Her deep brown eyes were guarded again. “How can you be sure?” she demanded.
There she was. His hellion had returned, sharp and full of defiance. Hunt found himself unsure whether he was pleased or disappointed. He guided her toward the comforts of the inn, anticipating their next move.
“John,” he called to the coachman, “pay extra to have Molly secured until we return.”
“Yes, my lord,” John replied with a nod, before leading the team away.
Warmth enveloped Hunt the moment he crossed the threshold of the inn. Candlelight flickered against wooden beams, and a roaring fire dominated the hearth at the head of the room. The scent of ale, smoke, and fresh bread filled the room.
The conversation faltered, then quieted to whispers. Every eye in the room turned to them.
It was immediate, the familiar weight of judgment landing on his shoulders.
Delia removed her pelisse, her body stiff from the sudden scrutiny. He pressed his hand to her back, urging her forward, refusing to allow the stares to affect them. It was nothing new.Outside of London, away from Society, people were always shocked to find a man of color with a title, not asking for permission.
“Do you two need a room for your employer?” A tall man with a rotund abdomen stepped forward, blocking Hunt’s path. His gaze flicked from Hunt to Delia. “Servants stay next door.”
Hunt gazed down at the shorter man, schooling his expression to polite indifference. He had learned early in life that anger never solved anything. “I’m the employer.” His voice was even, void of emotion. “Hunter Wakefield, the Earl of March.” He inclined his head slightly in greeting. “We’ll take two of your best rooms and two rooms for my servants as well as dinner for all.”
The man recoiled as if he were struck, stepping back twice, like Hunt had offended him by being an earl. “You’re an earl?” he questioned, disbelief clouding his gaze.
“I am indeed.” It took every ounce of Hunt’s discipline not to respond. He couldn’t afford to do anything that would lead them back on the King’s Road at night. Unfortunately, for the innkeeper, Hunt required a bed and a meal for him and everyone in his care. That alone saved the innkeeper from his wrath.
“Do you have the rooms or not?” Hunt demanded, his patience running thin.
It had been a long, exhausting day. He needed food and sleep, not to stand there debating if he was himself or not. He didn’t care to be questioned by the innkeeper—or anyone for that matter, especially not in a room full of people.
It didn’t matter how rare a titled man of African descent might be. Hunt would not tolerate blatant disrespect—not from this man, not from anyone.
“I meant no offense, my lord,” the innkeeper said, wringing his hands together. “There was another gentleman earlier. Hiscarriage also bore the crest of the Earl of March, and I assumed he was the earl.”
Hunt’s head snapped to the man. “Was there a young lady with him?” he asked, sharper than intended.
If Augustus had abandoned Delia’s sister?—
“Did she have dark hair?” Delia pressed, bouncing on her toes. “Green eyes? A delicate disposition?” Delia’s voice was filled with hope.
The innkeeper nodded, running his hands through his dark hair, obviously nervous from the weight of their attention. “Yes, there was a lady and a servant?—”
“How long ago was this?” Hunt waited with bated breath, already calculating the risk of being on the King’s Road at night.
“About four hours, my lord,” the innkeeper answered. “This way.” The innkeeper led them to a table near the hearth. “I’ll take your things.”
Hunt passed first his great coat then Delia’s pelisse to the now eager innkeeper. The warmth of the hearth immediately soaked through Hunt’s cold bones. He pulled out a chair for Delia, waiting until she was comfortable before taking his own seat across from her.
“That will be all…” Hunt waited for the innkeeper to provide his name.
The innkeeper bowed, “Mr. Oakley, sir?—”
“My lord,” Delia corrected him, her voice clear, cutting through the murmurs around the room. “He is the Earl of March, after all.” She lifted her shoulder.
She sat across from Hunt, her head held high, ready to do battle with the entire room if necessary…for him.
Dear God.
Something warm and dangerous swirled inside his chest. Having her by his side, facing the world with him, was much more enjoyable than it should have been.
For a moment, the innkeeper looked aghast, but swallowed before answering. “Of course, my lord.” He rushed away.
