Goddess of the Hunt (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #1)(75)

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 shedeserve this humiliation? Did shedeserve to see the two men she loved, 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’veruined 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 wouldnot 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.