Goddess of the Hunt (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #1)(79)

Jeremy very nearly dropped his spoon.

She took another bite. “Mmmm,” she purred, closing her eyes in ecstasy. “This is divine.”

The napkin in his lap stirred.

By the time Lucy moaned her way through her second bowl of soup, Jeremy was in a state of hard, aching arousal. He was certain his face must be lobster red. But it didn’t end there. Lucy expressed her delight over each successive course with unrestrained enthusiasm. And there were seven courses. Jeremy wasn’t certain whether he wished to throttle his French chef, or double his wages. He barely managed to choke down his own meal, his appetite for food eclipsed by an entirely different sort of hunger.

Then came dessert.

Jeremy never ate dessert. He therefore had nothing to do but watch his wife eat dessert—some confection of cherries and cake and chocolate from the Devil’s own recipe book.

“Oh my God,” she exclaimed, upon taking her first bite. “Oh, this is heaven.” She licked a bit of cream from the corner of her mouth. “Jeremy, you must taste this.” She leaned forward, giving him a full view of her bosom.

He motioned to the servant for wine.

Good Lord. If it weren’t for the footmen lining the walls and her Aunt Matilda sitting beside her, Jeremy would have crawled down the table, yanked his wife from her chair, and had her right there, next to the saucer of clotted cream. He downed his drink quickly, hoping the liquid in his glass could douse the fire in his loins.

That was an imbecilic notion, he chided himself a moment later. One didn’t throw spirits on a blaze. When Lucy squealed around another mouthful of chocolate, twelve servants and one senile aunt began to look like surmountable obstacles. The raw, animal lust in him was roaring to life, feeding on wine and breathy moans of delight, growing stronger by the minute.

He had to conquer the Beast. She was fatigued and heartsick and away from home for the first time in her life. She’d refused him last night, and he would not—he told himself sternly—he wouldnot make demands on her. Henry would be only too happy to take her back to Waltham Manor the instant she asked. If Jeremy pushed her now, he just might push her away forever. No, Lucy was anything but missish or tentative, and she was no longer innocent, either. When she wanted him—ifshe wanted him—she would come to him. Just as she had before.

By what supreme force of will he pieced together enough gentlemanly reserve to calmly escort his wife back to her chambers, Jeremy could not say. And she could never know what effort it cost him, to school his voice to diffident calm and casually bid her good night. But it left him weak. Weak in his bones, in his mind, in his heart.

“You must be tired.” He unwrapped her hand from his arm. “Rest as long as you like in the morning. I’ll see that you aren’t disturbed.”

“Thank you,” she answered, a wry note in her voice. “I suppose I’ll sleep easier that way. Knowing I shan’t be disturbed.”

And there it was, his dismissal. Quick and curt and razor-sharp. He brushed a quick kiss across her cheek. A tiny taste, sweeter than any French chef’s concoction could ever aspire to be. “Sleep well, then,” he said.

At least one of them would.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Nothing ruined a perfectly fine autumn morning like waking up as a countess.

Lucy sat up in the enormous, canopied bed and stretched her arms languidly. She had not made much investigation of her suite the night before. The room had been rather shadowy, and her mood likewise dark. Even this morning, light struggled through the window glass. Heavy pewter-toned drapes absorbed all the warmth and energy from the sunlight, permitting only feeble illumination of the chamber. The room seemed cloaked in an indoor fog.

Rising from bed, she strode to the window and pulled back the drapes. Brilliant sunlight dazzled her eyes, and—once she had ceased blinking—a breathtaking landscape beckoned. At Waltham Manor, the fields and hedgerows covered the low hills like a rumpled quilt—comfortable, domestic. This place was wild. Craggy bluffs blocked the horizon; a narrow gorge carved a path through the woods. Boulders dotted the countryside, pressing up through soil like giant teeth.

The landscape called out—nay,demanded to be explored. And who was she to refuse? After hastily donning her riding habit, Lucy spied a velvet purse and a folded paper on the desk. She picked up the purse and shook it gently, eliciting the rattle of coin. The note was from a Mr. Andrews, the steward, and it declared this to be Lucy’s pin money for the coming month. Lucy unknotted the pursestring and emptied the contents onto the table.

Damnation.

It was three times the amount Henry gave her in a year. Lucy stared at the pile of notes and coin, resentment welling in her breast. Absurd, she knew. Most ladies would have been delighted to receive such a generous allowance. But to Lucy, the money felt like a test she had already failed. What the devil was she to do with it all? How many bonnets and ribbons could one lady purchase? She backed away from the table, suddenly desperate to get out of doors.

“Good morning, my lady.” The housekeeper curtsied in the doorway. “I hope you were able to rest.” A maid swept in, bearing a silver breakfast tray, which she deposited on a nearby table. The housekeeper continued, “You’ll be wanting to go over the household accounts, His Lordship said. Shall I come back in an hour with the ledgers?”

Oh, and now Lucy really had to escape.

She nodded mutely, but once the lace-capped matron had disappeared, Lucy snatched a pair of buttered rolls from the breakfast tray and embarked on an epic adventure.