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

“Come on,” Toby pleaded. “Do a man a favor. I’d do it for you, were our situations reversed.”


“I don’t doubt you would,” Jeremy said. “But oddly enough, Toby, I’ve never aspired to your example of conduct.”

They were closing in on him, all three of them wearing expressions of great amusement. Jeremy began to feel a bit desperate. “It won’t work,” he protested.

“Are you so out of practice then?” Toby taunted. “You typically cut quite a swath through theton , but not this season. Perhaps you’re just not up to the task?”

Jeremy’s hands were fists at his sides. His right itched to connect with Toby’s jaw. The left had distinctly lower ambitions. “Myability is not in question.”

Henry clapped him on the shoulder and smiled. “Good. Then it’s settled.”

CHAPTER FOUR

“Come to call me a fool again?” Lucy asked from behind her book. “Or perhaps you’ve devised a fresh insult?”

Jeremy pulled a chair up to the hearth. Aunt Matilda dozed on a nearby divan, her turbaned head slumped to her chest. The turban’s indigo plume dangled in front of her nose, and each rattling snore set it dancing in the breeze.

After this afternoon’s dousing, Lucy had traded her ruined silk gown for a simple dark-green dress with—thankfully—a modest neckline. Her hair was braided into a thick rope of chestnut that tapered to a gentle curve at her waist. A leather-bound volume hid her face from view. She had maintained this studious attitude ever since the group retired to the drawing room following dinner, but Jeremy hadn’t seen her turn a single page.

He maneuvered a chess table into the space between them and began arranging the pawns in neat rows. “I did not come to insult you. Quite the opposite.” He leaned forward across the game board, as though preparing to spill a great secret. “I’ve come to seduce you.”

She peeked at him over the top of her book. Her eyes flared momentarily before narrowing to slits. “I prefer insult to ridicule.”

He shrugged and continued arranging the chess pieces. “Perhaps I simply want a game of chess.”

She snorted in disbelief and glanced over toward the card table, where the Hathaway sisters were on the verge of bankrupting all three gentlemen. “Henry put you up to this, didn’t he?”

Jeremy’s fingers tightened around a black rook.

“I don’t want your pity, Jemmy.” Lucy snapped her book closed. “And what’s more, I don’t need it.”

She met his eyes directly, and the force in her gaze nearly knocked him off his chair. Her green eyes were clear and alive with intelligence, not red or brimming with tears. He shook his head, chiding himself for underestimating her resilience. Lucy had not sequestered herself to nurse her wounded pride or lament her disappointed hopes. She was plotting her next move.

“I’m not here to pity you. Nor am I acting at Henry’s behest.” Jeremy placed the last pieces on the board. “I have my own reasons to speak with you.”

She rotated the chessboard to situate the white pieces before her. Winding her braid around her right hand, she advanced a pawn with her left. She glanced up at him through thick, curving eyelashes. “To apologize?”

To apologize, indeed. Lucy ought to be thanking him. He intended to bring a swift end to this absurd scheme of her brother’s. At dinner, he had suffered winks from Henry, grins from Toby, Felix’s jab to the ribs—even Marianne’s sly expression when she seated Lucy at his elbow. Well, Henry could make accomplices of every last footman, for all Jeremy cared. He’d be damned if he’d spend his holiday reciting Byron in the garden, simply to coddle their consciences. Neither did he intend to stand watch in the corridor each night, or keep fishing Lucy out of danger. If neither Henry nor Toby were man enough to simply tell her the truth, Jeremy would.

He brought out a pawn to meet hers. “I’ve come to tell you the good news. Toby will propose marriage to Miss Hathaway at the end of the holiday.”

“Thatis the good news?” She moved a bishop across the board, claiming a black pawn. “I can scarcely contain my joy. Please excuse my display of wild jubilation.”

“At theend of the holiday, Lucy. Weeks from now. Any attempt to prevent the engagement would be futile”—he continued speaking over her objection—“but if you insist on trying, you have ample time. There is no need to commit a brazen act of seduction. Or subversion.”

“On the contrary.” The corners of her lips curled in an impish grin. “With so much time at my disposal, I can commit more brazen acts than ever.”

“And do you suppose brazenness is a quality Toby seeks in a wife?”

His barb hit home, and Lucy’s mouth thinned to a line. She glanced over at the card players. “Whatdoes he see in her?”

“As I told you, she is beautiful, accomplished, and—most importantly—wealthy.”