Goddess of the Hunt (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #1)(61)

Jeremy finally looked down at her. “We’re getting married,” he repeated. His voice rumbled through her body, sending little shivers along her skin that had nothing to do with cold.

“Married?”Lucy felt all the blood rush from her head. The more he insisted on repeating this ridiculous notion, the easier it became to imagine. But that didn’t make it right. If only they could speak alone, she could explain that the letter was all lies and claret. Sophia’s reputation, Toby’s engagement—nothing stood to be damaged, save Lucy’s dignity. And surely Jeremy wouldn’t think that a cause worth proposing marriage.

Not that he had exactlyproposed anything.

She dug her fingers into his arm, clutching the idea desperately. “But … But don’t I have something to say about it? Shouldn’t we have a moment alone? I don’t recall accepting any proposal!”

“It’s a bit late for romance, Lucy.” Henry held up the folded letter and fixed her with a reproachful look. “It would seem you’ve already granted your consent.”

Say something, Lucy prodded herself. This was the moment to tell the truth. She had only to tell Henry, and everyone else, that the letter implied nothing more than two fanciful girls drinking too much wine. Sophia certainly wasn’t going to come out and say it—she probably thought this turn of events would make Lucy ecstatically happy.

But it didn’t. Did it? Surely “ecstatically happy” would feel more like summer sunshine, or a shower of rose petals. Not like a hedgehog digging burrows in her stomach. Happiness wasn’t the reason Lucy felt herself melting against Jeremy’s arm. It was just that the night was cold, and he was warm.

Warm. And strong. Oh, and distractingly handsome. Her gaze climbed the edge of his jaw, shadowed with night and stubble. His full, strong lips, dusky in the moonlight. She watched his breath curl into vapor where it met the cool air. Like a kiss dissolving into the night.

Lucy shook herself. She had to object. The very idea was nonsensical. Whatever misplaced notions of duty or propriety had spurred Jeremy to claim that letter—what had they to do with her? She wasn’t a lady. Certainly not the sort of lady an earl would marry. She wasn’t elegant or accomplished or wealthy. Her only tenuous claims to beauty were wide eyes and straight teeth. If she hadn’t come downstairs with that letter, none of this would have happened. He would have left Henry his note and then …

And then he would have left entirely.

His belongings were already packed. She shivered anew, the memory of those two valises chilling her to the bone. If she protested now, there would be no second chance. He would leave. And by the light of day, he would surely realize the absurdity of this very scene. He would shudder to think he’d nearly married a dowerless hoyden.

Say something, her mind screamed. But her voice just wouldn’t obey. Lucy’s grip tightened over his arm. She wasn’t ready to let him go.

Looking askance at the others, Henry approached Jeremy and lowered his voice. “You’re certain this letter belongs to you, Jem? It wouldn’t do to let a simple misunderstanding decide the rest of your life, you know. For God’s sake, you’re anearl.”

“Yes,” Jeremy replied, his own voice firm. Firm, and deliciously dark and determined, and strong enough to drive all objections straight from Lucy’s mind. “I’m an earl. And Lucy will be a countess.”

Silence.

Lucy felt everyone staring at her. No one said a word. Really, she thought. It was more than a bit rude. From the way they all gaped at her, one would think he’d announced something truly shocking. Something like, “Lucy is a spy for Napoleon,” or “Lucy only has six months to live,” or “Lucy has decided to take up the harp.”

She forced her chin out. Well, now she couldn’t possibly protest. Now it was a matter of pride.

Marianne recovered first. “Two engagements in one night. How exciting!” She rose from the edge of the fountain and crossed to Lucy’s side. “How wonderful,” she said, kissing Lucy on the cheek.

The others mumbled words that sounded vaguely congratulatory.

“And when will the blessed event take place?” Henry asked.

“Friday,” said Jeremy.

“Friday! ThisFriday? Two days from now?” This outburst would have mortified Lucy much less had it not come from her own lips.

“Friday,” he repeated, eyes still fixed on Henry. “I’ll ride to Town in the morning for the license.”

Henry wore an expression Lucy had never seen cross his face. Not mocking, not doubting, not cynical or wry. Simply blank. “Very well.”

“I’ll need an early start, then,” Jeremy said, looking around the group. “If you’ll excuse me.” The men nodded.

Jeremy unlatched Lucy’s hand from his arm and turned to her. Determination carved a deep furrow in his brow; his eyes shone so sincere, they were heaven’s own blue. And Lucy suddenly realized that without saying yes—without even being asked—she’d somehow become engaged. To be married. To him.

The whole of her life up until this evening, the enormity of her future—all of it clamored for admittance to this brief swatch of time, resonated in the tingling heat of his skin against hers. Lucy’s breath caught in her chest. Her pulse pounded a dull roar in her ears, and every beat echoed a lifetime. This one thrilling, terrifying moment stretching into forever.