Goddess of the Hunt (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #1)(94)

A harsh bark of laughter tore from his chest. He turned and stalked away, flinging his rifle to the ground.

Lucy clenched her fists in exasperation. She looked up at the still-smoking tiger. “How did you make that shot?”

“What?”

“You’re a terrible marksman. You can’t shoot a pheasant at six paces. How did you make that shot?” She tilted her head up at the striped, three-eyed beast.

He brushed past her in silence and stalked out of the room.

Gasping with indignation, she rushed after him.

“Don’t you walk away from me,” she called, chasing him up the stairs. She caught up to him in the corridor. “As you just so charmingly pointed out to all our guests, I am your wife.” She followed him into their sitting room. He turned toward his rooms, but she rushed around him and blocked the door.

“Lucy,” he warned, his voice a dark growl, “don’t push me right now.”

“Or what? You’ll glare at me? Oh, dear. I may swoon.”

He fumed at her in silence. Exasperating man. Tall, dark, brooding, exasperatingly attractive man. His hair was plastered to his head in damp, black locks. His shirt clung to the hard muscles of his chest. But the heat of his body radiated through the layer of cool damp, bathing her in heady, leather-scented steam. She melted against the door, suddenly remembering the whole reason behind this evening’s debacle.

She loved the addle-brained brute.

Lucy drew a deep breath and composed herself. “Jeremy, it wasn’t meant to happen like that. You were supposed to come back in time for dinner.” She stroked the wet lapel of his coat. “Where have you been, anyway? I was worried sick.”

She was worried sick.

Jeremy shook his head in disbelief. Lucy couldn’t know the meaning of the phrase. It was a very good thing he’d missed his dinner, or he surely would have lost it by now.

He’d ridden home through cold and wet, but—as always—thoughts of her had kept him warm. After a week of increasingly pleasant days as husband and wife, Jeremy’s patience was at an end. This, he had vowed, would be their first equally pleasant night. Then he’d come home to a scene that chilled his blood—tenants on the verge of a riot, men shooting up his hall, a filthy, hulking brute poised to assault his wife—andshe was worried sick. Standing there in a devil-red dress and looking up at him with guileless green eyes andpetting him like a cat. As if she were never in any danger from that mob. As if she were in no danger from him. With every bone and muscle and sinew in his body, he wanted to grab her. To hold her close or to shake her silly, he didn’t know. But he trembled with the sheer effort of restraint. He’d been holding too much in, for far too long, and he felt perilously close to exploding.

Her slender fingers curled around his lapel. “Is it the expense you’re angry about? You needn’t be. I used my pin money.”

The expense? Now she thought he was concerned about the expense. She was so utterly wrong about so many things, he didn’t know how to begin to set her straight.

“Lucy, listen to me.” She tightened her grip on his lapel. “A bridge was out, and I got caught in the rain. I don’t give a damn about any expense. And just because I don’t hit a pheasant, it doesn’t mean I can’t shoot.” Her brow wrinkled with confusion, and she opened her mouth to speak. He jabbed a finger under her chin, cutting her off. “And now that I’ve answered all of your nonsensical questions, you’re going to answer some of mine. What the devil were you thinking? That getting the tenants good and drunk would just magically solve everything?”

She blinked. “Well … yes. Why shouldn’t it? You were supposed to be a kind and generous host, and then they would see that you’re nothing like your father. And then they would like us, and you would …” Her voice trailed off as her gaze slanted to the floor.

“Well you were wrong, on several counts. I’m very much like my father, in too many ways. In every way that matters to them. This evening confirmedthat perfectly. And those people did not come here tonight to like us. They came to take from us. They will eat our food and drink our ale, not because they enjoy your gentle company, but because they feel it’s owed them. Because it’s Kendall food, and Kendall drink. They shot at those trophies because they belonged to my father. And those men wanted to …” The vile words stuck in his throat.“Kiss you—and no doubt more—simply because you belong to me.”

She laughed. A harsh, bitter sound.

He cupped her chin in his hand, his fingers pressing into her cheeks. “It’s not a laughing matter.”

“Isn’t it?” Her green eyes glimmered. “If only they knew. They could kiss me a thousand times and not take anything from you. How can they steal something you’ve already thrown away?”

He pulled his hand away from her face. What the hell did she mean by that? Confusion swirled in his mind, and its mate, anger, coursed in his blood.

“Good night,my lord.” She brushed past him, heading toward her chambers. He grabbed her elbow, whirling her to face him.

“Not so fast,my lady,” he said, closing the distance between them. He struggled to keep his voice calm, but raw hurt frayed the edge of his words. His threadbare patience was nearly worn through. He had waited for her, so patiently, at no small cost to his sanity. He could continue to wait, if he knew she would one day turn to him. But if she meant to reject him, he wanted to hear it now. “I believe you owe me a forfeit. You did promise a kiss to the best shot, did you not?”