“It’s not odd,” he defended. “Like horses, our body needs water,” he said, thrusting the glass at Delia.
She accepted it, fighting the smile that tried to burst free. Had he truly compared them to horses? It appeared that all siblings bickered, like her and her sister often did.
She tried not to allow the melancholy that threatened to overwhelm her at the thought of Margaret to consume her, but it was nearly impossible. She’d failed to protect her sister from vultures like this Augustus.
“My lord, the carriage is ready,” the nervous butler said.
“Thank you, Reeds.” The earl took a sip of his water.
Delia couldn’t stop her gaze from lingering on the muscles of his throat as he swallowed. She quickly took a sip of her own, needing a distraction from the handsome man in front of her.
Perhaps it wasn’t wise of her to travel alone with him, but he was her only chance of reaching Margaret before it was too late.
“I’ll try to contain the gossips while you’re gone. If Augustus purposely ran off with Lady Margaret, he would’ve made sure that everyone knew it was you who ruined her.” Lady Helen twirled a strand of hair around her finger.
The earl held out his hand for Delia’s glass, which she dutifully handed over. His bare fingers brushed her gloved ones.
With a quick inhale of breath, her gaze crashed against his.
There it was again. The same magnetic pull she’d felt the previous night. There was a small voice telling her to run, but she couldn’t. Margaret needed her. Nothing mattered but retrieving her sister and saving her from the diabolical cousin.
She wouldn’t allow herself to be duped by green eyes, brown skin, and a smile that was sure to loosen the tightest of corsets. Delia had one purpose, and the Earl of March was not it.
Chapter Seven
The carriage moved at an ungodly rate out of London, the scenery changing from the bustling city to the dwindling countryside in the span of a few hundred yards. It had taken an additional hour and a half to leave town, after stopping at Miss St. George’s aunt’s house to retrieve her things.
Hunt had waited in the carriage dutifully, shocked that the aunt did not dispute her niece’s decision to travel unaccompanied with a gentleman. He’d expected some sort of familial concern, but the aunt never appeared. Miss St. George had returned to his carriage in possession of two bags, one of which was filled with books.
He tried not to show his annoyance at the entire situation. Not only was his cousin pretending to be him, but Augustus had convinced and manipulated an innocent lady into running away with him. To add insult to injury, Hunt was now accompanied by the most beautiful, disagreeable lady he’d ever met.
From the moment that he’d discovered the hellion in his parlor, she’d been argumentative, persistent, and downrightalluring all at the same time. Denying her the ability to rescue her sister would’ve been cruel, but at least, he would’ve had peace. Because sitting across from Adelia St. George for the last hour and a half was pure hell.
She bit the corner of her bottom lip as she wrote furiously in her journal, her brown curls falling free from her chignon. Hunt desperately tried to focus on his own book and not stare at that plump lip held captive by the beautiful woman who was practically squeezed in the corner of the carriage like he had a plague.
Miss St. George let out a loud huff of breath, throwing her head back in frustration. Hunt tried not to laugh at her show of dramatics. He was accustomed to the theatrics of women, spending his entire life with his sister.
“Is there a problem?” he asked, glancing up from the equestrian manual on the care and breeding of horses.
Conversation had been stilted since she’d joined him in his traveling carriage. He hadn’t been in the mood for speaking, with Augustus pretending to be him.
“I should’ve known something was wrong,” she said, shaking her head. “I readTheRake Reviewat the Karringtons’ ball, and I met your sister. Yet not once did I question that the man Margaret claimed to love was the Earl of March.”
Bloody hell.
He’d forgotten about that blasted article in the commotion of the day. His cousin assuming his identity and the article coming out days before Augustus disappeared with Lady Margaret could not be a coincidence.
“Love?” Hunt asked, not believing what he was hearing. “Exactly how long has your sister known my cousin?”
Dear God, her sister had to be a simpleton to think herself in love with Augustus. His cousin was a great many things—mostlyunpleasant, but loveable was not a word he would associate with Augustus Wakefield.
“I don’t believe I like what you’re implying.” Her voice was a pitch higher than her usual sultry tone.
He would’ve laughed if not for the aggressive look in her liquid brown eyes.
Never one to back down from a challenge, Hunt adjusted his body against the pristine leather seats and folded his arms. “I’m not implying anything. However, I do find it naïve of Lady Margaret to fall in love with a man she hardly knows.”
Miss St. George opened and closed her mouth several times, her shapely body vibrating. She was wearing a simple blue day dress, its color long faded, but somehow, she was still the most beautiful woman Hunt had ever seen.
