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

Jeremy gave a harsh laugh. “Well, that would be a novelty. Come on, Henry. You’ve never done what’s best for her. You ought to have sent her to school, taken her to Town, given her exposure to culture and society. She’s years overdue for her debut. And now you claim to know what’s best for her?” He walked to Lucy’s side and laid his hand on the small of her back. It was vital, somehow, to touch her that instant. Claim her. He fancied she leaned against his hand slightly.

“Lucy has never had the opportunities or security she should have had,” Jeremy continued. “I can provide for her. I can take care of her.”

Lucy bristled away from his touch. “Who says I need anyone to take care of me?”

Henry ignored his sister, keeping his steely glare locked on Jeremy. “Oh, yes. You have money. Is that what you’re saying? You don’t need to remind me that you could buy and sell Waltham Manor with the spare change under your barouche seat cushions. And any other lady would be thrilled to attach herself to your bank account. But this is Lucy we’re discussing. She doesn’t care about jewels or silks or luxuries.”

“How would you know?” Jeremy demanded. “You’ve never offered her any luxuries. Perhaps she’d like to go about dripping in jewels. Perhaps she’d enjoy the life of a countess.”

“Oh, would she?” Henry turned to his sister, a wry smile spreading across his face. “Do you really want to be a countess, Lucy? Think about it carefully. A countess can’t spend all afternoon climbing trees in the orchards. A countess can’t take the hounds out for a romp and come back with muddied skirts. A countess doesn’t go fishing.”

Lucy frowned. “I should think a countess can do as she pleases.” She looked to Jeremy. “Can’t she?”

Jeremy sighed. This wasn’t the best time or place to have this conversation, but he supposed it would have to happen eventually. “No, Lucy. Henry is right. Corbinsdale is … well, it’s not Waltham Manor. You can’t behave there the way you’re accustomed to behaving here.”

“What do you mean?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Why not?”

Jeremy’s hands flexed at his sides as he groped for the best way to explain. Marrying her meant taking her into his protection. Not just providing for her materially, or rescuing her from weeks of watching Toby fawn over Sophia—he meant to keep her physically safe. He still hadn’t recovered from watching her trip a measly snare three days ago, let alone that breakneck ride through the orchard or her bath in the river. The thought of Lucy set loose on Corbinsdale land, with all those bluffs and boulders, not to mention the tenants … well, Jeremy couldn’t think it. It was unthinkable.

“You’ll be too busy,” he said. “You’ll have a household to manage, servants to oversee. The Abbey’s a very large estate.”One of the largest in England , he refrained from adding.

“Yes, but it’s been running quite smoothly without a countess for years now, hasn’t it? And surely even a countess can take her horse out for a good gallop once in a while. Or take a stroll through the woods when the mood strikes.”

Jeremy’s hands balled into fists. If there was one thing Lucy was never going to do, it was wander Corbinsdale Woods at her leisure. He’d lost far too much to that godforsaken forest already. His knees felt oddly weak, but he made his voice firm. “No, Lucy. A countess can’t. Notmy countess, anyway.” And even though he knew it wouldn’t faze her in the slightest, he threw in The Look for good measure.

Lucy recoiled as if she’d been slapped. “Well,” she said quietly. “Perhaps Henry is right. Perhaps I’m not cut out to beyour countess at all. Maybe we should forget all about it.”

Now it was Jeremy’s turn to wince. Forget all about it? Impossible. He could outlive Methuselah himself and never forget last night. The tickling warmth of her breath against his ear; the satiny feel of her thighs wrapped over his hips. The miraculous joy of pouring his seed deep inside her, making her forever his.

And there it was. She washis now. It didn’t matter a whit whether she cared for him or not; whether she wanted to be a countess or an actress or a spy for the Crown. She was his, and he wasn’t letting her go.

“It’s too late,” Jeremy said quietly. “Isn’t it, Lucy?”

He watched her eyes flare with comprehension. Then Henry stepped between them. “No, it’s not too late,” he said. “You see? Already it’s starting. Jem, you live to order people around. Lucy, you can’t abide being told what to do. Perversely enough, I happen to care deeply for you both. And I’ll not see you shackled in a miserable marriage just to satisfy propriety.”

“Miserable or no, we’re getting married. And it’s nothing to do with propriety,” Jeremy said pointedly. “Nothing at all.”

Henry yanked down the front of his waistcoat. His eyes narrowed. “I could withhold my consent, you know. She isn’t of age.”

Jeremy exhaled slowly and tried a less subtle approach. “Henry, you can’t. You don’t understand. Lucy is compromised.”

“We just went through all that. Forget the damn letter. We can quell any idle chatter. Hardly anyone in theton even knows her name, let alone cares enough to gossip about her.”