A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 113 - Hundred And Thirteen

Rowan’s mouth was demanding, stealing her breath and her logic all at once. Delaney’s hands were tightly tangled in his blond messy hair. She pulled him closer, her dark green wool dress bunching between them. The faint, sweet melody of the pianoforte playing downstairs was completely drowned out by the loud, frantic beating of her own heart.

Then, reality struck the heavy wood right behind her back.

Knock... knock... knock.

The sound was sharp. It was polite, but it was incredibly loud in the quiet tension of the bedroom.

Delaney froze instantly. Her eyes flew wide open. She broke the kiss, gasping for air, her chest heaving against his bare, warm skin. Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through the hot haze of her desire.

"Your Grace?" a voice called out from the hallway. "It’s me, Henderson."

It was the Duke’s valet.

Rowan did not step back. He simply lowered his head, pressing his forehead against Delaney’s cheek. He was breathing heavily, trying to control the massive surge of frustration that the interruption had caused.

"I beg your pardon for the delay, Your Grace," Henderson continued, speaking through the thick wooden door. His voice was muffled, but perfectly clear. "The starch on your fresh cravat was not holding its shape properly. I had to send it back to the laundry maids to press it again. I have your clean shirt and your coat now. May I enter?" 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

Delaney stopped breathing.

If the valet opened that door, he would push it right into her back. He would walk in and find the supposed ’Mrs. Smith’ trapped against the door by the half-naked Duke of Ford. The scandal would not just ruin her; it would destroy the entire family.

She looked up at Rowan. Her hazel eyes were wide with sheer terror. She silently begged him to step away, to let her hide in his dressing room or behind a curtain, just like she had done the night before.

But Rowan did not step away.

The dark, possessive fire in his brown eyes had not faded in the slightest. He looked down at her terrified face. He did not want to let her go. He wanted to claim her, right here, right now, while the entire polite world carried on outside his door.

Without breaking eye contact, Rowan slowly took a step backward.

Delaney let out a tiny breath of relief, thinking he was finally going to answer the valet and let her hide.

But Rowan did not reach for his shirt. He did not walk away.

Instead, he kept his eyes locked on hers and slowly dropped down to his knees.

Delaney’s breath caught in her throat. She stared down at him in absolute shock. The top of his blond, messy hair was now level with her waist.

"Your Grace?" Henderson tried again from the hallway, his voice sounding a bit more concerned. "Are you unwell?"

Inside the room, something completely different was going on.

Rowan reached out his large, warm hands. He caught the hem of her heavy, dark green wool dress. With slow, deliberate, and incredibly confident movements, he began to lift the fabric. He gathered the wool, the soft cotton petticoats, and the linen of her undergarments in his hands, pushing them all up her thighs.

The cool air of the bedchamber rushed over Delaney’s bare skin. But the cold only lasted for a single second before it was replaced by a scorching, unbelievable heat.

Rowan leaned forward. He pressed his face directly into the soft, bare skin of her inner thighs.

Delaney’s entire body jerked.

She instantly clamped her own hand over her mouth. She pressed her palm so tightly against her lips that it hurt.

Her head snapped back in pure shock, hitting the solid wood of the door behind her.

Thud.

It was a small bump, but it didn’t hurt in the slightest. Her brain completely failed to register the pain because something more intense was entirely taking up her mind.

She looked down.

Rowan, the highly respected Duke of Ford, was kneeling directly in between her legs. He had parted her thighs with his broad shoulders. And he was not simply kissing her. He was tasting her. He was drinking up her fluids with a dark, ravenous hunger that sent a shockwave of pure, blinding lightning straight up her spine.

"Oh my," Delaney thought, her mind turning completely blank.

So many moans threatened to escape her mouth. A whole cascade of loud, needy, improper sounds built up in the back of her throat. She clamped her hand over her mouth even harder, biting down on her own fingers to keep the noise inside.

Her legs were shaking violently. They felt as weak as water. If the door had not been behind her, holding her upright, she would have collapsed onto the thick carpet.

Her free hand flew downward, blindly seeking an anchor. Her fingers found the thick, soft strands of Rowan’s blond hair. She gripped his hair tightly, holding on to him for dear life as his hot mouth continued its slow, torturous, agonizingly sweet assault on her center.

Outside the room, the valet was growing worried.

Knock... knock.

Henderson knocked again, a little louder this time. "Your Grace? Is everything alright? Shall I fetch Mr. Simmons?"

Delaney panicked. The sound of the knock pulled her back to reality just enough to realize the terrible danger they were in. She looked down at the man between her legs.

She leaned forward slightly, loosening her grip on his hair just enough to speak.

"Rowan," Delaney whispered. Her voice was a ragged, desperate, and incredibly shaky thread of sound. "Some... someone... is... is outside."

Rowan stopped.

He slowly pulled his head back just an inch. He looked up at her.

His bright brown eyes were dark with heavy, unmasked desire. His handsome face was flushed. He looked at her flushed cheeks, her wide eyes, and the hand clamped desperately over her mouth to muffle her sounds.

Then, he licked his lips.