Augustus snorted. “Of course, you would come running to save the day. You’re too late.” He let out a manacle laugh. “I’ve already ruined her, and all of London believes that it was you.”
“Because of your fucking lies!” Hunt slammed his cousin against the carriage again.
“My lies? You don’t deserve the earldom. It belongs to me!” Augustus spat, his face red and blotchy. “Uncle was my real father. I should’ve inherited everything, but he couldn’t give it to me because you were born.”
Hunt released him, stumbling back at Augustus’s words.
No. It couldn’t be true.
The world spun around him, his head suddenly throbbing. Percy Wakefield had never loved Hunt or even Helen. He’d preferred Augustus, had showered him with riches and affection. Augustus had remained at Albertus Manor long after Hunt and his family were discarded. They were forgotten, forced to live at Tigress House, his mother’s home purchased by her first husband.
When he was a boy, he’d thought that he had done something to cause his father’s hatred of him, but the truth was he wanted his firstborn to inherit everything.
“How?” he rasped, aware that a small crowd was gathering around them, but he did not care. Hunt had to know the truth of it.
“His brother had particular tastes but married my mother all the same to hide his proclivities. Uncle agreed to father a child with her and never have children of his own. But when the family coffers were in dire need, he married your lying mother?—”
Hunt’s fist connected with Augustus’s cheek, once, twice, three times. “Don’t you fucking dare say another foul word about my mother. We’re not in Society, and I will not restrain myself from pummeling you.”
Augustus spat on the ground. “Go ahead, do it!” He egged Hunt on. “You’ve already lost the fortune. Uncle purposely put that clause in the will, knowing you would do something. My plan was already in motion when you were gloriously mentioned inTheRake Review.”
“What is going on?” Lady Margaret stood in front of the inn, wearing a pink pelisse and what seemed to be a dressing gown. Her hair was down and wild, like she had been compromised. “Hunter, where are you going?”
Bloodyhell.
“Margaret, thank God, we’ve found you!” Delia ran to her sister, wrapping her arms around her smaller frame.
“Delia, what are you doing here?” Lady Margaret squeezed Delia.
Tears fell down both ladies’ faces as they embraced.
Seeing their bond firsthand filled Hunt with joy. He understood better than anyone the importance of family. Helen and his mother meant everything to him.
A tall stocky man of African descent cut through the crowd. “My lord,” he addressed Hunt. “I am the local magistrate. Perhaps this should be taken somewhere more private?” He waved a hand toward the inn.
Augustus’s revelation still swam in Hunt’s head as he pushed his cousin toward the inn.
“Get your filthy hands off me, you bastard!” Augustus spat the words at Hunt.
“If what you say is true, then I am not the bastard here. You are.” Hunt still could not comprehend that if the man in front of him was telling the truth, then they were really brothers.
Hunt turned to the young man who was still standing in shock by his appearance. “Were you aware that he was not the earl, when you agreed to be his coachman?”
It was clear to Hunt that Augustus and the young man were in a dispute over leaving when he’d arrived.
“No, I retrieved the carriage with him and then proceeded to Gretna Green. It wasn’t until Birmingham that I discovered his true intentions to abandon the lady,” the younger man said, shaking his head.
“What is your name?” Hunt asked him, wanting to end the entire ordeal, and hold Delia in his arms.
“Nick, my lord.” He bowed his head at Hunt.
“You can go with my servants and lead the second coach back to London tomorrow. John will see to everything.” Rubbing his hand down his face, Hunt groaned in frustration before addressing his coachman. “John, see to the horses, then you, William, and Nick have a hot meal and a rest. We’re leaving for London at first light.”
“Yes, my lord.” John bowed his head to Hunt before rushing off, leaving him alone with the dispersing crowd and the two women still standing in each other’s arms.
“I-I don’t understand. Who is that man, Delia?” Lady Margaret asked, looking from Hunt to Delia, her eyes scrunched in confusion.
Delia wrapped her arm tighter around her sister, and Hunt could tell that she was the strong one, the one who held everything together. He understood that burden more thananything. It was why he had not fought his hellion when she insisted on joining him.
