It was shocking to be sure.
“Yes, I am. Thank you for noticing,” he said, giving her that arrogant smile of his.
It told her everything she needed to know about him. No wonder whoever was pretending to be him was able to impersonate him. He was too self-assured, too certain that everything would go his way.
“Have you ever met the gentleman pretending to be my brother?” Lady Helen asked, standing in front of Delia.
The other woman was taller than Delia, more aggressive than she had been the previous night. Now that she was in the same room with Lady Helen and the real Earl of March, Delia could see their likeness; they were twins after all, according to the Belle.
“I had only seen his profile in the past, but last night, I met him. He and my sister were on the terrace meeting in private.” Delia recalled every detail, his tall skinny frame, the decadence of his clothes, the cruelty in his green gaze.
“What did he look like, dear?” the older woman asked. She was pretty, wisdom shining in her hazel eyes. Lady Helen and the real earl favored her greatly.
Delia couldn’t fathom what was happening. Margaret had run off with a man she thought was the Earl of March. It was no wonder the description inTheRake Reviewwas vastly different from the gentleman she’d met on the balcony. What fools they had been to believe a stranger so easily.
“Tall with blond hair and green eyes like theirs.” Delia nodded toward Lady Helen and the earl.
“It was Augustus,” the earl said, running his hands through the short strands of his hair.
Delia tried—she really did try—not to look at him. But it was impossible to will her eyes away from the absolute delectable man in front of her. It didn’t matter that his mother and sister were in the room; Delia couldn’t stop herself from staring at him.
She was helpless to the desires of her own body when he’d entered the parlor shirtless.
Shirtless.
If she hadn’t gotten dressed and caught a hackney, Delia would’ve sworn she was dreaming. What other logical explanation could there be? Clearly, she was still sleeping, or she’d lost her mind.
“He wouldn’t dare manipulate an innocent girl.” The older lady, who Delia believed to be the Countess of March, spoke from her perch on the green armchair.
“He would do anything to take the fortune from Hunt,” Lady Helen said, leaning on the dark sofa.
“Who is Augustus and why has he run away with my sister?” Delia asked, gaze darting from the mother to Lady Helen and finally landing on the earl.
The earl stepped in front of her, his shirt dirty, the dark hairs of his chest begging for her touch.
“Augustus is my cousin, and before I was born, he was my father’s heir.” He sighed and shook his head. “Unfortunately, twenty-nine years is not enough time for him to come to terms with the fact that he did not inherit the earldom.”
Delia dragged her gaze up his body until she was captured by clear green eyes that bored into her very soul.
“W-why did he choose my sister?” she asked, cursing herself for stumbling over her words.
Really Delia, get a hold of yourself.
“Helen, explain. I’m going to clean up.” The earl strolled out of the room on long legs, and Delia couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief.
“Why don’t you have a seat, and Helen will ring for tea?” Lady March instructed.
It was impossible not to obey the older woman. She had a gentle authority about her that put Delia at ease.
She sat down on the sofa, facing the elegant lady. When she was a girl, she’d wished her mother was the lady of her father’s household. That like the Countess of March, she automatically would have an air of respect surrounding her.
Delia could admit that she felt a bit of pride sitting in the Earl of March’s home. She’d never seen a titled lord of color before, let alone an entire family among the aristocrats. It was true she’d never left Leicestershire before, but surely, the servants would have heard if there were people like her in the aristocracy.
“Thank you, my lady,” Delia said, taking in the older woman.
She was shorter than both her children, with a lovely head of thick white hair that made her brown skin radiant. There were few wrinkles marring her delicate face, yet there was a depth to her gaze that gave away her true age. The cane gripped in her hand was proof of a slight infirmity.
Delia’s knee bounced up and down as she tried to settle her mind. There were a number of disastrous things that could happen to her sweet sister. Like her, Margaret had spent her entire life sheltered away at their father’s estate, but unlike Delia, her sister was rarely left alone. Where Delia was free to explore, talk to the servants, and read any manner of books, Margaret was carefully supervised, most of the time.
