“Such pretty compliments. You won’t turn my head, you know,” Matilda lied, throwing her wet gloves down and trying to keep her voice impassive.

“I wasn’t trying to. It’s mine that been turned, I assure you.”

He’d laid two thick blankets on the ground beside the basket and Matilda sat down, carefully arranging her skirts and not looking at him.

“You’re so far away. Am I so untrustworthy? You have Phoebe to satisfy propriety, after all. Surely you do not believe me so depraved as to make love to you with her close by?”

“Of course not!” Matilda exclaimed, flustered.