“I knew it! Any woman that would have a man working to forget her is worth being caught by the parson’s mousetrap!” Sampson slapped his thigh.
“Prepare Molly for me. I want to test her out,” Hunt called to a stable hand.
“Right away, my lord,” the boy replied, running to place Hunt’s saddle on Molly.
They had retrieved the horse from Birmingham after paying extra to ensure that she wasn’t exchanged or sold while he was chasing Augustus.
“With you getting married, I suspect we will not see you inThe Rake Reviewagain.” Walter looked at him pointedly as the stable boy saddled the horse.
Hunt laughed. He had cursed the Belle andThe Rake Review, but now he wanted to find her and offer his sincere gratitude, for if it wasn’t for that blasted gossip, he would’ve never found Adelia St. George.
Hunt handed Molly’s reins over to a footman in front of Lady Margaret’s aunt’s townhouse. He had ridden Molly from his home in Grosvenor Square, testing her limits. He was pleased at how well she handled. It was rare to find such a gem of a horse at a coaching inn, but here she was, and he wasn’t going to let the mare go.
He waited outside the door of the small home, when an old butler answered, staring at him wide-eyed.
“The Earl of March to see Miss Adelia St. George,” Hunt said, presenting the man with his card.
The butler stared from his card to him in confusion for longer than what was necessary in Hunt’s opinion.
“I’m sorry, my lord. Please do come in.” The butler allowed him entry, his behavior alerting Hunt that something was amiss.
Perhaps Delia was still abed. A small smile graced his lips at the thought of how much she enjoyed her sleep. Hunt couldn’t wait to sleep until noon with her. The thought of her wrapped in his arms had him longing for a kiss.
“My lord, is something the matter?” Mrs. Chambers, Lady Margaret’s aunt asked. She was a rather disagreeable-looking woman, with her hook nose and beady eyes that observed Hunt like he was prey.
Hunt stepped forward, a sinking feeling in his abdomen. “No, nothing is the matter. I’m here to see Miss Adelia St. George.”
She blinked several times, like he had two heads instead of one. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. She and my niece have returned to Leicestershire?—”
“When?” Hunt asked, noticing the panic in his voice.
She’d left without saying a word to him. He gripped the small strands of his nape, wishing it were longer so that he could pull it out.
Delia had been exceptionally quiet on the trip back to London, but Hunt hadn’t paid it any heed. He foolishly thought that it was due to the chaos Augustus had caused.
A thin, short maid hurried down the hall, gripping a small missive in her hand. “Lord March, Miss St. George bid me to give this to you.” She held out the missive with a shaking hand.
Hunt took it, suddenly cold and void of all emotion. He couldn’t speak. He just nodded, his gaze on Delia’s neat handwriting. “When did she leave?” he asked, his entire body feeling hollow.
Suddenly he was a boy again, being ignored and criticized by his father and cousin. Bullied by other peers of the Ton, alone with no one but his mother and sister.
“I don’t understand,” Mrs. Chambers said, her voice high.
“They left less than an hour ago, my lord,” the kind maid said to him.
Hunt turned and left the small townhouse, needing to breathe. Less than an hour ago, and she’d ripped out his heart and taken it with her.
Opening the missive, he tried to control his rapid breathing as Delia’s words swirled together.
He was crying.
Fucking crying.
Hunt,
I’m sorry. I know we had plans to spend our lives together,
but what Augustus said in Sheffield is correct. Society
