A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 101 - Hundred And One

Delaney pushed the heavy door open. The hinges were well-oiled and made no sound.

When she entered, Rowan didn’t even notice. He was sitting behind his massive desk. He had discarded his formal dinner jacket long ago. His waistcoat was unbuttoned, his cravat was completely undone, and the sleeves of his white linen shirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing his strong forearms.

His elbows were resting on the desk, his head buried in his hands. His eyes were glued to the large, open ledger in front of him, though he did not seem to be reading the numbers. He looked like a man carrying the weight of the entire world.

Rowan, realizing that his butler had not announced himself, spoke without lifting his gaze.

"Is anything the matter, Simmons?" Rowan asked wearily. "I told you I did not wish to be disturbed."

The question died completely in his throat when he finally raised his head.

He froze. His eyes widened in pure, unadulterated shock.

It was not his elderly butler standing in the doorway. It was Delaney. Her dark hair was tumbling wildly over her shoulders. She was wearing a thin silk robe that clung to the soft curves of her body, her feet bare in soft slippers. She looked incredibly beautiful, entirely vulnerable, and completely out of bounds.

"Miss Kingsley?" Rowan breathed out. He stood up slowly, pushing his chair back.

Delaney held the pitcher a little tighter. She suddenly felt very exposed under his intense gaze.

"I saw lights and I..." Delaney replied, her voice trembling slightly. She took a tiny step into the room. "I was going to get water, but I saw you were still awake."

Rowan stared at her. His eyes darkened, tracing the line of her neck down to the knot of her silk robe. He swallowed hard. The jealousy that had been boiling inside him all evening flared back to life, mixing dangerously with a sudden, sharp rush of desire.

He interrupted her.

"Yes, there’s a lot of work to be done," Rowan said. His voice was no longer tired. It was low, tight, and rough around the edges.

"Ohh," Delaney replied softly, looking at the messy desk. "I see."

Rowan walked around the edge of his great oak desk. He did not stop. He kept walking toward her. His posture changed entirely. The polite, restrained Duke vanished. In his place was a man pushed to his absolute limit.

"So how is Mr. Smith doing?" Rowan asked.

The name sounded like poison on his tongue. He spat the words out, a bitter, jealous edge lacing every syllable.

Delaney felt a spark of panic. She could see the storm in his eyes. She tried to deflect, relying on her nervous habit of talking too much when she was afraid.

"He’s a great actor, isn’t he?" Delaney replied quickly, offering a weak, nervous smile. "Even I am convinced we are married, and his manners are quite..."

Rowan was in front of her already.

He moved with the speed and grace of a predator. Before she could finish her sentence, he stepped directly into her personal space. The heat radiating from his large body hit her instantly. He smelled of ink, parchment, and warm, masculine anger.

"And?" Rowan said, cutting her off completely. He invaded her space, tilting his head down to glare into her eyes.

Delaney gasped softly. She took a step backward, her slipper sliding on the carpet.

Rowan took a step forward, matching her pace perfectly.

"You are right," Rowan said. His voice dropped an octave, becoming a dark, wicked purr. "His acting is incredible. He plays the doting husband so very well."

With every step he took forward, Delaney took two steps backward.

Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She was entirely overwhelmed by his size, his proximity, and the raw, unleashed energy pouring out of him. He was looking at her lips, then her eyes, trapping her with his gaze.

They kept up their slow, dangerous dance across the room. He advanced. She retreated.

Until Delaney reached a wall.

Her back hit the cool wooden paneling of the bookshelves. The porcelain pitcher in her hand clinked softly against the wood. She was trapped. There was nowhere left to run.

Rowan did not stop. He stepped in flush against her.

He held her there. He lifted his right arm and placed his large hand flat on the wall right beside her head, caging her in. He was so close she could feel the rise and fall of his chest against her own with every breath he took.

Then, he lowered his left hand.

He did not touch her skin. Instead, his long fingers found the silk belt of her dressing robe. He caught the loose end of the fabric. He began twisting and playing with her robe, wrapping the soft silk slowly around his fingers. It was an incredibly slow, deliberate, and naughty gesture. It sent a shock of pure electricity straight down Delaney’s spine.

"Do you like his acting that much, Delaney?" Rowan said.

He didn’t call her Miss Kingsley. He called her Delaney. The sound of her name on his lips was a dark, intimate caress. He was staring deeply into her hazel eyes, searching for the truth.

"I can act too, if that’s what you want," Rowan whispered. His face was only inches from hers. His gaze dropped to her mouth. "I can play the husband. I can play whatever role you desire."

He slowly tugged the knot of the robe.

The silk shifted. The knot loosened just a fraction. The fabric parted slightly at her collarbone, exposing the delicate white lace of her nightgown beneath.

Delaney’s heart was racing so fast she thought it might burst through her chest. She was completely breathless. The cold wall was at her back, but Rowan was pure fire in front of her. She could not look away from his intense, burning eyes. She was paralyzed by the sheer force of his yearning and her own desperate, answering desire.

Rowan leaned in closer, until his lips were a mere breath away from hers. The tension between them pulled tight, ready to snap.

"Tell me, Delaney," Rowan murmured, his voice a husky, demanding whisper against her skin. "What do you want?"