She leaned back, looking up at him. A hint of a smile on her succulent lips.
“You don’t know what someone in your employ does?” she asked, pulling the duvet closer to her as it shifted with the movement of the carriage.
“I know what he does.” Hunt jerked his head to the side. “He’s an expert on horses. If there’s a wild horse needing to be trained, Sampson is your man. But now, in his old age, he sits in his chair in the stables, telling everyone what to do.”
The old man mostly saw after the horses, directing the stableboys on the proper care of the animals. He’d long lost his ability to move swiftly, but it never stopped him from contributing.
“Why do you keep him around then?” she asked, resting her head back on his shoulder, one of her breasts pressed against his chest.
Bloody hell.
“He’s family.” Hunt chuckled lightly. “Both Sampson and Walter worked for my mother’s first husband. She kept them employed after his death. I learned everything I know about horses from them.”
The two men had taken Hunt under their wing and treated him like an equal. When he was working side by side with Walter and Sampson, he wasn’t the heir to the Earl of March, or an unwanted son. He was just himself.
“Who would’ve thought the Earl of March was sentimental.” Her voice carried easily through the quiet carriage, soft but edged in disbelief. “Although, I admit I know nothing about you other than what I read inTheRake Reviewand what Margaret told me—but that wasn’t you at all.”
The mention of the cursed gossip sheet made Hunt’s jaw tighten. Out of all the tales that had been printed about him and his family, the Belle had done the most damage.
He kept his gaze forward, unwilling to let her see how deeply it affected him. “The people in my life,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “in my employ, in my care, are important to me.”
His hand moved absently along the rough wool of his great coat, the fabric scratchy beneath his fingers as he tried to coax warmth back into her trembling form. “Which includes you now,” he added quietly, “since you insisted on joining me on this chase.”
Delia’s breath hitched sharply, the sound small, betraying her usual bravado. Her body went rigid in his arms as if the words struck deeper than she wished to allow.
Slowly, Hunt turned his head toward her, the carriage suddenly too small, too intimate, the silence pressing in until it was difficult for him to breathe.
Pain stared back at him.
Her perceptive, honest brown eyes were glassy, rimmed with emotion. The sight unsettled him. Hunt was accustomed to anger, to desire, to mockery. Not this. This raw, honest emotion. He’d only seen it in one other person.
Himself.
“I’ve never been important to anyone,” she whispered. The words stripped her bare to him, revealing more than he suspected she wanted to. Her bottom lip trembled, evidence of the emotion swirling through his hellion. “Not my mother ormy father—though he did allow me to stay when my mother abandoned me.”
Stunned by her admission, he pulled her closer as if he could protect her from her past. Her words hit him in the chest, stealing his breath. He’d thought her fearless, maybe even a little reckless the way she readily demanded to accompany him on this journey. But this pain, the neglect in those deep brown eyes, was something else entirely.
She was beautiful, strong, and fearless in many ways, but underneath her bravado, there was much more to her than he’d ever imagined.
Without thinking, he cupped her cheek with his bare hand. The cold of her skin startled him, and he lingered, longer than propriety or common sense should allow.
“You are important,” he said, with such certainty it shocked even him. His thumb made circles against her cheek in a bleak attempt to give her some comfort.
Her gaze searched his with caution, as if she expected the words to vanish the moment Hunt had said them. His heart broke at the thought that his little hellion could be full of doubt.
“You’re important to your sister,” he said, softening his tone, easing the intensity of the moment before it swallowed them both whole.
He released her before he did something foolish—like press his lips to hers—and turned toward the small carriage window as they came to a stop.
Birmingham surrounded them, candlelight flickering in windows as night beckoned closer. If Augustus had any sense, he wouldn’t remain on the road after nightfall. But his cousin had never been accused of being intelligent.
“P-perhaps, it’s best if we continue?” she asked, her voice raw and unsteady.
A sharp knock rasped against the carriage door as Hunt rose. “No, the roads aren’t safe, especially at night.” He placed his hand on top of hers, the gesture grounding him in ways he’d never imagined. “We will catch them well before they reach Gretna Green.”
The door opened, and he stepped out, then turned back to offer her his hand. She placed hers in his without hesitation, allowing him to steady her. The moment her feet touched the ground, she removed his great coat and pressed it against his chest.
All trace of her earlier vulnerability was gone.
