Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Delia’s body shivered as the nameless gentleman walked out of the ballroom.
It was preposterous, really. Why should she care about a man with a smile like his?
He knew himself, was well aware of the effect he had on every female in the room.
He was the type of gentleman Delia steered clear of, a man who would turn her into her worst nightmare… her mother.
“Did you see the Earl of March and Wakefield nearly come to blows?” Aunt Francis’s friend, Mrs. Howard, said excitedly, practically sprinting to Aunt Francis. An impressive sight for someone her age, to be sure.
The entire ballroom was buzzing with gossip about the Earl of March and his cousin.
Apparently, Delia had been too busy with thoughts of her mysterious man to notice anyone or anything else.
It didn’t help that the Duke and Duchess of Karrington’s ballroom was massive and she had marched clear across it to flee the handsome stranger.
She glanced around again, unable to locate Margaret in the crush. She had accepted a dance with a nice young gentleman. A second son, according to Aunt Francis, was beneath Margaret, but Delia thought he of the perfect ilk for her sister.
“No!” Aunt Francis replied in horror. “I was too busy touring the portrait gallery with the duchess. Tell me everything.”
“I did not see it personally, but apparently, the earl grabbed Wakefield and raised his hand to hit him when Karrington intervened.” Mrs. Howard clutched at the pearls at her neck.
Deciding that she’d heard enough from the old hens, Delia began a turn around the dance floor in search of Margaret. The previous set had ended, and a new one begun, but there was no sign of her sister anywhere.
How strange.
After her third turn around the room, Delia’s path was suddenly blocked by a rotund older gentleman with thinning black hair, streaked gray.
“I knew your mother,” he said by way of greeting.
Her back stiffened at the predatory glint in his eyes. Where her mysterious gentleman appeared to be self-centered, with his enticing good looks and charm, this man was clearly a threat.
“How wonderful for you.” Delia tried to step around him, but he shifted his weight to block her exit.
“Cheeky, aren’t you?” he asked, snorting out of his nose. “Your mother and I had a mutually lucrative arrangement at one point; I’d be willing to make one with you.”
It was official, she was going to be ill. She swallowed down the bile that rose up in her throat, trying to control her anger.
Delia squeezed her hands into fists, allowing the bite of her nails to center her.
She was not her mother.
“Thank you for the titillating offer, but I must refuse.” She plastered a tight smile on her lips. “I am not a courtesan.”
“It’s not a secret that your father will soon toss you aside like he should’ve done years ago, the sentimental fool.” He shook his head, like caring for one’s child was a bad thing. “This is the best offer you’re sure to receive, girl.” He sneered at her, his beady eyes roaming her body.
“I’m not your girl, nor do I ever plan to enter into an arrangement with you or any gentleman.
” He jerked back, like her words had offended him.
Of course, he thought it should’ve been a compliment for a girl like her, but he didn’t know Delia.
“Now please step aside before I knee you in the bollocks in front of a ballroom full of people—”
“You wouldn’t dare risk your reputation,” he snarled out in a doubtful whisper.
Delia shrugged her shoulder, not caring that she was making a scene in front of all of Society. “I’m a bastard. I don’t have a reputation.” Leaning in slightly, she challenged, “Now move aside before I make you.”
Without another word, the large man whipped past her like she had the pox.
Good. Perhaps he would think twice before he propositioned someone.
The whispers surrounding her increased, the room becoming substantially smaller despite its size. Every eye in the room seemed to be on her, judging her, knowing exactly who she was.
Delia swallowed, the back of her fingers gliding against the damp skin of her forehead.
It was becoming increasingly harder for her to breathe in the crush of this stifling room.
The world spun, and she stumbled to the terrace, desperately in need of air.
She would not allow herself to become fodder for the Ton by swooning in the middle of the Karringtons’ ball.
The cool March air greeted her like an old friend, and she took a deep breath as her back pressed against the door.
“It’s fine, you’re perfectly fine,” Delia repeated the words out loud to herself, just as she’d done her entire life when she felt the world closing in on her.
Several deep breaths and the world stopped spinning. There were no stares or whispers following her like she was on display at a menagerie.
“It has to happen tomorrow,” a somewhat whiny, but demanding male voice said from the other side of a large pillar.
Delia whipped her head around, prepared to retreat into the stifling ballroom, in spite of desperately needing a few more blissful minutes. She tripped over the hem of her skirts trying to reach the glass door that led back inside.
“At least allow me to tell Delia. She will understand,” her sister’s sweet voice rang out into the cool night air.
Delia froze, not wanting to eavesdrop, but surely nothing good could come from her innocent sister being outside alone with a gentleman.
“No.” His cold voice caused a shiver of worry to slide through Delia. “I won’t delay our love another moment.”
Having heard enough, Delia walked toward the large pillar to find her sister in the arms of a tall man with blond hair.
So, this was the Earl of March?
She would dare to say that she did not see what her sister saw in him. Apparently, love was blind and possibly ignorant.
He did not resemble the description in The Rake Review.
At least not to Delia’s memory. She had skimmed the article rather quickly in the ladies’ retiring room.
But the tall man in front of her was skin and bones instead of strong and muscular.
His pale skin looked desperately in need of the sun.
He did not appear to enjoy the outdoors at all.
However, the sun rarely shone in England.
His long blond hair was nearly as long as her own—when she brushed her curls out, of course.
A nose too large for his thin face, and beady eyes that were indeed green but did not capture her like another pair of green eyes had that evening.
For heaven’s sake, Delia, you’re never going to see him again, and you should be happy about it.
