Goddess of the Hunt (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #1)

Lucy caught a glimpse of fluttering fabric again, just at the border of the woods. She cupped her hand to her mouth to call out, but decided to save her breath. As Sophia had once so helpfully pointed out, it made little sense to shout at a deaf lady. Instead, she doubled her pace across the green, her silk slippers crunching over frosted grass. She hurried to the copse of trees she’d seen Aunt Matilda approaching and plunged into the forest.

She swung the lantern around, scanning through the trees. Nothing. She looked down. There were footprints, of sorts. Small depressions in the ice-crusted mud about the size of a woman’s foot. She followed the trail, holding the lantern aloft with one hand and clutching the neck of her dressing gown with the other.

Heavens, but Aunt Matilda moved quickly. It seemed impossible that Lucy would not have caught up with her by now. She could hear the gurgle of the stream already.

The footprints ended at a rocky outcropping. She approached it cautiously, a bubble of dread rising in her throat. The stream’s low gurgle became an ominous roar below. Holding on to a branch with one hand, she swung her lantern out over the edge with the other, peering down into the gorge. Praying she wouldn’t see a tattered scrap of muslin shift somewhere down below.

Her shoulder exploded with pain. Lucy pitched forward with a scream. The lantern sailed from her hand and tumbled down, landing in the river with a splash.

The whole world went black.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Jeremy didn’t find Aunt Matilda.

Aunt Matilda found him.

Having started the footmen searching the garden, Jeremy rounded the front of the house. Aunt Matilda greeted him in the entrance hall, barefoot and dressed in a shift nearly as translucent as her skin.

She was shuffling her feet around the parquet floor and humming a lively tune. When she looked up and saw Jeremy, she paused just long enough to utter a single word. “Lovely.”

“Lucy,” he called, ushering the old lady up the stairs. “Lucy! I’ve found her.” He looked into the sitting room as he passed their suite. “Lucy?”

No response.

Jeremy shrugged off a whisper of anxiety. Casting a pointed look at a maid down the corridor, he steered Aunt Matilda into the Blue Suite. The maid hurried in after them, quickly assuming care of the elderly lady.

“Where is Her Ladyship?” he asked the maid brusquely.

“I … I don’t know, my lord. I believe I saw her heading downstairs.”

“Downstairs?” That made no sense. If Lucy had gone downstairs, why hadn’t she found her aunt? Jeremy turned to exit the room, but something stopped him. The damn drapes were all pushed to the sides. No wonder the old lady went wandering off. The draft must be ice-cold. He crossed to the window and reached with both hands to gather the blue drapes together.

Then he saw it.

A tiny light, winking at him from the edge of the woods. Bobbing and weaving through the darkness. Like a fairy light.

But Jeremy didn’t believe in fairies. What he believed, with a sick certainty, was that when it came to wandering into danger, his wife clearly took after her aunt.

He bolted from the room and took the stairs at a run, for the second time that evening. This had already seemed the longest day of his life, but every second now felt an eternity. He barely mustered the patience to duck into the study and grab up his gun before charging out into the dark.

Damned fool chit. He watched the flickering light recede into the woods, and he redoubled his pace. He was running now, the heavy necklace in his pocket slapping against his chest with every step. How was he supposed to cherish and protect his wife when she kept hurling herself into harm’s way at every opportunity?

And she didn’t need him, she’d said. She didn’t need him to take care of her. Well, he thought bitterly as he began weaving through the trees, someone had to. She sure as hell couldn’t take care of herself. When he caught up to that flickering light that kept teasing him in the distance, he would have a thing or two to say about taking care. And his wife would bloody well listen.

Jeremy came to a halt. He’d lost track of the light. He scanned the woods in the direction he’d seen it last. The night was overcast, but the clouds were thin enough that the moonlight filtered through them as a faint, silver glow. He blinked, his eyes slowly adjusting to the murky dimness. He stared down at the ground until his boots came into focus, black wedges against the leaf-strewn mud.

His breath was heaving in his chest. Perhaps if he rested another moment, he could gather it enough to call out. But it wasn’t only the exertion that had him gasping for air. Panic seized his lungs like a vise. He hadn’t been out in this part of the forest at night in years.

Twenty-one years.

He’d lost so much to these cursed woods already. And now he’d lost sight of that damn light. The cold wind whipping through the trees felt like death itself, and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t call out. It was all he could do to keep standing.

The faint babble of the stream reached his ears, and he turned instinctively toward the sound. He stumbled forward a few paces, then stopped again to scan for the light. To listen.

A scream rent the air.