Matilda And Montagu, page 1
Matilda & Montagu
Girls Who Dare, The Story So Far
By Emma V. Leech
Published by Emma V. Leech.
Copyright (c) Emma V. Leech 2020
Cover Art: Victoria Cooper
ASIN No.:
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorised, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. The ebook version and print version are licensed for your personal enjoyment only. The ebook version may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share the ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is inferred.
Table of Contents
Foreword
To Dare a Duke
Chapter 1
To Steal a Kiss
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
To Break the Rules
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
To Follow Her Heart
Chapter 15
To Wager with Love
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
To Dance with a Devil
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
To Winter at Wildsyde
Chapter 25
To Experiment with Desire
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
To Bed the Baron
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
To Ride with the Knight
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
To Hunt the Hunter
Chapter 1
Want More Emma?
About Me!
Other Works by Emma V. Leech
Audio Books!
Acknowledgements
Foreword
This book is not a new story, but (at the request of the readers) a compilation of all the instances throughout the Girls Who Dare series where Matilda Hunt and Lucian Barrington, Marquess of Montagu interacted and/or corresponded, as well as bits where Matilda, Lucian or Phoebe, Montagu’s niece, may have been thought of or talked about.
That said, this is a wonderful prequel for Matilda’s upcoming story, To Hunt the Hunter and really highlights how their relationship began and how it has progressed over time.
If you have not read the Girls Who Dare Series, while this could be read as a standalone, many of the characters would be unknown and it is recommended you read the the series first!
And now, Matilda & Montagu, the Story so Far!
Happy Reading
To Dare a Duke
Book One
Chapter 1
19th April. Ruth’s home, Upper Walpole Street. London. 1814
“Prue.”
She turned to find Matilda following her. The beautiful blonde reached out a hand and took hers, giving it a brief squeeze.
“I know what it is to lose your reputation,” she said, her expression grave. “Please, don’t worry about Alice. I will see she comes to no harm. You have my word.”
Prue looked back at her, a little surprised. Matilda and Alice had never been close, Alice too awed by the ravishing young woman to speak with her.
Yet, Matilda Hunt did know what it was to be ruined.
According to Ruth, who was closest to her, she had been ruined through no fault of her own. It had been her brother’s doing, indirectly at least. It changed nothing, though. Whatever the truth, she had been caught alone with the Marquess of Montagu in a men’s gambling club. Inevitably, Matilda Hunt had been dubbed evermore The Huntress, for trying to trap the marquess into marriage. That she swore she had intended no such thing was a poor defence against the tattling voices of the ton. Either way, Montagu had refused to be caught, and Matilda was ruined.
“How will you manage that?” Prue asked, not disbelieving as much as sceptical.
Matilda returned a rather enigmatic smile. “I have my ways,” she said, glancing back at Alice, who was blossoming under the attention of the rest of the group. She looked happy and rather excited. “So, don’t fret. She’ll be safe.”
Prue nodded, believing her. “Thank you,” she said, and bade Matilda goodbye.
***
The evening of the 25th April. The Cavendish Ball. Mayfair. London. 1814.
Prue looked up as the Marquess of Montagu entered the ballroom. Ah, she thought with a sigh, as the world righted itself, there’s a proper bastard, and she was not referring to his impeccable lineage. The marquess was a cold man, haughty, powerful, and ruthless, and he was the reason Matilda Hunt was so thoroughly ruined. He’d accused her of trying to trap him into marriage—wrongly—and had thrown her to the wolves. Matilda would never find a match now. The only offers The Huntress got were not the sort ever voiced to a respectable female.
To Steal a Kiss
Book Two
Chapter 2
The evening of the 13th June 1814. Half Moon Street, Mayfair, London.
“I just want her to be happy, Nate. That’s all.”
There was more emotion in the words than she’d meant to show. For all her thoughts of blackmailing him, she didn’t mean to burden him with her unhappiness. Indeed, she took great efforts in appearing happy and vivacious, everything she’d always been before… before her father, her brother, and the Marquess of Montagu had stolen her future from her.
“I know, Tilda,” Nate said, turning to look at her, his mouth quirking a little in a crooked smile. “Fine,” he said with a sigh, clearly unhappy, but resigned at least. “Your Alice will have her kiss in the moonlight, you have my word, but you’d better keep a sharp eye out, for I’ll not get leg shackled. Not even for you.”
***
Nate watched as his sister left the room, and sighed. Would it always be like this? Would he never be free of the guilt?
No.
A stupid question, in any case. He didn’t deserve to be free of it. He never would.
