Hunt picked up his book, unable to speak for several long moments. Doubt filled her deep brown eyes, but she said nothing further on the topic.
“Perhaps,” she finally said, filling the quiet carriage with her deep voice. “Perhaps it’s best if we do not speak. We only need to find my sister before they reach Gretna Green.”
“Agreed.” Hunt opened his book, turning to the page he’d left off reading the previous evening. “Silence is much more preferred.”
Delia awoke with a start as the carriage hit a patch of uneven ground that jostled them from side to side. She had fallen asleep in the awkward silence that had followed her rude comment. It was true that she knew nothing of the man sitting across from her. The Belle’s account of his activities did not match the man she was currently sharing space with.
When Delia had first met the earl, she’d assumed he was arrogant, selfish, and entitled, but from the moment she’darrived at his home demanding the whereabouts of her sister, he’d been nothing but kind to her.
He clearly loved his mother and sister. And despite Delia’s behavior, he had not been rude or unpleasant toward her in any way.
Taking in his long form, she studied him as he read from an older-looking book. It was difficult to read the title from the state of it. He laid back in the corner, his long legs bent at the knee, a small travel pillow propped behind his head. Thick fingers turned the thin pages with such care and ease that she nearly swooned from the sight. He was a strangely magnificent-looking man. It’s no wonder that the Belle had crowned him the Magnificent Earl.
Her stomach flipped several times, and it had nothing to do with the bumpy carriage and everything to do with the man sitting across from her like he hadn’t a care in the world. Delia was sure he had every lady in the Ton vying for his attention. A man like him would only want someone like her for one thing—a mistress.
There weren’t many opportunities for a girl born on the wrong side of the blanket. She could marry and hope the man was not cruel to her. Perhaps one could find a respectable job as a governess or a companion. But most women born with the unfortunate circumstance of being a bastard became mistresses. And Delia would never be like her mother.
Dragging her gaze away from the earl, Delia stared out the small carriage window, following the sun as it dipped lower in the cloudy sky.
Her previous lover had proposed marriage, but it wasn’t out of passion or undying love. He’d asked for the simple fact that it was the right thing to do after a few rushed dalliances. She’d refused him. If Delia were to ever marry, it would be for passionand love. Two emotions, she was well aware would never find her.
“Would you like something to eat?” His deep, masculine voice rolled over her skin.
Delia shivered, biting the inside of her lip to control herself. It would not do to find herself enraptured under his spell.
She had one goal: find her sister and save her from ruin.
“Yes, please,” she said, trying to hide the shiver in her voice.
Delia did not like how their conversation had ended earlier. It wasn’t as if she’d intentionally set out to be rude to him. Anger had long been her armor; it was the only way Delia knew how to protect herself.
The earl bent down to retrieve a bundle out of the small basket at his feet before offering it to Delia. Her bare fingers wrapped around the white cloth, sliding against his. The beat of her heart slammed against the confines of her chest, her gaze darting to his.
Green. Crisp and commanding.
In a single glance, her resolve crumbled, her armor falling away like leaves in the wind.
Quickly removing her hand from his, Delia placed the wrapped food in her lap, opening it to reveal meat, cheese, and bread.
Her mouth watered at the small offering. She hadn’t eaten since the previous evening, not counting the delicious biscuits she’d had at the earl’s home. She began eating with a little too much vigor. The carriage continued to jostle, making it difficult to eat, but she managed by gripping the cloth with one hand and a piece of meat and bread with the other. She swallowed it down, wishing there was something to drink.
As if reading her mind, the earl removed a black wineskin from the basket, opened it, and held it out to her.
Delia took it and sipped gingerly. She couldn’t help the smile that broke out on her lips at the discovery he’d given her water. “You really are obsessed with water,” she teased before taking another sip. “Most people travel with wine.” She took another sip before passing it back to him.
He returned the wineskin of water to the basket, then lifted another, this one dark red. “Wine for you, my lady.” He bowed, a twinkle in those green eyes of his.
She placed a piece of cold meat in her mouth, needing a reason not to smile at his show of dramatics. It was the first time Delia had seen this more playful side of the Earl of March. He was lighter somehow, an easy smile at the corner of his mouth. Not the over-assured gentleman she’d met at the Karringtons’ ball.
Taking the wineskin from his hand, she finished chewing then took a delicate sip. The wine was potent, the taste tart and strong on her tongue.
She finished the small offering of food, happy to have something in her belly. When she was a girl, the months before her mother had abandoned her, Delia remembered being hungry. She and her mother had been evicted from their home. Her mother’s latest benefactor had died suddenly, leaving her with nothing. His widow had gladly escorted Delia and her mother out with nothing but the clothes on their backs.
Passing him the now empty cloth and the wineskin, she waved at the book in his hand. “What are you reading?” she asked, ignoring the pain the memory of her mother caused.
He had been kind to her; there was no reason she couldn’t attempt to be civil. Besides, three sips of wine had relaxed her in a way she had not anticipated.
“I’m reading an equestrian manual.” He held up the book in question.
