A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 106 - Hundred And Six

Delaney took a deep breath.

The terror of Lord Hawksley was still a massive, dark shadow in her mind. But the thought of standing by Rowan’s side, of fighting the monster together, gave her a sudden surge of courage. He was not giving up. He was asking for her help as a true partner.

But her ingrained sense of duty, the harsh lessons of her lonely life, made her try to rebuild the walls around her heart. She was a lady with a disgraced family name. He was a Duke with one of the most respectable names. Even if they defeated Hawksley, society would never accept them together.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. She forced herself to speak practically, trying to retreat back into the safe, familiar role of an employee.

"After we sort this out," Delaney replied, her voice becoming very low and deliberately steady. "After you are free from the Farringtons... I will have to find a suitable woman for you and..."

She did not get to finish her sentence.

Rowan snapped.

The thought of her calmly planning to hand him over to another woman, especially after the passionate, desperate kiss they had just shared, was entirely unacceptable. It drove a spike of pure, irrational jealousy straight through his heart.

He did not yell. He did not argue with words.

He simply turned his head slightly, opened his mouth, and bit her neck.

He did not break the skin, but he bit down firmly on the soft, incredibly sensitive flesh just below her ear, right over the rapid beating of her pulse. He used enough pressure with his teeth to deliver a sharp, undeniable sting.

Delaney gasped loudly. Her eyes flew wide open in absolute shock.

"Ouch!!!" She exclaimed.

Her hands flew up, covering his arms as she arched her back, trying to pull away from the sudden, sharp nip.

"What was that for?" she asked, her voice breathy and scandalized.

She could feel the heat radiating from his mouth against her skin. It was an incredibly naughty, wildly possessive gesture that sent a rush of hot, liquid heat straight down to her toes.

Rowan did not release his hold on her waist. He slowly opened his mouth, releasing her skin.

"That’s how you hurt my heart when you push women to me," Rowan replied.

His voice was a dark, dangerous growl. He did not sound like a polite gentleman; he sounded like a possessive, untamed beast defending his mate.

To soothe the sting he had just caused, Rowan planted soft, lingering, open-mouthed kisses on the exact area he had bitten. His lips moved gently over the sensitive skin, apologizing with his touch while his words remained fierce.

"You sit there and plan my future with someone else as if it means nothing," Rowan continued, his breath hot against her neck, sending fresh shivers down her spine. "As if you can just pack your bags and leave me to a polite, empty life."

He pressed another kiss just below her jawline.

"You may not feel anything when I’m with another woman," Rowan said.

Delaney closed her eyes. I feel everything, she thought desperately. It tears me apart to see you smile at Celine. But she remained silent, trapped by the overwhelming sensations his lips were causing.

"But I feel the urge to kill when you are with another man," Rowan confessed smoothly, his dark jealousy finally spilling over. "When that actor walked into my house... when he kissed your hand and called you his wife... I wanted to break the mantelpiece in half on his head. I wanted to throw him through the window."

He tightened his arms around her waist, pulling her even closer, leaving absolutely no space between their bodies. He wanted her to feel exactly how much she affected him.

"So let’s not talk about bringing another woman for marriage," Rowan commanded, his voice vibrating against her back. "Let us banish the word ’matchmaker’ from this room entirely. And just focus on how to entangle ourselves from this contract."

Delaney let out a long, shaky exhale.

The sheer force of his possession, the raw honesty of his jealousy, broke down the last of her defenses. He was not letting her go. He was fighting for her, in his own demanding, stubborn way.

Delaney removed her hands from his wrists. She reached down, resting her hands on his large forearms, which were still locked securely around her middle.

"Let me turn," she whispered.

Rowan hesitated for a fraction of a second, afraid she might try to run again. But he slowly loosened his iron grip, allowing her enough room to move.

Delaney turned around within the circle of his arms.

She lifted her head and looked up at him.

Rowan was a magnificent sight, but he was indeed far from his usual perfect, aristocratic self. His white cravat hung completely loose and untied around his neck. The top three buttons of his fine linen shirt were undone, exposing the strong skin of his chest. But the most striking change was his hair.

Usually styled to absolute perfection, his blonde locks were now a wild, chaotic mess.

He had run his hands through it in frustration over the contract, and Delaney’s own fingers had tangled in it during their kiss. It fell forward over his forehead, giving him a boyish, rugged look that made her heart skip a beat.

She lifted her hands. She placed her soft palms against his cheeks, feeling the rough scrape of his jaw once more.

She moved her fingers upward, gently brushing the heavy locks of hair away from his eyes. She arranged his hair with slow, tender movements, smoothing the messy strands back into some semblance of order.

"You look like a mess," Delaney said.

Her voice was no longer filled with panic or fear. It was incredibly soft, filled with a deep, quiet affection. A small, genuine smile touched her slightly swollen lips.

Rowan did not pull away from her touch. In fact, he did the exact opposite.

He leaned forward, pressing the side of his face firmly into the palm of her hand. The fierce, possessive anger drained completely out of his brown eyes, leaving behind a look of absolute, devoted adoration.

Standing there in his study, surrounded by the heavy burdens of his title and his estate, the powerful Duke of Ford looked at her with the wide, eager eyes of a golden retriever desperately trying to please its beloved master. He craved her touch, her approval, and her presence more than anything else in the world.

He turned his head slightly, pressing a soft kiss to the center of her palm.

"Your mess," Rowan corrected in a quiet, reverent whisper.