A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 42 - Forty Two

Delaney let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Her shoulders sagged with relief.

He was going to do it. He was going to follow the plan. He was going to marry the girl, and she would get her money. The nightmare was almost over.

"Splendid," Delaney replied. She forced the word out. "That is... that is excellent news, Your Grace. A morning call is the perfect next step. It shows intention."

Rowan watched her. He saw the relief wash over her face. He saw the way she relaxed, thinking she had won.

"But on one condition," Rowan added.

Delaney frowned. The relief vanished instantly, replaced by a new wave of wariness.

"A condition?" she asked. "What is it?"

Rowan took a step toward her. The gravel crunched loudly under his boot. He didn’t invade her personal space, but he stood close enough that she had to look up to meet his eyes.

"You accompany me," he said.

Delaney blinked. She stared at him, sure she had misheard.

"Pardon?" she asked. "Accompany you? To Farrington House?"

"Yes," Rowan stated clearly. "You will ride in the carriage with me. You will walk into the drawing room with me. You will sit there while I drink tea and talk to Lady Celine about the weather."

Delaney felt a surge of cold dread.

Go with him? To watch him court another woman? To sit there like a piece of furniture while he charmed the Diamond of the Season? It wasn’t just awkward; it was humiliating. She was the staff. She didn’t belong in the Farrington drawing room during a courting call.

"And why on earth would I do that?" Delaney asked, her voice sharpening. "That is highly irregular, Your Grace. You are capable of making a morning call on your own. You do not need a chaperone. You are a grown man."

"Because you are my matchmaker," Rowan replied smoothly. His voice was devoid of emotion. "You are the expert. I am merely the pupil." 𝑓𝑟ℯ𝘦𝓌𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝑐ℴ𝓂

He crossed his arms over his chest. The moonlight glinted off the silver buttons of his coat, making him look like a statue made of ice.

"I do not trust myself," Rowan said coldly. "I might say something wrong. I might tell her something unpleasant. I might accidentally mention that I am bored out of my mind. I’m sure you will need to be there so that I won’t mess up the perfect future you have designed for me."

He was using her own logic against her. He was twisting the knife.

Delaney shook her head. "No. I cannot."

She gathered her heavy teal skirts in one hand. She started to walk toward the house, desperate to escape this conversation.

"I am not following you dressed like a peacock again," Delaney snapped as she walked past him. "This color and this outfit... it is already making me feel uncomfortable. Everyone stared. I felt like an exhibit. I am not a prop for your amusement, Your Grace."

She reached the first step of the entrance. She needed to get inside. She needed to strip off this dress and put on her gray wool. She needed to disappear.

"I have work to do," she continued, talking fast to cover the rising panic in her chest. "I have letters to write. I have research to do on the marriage settlements. I cannot afford to be inconvenienced tomorrow by sitting in a drawing room listening to you discuss French poetry."

Rowan’s next words stopped her dead in her tracks.

"Have you forgotten the sixty thousand pounds?"

Delaney froze.

Her foot hovered over the second step. Her hand went still on the brass door handle. The cold metal bit into her palm.

The air in the courtyard seemed to drop twenty degrees. The silence that followed was brutal.

Rowan turned around slowly. He walked toward her. He didn’t rush. He moved with the calculated, predatory grace of a man who held every single card in the deck.

He stopped right behind her. She could feel his presence. She could feel the heat of him at her back, contrasting with the ice in his voice.

"You said you were trapped," Rowan said softly. His voice was right by her ear, intimate and terrifying. "You said you needed the money to be free. You screamed it at me in the carriage."

Delaney squeezed her eyes shut. She had given him the weapon, and now he was pointing it at her chest.

"You have less than two months, remember?" Rowan whispered. "Every day counts. Every mistake costs time. And time... is money."

He leaned in closer.

"Use it wisely," he advised. "Do your job, Miss Kingsley. Ensure I marry her. If I go alone and I ruin it, you lose. If you come with me and ensure I succeed, you win. It is a simple calculation."

Delaney felt a wave of nausea.

He wasn’t saying it kindly. He wasn’t offering to help her. He was reminding her of her place. He was reminding her that this was a transaction. He was telling her that her comfort and her dignity were irrelevant compared to the contract.

He was using her desperation to force her compliance.

She wanted to turn around and scream at him. She wanted to throw the sixty thousand pounds in his face.

But she couldn’t. Because the money was her family’s name. It was for her debt. It was her freedom.

Before she could say anything, before she could think of a retort that wouldn’t destroy her future, Rowan moved.

He walked past her. He didn’t look at her face. He pushed the heavy front door open effortlessly.

He stepped into the warm light of the hallway. He paused for a second, his back to her, his silhouette framed by the golden glow of the foyer.

"Eleven o’clock, Miss Kingsley," he said. His voice echoed on the marble. "Do not be late."

And then, softly, with a finality that sounded like a door slamming shut:

"Goodnight, Miss Kingsley."

He walked away toward his room, his footsteps echoing rhythmically on the floor.

Delaney stood alone on the doorstep. The teal dress felt heavier than lead. The night air bit into her exposed skin.

She looked at the empty space where he had been standing. She felt his coldness.

"Goodnight, Your Grace," she whispered to the darkness.

She stepped inside.