Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
The carriage moved at an ungodly rate out of London, the scenery changing from the bustling city to the dwindling countryside in the span of a few hundred yards. It had taken an additional hour and a half to leave town, after stopping at Miss St. George’s aunt’s house to retrieve her things.
Hunt had waited in the carriage dutifully, shocked that the aunt did not dispute her niece’s decision to travel unaccompanied with a gentleman.
He’d expected some sort of familial concern, but the aunt never appeared.
Miss St. George had returned to his carriage in possession of two bags, one of which was filled with books.
He tried not to show his annoyance at the entire situation. Not only was his cousin pretending to be him, but Augustus had convinced and manipulated an innocent lady into running away with him. To add insult to injury, Hunt was now accompanied by the most beautiful, disagreeable lady he’d ever met.
From the moment that he’d discovered the hellion in his parlor, she’d been argumentative, persistent, and downright alluring all at the same time.
Denying her the ability to rescue her sister would’ve been cruel, but at least, he would’ve had peace.
Because sitting across from Adelia St. George for the last hour and a half was pure hell.
She bit the corner of her bottom lip as she wrote furiously in her journal, her brown curls falling free from her chignon.
Hunt desperately tried to focus on his own book and not stare at that plump lip held captive by the beautiful woman who was practically squeezed in the corner of the carriage like he had a plague.
Miss St. George let out a loud huff of breath, throwing her head back in frustration. Hunt tried not to laugh at her show of dramatics. He was accustomed to the theatrics of women, spending his entire life with his sister.
“Is there a problem?” he asked, glancing up from the equestrian manual on the care and breeding of horses.
Conversation had been stilted since she’d joined him in his traveling carriage. He hadn’t been in the mood for speaking, with Augustus pretending to be him.
“I should’ve known something was wrong,” she said, shaking her head. “I read The Rake Review at the Karringtons’ ball, and I met your sister. Yet not once did I question that the man Margaret claimed to love was the Earl of March.”
Bloody hell.
He’d forgotten about that blasted article in the commotion of the day. His cousin assuming his identity and the article coming out days before Augustus disappeared with Lady Margaret could not be a coincidence.
“Love?” Hunt asked, not believing what he was hearing. “Exactly how long has your sister known my cousin?”
Dear God, her sister had to be a simpleton to think herself in love with Augustus. His cousin was a great many things—mostly unpleasant, but loveable was not a word he would associate with Augustus Wakefield.
“I don’t believe I like what you’re implying.” Her voice was a pitch higher than her usual sultry tone.
He would’ve laughed if not for the aggressive look in her liquid brown eyes.
Never one to back down from a challenge, Hunt adjusted his body against the pristine leather seats and folded his arms. “I’m not implying anything. However, I do find it na?ve of Lady Margaret to fall in love with a man she hardly knows.”
Miss St. George opened and closed her mouth several times, her shapely body vibrating. She was wearing a simple blue day dress, its color long faded, but somehow, she was still the most beautiful woman Hunt had ever seen.
Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply. Hunt stifled his laughter, his body shaking despite his efforts. Her anger was simply intoxicating.
“I can admit that my sister is a little romantic, but you have no right to insult her. I’m sure you fall in love whenever it suits your fancy.” She tilted her head at him in challenge.
There she was, his hellion. She was all fire, and he wanted to be her ice. He wanted to cool her and, at the same time, allow her to burn him. To consume him completely.
“Your fondness for insulting me knows no end, does it?” he asked, a playful grin on his lips.
“You’re insulted?” She flung her hand out to him. “You were the one to say that my sister was na?ve—”
“You said she was na?ve yourself,” he reminded her. “Besides, you have to admit falling in love with anyone after a fortnight—is ludicrous.”
Hunt could admit that he was no expert in love. He had loved three people most of his life—his mother, his sister, and Reg. Old Sampson and Walter came close to the three of them, but when it came to having feelings for a woman, he’d always found his pleasure and nothing more.
The idea of falling in love in mere days was absolutely preposterous. Falling in love with someone like his cousin was foolish.