Nate rubbed his eyes, dry and gritty from too little sleep and the smoky atmosphere of the club. Regret lay heavy upon him for so many reasons. He dropped back into the elegantly upholstered chair by the fireplace, and his thoughts returned to that fateful night. The night his father had lain dying.
Hunt Senior had taken to his bed and slowly but steadily declined, the doctor diagnosing pneumonia. During his illness, his father confessed to having run up something of a debt. Totally in the dark as to his spendthrift ways, Nate had cheerfully bade the old man not to worry, he’d sort things out. What a bloody laugh.
Soon enough it became clear that their father had not run up something of a debt, he’d ruined them. Sums the like of which Nate could hardly conceive of were owing left, right, and centre, with bailiffs hammering on the door at all hours of the day and night. They’d had to sell everything. All the land, the property—that which wasn’t already mortgaged to the hilt—artwork, furniture, and even every piece of jewellery that mother had left Matilda. When all was said and done, they barely had the clothes on their back to call their own.
Added to that, their feckless parent didn’t even have the decency to make a clean break but lingered on for weeks, adding doctor’s bills to their endless list of debts.
Furious and sick at heart, terrified of what would become of them, Nate had gone out to drown his sorrows.
Feeling like doing much the same now, Nate got up and refilled his glass, moving to stand by the window that Matilda had left open. He leaned against it, resting his forehead on the cool glass and enjoying the breeze that ruffled his hair as he stared down at the darkening street.
Matilda had come to fetch him that night. His father was dying at last, and had been asking for him, wanting to beg his forgiveness. The servants had all gone by then, save a maid who came in for a few hours during the day. At that hour of the night, though, his sister had been alone, playing nursemaid to a dying man. The old devil had been selfish to the last, begging her to fetch Nate so pitifully that she went out into the night. Alone.
Matilda had taken it upon herself to come to the men’s drinking club of which Nate had always been a member. He, at least, had no debts and his membership had been paid in full until the end of the year. He’d had every intention of remaining there
Somehow, and Nate still didn’t know how she’d done it, Matilda had begged the proprietor to let her in, and he’d shown her to a private room to wait, while they tracked Nate down.
Except the room had been neither as empty nor as private as they’d supposed.
Nate groaned. He regretted so much about that night. He regretted the fact he’d refused to go to her, once her message had been relayed. He’d hated his bloody father by that point, and he was damned if he’d give him leave to rest in peace when the bastard had condemned both his children to live in penury. He regretted that too. His father had been a fool and a spendthrift, but Nate had loved him, and he regretted never having told the old devil as much.
Too late now. Far, far too late.
So, now he tried to make amends. Matilda had lost her father and her future the very same night, and whilst his father’s sins were not his, he might have saved her reputation. If only he’d not gone out that night, if only he’d gone to her at once… if only the Marquess of Montagu wasn’t such a cold bastard, and far too powerful to touch.
Instead, Nate lavished his sister with every luxury she could possibly want, anything to ease the guilt at having stolen her future from her. She ought to have made a grand match by now, beauty that she was. She ought to be happily married with children at her feet, the only thing Matilda had ever really wanted.
Instead he’d condemned her to a life where she would never catch the eye of a respectable man, not as a wife at least. She never told him how many men had made indecent proposals, but he knew they did. Still, she faced them down. Wherever possible, she went out and mingled with those who shunned her, holding her head high, daring them to say it to her face. God, but he admired her courage, even as it broke his heart.
Chapter 3
14th June 1814. The Ransoms’ Ball. London.
“Alone, Miss Hunt? And regarding such a scandalous painting. Is that wise?”
Matilda’s posture stiffened at once, her gaze flying to Alice’s. Alice moved forward from her hidden spot in the alcove, to show the man Matilda was not, in fact, alone, but Matilda shook her head. It was a tiny movement, barely perceptible but Alice stilled, perplexed. Matilda’s blue eyes held hers for a moment, as if confirming she should stay put, and then she turned, slowly.
Head back, shoulders squared, she stood as proudly as a queen to face whoever had spoken to her.
Alice’s gaze fastened on the reflection of a shadowy figure in a glass fronted case on the other side of the gallery, and her breath caught. The figure was indistinct, but the man was still unmistakable. The Marquess of Montagu. The man who’d ruined Matilda with nothing more than his presence.
Matilda stared at him, her gaze icy with loathing. She did not curtsey as she ought in the presence of such a high-ranking man, neither did she acknowledge him.
“Of all the things you took from me, you have given me the freedom to act as I please. I need no permission from anyone, least of all you. You’ve already taken my reputation. I have little else to lose.”