She was happy. There could be no good in dancing, talking, or even kissing a man like that, though who had mentioned kissing?
“Delia!” Margaret called out in surprise, breaking Delia’s train of thought.
“Margaret.” She cleared her throat, allowing the cool air to wash over her. “You shouldn’t be out here alone unchaperoned.”
“She’s with me, girl. Now go back in and leave us alone,” the earl sneered at her, his cold, dead eyes looking down at her as if she were beneath him.
Girl.
Another lord that thought she could be dismissed, and disrespected. Meeting his gaze, Delia held her back straight. She was the daughter of a duke, and though her father wasn’t doting in any way, he made sure she knew her value.
“You must have me confused with someone else.” She stepped forward, a forced smile on her face.
“I do not take orders from you. I am, however, blessed with the authority of being the eldest sister, and as such, I’ll repeat myself as it seems you are hard of hearing.
” Delia slid her gaze to her sister, who now stood wide-eyed and afraid.
“How dare you speak to me like that?” he asked, seemingly shocked by her words.
Deciding that she very much did not care for the man her sister claimed to love, Delia ignored him. “Margaret, why are you out here unchaperoned with a gentleman?”
“Y-you are right, Delia. I’m sorry. The room was rather stifling, and Hunter, the earl, was kind enough to escort me out.” Her sister stumbled over each word, her eyes shifting from side to side.
How odd.
“Very well, let’s return to Aunt Francis before someone notices, shall we?” She did not care for her sister’s reaction nor the cold gleam in the earl’s eyes.
His green eyes were the same shade as his sister’s and the mysterious rake she’d met earlier, but surely, her handsome stranger had no connection to the Earl of March and his sister.
But where Lady Helen and the mysterious rake’s eyes were vibrant and full of life, the earl’s were manipulating and cold.
“Thank you, my lord.” Margaret took Delia by the arm dragging her back to the terrace door.
It took everything in Delia not to turn around and give the rude man the tongue lashing he was desperately in need of.
It was men like him and the other gentleman who’d cornered her moments ago that gave men of Society a bad name. Though he was obviously rich and overconfident, Delia could sense a kindness in her mysterious rake.
The heat and stench of the ballroom assaulted her at once. Delia tried not to let it affect her, but it was impossible to walk through the crush and not feel as if she was on the verge of expelling the contents of her stomach.
Taking her sister by the hand, she pulled her aside to a dark corner. “What were you and the earl doing alone out there? And what did he mean when he said he wouldn’t delay your love another moment?”
There was something very wrong with the Earl of March. Delia didn’t quite know what it was exactly, but whatever it was, she didn’t want Margaret anywhere near the man.
Her sister’s gaze wandered over the crowded ballroom, avoiding eye contact with Delia. “Nothing. He’s going to write Father properly, that’s all.”
Margaret St. George was a highly accomplished young woman, but the one thing that Delia’s sister could not do was lie. And Delia was well aware that her sister was lying.
Delia woke the following morning in a disastrous mood.
She tossed her body from side to side in the small bed, trying to wake herself for the day.
It was difficult to find sleep, especially when all she saw when she closed her eyes was brown skin, green eyes, and a beard.
Usually, she thought a beard on a man looked unkempt, but not on him.
It molded to his skin, begging to be caressed.
Drat!
She was doing it again.
“Stop it, Delia!” she reprimanded herself.
Sitting up, she stretched, glancing around the room for Margaret, but found it empty. Unlike Delia, her sister was an early riser, preferring to start her day with the sun’s rising.
No, thank you.
“Good morning, miss,” Jenny said, entering with a small tray of coffee, eggs, and toast. “I saved your breakfast for you.”
“Thank you, Jenny. Are Aunt Francis and my sister cross with me?” Delia asked, perfectly aware that the older woman wanted her down for breakfast every morning.
Delia had long been in charge of herself.
What choice did she have at the age of seven in a house full of strangers and a woman that loathed her very existence?
Margaret’s mother, the late Duchess of Cliffbury, could barely stand to be in the same room with her.
She often complained about Delia to anyone who would listen, in order to appease her stepmother and have moments of peace, Delia learned to care for herself.
“Is Lady Margaret not here?” the maid asked, looking around the room.
It wasn’t a grand house, their shared room was small. There weren’t many places one could hide, except behind the screen divider that hid the chamber pot.
“Margaret,” Delia called, rising out of bed.
Reaching the screen divider, she peered around, finding it empty.
That was odd.
A sinking dread settled itself in the pit of her stomach. Clutching her dressing gown, Delia rushed to the wardrobe, opening it to find two of Margaret’s dresses missing. Like her, Margaret had a limited amount of clothing, therefore it was easy for Delia to ascertain what was missing.
“Do you think she left with the earl, miss?” Jenny stood frozen, still clutching the small tray in her hands.
“Of course not! She wouldn’t…” Delia trailed off. Suddenly bits and pieces of the conversation she’d overheard last night came to her.
“I won’t delay our love another moment.”
That was what the Earl of March had said to her sister. What the hell did that mean exactly?
Jenny’s gaze locked on the dressing table. “Miss, a letter.” Jenny placed the tray down on the bed before walking to the dressing table. Delia’s body was frozen in place as Jenny picked up the small piece of paper and held it out to her.
Delia took it, unable to breathe as she unfolded it and read her sister’s rushed handwriting.
Dear God, her sister had gone to Gretna Green to marry the Earl of March.
Delia had to go after her, and she knew exactly who to call on.