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

She clutched Jeremy’s coat around her body. Henry approached her slowly. He took in her disheveled state, eyeing her from tangled hair to bare toes. “My God,” he said, his voice shaking with rage. “What has he done to you?”


He turned his burning gaze on Jeremy. “I’ll kill you. I warned you before, and now I’ll kill you. And—” His nostrils flared. “I’m going to enjoy it.” Henry started toward him, his hands in fists.

Lucy threw herself in her brother’s path. “Henry, no! You don’t understand.”

Henry glared over her shoulder at Jeremy. “You said you’d take care of her, you bastard!” He gestured toward Lucy’s tattered clothing. “Just look at her! She’s a disaster.”

Lucy clenched her jaw and let the words bounce off her pride. “I had a little accident. You know how clumsy I am. Just a little mishap in the woods, that’s all. Jeremy—” She swallowed. “Jeremy came to my rescue. You should thank him.” She looked over her shoulder at her husband. “I should thank him.”

“I’ll thank him to go to hell.” Henry glanced down at her bare legs. “What the devil were you doing in the woods half-naked?”

She shut her eyes. “Henry—”

Jeremy interjected, “She’s cold, Henry. I’ll be glad to explain everything. But let us go wash and dress, and then we’ll sit down to breakfast and discuss this like civilized people.”

“Civilized people? You call this civilized?” He advanced on Jeremy, backing Lucy up between them. “If you think I’m allowing my sister to spend another minute in this house, you’re mad. I’m taking her back to Waltham Manor, where she belongs.”

“You can’t just take her,” Jeremy said, his voice growing rough with anger. “She belongs here. She’s my wife.”

Henry’s eyes narrowed. “Not if I kill you, she isn’t. Then she’s your widow.”

They lurched toward each other. Lucy put out her hands, one on either man’s chest, bracing her outstretched arms to hold them apart.

“Stop it, both of you! No one is killing anyone. This is absurd.” She turned to her brother. “Henry, why are you here?”

“Why do you think I’m here? The minute I got your letter, I ordered the carriage. If you’re miserable enough that you want to come home, you can come with me now. You don’t have to wait until Toby’s wedding.” He glanced down at her briefly before directing his cold stare back at Jeremy.

Lucy cringed. She’d forgotten she’d sent him that letter, the day Jeremy left for London. Of all the times for her brother’s protective instincts to surface. “Henry, I’m not miserable.”

“But your letter said … Why else would you want to come home?”

“To help Marianne, of course.”

“Marianne?” Henry blinked. His green eyes went from blazing to puzzled. “Why would you need to help Marianne?”

“With her confinement, you dolt!” Henry blinked again. Lucy turned to him, putting her hands on her brother’s shoulders. “She’s increasing again. You mean she hasn’t told you?”

“No, she hasn’t.” He turned and looked at the ceiling, dragging a hand through his hair. “Damn it, no one ever tells me anything.”

“Congratulations,” Jeremy offered weakly.

Henry shot him a look. He turned back to Lucy. “So you’re saying you don’t want to come home?”

Lucy shook her head. “I’m happy here.” She felt Jeremy step up to stand behind her. He placed his hand on the small of her back, and she leaned against it.

“Are you certain?” Henry asked, eyeing her with suspicion. “Because it looks as though you’ve been to hell and back.” He cast a wary glance at Jeremy. “Maybe you’re just afraid to tell me in front of him. Maybe we should discuss this alone.”

Lucy laughed. “Afraid? Me? Henry it’s been only a matter of weeks. You can’t have forgotten me so thoroughly as to think that.”

“I haven’t forgotten how much you dislike him, either. Nor the way he compromised you, the blackguard.” He shouted over her shoulder at Jeremy. “I should have called you out then. I should have shot you dead.”

The two men lunged at one another again, and again Lucy forced them apart, arms outstretched. “Stop this, both of you! You’re behaving like children.”

But they weren’t children, these two seething idiots whose chests struggled against her palms. They were men. The two men Lucy loved most in the world, and the two people who would do anything for her. They cared for her, but they cared for each other, too. And Lucy sensed that she could hold them together as much as she’d pushed them apart.