Chapter 7 #2
Taking in his long form, she studied him as he read from an older-looking book.
It was difficult to read the title from the state of it.
He laid back in the corner, his long legs bent at the knee, a small travel pillow propped behind his head.
Thick fingers turned the thin pages with such care and ease that she nearly swooned from the sight.
He was a strangely magnificent-looking man.
It’s no wonder that the Belle had crowned him the Magnificent Earl.
Her stomach flipped several times, and it had nothing to do with the bumpy carriage and everything to do with the man sitting across from her like he hadn’t a care in the world.
Delia was sure he had every lady in the Ton vying for his attention.
A man like him would only want someone like her for one thing—a mistress.
There weren’t many opportunities for a girl born on the wrong side of the blanket.
She could marry and hope the man was not cruel to her.
Perhaps one could find a respectable job as a governess or a companion.
But most women born with the unfortunate circumstance of being a bastard became mistresses.
And Delia would never be like her mother.
Dragging her gaze away from the earl, Delia stared out the small carriage window, following the sun as it dipped lower in the cloudy sky.
Her previous lover had proposed marriage, but it wasn’t out of passion or undying love.
He’d asked for the simple fact that it was the right thing to do after a few rushed dalliances.
She’d refused him. If Delia were to ever marry, it would be for passion and love.
Two emotions, she was well aware would never find her.
“Would you like something to eat?” His deep, masculine voice rolled over her skin.
Delia shivered, biting the inside of her lip to control herself. It would not do to find herself enraptured under his spell.
She had one goal: find her sister and save her from ruin.
“Yes, please,” she said, trying to hide the shiver in her voice.
Delia did not like how their conversation had ended earlier. It wasn’t as if she’d intentionally set out to be rude to him. Anger had long been her armor; it was the only way Delia knew how to protect herself.
The earl bent down to retrieve a bundle out of the small basket at his feet before offering it to Delia. Her bare fingers wrapped around the white cloth, sliding against his. The beat of her heart slammed against the confines of her chest, her gaze darting to his.
Green. Crisp and commanding.
In a single glance, her resolve crumbled, her armor falling away like leaves in the wind.
Quickly removing her hand from his, Delia placed the wrapped food in her lap, opening it to reveal meat, cheese, and bread.
Her mouth watered at the small offering.
She hadn’t eaten since the previous evening, not counting the delicious biscuits she’d had at the earl’s home.
She began eating with a little too much vigor.
The carriage continued to jostle, making it difficult to eat, but she managed by gripping the cloth with one hand and a piece of meat and bread with the other.
She swallowed it down, wishing there was something to drink.
As if reading her mind, the earl removed a black wineskin from the basket, opened it, and held it out to her.
Delia took it and sipped gingerly. She couldn’t help the smile that broke out on her lips at the discovery he’d given her water. “You really are obsessed with water,” she teased before taking another sip. “Most people travel with wine.” She took another sip before passing it back to him.
He returned the wineskin of water to the basket, then lifted another, this one dark red. “Wine for you, my lady.” He bowed, a twinkle in those green eyes of his.
She placed a piece of cold meat in her mouth, needing a reason not to smile at his show of dramatics.
It was the first time Delia had seen this more playful side of the Earl of March.
He was lighter somehow, an easy smile at the corner of his mouth.
Not the over-assured gentleman she’d met at the Karringtons’ ball.
Taking the wineskin from his hand, she finished chewing then took a delicate sip. The wine was potent, the taste tart and strong on her tongue.
She finished the small offering of food, happy to have something in her belly.
When she was a girl, the months before her mother had abandoned her, Delia remembered being hungry.
She and her mother had been evicted from their home.
Her mother’s latest benefactor had died suddenly, leaving her with nothing.
His widow had gladly escorted Delia and her mother out with nothing but the clothes on their backs.
Passing him the now empty cloth and the wineskin, she waved at the book in his hand. “What are you reading?” she asked, ignoring the pain the memory of her mother caused.
He had been kind to her; there was no reason she couldn’t attempt to be civil. Besides, three sips of wine had relaxed her in a way she had not anticipated.
“I’m reading an equestrian manual.” He held up the book in question.
“I’m sorry, what?” She laughed, not believing what the Magnificent Earl of March was reading.
Delia blinked, not rightfully believing that he was reading an equestrian manual.
“What’s amusing about a book on stable management and breeding?” he asked, looking at Delia like she had gone mad.
The look on his face made her laugh again. He really did favor his sister.
“I just can’t believe that you would read an equestrian manual.” She took hold of the leather strap as the carriage bounced erratically.
After a few long moments, they finally stopped bouncing, and Delia released the strap, finally feeling like she would not fall to the floor of the carriage.
“You do realize that The Rake Review was false. I’m not the person that Belle painted me to be,” he said, disdain in his voice.
It was obvious that he was not happy that he’d been selected as March’s rake of the month.
“Really?” Delia tilted her head, tapping her chin with her index finger. “So, you do not spend your fortune on gambling and women?” she asked, innocently.
“Why should it matter where I spend my fortune?” he asked, sitting back against the seat.
They bounced for what seemed like forever, the road uncommonly treacherous with hundreds of people still coming into London for the Season.
“It doesn’t matter, but it proves that not everything the Belle wrote was false,” she defended the writer.
Delia had finally read The Rake Review in its entirety after the Karringtons’ ball when her sister and Aunt Francis were having an evening Madeira. Not even then did she realize that the rude man she’d met wasn’t the real Earl of March.
“False or not, I don’t personally want my entire life circulated around London.” He pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.
She hadn’t really thought how someone would feel if their entire life was printed for all of Society to read. Delia could hardly stand attending Society events with all of the whispers and stares.
“You’re right,” she admitted. “All of London seems to know every single detail of my life, and they won’t let me forget it.” She hung her head, placing a stray curl behind her ear.
Delia had never been to town before that Season, but every member of Society knew who she was.
“Exactly,” he agreed, and for the first time, Delia saw that he too was hurting. “They do not get to judge us and parade our lives in front of us like a threat.”
Delia hadn’t realized that she had leaned forward while he was speaking. Every word he uttered touched a part of her that no one—not even her sister—knew existed.
The carriage suddenly plunged forward, throwing Delia out of her seat. The earl caught her, his arms around her waist, her body on top of his.
Tilting her head back, his intense green gaze held her captive. Sweat trickled down her back, her dress suddenly tight. The air in the carriage was blanketed with desire, and Delia had the urge to press her lips to his.
Perhaps she had drunk too much wine and not eaten enough food. That was the only logical explanation for her loss of sense.
He inched closer, and Delia dutifully followed. Inches away now, all she had to do was move, and then she would finally know how magnificent he really was.
A loud knock rang through the carriage, and suddenly Delia realized they had stopped moving. She sat up as fast as she could in the awkward position.
Her head went to his firm chest, her hand flat against taut muscle. Delia willed herself not to move her hands and explore the hard planes of his body.
Forcing herself to move away from the handsome earl, she practically threw herself in the empty space beside him.
Damn it to hell, she’d lost her mind.
She, Adelia St. George, had nearly kissed the Magnificent Earl of March.
And the most frightening thing was, that Delia wanted nothing more than to feel his lips against hers.