A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 115 - Hundred And Fifteen

The heavy, rapid breathing in the grand bedchamber slowly began to quiet down. The faint, sad music from the drawing room downstairs had finally stopped, leaving the house in a state of profound, midday stillness.

Rowan shifted his large frame on the mattress. The dark blue silk sheets rustled softly beneath his weight. He moved closer to Delaney, closing the small space between them. He laid beside her. His bare chest was still rising and falling in a steady, calming rhythm. He reached out with one strong arm and gently pulled her against his side, tucking her head safely under his chin.

He lowered his head and pressed a tender, lingering kiss to her damp forehead. It was a kiss of deep affection, entirely different from the desperate, hungry passion that had consumed them just moments before.

Delaney kept her eyes closed for a long moment. She allowed herself to simply exist in the warmth of his embrace. She listened to the steady beating of his heart against her ear. She felt incredibly safe.

But reality, cold and sharp, quickly returned to her mind.

Delaney opened her hazel eyes. She looked up at the heavy, dark wood canopy of the Duke’s bed. She suddenly realized exactly where she was, and exactly what they had just done. She sat up quickly. She pulled the edges of her dark green wool dress down, frantically smoothing the wrinkled fabric over her bare legs to cover herself.

"Rowan," Delaney said, her voice shaking slightly with a sudden rush of panic. She scrambled to put a few inches of distance between them on the mattress. "We are doing something we absolutely should not be doing."

Rowan frowned. He did not sit up. He simply propped himself up on one elbow, resting his head in his hand. He looked at her worried, flushed face.

"Why shouldn’t we?" Rowan asked smoothly. His voice was completely calm, carrying none of her anxiety.

"Because it is wrong!" Delaney argued, her hands busy tying the loose laces of her bodice. She gestured wildly toward the heavy oak door. "Lady Celine is sitting downstairs right now. Your family is downstairs. Her mother is planning your wedding breakfast. And I am... I am up here, compromising you in your own bedchamber. It is scandalous. It is cheating."

Rowan reached out his free hand. He gently caught her busy wrists, stopping her nervous, frantic movements. He held her hands firmly but carefully.

"Listen to me," Rowan countered, his brown eyes turning completely serious. "I am not marrying Lady Celine. So I am not cheating on her."

Delaney let out a sharp, disbelieving breath. She pulled her hands out of his gentle grip.

"You signed a legal document, Rowan," Delaney pointed out quickly. "Lord Hawksley holds a contract that demands you marry her in less than a month, or you lose a million pounds. You cannot simply ignore it because you aren’t marrying her."

"I am the Duke of Ford," Rowan stated, his chin lifting with a touch of his usual arrogance. "I do not ignore the law. I bend it. I will find a way out of the contract. I will not stand at that altar with her."

"Oh, of course," Delaney retorted, her sharp wit returning as her panic settled into annoyance. "The great Duke will simply wave his hand, and the problems will disappear. Forgive me, Your Grace, I forgot that you control the entire world."

Rowan smiled. He liked it when she fought back.

"I do not control the entire world, Miss Kingsley," Rowan replied, shifting his weight on his elbow. "But I control this estate. And I control who I take as my Duchess."

"You did not look very much in control when you broke a solid silver butter knife at the breakfast table," Delaney roasted him. She pointed a finger at his bare chest. "You looked like a jealous boy who had his favorite toy taken away. You practically threatened a man’s life."

"That man," Rowan growled playfully, "was touching my property."

"I am not your property," Delaney shot back instantly, crossing her arms over her chest. "I am a hired matchmaker. And Smith Jones is a hired actor. You are the one who started this lie and now I have to sell it to the Farringtons. You cannot be angry when the lie is performed perfectly."

"I can be angry whenever I choose," Rowan declared. "And his performance was entirely too perfect. He enjoyed holding your hand. I saw his face."

"He was doing his job," Delaney argued. "Just as I am doing mine. Though my job currently seems to be on hold and now involves hiding in a bedroom while you refuse to put on a shirt." She pointed to the crumpled, wine-stained linen on the carpet. "Look at you. You have completely ruined a perfectly good shirt."

Rowan rested his head more comfortably on his hand. He did not argue back.

He simply stared at her.

He listened to her scold him. He watched the way her hazel eyes flashed with bright, intelligent fire. He watched the way she waved her hands when she made a point. He saw the blush still lingering high on her cheekbones, a beautiful reminder of what they had just shared.

She was roasting his pride, his temper, and his complete lack of appropriate clothing, and he found every single word she spoke to be absolutely fascinating.

Rowan smiled softly. The fierce, demanding Duke faded away, leaving behind a man who was entirely, completely captivated.

He tuned out the exact words of her lecture. His mind drifted to a conversation he had held with his aunt many weeks ago in the drawing room.

You do not know what you want for yourself, Rowan, Aunt Margery had said to him. You only know what the family needs.

Rowan looked at Delaney, watching her lips move as she complained about his stubbornness.

He thought to himself, Aunt Margery always says I don’t know what I want for myself. But I think I just found out what I want.

The realization hit him with the force of a falling tree. It was not a complicated political strategy. It was not a carefully calculated estate plan. It was the simplest, purest truth he had ever known.

I want her, Rowan thought, his heart swelling with a massive, undeniable certainty. I want her to be a Hamilton. I want her to sit at the head of my table. I want her to argue with me every single day for the rest of my life. I want her to be mine.