A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 190 - Hundred And Ninety

Carcel watched his brother-in-law. He saw the sheer, unadulterated terror hiding behind Rowan’s cold, commanding exterior. Carcel understood completely. When you finally found the woman who held your entire soul, the thought of her being in danger was entirely paralyzing.

"A footman arriving unannounced at the Kingsley estate will look highly suspicious," Carcel pointed out gently, playing the voice of reason. "Cole Kingsley will wonder why the Duke of Ford is sending his personal servants to a country manor."

"I do not care if it looks suspicious," Rowan countered immediately, his jaw locking tight. "I am the Duke of Ford. I can send my servants wherever I please. I will say I am sending a token of appreciation for her service to my aunt. I will say whatever is necessary."

Rowan turned sharply away from the fireplace. He walked toward the door of the bedchamber. 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

He called out for Mr. Simmons.

"Simmons!" Rowan called out, his deep voice carrying clearly out into the silent hallway.

He did not have to wait long. The dedicated staff of Hamilton House was always alert, especially when the master was in need.

Mr. Simmons rushed immediately. The elderly butler appeared in the doorway just a few seconds later. He looked slightly out of breath, his usually perfect cravat slightly crooked from his rapid ascent up the back stairs.

Mr. Simmons stopped at the threshold and offered a deep, respectful bow.

"Yes, Your Grace?" Simmons asked, his breathing slightly elevated.

Rowan walked back over to the large desk. "Are they ready?"

He had given Simmons specific, secret instructions earlier that afternoon, while Carcel was still out searching the city.

Simmons replied, instantly regaining his perfect, professional composure. "Yes, Your Grace. The fastest carriage has been prepared. The horses are fresh. Hamish’s brother, Odis, is waiting in the courtyard. He is dressed in plain clothes, not our Hamilton uniform, so he will not draw immediate attention on the road."

Rowan nodded his head in sharp approval. "Good. If they leave now, they should arrive at the estate by morning."

"Exactly, Your Grace," Simmons confirmed.

Rowan went to his table. He opened the top drawer—the very same drawer where he had kept a small, dark blue button locked away for three years. He reached past the empty velvet box that had held his dueling pistol.

He pulled out a small, thick envelope made of expensive cream-colored parchment. It was sealed with a heavy drop of dark red wax, pressed firmly with the Hamilton family crest.

Rowan held the letter in his hand for a brief moment. He ran his thumb over the smooth wax. Inside that envelope was not a formal letter. It was a letter written purely for her. It was a letter filled with every single word that had been stuck in his head throughout the day since she left. He had written it while sitting in bed, his head throbbing, simply because he needed to feel connected to her.

He handed it to Simmons.

"Give it to Hamish," Rowan instructed, his voice dropping slightly. He looked directly into the butler’s eyes, conveying the absolute, critical importance of the task. "Tell him he is to deliver it to Delaney. And only to Delaney. He must place it directly into her hands."

Simmons accepted the envelope with extreme care. He treated it as if he were holding a fragile piece of glass.

Simmons replied, his tone entirely serious.

"Right away, Your Grace. It shall not leave his sight until it is in Miss Kingsley’s possession."

The butler bowed low once more. He turned smoothly on his heel and left the room, his footsteps echoing rapidly down the hallway as he hurried to dispatch the horses into the dark night.

Rowan stood by the desk, staring at the empty doorway for a long moment. He had done everything in his power. He had given her a gun, he had sent a hidden guard, and now he had sent a messenger. But he still felt entirely helpless.

He slowly turned back around.

Rowan looked at Carcel, who was still standing near the fireplace, watching the entire exchange with quiet respect.

Rowan walked back over to the desk. He placed his large hands flat on the polished wood again, leaning over the leather folder Carcel had brought. The brief moment of emotional vulnerability was over. It was time to return to the war.

"You said Farrington covers his tracks perfectly," Rowan stated, his voice returning to its cold, calculating, aristocratic tone.

Carcel nodded. "He does. He is a master of shadows."

Rowan shook his head slightly, a dark, dangerous gleam appearing in his eyes.

"There is no such thing as a completely clean track, Carcel," Rowan declared softly. "Every man makes a mistake. Every man leaves a footprint, no matter how carefully he sweeps the dirt."

He tapped his long finger against the thick leather folder.

"If we cannot find the original ledgers from twenty years ago," Rowan reasoned, his brilliant mind finally engaging the problem fully, "then we must look at what he is doing today. Men like Lord Farrington who aid to cover the tracks of the smuggle poisoned silk do not simply stop breaking the law. They grow bolder. They grow greedier."

Carcel frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. "You think he is currently running an illegal operation?"

"I am certain of it," Rowan replied, his voice completely flat. "A man does not blackmail a Duke simply for social standing. He blackmails a Duke because he needs absolute, untouchable protection. He wants the Hamilton name covering his actions."

Rowan straightened up, wincing slightly as his ribs pulled, but his eyes were completely clear and focused.

"We are just not looking in the right place," Rowan told his brother-in-law. "Stop looking at the old tax records. Start looking at the coastal reports. Look at the harbormasters who suddenly retired with massive fortunes. Look for large shipments moving in the dark."

Carcel slowly nodded his head. A small, dangerous smile touched his own lips. The Duke of Ford was finally back in the fight.

"I will put Vance on it first thing in the morning," Carcel promised.