Goddess of the Hunt (27 page)

… 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. Not
my
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 be
your
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 was
his
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 the
ton
even knows her name, let alone cares enough to gossip about her.”

Jeremy stepped closer, until they stood toe to toe. He spoke slowly and clearly, his voice a near-whisper. “Henry, listen to what I’m telling you. Lucy is compromised.”

telling you. Lucy is compromised.”

Lucy rushed to his side and clutched his sleeve. “Jeremy, please don’t—”

Without turning his gaze from Henry, Jeremy shook off her grip.

“Lucy is compromised by me. We must marry. She could be with child.”

Lucy watched her brother change colors as he absorbed this information. His tanned, weathered face first blanched, then flushed bright red. Finally—slowly—he turned to her. She couldn’t bear to meet his gaze.

“Oh, Lucy. Really? With … with
him?”

Eyes averted, she hugged herself and gave a small nod.

Henry swore, pacing off toward the window. “Here? In my house?

When the devil did this happen?”

Jeremy sighed. “I could answer that, but I don’t think you really want to know.”

Henry swore again, redoubling his pace.
“How
did this happen?”

“And with three children, you ought to know that much already,”

Jeremy said. When Henry stopped short and glared at him, he added, “I’m marrying her, Henry. I’ll make things right.”

“Make things
right?
I … You …” Henry moved to Lucy’s side. “God, Lucy. I can’t even find words. I’m so …” He clenched and unclenched his hands. “So …”

“Angry,” she supplied, staring into the carpet. “Disappointed in me.”

“Sorry.” His hand gripped her shoulder, and she looked up into shining green eyes. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought him close to tears. “Lucy, I’m just so damnably sorry. This shouldn’t have happened.”

Shocked, she accepted his rough, one-armed hug. “Henry, that’s …

that’s sweet of you.” Now
there
was a sentence she’d never expected to utter. “But I’m glad you’re not angry, because I’m perfectly—”

“Oh, I’m angry. Just not with you.” Releasing her, he turned to Jeremy. “She’s my sister. And I thought you were my friend. For God’s sake, what kind of man compromises his friend’s sister?”

One who is shamelessly seduced
. Lucy bit her lip. Perhaps she ought to defend Jeremy, but how could she begin to tell Henry the truth?

Henry’s hands balled into fists. “So help me, Jem. I’ve a powerful urge to …”

Jeremy widened his stance. “Just do it.”

And before Lucy had any chance to protest—or to consider whether she even wished to protest—Henry drove his fist squarely into Jeremy’s gut. Lucy flinched with the sick thud. Bile rose in her throat.

Jeremy put his hand on the desk and leaned over it, taking shallow breaths. “Feel any better?” he rasped, addressing the carpet.

Henry stalked off toward the window. “No.”

“Well.” Jeremy sucked in another breath. “That makes two of us.”

“Three.” Lucy choked on the word. She didn’t know which of the two men she hurt for more. Neither could she decide which one deserved the greater share of her anger. She only knew this argument was careening toward disaster, and if it didn’t stop now, things could never be the same. “Please stop this,” she said,

“before you say things you can’t take back.”

Henry stared out the window, his gaze unfocused. “Something’s just occurred to me, Jem. I could kill you.”

Lucy closed her eyes. “Like that.”

“It’d be within my rights to call you out,” Henry continued in a cool tone. “Everyone knows you can’t aim worth piss. I could shoot you where you stand.”

Lucy’s heart stalled. “Henry, no.”

Jeremy spoke over her protest. “Yes, you could. But I’d ask you not to. Not for me, but for Lucy. In case there’s a child.”

Henry said nothing. He tapped a finger against the window’s frosted pane.

Jeremy straightened. “I’ll take care of her, Henry. The way she deserves.”

The way she deserves?
Lucy stifled a bitter laugh. Did she
deserve
this humiliation? Did she
deserve
to see the two men she loved, best friends since boyhood, turned against one another in best friends since boyhood, turned against one another in violence? Worse—to know she was the force driving them apart?

Henry fixed Jeremy with a cold stare. “You bastard. You dare suggest she’ll be better off with you, because you can buy her fine gowns and rings and carriages? You’ve
ruined
her. She’ll have to marry you now. You’ve left her no choice. But don’t dare look down your nose at me and act like you’re doing the Waltham family a grand favor.” He walked to the door and opened it.

“Henry, wait.” Henry halted in the doorway. Jeremy took a deep breath. “You’re right. This is my fault. I’ve behaved in an unforgivable manner toward you both.” He cast Lucy a brief glance, then looked back at Henry. “I am sorry. I’d undo it all if I could.”

His words hit Lucy like a punch to the gut.

Henry turned to look Jeremy in the eye. “And to think,” he said, “for a moment there, I looked forward to calling you brother.”