There was a pause, then he spoke again, his voice every bit as cold as Matilda’s expression.
“I’m not sure that’s true.”
Alice could only see Matilda’s face in profile from her hiding place, but she saw her friend arch one elegant eyebrow, a derisive quirk touching her lips.
“Oh, you’re sure it isn’t true,” Matilda said in disgust. “You know nothing happened between us that night. Thanks to you, everyone else in the world believes it did, so what does it matter? You’ve ruined my life, and if you think I’ll thank you for observations as to how I live it in the light of that fact, you are very much mistaken.”
“I did nothing of the sort,” the marquess replied, sounding bored, at best. “I did not invite you into that room and, as you said yourself, I did not lay a hand on you. You were there by your own volition.”
“My father was dying. I was searching for my brother. It was my father’s dying wish to speak with him one last time,” Matilda shot back, the words bitten off, laced with fury.
“So, you left a dying man alone, instead of sending a servant?”
Alice gasped at the cruelty of that statement and saw Matilda flinch, just a little.
“We could not afford servants at that point, as I’m sure you’re aware. My father had gambled away our inheritance and left nothing but debt. That’s why he wanted to see my brother, to beg his forgiveness.”
Even in the glass, Alice could make out the sneer of contempt, though she could hear it even more clearly in the marquess’ voice.
“Ah yes, convenient of him. Who can refuse the wishes of a dying man? Even one who has condemned his family to destitution? So, as an act of contrition, he sends his daughter out into the night, alone. What a saint.”
Matilda gasped at that, one hand flying to her throat.
“You’re a cold-hearted, wicked bastard,” she said, as Alice covered her mouth with her hand to muffle her own intake of breath.
How Matilda had the courage to face this loathsome creature down—and swear with such ease—Alice could not fathom, but she’d never been prouder.
The marquess greeted Matilda’s words with nothing but a snort of amusement.
“Not a bastard,” he drawled, sounding almost apologetic. “I’ll own the rest of it, though. However, I’m still a better man than your father.”
“How dare you—” Matilda began, but the shadowy figure in the reflection raised his hand to silence her.
“My family—my name, their inheritance—that is everything,” he said, and the stunning arrogance behind his words was only diminished because Alice knew they were true. “Montagu is one of the oldest and most powerful names in the land. Everything I do is for the family good. I’d never bring shame or disrespect down upon us. Certainly not by marrying some nameless, penniless chit who has the temerity to visit a men’s club in the early hours of the morning, just because she’s witless enough to enter a room I’m already inhabiting.”
“I never asked for that,” Matilda flung back at him. “My God, I’d rather the position I’m in now a thousand times over than find myself married to a man more dead than alive.”
There was a spectacular silence and Alice felt all the tiny hairs over her body raise as the atmosphere prickled with tension.
“What, then?” he said, and for the first time that ice cold demeanour seemed just a little shaken, a subtle thread of irritation discernible in his question.
“You could have helped me,” Matilda said, the fury in her voice hot enough to singe every painting in the room, and even blistering enough to melt a little of the marquess’ froideur and expose a glimmer of white-hot anger. “You could have silenced those men, refuted what had happened. If you’re as powerful as you believe, you could at least have stood up for me, mitigated my shame, but you did not. You stood back and did nothing, said nothing. Someday, you’ll pay for that. I’ll make sure of it.”
“How naïve you are,” he said, that cold, disdainful voice making Alice’s skin crawl. “If I’d done any of the things you suggest it would have been far worse for you. It would have indicated I cared. It would have suggested a sense of guilt, of duty. Now, at least, you have some who believe the truth of you. If I’d have given any such defence—as you pretend you wanted me to—they’d have been certain we were lovers.”
“I doubt it,” Matilda spat back at him. “I doubt anyone believes you capable of such a physical human act. I could believe you pay your mistresses to tell tales of your prowess for there’s nothing in you that could actually ever feel anything. Are you frigid, my lord?” she asked, a deliberately mocking tone to the question. “I wouldn’t have a problem believing it. Touching another must disgust you. After all, you might have to show a little emotion. All those stories about you, about your lovers and your skill….” Matilda made a disparaging sound. “I don’t believe them.”
“Oh, you believe them,” he said, the words barely audible as he took one step closer and then paused. “And you’re lying to yourself and me with this martyr act. If I’d offered for you that night, you’d have accepted without a second thought. I saw the look in your eyes when you discovered us alone together, dying father or no, and it wasn’t fear or loathing.”
