Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Hunt gazed over at the woman who’d stolen his heart in just a few short days, wondering what he’d done to cause the shift in her demeanor.
After her conversation with her mother, Delia hadn’t been the same.
The fire had dimmed in those deep brown pools that usually were expressive and full of life.
She’d hardly uttered a single word to him, other than a yes or thank you.
There was no hint of a smile on those full lips that he’d kissed so thoroughly that morning.
They had barely had time to bask in the elation of their lovemaking when her mother interrupted.
Hunt had suspected that allowing Delia’s mother entry into the room would end badly.
After all, the woman’s insouciance toward her daughter had no end.
However, Delia insisted on speaking to the woman.
Hunt wanted nothing more than to interject, but he respected and valued Delia’s strength.
It mattered not that every part of him wanted to stay rooted in that room, protecting her from the horrid woman who’d given birth to her.
Delia was her own woman and could make her own decisions.
Any mother who would openly deny their child was no mother at all.
It reminded Hunt of his father and his constant insistence that Hunt and Helen were bastards.
After a breakfast filled with uncomfortable silence, they continued their journey, setting a grueling pace in an attempt to reach Augustus and her sister.
Hunt hoped they hadn’t lost much ground, but if he knew anything about his cousin, it was that the other man would not do anything that would interfere with his own comfort, like waking early to gain ground.
Hunt wasn’t entirely positive if Augustus knew they were in pursuit.
Hunt still wasn’t aware of his cousin’s plan or what his intentions were with Delia’s sister, but whatever they were, it would not end well for the girl.
The age difference between Hunt and Augustus had never allowed the two to ever form a familial attachment. On the rare occasion that they were in each other’s presence, his cousin always behaved officiously toward Hunt.
Releasing a sigh of frustration at the heavy blanket of silence that floated in the carriage, Hunt turned toward the small window. The English countryside passed by in a blur.
Deciding he’d had enough of her sulking, he was determined to make his intentions clear to her. “Once we return to London, I would like you to join us for dinner. Your sister is also welcome, of course.”
Her head rose, the book in her hands falling to the floor. “Dinner?” she asked, her gaze shifting side to side in suspicion. The green day dress she was wearing clung to her curves, beckoning him like a siren’s song.
The dress was slightly better in quality than her previous one. Once she was his wife, he would be sure to give her free reign over their fortune, therefore she could purchase whatever she desired. If they had a fortune left after Augustus’s behavior.
“Yes, dinner.” Hunt picked up her worn book, turning it over to read the title, Emma. “I didn’t believe you to be a Jane Austen fan?”
She held out her hand for the book. “I’m not.” He handed her the book, and she flipped through the thin pages. “It’s Margaret’s. She’s the one who believes in fairytales, not I.”
The words floated around Hunt, harsh and direct.
He ignored them. “I would like you to become more acquainted with my mother,” he said, trying to cut through the thick tension in the carriage.
“We can even include Helen if we must.” He smiled at her but was disappointed to find her ignoring him completely, her nose buried in the book.
She sighed exasperatedly, like his words annoyed her in some way. She looked up at him, no emotion in her brown eyes. “There is no need to pretend, Hunt,” she said, placing the book down beside her.
“Pretend?” He leaned forward, genuinely confused by her statement. “I’m not sure I understand. How am I pretending?”
His patience was wearing thin with the hellion, but he waited, nonetheless. He had spent his entire life running away from responsibility, afraid of proving his father right about him. But he would not run from her, no matter how much she fought what was between them.
“Come now, we both know what this was.” She swallowed like her next words were painful for even her to say. “A bit of fun.”
Hunt sat up like he’d been slapped by the infuriating, beautiful woman in front of him.
His hellion had lived her life neglected by the two people who should’ve cherished the very ground she walked on.
But instead, her mother had abandoned her without a word, and her father, it seemed, had simply ignored her.
Having had enough of her sulking and dismissive attitude toward him, Hunt reached over, wrapped his hands around her waist, and lifted her up in one fluid motion.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she shouted, as he placed her on his lap.
“Let’s have a conversation, shall we?” he asked, adjusting her, making sure that she was comfortable.