Wincing, Jeremy leaned on the desk again. Lucy stared at him, her slippers fixed to the carpet, her voice muted by shock and anger and hurt. And somehow, this bitter silence between the three of them felt worse than an argument, more punishing than blows.

Finally, in a weak voice, Jeremy ended it. “I’m sorry, Lucy.”

Shaking her head slowly, Lucy backed away. “Like you said, Jeremy

—it’s too late.”

She brushed past her brother’s outstretched hand and fled the room. But Jeremy’s words followed her down the corridor, echoing with every crack of heeled slipper on parquet.
I’d undo it all if I
could
.

Lucy reeled to a halt, collapsing against the paneled wall.

They’d shared a night of unfettered passion. She’d discovered undreamt pleasure in his arms. And after the pleasure, a quiet, blissful peace. He’d made her feel desired and cherished and safe.

Beautiful, for the first time in her life. He’d stroked every inch of her body, and he’d touched her heart.

And he’d undo it all if he could.

She rushed up the stairs to her room, slamming the door behind her. She pressed her hands flat against her belly, desperate to quell the sobs rising in her throat. She would
not
cry.

He’d never claimed to love her, she reminded herself. He’d only said that he wanted her. And now he’d got her.
Her
, Lucy—an incorrigible hoyden with no title or connections or dowry worth noting. Not even a painted tea tray. He’d wanted her, and he’d had her, and now he had to marry her. Not for himself, but in case there was a child.

It was too late.

Oh, what a fool she had been! Teasing him all this time with kisses and retorts, chipping away at that cool veneer, thinking she discerned something hidden inside him. Something intriguing, irresistible. A fierce, fiery passion only she could bring to the surface.

Even worse, she’d imagined he discerned a secret side to her. Not the impertinent girl, but a woman with whom he wished to share his life. A lady, fit to wear silk and jewels. And, against all evidence to the contrary, some hidden quality that made her worthy of the title countess.

But he didn’t, because he didn’t love her. She loved him, and he didn’t love her. He’d undo it all if he could.

She wouldn’t.

Lucy drew a deep, deliberate breath. Despite the hollow despair spreading through her body, she knew she would do it all again.

She’d become a brazen seductress, just as she’d planned from the start. She’d trapped herself a husband. He was hers now, and she’d be damned if she’d let him go.

And so, a half-hour later, she stood before the vicar in a borrowed dress and her mother’s earrings, uttering the phrases “I do,” and

“until death us do part,” with weaker spirit than she typically ordered the curricle. Jeremy, his face drawn and pale, scarcely looked at her. Henry, standing behind him, refused to meet her eyes at all.

The vicar, presumably grieved for his spotty son, maintained an attitude of pious melancholy as he mumbled his way through the rite.

When Jeremy took her hand and slid a thick gold band over her finger, Lucy felt all the blood rush from her head.
Breathe
, she ordered herself. She had never been the swooning sort, and this wasn’t the time to begin.

She inhaled deeply, drawing inspiration.
I love him
.

She exhaled slowly, her heart deflating.
He doesn’t love me
.

Back and forth, breath to breath, the tandem truths cycled through her for the remainder of the ceremony. Inhale; exhale.
I love him; he
doesn’t love me
.

Then the vicar blessed their clasped hands, invoked the power of everything holy, and declared them man and wife. Jeremy’s hand tightened over hers by the slightest degree. Lucy glanced up and tightened over hers by the slightest degree. Lucy glanced up and met his blue eyes for the briefest instant, and her litany was disrupted by the tiniest word.

I love him
.

He doesn’t love me—

Yet
.

Jeremy could scarcely look at her. Even pale and trembling and presumably angry as hell, Lucy still took his breath away. And breathing was difficult enough at the moment, with his gut still knotted around the impression of Henry’s fist.

How had this gone so horribly wrong? For the past two days, Jeremy had been telling himself he would make Lucy happy, protect her from Henry and Toby and other insensitive idiots. But now he realized that was a lie. The truth was, he’d been crazed with lust and spurred on by anger, and he hadn’t been thinking of her happiness at all. He’d insisted on their betrothal, insisted on this lightning-fast ceremony, never pausing to consider Lucy’s wishes. She’d come to him last night apprehensive and doubting, seeking comfort in physical pleasure. He’d known it. Hadn’t he spent years doing the same? He should have conquered his lust and sent her away. But he hadn’t, and now Lucy would pay the price.

A fresh twinge of pain twisted his gut.
Insensitive idiot
.

When the vicar had done his worst and the thing was finished, Jeremy leaned in to kiss his bride. But as he drew near, Lucy’s lower lip quivered. And at the last moment, he brushed his lips against her cheek instead. He wished so desperately to take her into his arms, kiss the frown from her lips, and somehow make everything right.

But after the papers were signed and terse congratulations offered around, it was Henry she sought out. Henry who consoled her.