Goddess of the Hunt (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #1)(83)

He recovered his breath and held out a hand to her. “What in God’s name are you doing?”

“I’m changing the drapes,” she said, ignoring his hand. She began to disentangle herself from the swaths of heavy fabric. “You did say I should redecorate.”

“Yes, but now? Before breakfast?”

“How can one enjoy breakfast in this … thistomb?” She unwrapped a corded tassel from about her wrist. “It’s still the Dark Ages in here.”

“You needn’t eat breakfast here at all,” Jeremy said. “There is a breakfast room, if you’d ever care to venture out of your suite and locate it.”

She ignored him and yanked on a length of unyielding gray swag. When it refused to give, he saw that the fabric was caught beneath an overturned chair. He righted the chair and held it up in his hands. “You were standing on a chair?” He tossed the chair aside, and it landed with a clatter. The chambermaid shrieked again. “You were standing on a chair and pulling the draperies down byhand?”

No answer. Lucy had untangled herself from the voluminous velvet, and now she set to straightening her dressing gown around her seated form. She wore that same crimson robe that plagued him in his dreams. She looked up at him briefly, and then away in an instant.

He stood over her, lowering his voice to a growl. “If you wish the draperies to be taken down, you will ask the servants to do it. You will not stand on the damned chair and fall and break your neck.”

“I haven’t broken my neck. I haven’t broken anything.”

“Then why are you still on the floor?”

She closed her eyes briefly, and then looked up at the ceiling. “Imay have twisted my ankle.”

Swearing softly, Jeremy crouched down and hiked the layers of dressing gown and shift to her knees. Her left ankle looked red and slightly swollen. “Damn it, Lucy.”

“It’s nothing,” she said. “If you’ll just help me up, I need to go …”

With another muttered oath, he swept her up in his arms and began carrying her toward her bedchamber. “You are not going anywhere.”

“Jeremy! What are you doing? Put me down this instant, you …” She squirmed in his grasp, wriggling against him. He tightened his grip around her thigh. “You addle-brained brute!”

The chambermaid resumed her wailing, and Jeremy shot her The Look. “Send for the doctor,” he said evenly.

Lucy beat on his shoulder with her fist. “Jeremy, no! Put me down. I am perfectly fine, damn you.”

He ignored her and spoke to the maid.“Now.” She scurried from the room, taking her irritating whimpers with her. He carried Lucy through her anteroom and into her bedchamber, depositing her on the edge of her bed.

“That was wholly unnecessary.” She jerked the coverlet over her legs. “I don’t need a doctor.” Her eyes flared with fury, and her chest lifted with each quick, shallow breath. Jeremy braced himself on his hands as he leaned over her semi-reclined body, boxing her between his arms. He could smell the sweet scent of her hair, like pears and honey. He could taste the venom on her pouting, dusky red lips.

And he could hear her scathing words echo in his ears.I don’t need a doctor . She didn’t need a doctor, she said. She didn’t need pin money or a new wardrobe or soup in any color other than red. And she most assuredly—he suffered the reminder daily—didn’t need hishelp . He was getting damned tired of hearing what Lucy didn’t need from him.

“I will tell you what you need.” He bit off the words, his own breath heaving in his chest. “You need to stay right here, in this bed. You need to see the doctor. You need to stop performing physical labors that servants should do. And you need to start keeping yourself healthy and whole for more than two days at a crack.”

“But—”

“And—” He leaned closer, until they were nose to nose. Until he could feel the angry heat of her body. “You need to learn some propriety. When we are alone, you may call me whatever vile names you wish. But in company or in front of the servants, youwill address me as ‘my lord.’”

She gasped with outrage. Jeremy straightened, turned on his heel, and walked back to his own chambers, slamming the door behind him. Just in the nick of time. If she opened her mouth to object once more, this addle-brained brute would need to kiss her speechless.

Lucy winced as brusque hands prodded her ankle.

“Soyou’re the doctor?”

“Of course not.” The young woman perched on the edge of the bed looked up sharply. Wide-set brown eyes regarded her with silent ridicule. “My father is the doctor. I assist him by seeing to minor cases when he is occupied treating people who aretruly injured. As is the case this morning. A man lost half his hand in the mill.” She sniffed, and the freckles scattered across her nose bunched together. “I suppose,” she said, flexing Lucy’s foot back and forth, “you think he should have come to attend you anyway, you being the Lady of the Manor.”

“Not at all,” Lucy answered, taken aback by her obvious hostility. “I told my husband that I did not need to see a doctor. He would not listen to reason.”

With the back of her hand, the young woman swept back a wisp of amber hair. “Men seldom do.”

“What’s your name?”