The age difference between Hunt and Augustus had never allowed the two to ever form a familial attachment. On the rare occasion that they were in each other’s presence, his cousin always behaved officiously toward Hunt.
Releasing a sigh of frustration at the heavy blanket of silence that floated in the carriage, Hunt turned toward the small window. The English countryside passed by in a blur.
Deciding he’d had enough of her sulking, he was determined to make his intentions clear to her. “Once we return to London, I would like you to join us for dinner. Your sister is also welcome, of course.”
Her head rose, the book in her hands falling to the floor. “Dinner?” she asked, her gaze shifting side to side in suspicion. The green day dress she was wearing clung to her curves, beckoning him like a siren’s song.
The dress was slightly better in quality than her previous one. Once she was his wife, he would be sure to give her free reign over their fortune, therefore she could purchase whatever she desired. If they had a fortune left after Augustus’s behavior.
“Yes, dinner.” Hunt picked up her worn book, turning it over to read the title,Emma. “I didn’t believe you to be a Jane Austen fan?”
She held out her hand for the book. “I’m not.” He handed her the book, and she flipped through the thin pages. “It’s Margaret’s. She’s the one who believes in fairytales, not I.”
The words floated around Hunt, harsh and direct. He ignored them. “I would like you to become more acquainted with my mother,” he said, trying to cut through the thick tension in the carriage. “We can even include Helen if we must.” He smiled at her but was disappointed to find her ignoring him completely, her nose buried in the book.
She sighed exasperatedly, like his words annoyed her in some way. She looked up at him, no emotion in her brown eyes. “There is no need to pretend, Hunt,” she said, placing the book down beside her.
“Pretend?” He leaned forward, genuinely confused by her statement. “I’m not sure I understand. How am I pretending?”
His patience was wearing thin with the hellion, but he waited, nonetheless. He had spent his entire life running away from responsibility, afraid of proving his father right about him. But he would not run from her, no matter how much she fought what was between them.
“Come now, we both know what this was.” She swallowed like her next words were painful for even her to say. “A bit of fun.”
Hunt sat up like he’d been slapped by the infuriating, beautiful woman in front of him. His hellion had lived her life neglected by the two people who should’ve cherished the very ground she walked on. But instead, her mother had abandoned her without a word, and her father, it seemed, had simply ignored her.
Having had enough of her sulking and dismissive attitude toward him, Hunt reached over, wrapped his hands around her waist, and lifted her up in one fluid motion.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she shouted, as he placed her on his lap.
“Let’s have a conversation, shall we?” he asked, adjusting her, making sure that she was comfortable.
She swatted at his shoulder, the fire in her finally making an appearance after a day of being dormant. “Put me down, Hunt.”
There she was, his hellion.
“No,” he said simply, challenging her. “Perhaps last night and this morning did not convey the message clearly.” He leaned forward, his nose rubbing against hers.
Maybe he was a fool, or the Belle and that blastedRakeReviewhad put a spell on him. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter, because the woman in his arms was all he wanted. He was sure that she would be all he craved for the rest of his miserable existence.
“W-what message is that exactly?” she asked, her deep sultry voice quivering, her armor faltering slightly.
His hand gripped the nape of her neck. Her pulse beat rapidly against his fingertips. “That you are mine, Adelia St. George?—”
“I won’t be your mistress.” She shook her head. “I can’t-t.” The words came out as a sob.
“Dear God, hellion! You are the most maddening woman I’ve ever encountered.” He pulled her to him, kissing her long and deep, savoring the taste of her, the feel of her in his arms. She centered him in ways that drinking and whoring had never done. “I don’t want you to be my mistress, Delia. I want you to be my wife.”
He’d assumed that he had time to be sensible. To court her properly like any other lovesick gentleman, but of course, shewould challenge him at every opportunity, forcing him to make his true intentions known straightaway.
She reared back, eyes wide, mouth agape. “You can’t be serious, Hunt.” She tried to move off his lap, but his hold around her waist and nape tightened.
He waited patiently for her to realize the importance of the moment. Yes, he’d been a rake, a degenerate, working tirelessly to seek revenge on a dead man. What he said to her the previous night was true. No one gets to define who he was and what he did with his life, not his father, the Belle, not even the extraordinary woman in his arms, but he’d hoped that she would join him on the adventure of life.
“I assure you, Delia, that I am serious.” He dragged her closer, his heart pounding wildly in the confines of his chest. “Marry me.”
Tears pooled in her eyes, as she shook her head repeatedly. “You’re mad.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “I’ve been insane from the moment you crashed into me and my hands touched you. You’re all I dream about. My every breath is for you. Marry me, my hellion.”
