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

Sophia’s eyes widened as she studied Lucy’s face. “Curse you, Lucy Waltham,” she said with a knowing look. “There you go again. Now you’re hopelessly ahead of me.”


Lucy slanted her gaze to the floor. A hot blush suffused her cheeks and chest. Of course Sophia wouldknow just from looking at her. Wouldn’t everyone? Their first joining she might have composed her face to conceal, but the second time? Oh sweet heaven, the second time. Really, it would be a miracle if the whole Manor hadn’theard the second time.

Lucy chewed her thumbnail, cringing. “Is it so obvious?”

“Of course it is! It’s written all over your face.” Sophia jabbed a finger into Lucy’s arm. “You,” she accused, “are truly in love.”

“Oh.” Lucy’s hand dropped to her lap. “Oh, that.”

In love? With Jeremy?

“Don’t try to deny it,” Sophia said. “You’re a terrible liar. You must let me give you lessons in deceit someday, Lucy. It’s a more useful accomplishment than embroidery, by far.”

Lucy had no wish to deny it. She’d had every intention of falling madly in love with him soon. She’d simply been waiting for a spare moment to make up her mind to do it. The same way she’d decided on Toby. She would set her mind and will to the task of loving her husband. Beyond reason, beyond argument.

But she hadn’t set her mind to this. Her will had not even been consulted. Whatever this was she was feeling, it came from some fundamental layer of her being.Beneath reason,beneath argument. She loved him in the same way that her lungs drew breath, or her heart pounded in her chest. And indeed, now that Lucy was aware of it, every breath and heartbeat resonated with the elemental truth.

I love Jeremy.

Her whole body flushed with a giddy awareness. Lucy wondered which part of her had known it first. Her hand, when he’d kissed it that night in the garden? Her arms, when she’d pulled him into the wardrobe? Her lips, perhaps, when he’d kissed her under the pear tree? Or maybe even her feet, when they’d steered her to his door that night and not Toby’s?

She bent her head and grinned, flexing her toes inside her slippers. Clever, clever feet.

Sophia sniffed. Lucy looked up to see her friend’s eyes welling with tears.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Sophia said, shaking her head. She looked up at the ceiling and pressed a knuckle to the corner of her eye. “I just always cry at weddings. Don’t you?”

“No,” Lucy answered honestly. “But then, I don’t cry. Ever.”

Sophia sniffed again and straightened her shoulders. “Well, then,” she said, brightening. “I’m glad I did not buy you handkerchiefs for a wedding present.” She stood up and reached for a paper-wrapped parcel. “You’re going to love this.” Her grin widened as she undid the knotted twine. She removed the paper and unfurled the contents in a dramatic cascade of scarlet silk.

“It was made up for Kitty before her wedding, but she thought it tawdry and vulgar. Fit for a trollop, she said.” Sophia dangled a flame-red negligee. “I, of course, thought it perfect.” She pressed the scrap of a nightgown up to her body and posed before the mirror. The neckline plunged in dramatic fashion, and on one side a wide slit climbed nearly to the hip. Black lace formed the thin shoulder straps and edged the hem of the whole scandalous affair. “There’s a matching dressing gown, too.”

Entranced, Lucy reached out to touch the shimmering fabric. It flowed over her fingers like water.

“Poor Felix, hmm?” Sophia raised an eyebrow and lowered her voice. “And fortunate Lord Kendall. He’s going to rip it off you, I just know it. And when I see you next, I want to hear every thrilling detail.”

Lucy laughed. She would miss Sophia’s elegant brand of madness. “You know, I have a gift for you, too.”

“Really?”

Lucy went to her chest of drawers. She pulled open a drawer, cast aside a great tangle of stockings, and pried up the false bottom to reveal the hidden cache beneath.

“You’re going to love this,” she said, flashing Sophia a sly smile as she carefully removed her prize. “It’s a book.”

* * *

“Are you taking her to Corbinsdale, then?” Henry propped a boot on his desk and leaned back in the chair. He riffled through the papers Jeremy’s solicitor had prepared.

Jeremy nodded. “Until the Season starts.”

“Lucy will prefer the country anyhow. She’s not coming to you with any dowry of note, but at least she won’t cost you much. You’ll not need to spend vast sums on jewels or gowns.” He chuckled. “I can’t picture Lucy swanning about a ballroom.”

Jeremy yanked on his cuff. “Perhaps you could, if you’d ever allowed her to attend a ball.”