Augustus Wakefield had only cared for one person his entire life—himself. He may have cared for his own father and Hunt’s father, but Hunt wasn’t sure his cousin had a loving bone in his body.
“I-I…” she trailed off before shaking her head, laughter on her lips. “Yes, I admit it is rather ridiculous.”
Hunt laughed with her, his eyes taking in the darkening of her cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes. Her entire face was lit by the fire inside her, and suddenly the thought of falling in love with someone in a matter of days didn’t seem preposterous at all.
“How long did your sister know my cousin? It can’t have been longer than a fortnight. You all had just come to town, did you not?”
The Season had just begun, if Lady Margaret fancied herself being in love with Augustus, she had to have met Augustus at a Society event recently.
“It’s been a fortnight. They met at Lord and Lady Henderson’s first ball of the Season.” Her posture was stiff as she glared at him. “My sister is not a simpleton. She thinks she’s in love with him—you—” She waved her hand in the air like she didn’t know the difference between Hunt and Augustus.
“Do not say me. I do not know your sister,” he pointed out, trying to hide his agitation about the entire situation.
“Fine. It’s obviously not you, but that doesn’t change the fact that he manipulated her into thinking she was meeting you, a wealthy earl. Someone my father would accept,” she whispered the last part, her body shifting from side to side, like she was uncomfortable.
Hunt knew better than anyone about the desire for acceptance from one’s father. He’d lived separately from his own father most of his life. On the rare occasion the old earl had visited his family at Tigress House, he’d simply berated Hunt or ignored him.
“Surely, your aunt was aware that Augustus was not the Earl of March.” Hunt sat forward, placing his elbows on his knees.
Her eyes followed him, assessing his every move, like she had to know where he was at all times.
“She is not my aunt,” Miss St. George said flatly. “She’s my sister’s aunt, and Aunt Francis never once saw your cousin. He made sure to have footmen deliver his notes to my sister. They met in private.”
“And you as the eldest did not find this behavior strange or dishonorable for an innocent?” he challenged.
Not that Helen would do anything reckless, but if Hunt was ever aware that his sister was meeting secretly with a stranger, he would intervene. Not that his strong-willed sister needed his protection by any means.
“I-I foolishly thought that perhaps me being her sister would prevent him from making his intentions known—”
“Why would you being her sister matter?” he questioned, sitting back straighter. “You’re perfect.”
The words were out of his mouth before he could retrieve them. They hung in the carriage like a heavy cloud on a perfect sunny day.
It was true. To him, she was absolutely perfect. The thought of Augustus or anyone shunning her had Hunt ready to defend her.
Looking out the window at the passing countryside, Miss St. George cleared her throat several times. “Surely, you know that not many people in Society would accept the base-born daughter of the Duke of Cliffbury.”
“I’ll wager that those people are not worth knowing if they will judge you based on the circumstance of your birth,” he said, understanding how cruel Society could be.
Even a year after his father’s death, there were some who still believed that Hunt himself was a bastard and unworthy of the earldom.
She let out a huff of indignation, the look on her pretty face mocking. “What would the magnificent earl know about being a bastard?”
Hunt picked up his book, unable to speak for several long moments. Doubt filled her deep brown eyes, but she said nothing further on the topic.
“Perhaps,” she finally said, filling the quiet carriage with her deep voice. “Perhaps it’s best if we do not speak. We only need to find my sister before they reach Gretna Green.”
“Agreed.” Hunt opened his book, turning to the page he’d left off reading the previous evening. “Silence is much more preferred.”
Delia awoke with a start as the carriage hit a patch of uneven ground that jostled them from side to side.
She had fallen asleep in the awkward silence that had followed her rude comment.
It was true that she knew nothing of the man sitting across from her.
The Belle’s account of his activities did not match the man she was currently sharing space with.
When Delia had first met the earl, she’d assumed he was arrogant, selfish, and entitled, but from the moment she’d arrived at his home demanding the whereabouts of her sister, he’d been nothing but kind to her.
He clearly loved his mother and sister. And despite Delia’s behavior, he had not been rude or unpleasant toward her in any way.