She swatted at his shoulder, the fire in her finally making an appearance after a day of being dormant. “Put me down, Hunt.”
There she was, his hellion.
“No,” he said simply, challenging her. “Perhaps last night and this morning did not convey the message clearly.” He leaned forward, his nose rubbing against hers.
Maybe he was a fool, or the Belle and that blasted Rake Review had put a spell on him. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter, because the woman in his arms was all he wanted. He was sure that she would be all he craved for the rest of his miserable existence.
“W-what message is that exactly?” she asked, her deep sultry voice quivering, her armor faltering slightly.
His hand gripped the nape of her neck. Her pulse beat rapidly against his fingertips. “That you are mine, Adelia St. George—”
“I won’t be your mistress.” She shook her head. “I can’t-t.” The words came out as a sob.
“Dear God, hellion! You are the most maddening woman I’ve ever encountered.
” He pulled her to him, kissing her long and deep, savoring the taste of her, the feel of her in his arms. She centered him in ways that drinking and whoring had never done.
“I don’t want you to be my mistress, Delia. I want you to be my wife.”
He’d assumed that he had time to be sensible. To court her properly like any other lovesick gentleman, but of course, she would challenge him at every opportunity, forcing him to make his true intentions known straightaway.
She reared back, eyes wide, mouth agape. “You can’t be serious, Hunt.” She tried to move off his lap, but his hold around her waist and nape tightened.
He waited patiently for her to realize the importance of the moment.
Yes, he’d been a rake, a degenerate, working tirelessly to seek revenge on a dead man.
What he said to her the previous night was true.
No one gets to define who he was and what he did with his life, not his father, the Belle, not even the extraordinary woman in his arms, but he’d hoped that she would join him on the adventure of life.
“I assure you, Delia, that I am serious.” He dragged her closer, his heart pounding wildly in the confines of his chest. “Marry me.”
Tears pooled in her eyes, as she shook her head repeatedly. “You’re mad.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “I’ve been insane from the moment you crashed into me and my hands touched you. You’re all I dream about. My every breath is for you. Marry me, my hellion.”
She opened and closed her mouth comically, but it didn’t matter. He’d wait a lifetime for her.
“You said people can’t fall in love after a fortnight,” she said, reminding him of his words when they had first begun their journey together.
“Whatever I said, didn’t apply to us,” he said, pressing their foreheads together. “It doesn’t matter the length of time I’ve known you. Nothing will change the fact that I am absolutely besotted with you.”
I love you, were on the tip of his tongue, but Hunt did not want to force them upon her. Perhaps it was madness, but it mattered not because they would be together.
“Oh, Hunt.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing herself closer to him. “Yes,” she whispered against his lips.
Hunt couldn’t fight the slow smile that spread across his mouth. It was like winning at cards, but far more rewarding. He kissed her hard, slanting his mouth over hers.
He couldn’t stop touching her. She said yes, and the fool that he was couldn’t be happier. Their tongues slid erotically against each other, as the carriage bounced from side to side, jostling her on his hardening length.
“Say it again,” he demanded, trailing kisses down her neck to the swell of her breasts.
She let out a throaty moan, one of her hands molding around his head. “Yes, I’ll marry you, but I have conditions.”
Hunt trailed his hand under the skirts of her dress to the opening of her drawers, finding her wet and ready for him.
“What conditions?” he asked, before twirling his tongue down her exposed cleavage. He suspected that they needed to have an important conversation, but he couldn’t pull himself away from her.
She said yes. The world righted, and suddenly years of searching, of trying to get approval from a father that never loved him, were insignificant.
He began slow, steady thrusts with two of his fingers as he waited patiently for her to answer his questions. Her head fell back, allowing him the perfect view down her dress. Her hips chased after his fingers as they retreated and then re-entered her.
“Tell me your conditions, hellion.” Wetness flooded his hand, and he couldn’t help the smile on his face at helping her find release.
She was gloriously responsive, and he would spend the rest of their lives discovering ways to show her pleasure. Hunt nibbled at the exposed skin of her shoulders, her dress falling to reveal more of her.