He continued to hold her, as they both tried to catch their breath.
“Perhaps we should find a vicar in the next town and marry,” he said, as she rose off of him and sat beside him, falling into his arms again.
“We cannot. Your mother would never forgive you.” She shook her head at him. “And you do not have a special license.”
He shrugged his shoulder. “That can be remedied.” Hunt kissed her, his smile so wide he thought he would crack a tooth. “You are right. She and Helen would both be out for blood.” He shuddered at the thought of having to deal with his sister if he were to marry without them. “We will marry as soon as we return to London.”
She sighed and laid her head on his chest. “Good. I’ll be all yours then.”
Hunt kissed the top of her head, enjoying just being there with her in his arms, making plans for the future.
“Forever.”
Chapter Thirteen
Hunt flexed his head side to side, ready to be out of the carriage for the night. After another day without catching up to his cousin and Lady Margaret, all Hunt wanted to do was to have a hot meal and then go to bed with Delia wrapped around his body.
As the evening approached, they arrived in Sheffield. The previous night, they had missed Augustus by two hours according to the motherly innkeeper in Derby. He had not faced the same line of questioning as he had in Birmingham, and for that, Hunt was grateful.
The innkeeper had repeatedly informed them that she did not like the look of the other fellow.
He’d spent the entire night worshipping her body and taking her exactly as he promised—on all fours, with her round, luscious rump on display just for him. He counted down the days for when they could return to London and finally marry.
He’d fallen under her spell, and he couldn’t be more enraptured. Confessing his undying love seemed a bit premature, but it bloomed out of him, and he wanted nothingmore than to tell her. Perhaps that night, he would tell her and then prove it over and over for the rest of their lives.
First, Hunt had to handle his blasted cousin. Trying to steal the family’s fortune from Hunt was one thing, running away with an innocent was diabolical even for Augustus.
Hunt buried his nose in her neck, inhaling deeply, one of his hands resting on her breasts. This was heaven to him. He couldn’t wait to begin their lives together.
His first priority when returning to London was to write to Cliffbury. He understood that the man remained in Leicestershire and allowed his daughters to come to London alone.
The horses trotted along. Hunt’s arms securely wrapped around Delia. If he had his way, he’d never let his hellion go.
She was his peace, his shelter from the storm.
Shouts from outside suddenly carried into the carriage.
Augustus!
He would know his cousin’s voice anywhere. Hunt sat up, as they came to an abrupt stop, jerking them forward. He gripped his hands tighter around Delia, preventing her from falling over.
“My lord, Mr. Wakefield is here at the inn!” William, his footman shouted on the other side of the door.
Without a second thought, Hunt came barreling out of the carriage intent on confronting Augustus.
His cousin stood, arguing with another man in front of the Two Goats Inn and Hunt’s stolen carriage like he owned it. Hunt took large steps toward him, stretching his legs as far as they would go.
“I am paying you! you are my coachman! You will return me to London, now!” Augustus shouted, and it was then that Hunt noticed that Lady Margaret was not with him.
Dear God, where was she?
“I will not leave the young lady here! I don’t care how much you are paying me,” the man answered, folding his arms and refusing to move.
“Augustus, you swine!” Hunt shouted, approaching his cousin and the younger man.
Hunt reached Augustus, taking him by the lapels of his great coat, and throwing him against the carriage.
“Where is she?” he snarled, anger pumping in his veins.
