Without another word, the large man whipped past her like she had the pox.
Good. Perhaps he would think twice before he propositioned someone.
The whispers surrounding her increased, the room becoming substantially smaller despite its size. Every eye in the room seemed to be on her, judging her, knowing exactly who she was.
Delia swallowed, the back of her fingers gliding against the damp skin of her forehead. It was becoming increasingly harder for her to breathe in the crush of this stifling room. The world spun, and she stumbled to the terrace, desperately in need of air. She would not allow herself to become fodder for the Ton by swooning in the middle of the Karringtons’ ball.
The cool March air greeted her like an old friend, and she took a deep breath as her back pressed against the door.
“It’s fine, you’re perfectly fine,” Delia repeated the words out loud to herself, just as she’d done her entire life when she felt the world closing in on her.
Several deep breaths and the world stopped spinning. There were no stares or whispers following her like she was on display at a menagerie.
“It has to happen tomorrow,” a somewhat whiny, but demanding male voice said from the other side of a large pillar.
Delia whipped her head around, prepared to retreat into the stifling ballroom, in spite of desperately needing a few more blissful minutes. She tripped over the hem of her skirts trying to reach the glass door that led back inside.
“At least allow me to tell Delia. She will understand,” her sister’s sweet voice rang out into the cool night air.
Delia froze, not wanting to eavesdrop, but surely nothing good could come from her innocent sister being outside alone with a gentleman.
“No.” His cold voice caused a shiver of worry to slide through Delia. “I won’t delay our love another moment.”
Having heard enough, Delia walked toward the large pillar to find her sister in the arms of a tall man with blond hair.
So, this was the Earl of March?
She would dare to say that she did not see what her sister saw in him. Apparently, love was blind and possibly ignorant.
He did not resemble the description inThe Rake Review. At least not to Delia’s memory. She had skimmed the article rather quickly in the ladies’ retiring room. But the tall man in front of her was skin and bones instead of strong and muscular. His pale skin looked desperately in need of the sun. He did not appear to enjoy the outdoors at all. However, the sun rarely shone in England. His long blond hair was nearly as long as her own—when she brushed her curls out, of course. A nose too large for his thin face, and beady eyes that were indeed green but did not capture her like another pair of green eyes had that evening.
For heaven’s sake, Delia, you’re never going to see him again, and you should be happy about it.
She was happy. There could be no good in dancing, talking, or even kissing a man like that, though who had mentioned kissing?
“Delia!” Margaret called out in surprise, breaking Delia’s train of thought.
“Margaret.” She cleared her throat, allowing the cool air to wash over her. “You shouldn’t be out here alone unchaperoned.”
“She’s with me, girl. Now go back in and leave us alone,” the earl sneered at her, his cold, dead eyes looking down at her as if she were beneath him.
Girl.
Another lord that thought she could be dismissed, and disrespected. Meeting his gaze, Delia held her back straight. She was the daughter of a duke, and though her father wasn’t doting in any way, he made sure she knew her value.
“You must have me confused with someone else.” She stepped forward, a forced smile on her face. “I do not take orders from you. I am, however, blessed with the authority of being the eldest sister, and as such, I’ll repeat myself as it seems you are hard of hearing.” Delia slid her gaze to her sister, who now stood wide-eyed and afraid.
“How dare you speak to me like that?” he asked, seemingly shocked by her words.
Deciding that she very much did not care for the man her sister claimed to love, Delia ignored him. “Margaret, why are you out here unchaperoned with a gentleman?”
“Y-you are right, Delia. I’m sorry. The room was rather stifling, and Hunter, the earl, was kind enough to escort me out.” Her sister stumbled over each word, her eyes shifting from side to side.
How odd.
“Very well, let’s return to Aunt Francis before someone notices, shall we?” She did not care for her sister’s reaction nor the cold gleam in the earl’s eyes.
His green eyes were the same shade as his sister’s and the mysterious rake she’d met earlier, but surely, her handsome stranger had no connection to the Earl of March and his sister. But where Lady Helen and the mysterious rake’s eyes were vibrant and full of life, the earl’s were manipulating and cold.
