Goddess of the Hunt (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #1)(11)

Oh, dear. There it went. A big, round drop of love spilling over her eyelashes and trickling down her cheek.

He pressed his lips to her face, kissing it away.

Another tear fell, streaming down the other cheek. Lucy pressed both hands to her face, desperate to stop them. She couldn’t drive him away again, not now.

He pulled her hands down and grasped them tightly in his. “Please don’t hide from me.”

“Please don’t leave.” She choked back a sob. “I’m not a hysterical female, truly I’m not. I’m just”—sniff—“just—”

“I know,” he said, smiling gently. “I’m a bit overwhelmed myself. But I’m not going anywhere.We are not going anywhere. This is our home. It’s where we belong. We’re going to fill it with children, and light, and laughter. But Lucy,”—he reached up to brush a thumb over her lips—“your tears belong here, too. You’re safe with me.”

Oh, and now there was no stopping them. Tears fell from her eyes like a hot summer rain, streaking down both cheeks, sliding down the edge of her nose, running into the corners of her mouth. And he kissed them away, murmuring sweet words of love and heart-swelling oaths and her name. Over and over again, her name—so she knew the words were for her. So she believed it.

“Lucy.” He pressed his lips to her trembling eyelids. “I love you.”

Somehow her hands found their way to his cheeks, and she pulled him away slightly, bracing her forehead against his. “I love you, too.” She sniffed. “Oh, but I’ve been such a fool.” Smiling, she wiped her eyes with the back of one hand. “The drapes, the dinner, that tarty negligee. I didn’t know how to be the wife you wanted. You said men want an angel, or a dream. But Jeremy—I’m just not an angel.”

He chuckled, sweeping a curl behind her ear. “No, you’re not. And thank heaven for that. I shouldn’t like you to be a dream, either. I’d live in fear of waking up.” He cupped her chin in his hand, and his expression grew serious. “Lucy, youare the wife I want, just as you are. I’m sorry I ever gave you reason to doubt it. I was just so afraid of seeing you hurt … of hurting you myself …”

“I understand now.” She bit her lip. “But you needn’t have worried. I—”

“You won’t break, I know. And do I love you for it.” He dropped a gentle kiss on her lips. “But let me love your softness, too. Your strength and your tenderness. Lucy, you’re so much more than an angel or a dream. What you are is a goddess.My goddess. And you have me completely at your mercy.”

Smiling, Lucy wound her arms around his neck and pulled him onto the bed. “I believe I like the sound of that.”

EPILOGUE

Christmas came a bit early to Waltham Manor.

Lucy sat on the drawing-room carpet with her nieces and nephew, presiding over the merriment as they unwrapped a prodigious number of gifts. She looked up to catch Jeremy watching her from his armchair with a very familiar expression. She felt herself flush. That Look of his never failed to stir her blood.

She rose to her feet casually, shaking the wrinkles from her skirts, and paused to look out the window before crossing to her husband. Leaning over his chair, she brushed her lips against his ear and whispered, “Meet me in the wardrobe later?”

Jeremy choked on his whiskey. “What, again?” He put an arm about her waist and pulled her into his lap. “What’s wrong with the bed?” he whispered into her neck. “I have a rather sentimental attachment to that bed.”

She took the drink from his hand. “Yes,” she murmured from behind the glass, “but we have a bed at home. We don’t have the wardrobe. And we’ll be leaving tomorrow morning for Toby and Sophia’s wedding. After that, we’ll be in Town—you’ve got the whole session of Parliament ahead.” She wriggled her bottom against his lap, eliciting a soft growl. “Who knows when we’ll have another chance?”

He ran his hand down her back and hooked a finger under her laces. “There’s always next autumn.”

A smile tickled the corner of her lips. “I don’t think we’ll be visiting next autumn.”

“Why not?”

“Papa!” Tildy and young Henry ran to their father where he stood in the entryway, leaving poor little Beth to crawl alone on the carpet. The children swarmed over their father, climbing his legs like tree trunks and foraging in his pockets for sweets. He sank to his hands and knees on the carpet, dutifully admiring the shiny playthings and stooping to kiss Beth’s pudgy cheek.

“That will be you someday,” Lucy whispered to her husband.

Jeremy’s arm tightened around her waist. “I hope so.”

“Hope all you wish. I, however, have no talent for hoping. I know, I believe, I expect.” She set the glass down on the side table and twined both arms around his neck. “As I believe I once told you—to your great amusement—Iknow how mating is accomplished. Ibelieve it’s been”—she looked up at the ceiling, calculating—“three-and-forty days since I last had my courses. And therefore I am—or rather, we are—expecting.”

His eyes widened. “Lucy.” He swallowed hard. “That’s too soon to be certain. Isn’t it?”

She smiled. “I’m certain.” She leaned forward to kiss the adorably bewildered expression from his face.