Goddess of the Hunt (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #1)(37)

Jeremy swore and let his cue clatter to the table. “This was aboutyou,” he seethed, “and your vain, infantile, self-absorbed determination to finish your holiday before getting engaged.” He tugged on the front of his waistcoat and attempted to compose his expression.

Toby crossed to a side table and uncorked a decanter of brandy. “Calm down, Jem,” he said, pouring two generous glasses. “I expect I’m just jealous.”

“Jealous.” Jeremy choked on the word. “You can’t possibly mean you—”

“Ridiculous, isn’t it? I haven’t even kissed her yet.Me . I’ve kissed a hundred girls if I’ve kissed one, and I’ve yet to share a tender moment with the lady I mean to marry.”

Sophia. The blood rushed back to Jeremy’s knees.He meant Sophia . “I thought you said a little kiss was nothing to a lady of theton . Harmless.”

“A kissis harmless. But if I start with one kiss, I’m not certain I’ll stop—and I can’t vouch for her safety then.”

Jeremy cocked an eyebrow at his friend and accepted the drink offered him. “Running a bit low on self-control, are you?” Thank God he wasn’t the only one. He eyed his glass suspiciously. Perhaps there was something in Henry’s brandy. Hehad gotten his wife with child three times in five years.

“I’m in torment,” Toby said, pulling a grimace. “Seeing her every day, living under the same roof … You couldn’t possibly understand.”

You’d be surprised.

“She was uniformly enchanting in Town, of course. But there, she was one of a dozen beautiful ladies in any given salon or ballroom. Here … here, she sparkles like a jewel among coals.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes. If only Lucy could hear herself compared to a lump of coal.

“Thank heavens for geometry,” said Toby.

“Geometry? What has geometry to do with anything?”

“That’s what I think of when I feel myself losing control. When she’s right there, and so tempting … I turn my mind to geometry. You know—theorems, proofs, all that.”

“Yes, I understand geometry,” Jeremy said. “What I don’t comprehend is whyyou should claim to understand it. You’re worthless at mathematics. Always were, even at Eton.”

“Precisely. Old Fensworth held my ballocks over a flame all fifth form. Always hated me, the miserable, arthritic cur. To this day, I can’t think about geometry without breaking into a cold sweat. That’s why it’s the perfect cure for ardor.”

Jeremy considered whether this geometry cure might work for his own situation. The trouble was, he’d always been rather good at geometry. Latin, on the other hand …

“And we’re always together, and too frequently alone,” Toby continued, ruffling his hair with one hand. “If Miss Hathaway knew the thoughts running through my head, she’d be … terrified, I imagine. Sophia is a delicate flower. Innocent. Refined. I can’t very well drag her off into the bushes for a tumble.” He shot Jeremy an accusatory glance over his glass.

It was the orchard, not the bushes, Jeremy longed to retort, but he didn’t think it wise. Neither would it be wise to point out that he had nottumbled Lucy, when without Toby’s well-timed interruption he might have done just that.

“A lady of her breeding doesn’t allow such liberties,” Toby continued. “Nor should she. Sophia Hathaway is an angel. Pure as the driven snow, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I don’t dare even kiss her before we are engaged.” His lips curved in a sly smile. “And therefore we may become engaged quite soon.”

“That tempting, is she?” Miss Hathaway met every accepted standard of beauty, but Jeremy failed to see the attraction beyond aesthetic admiration. But then, he and Toby had never shared the same taste in women. And suddenly, Jeremy found himself exceedingly grateful for that fact. “What about the sport?” he asked. “I thought you were determined to exhaust every covey in Henry’s woods before you would even contemplate bending a knee.”

Toby frowned. “It was never about that, Jem. It’s just that becoming betrothed is quite a step, you realize. A rather momentous decision, as decisions go. And for once, it’s actually my decision to make.” He swirled the brandy in his glass thoughtfully. “Consider our lives. We didn’t choose to be born. Our titles were destined for us before we could utter our Christian names. We certainly didn’t select the time or manner in which we inherited them, or we wouldn’t have done so yet.”

Jeremy tipped his brandy. Toby didn’t know the half of it. His title had been destined for someone else entirely. Jeremy ought to have been an earl’s second son. Instead of reading up on crop rotation, he should have been deflecting bayonets at Waterloo. Or chasing an opera singer around the Continent, squandering the family fortune along the way.

Toby continued, “We’ll have precious little to say about when our children are born, or even how many we’ll have. We won’t choose the hour or day that we die.” He drained his glass and set it down.

“We have this choice to us, though—whom we marry, and when. I’ve a mother and three older sisters, each more unnaturally competent than the last. They’ve never needed me to carry any burden besides the title. This may very well be the first choice in my life of any import, and considering the nature of marriage, it’s like to be my last for a goodly length of time. My engagement is my decision to make. And it may be damned selfish of me, Jem, but I’m not going to make that decision for anyone else’s convenience. Not Lucy’s, or yours, or even Miss Hathaway’s. There will come a moment—and perhaps rather soon—when I simply know it’s time. When I can’t live another hour without securing Sophia’s hand. That’s when I’ll propose, and not a blasted minute before.”