“I’m sorry, what?” She laughed, not believing what the Magnificent Earl of March was reading.
Delia blinked, not rightfully believing that he was reading an equestrian manual.
“What’s amusing about a book on stable management and breeding?” he asked, looking at Delia like she had gone mad.
The look on his face made her laugh again. He really did favor his sister.
“I just can’t believe that you would read an equestrian manual.” She took hold of the leather strap as the carriage bounced erratically.
After a few long moments, they finally stopped bouncing, and Delia released the strap, finally feeling like she would not fall to the floor of the carriage.
“You do realize thatTheRake Reviewwas false. I’m not the person that Belle painted me to be,” he said, disdain in his voice.
It was obvious that he was not happy that he’d been selected as March’s rake of the month.
“Really?” Delia tilted her head, tapping her chin with her index finger. “So, you do not spend your fortune on gambling and women?” she asked, innocently.
“Why should it matter where I spend my fortune?” he asked, sitting back against the seat.
They bounced for what seemed like forever, the road uncommonly treacherous with hundreds of people still coming into London for the Season.
“It doesn’t matter, but it proves that not everything the Belle wrote was false,” she defended the writer.
Delia had finally readTheRake Reviewin its entirety after the Karringtons’ ball when her sister and Aunt Francis were having an evening Madeira. Not even then did she realize that the rude man she’d met wasn’t the real Earl of March.
“False or not, I don’t personally want my entire life circulated around London.” He pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.
She hadn’t really thought how someone would feel if their entire life was printed for all of Society to read. Delia could hardly stand attending Society events with all of the whispers and stares.
“You’re right,” she admitted. “All of London seems to know every single detail of my life, and they won’t let me forget it.” She hung her head, placing a stray curl behind her ear.
Delia had never been to town before that Season, but every member of Society knew who she was.
“Exactly,” he agreed, and for the first time, Delia saw that he too was hurting. “They do not get to judge us and parade our lives in front of us like a threat.”
Delia hadn’t realized that she had leaned forward while he was speaking. Every word he uttered touched a part of her that no one—not even her sister—knew existed.
The carriage suddenly plunged forward, throwing Delia out of her seat. The earl caught her, his arms around her waist, her body on top of his.
Tilting her head back, his intense green gaze held her captive. Sweat trickled down her back, her dress suddenly tight. The air in the carriage was blanketed with desire, and Delia had the urge to press her lips to his.
Perhaps she had drunk too much wine and not eaten enough food. That was the only logical explanation for her loss of sense.
He inched closer, and Delia dutifully followed. Inches away now, all she had to do was move, and then she would finally know how magnificent he really was.
A loud knock rang through the carriage, and suddenly Delia realized they had stopped moving. She sat up as fast as she could in the awkward position.
Her head went to his firm chest, her hand flat against taut muscle. Delia willed herself not to move her hands and explore the hard planes of his body.
Forcing herself to move away from the handsome earl, she practically threw herself in the empty space beside him.
Damn it to hell, she’d lost her mind.
She, Adelia St. George, had nearly kissed the Magnificent Earl of March.
And the most frightening thing was, that Delia wanted nothing more than to feel his lips against hers.
Chapter Eight
