A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 203 - Two Hundred And Three

The bright morning sun spilled through the tall glass windows of the Rowan’s study. The velvet curtains had been pulled back, revealing a clear, blue London sky. Outside in the manicured gardens, the cheerful chirping of morning birds was ringing in his ears. It was a beautiful, peaceful sound, completely at odds with the heavy tension filling the room.

Rowan stood behind his desk. He wore a crisp white linen shirt and dark trousers. He had flatly refused to stay in bed any longer, despite the doctor’s strict orders. The bandage on his head had been replaced with a smaller, more discreet dressing, but the dark bruises on his jaw still marked his handsome face.

He rested his large hands flat on the polished wood of his desk, leaning forward slightly.

"So, what did you find?" Rowan asked, his deep voice tight with frustration.

Carcel was sitting in a leather armchair near the fireplace. He looked incredibly tired. He had spent the entire night and the early hours of the morning going over Vance’s latest reports, searching for any connection between Lord Farrington and the new coastal smuggling operations.

Carcel rubbed the back of his neck and slowly shook his head.

"Nothing," Carcel admitted, his tone flat and utterly defeated. "Every single record shows absolutely nothing."

Rowan’s jaw locked. The muscles in his broad shoulders bunched tight.

"Nothing?" Rowan repeated, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low rumble.

"We checked the harbormaster logs, the tax receipts, and the carriage manifests entering the city," Carcel explained, listing the dead ends. "If Farrington is moving something illegal into London, he is not doing it alone, he has a chain of corrupt people helping him, and he is certainly not using his own men. The paperwork is entirely clean. He covers his tracks perfectly."

Rowan let out a harsh breath.

Bang!

"Again with the clean tracks. Why is he always one step ahead of us?" Rowan said as hit his closed fist hard against the top of his desk. The loud sound made the silver inkwell rattle.

He turned away from Carcel and paced a few steps across the thick rug. He ran his hand roughly into his golden hair, entirely frustrated. He hated feeling powerless. He needed a weapon to use against Lord Farrington, and he needed it now. Time was running out. If Farrington grew desperate, he would trigger the penalty clause, or worse, he would somehow discover Delaney, hunt her down and use her against him.

Carcel watched his brother-in-law pace. He understood the blinding anger perfectly.

"Rowan," Carcel spoke, his voice calm and incredibly steady, trying to ground the furious Duke. "We just need a single lead. That is how these men operate. They build a massive wall of lies, but there is always a weak point. If we find a crack, no matter how small, we can break it open and find the rest."

Rowan stopped pacing. He looked out the bright window, his brown eyes hard and unyielding. 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

"I know," Rowan muttered. "But we are running out of time."

Just then, a soft, polite knock came on the heavy mahogany door of the study.

Rowan turned his head, his frown deepening. He had explicitly ordered the staff not to disturb them unless it was a matter of absolute importance.

"Come in," Rowan said sharply.

The brass handle turned, and Mr. Simmons entered the room. He carried a small silver tray in his white-gloved hands. Resting on the center of the tray was a thick, folded piece of parchment sealed with dark red wax.

"A letter from Miss Kingsley, Your Grace," Mr. Simmons announced, bowing his head respectfully. "It just arrived via a fast rider."

The dark, angry tension completely vanished from Rowan’s face.

In a single second, the fierce, intimidating Duke disappeared. Rowan’s expression softened completely. The hard lines around his mouth relaxed into a look of profound, incredible relief. He practically rushed around the edge of the desk to meet the butler.

"Thank you, Simmons," Rowan said, his voice dropping into a warm, hurried tone.

He took the letter from the silver tray, his large fingers careful not to tear the paper.

Simmons bowed low once more and quietly left the room, closing the door behind him.

Carcel watched the entire transformation with a highly amused, knowing smile. He leaned back comfortably in his leather armchair and crossed his legs. He did not say a word, allowing Rowan a moment of peace.

Rowan walked back behind his desk. He sat down in his large leather chair. He broke the wax seal quickly, desperate to hear from her.

He unfolded the thick parchment and began to read.

As his eyes scanned the elegant handwriting, the worry completely melted away. She was safe. Hamish was standing guard exactly as planned. The profound relief made his chest feel incredibly light.

Then, he read the second half of the letter.

Rowan’s eyes widened slightly. His eyebrows shot up toward his hairline. He read the paragraphs detailing the secret meeting in the dressmaker’s shop, the confession from Lady Celine, and the existence of the blackmail ledger hidden in Lord Farrington’s safe.

He read the letter a second time, simply to ensure he had not imagined the words.

Slowly, a massive, incredibly proud smile spread across his handsome face. He shook his head slightly, completely amazed by the woman he loved.

"My Del," Rowan murmured to himself, his voice filled with a mixture of pure awe and deep affection. "She is already five steps ahead of me."

He looked up from the parchment, his eyes shining with a victorious light.

"She has already closed in on her father’s case," Rowan announced clearly to the quiet room.

Carcel, who had been quietly watching the fireplace, turned his head sharply. He frowned, completely confused by the sudden, triumphant statement. They had just agreed that finding evidence was nearly impossible.

"What are you talking about?" Carcel asked, sitting up straight in his armchair. "Who closed in on the case?"

Rowan leaned back in his leather chair, feeling an incredible surge of pride.

"Delaney," Rowan, feeling proud, spoke. He tapped his finger against the parchment in his hand. "She has found evidence against Hawksley."

Carcel stood up from his chair. He walked quickly over to the massive oak desk.

"Evidence? What kind of evidence? Did she find the original ledgers?"

"Better," Rowan smiled, a dark, dangerous gleam returning to his eyes. "Lord Farrington has a ledger locked in his private safe at his estate. It contains all the proof needed to hang Hawksley for the Oakridge silk scam. Farrington uses it to blackmail him."