A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 98 - Ninety Eight

The afternoon sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting long, golden shadows across the elegant carpets of the drawing room. The activity of Charades had finally come to an end, much to the relief of almost everyone present.

Delaney stood near the grand fireplace. Her heart was still beating far too fast. The arrival of "Captain Smith" had turned her carefully managed world completely upside down. She needed to get him out of the room. She needed to get him away from Lady Farrington’s sharp, assessing eyes, and more importantly, away from Rowan’s dark, murderous glare.

"If you will excuse us, Lady Farrington, Lady Margery," Delaney said. Her voice was steady, perfectly polite. "My husband has had a very long journey from the coast. I must show him to our rooms so he may wash the dust from his coat and rest before dinner." 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

Lady Farrington waved a dismissive hand. "Of course, of course. A wife must tend to her husband. Do go on."

Aunt Margery beamed, stroking Fifi’s head. "Rest well, my boy! We shall see you at the dinner table."

Smith Jones gave a flawless, sweeping bow to the room. Then, he offered his arm to Delaney.

Delaney had no choice but to take it. She placed her gloved hand on the dark navy wool of his sleeve. She did not look at Rowan. She could feel his eyes on her, burning into her skin, but she kept her gaze fixed straight ahead. Together, the fake husband and wife walked out of the drawing room and headed toward the grand staircase.

Rowan stood perfectly still. He watched them go. He watched the way Smith’s hand rested casually over Delaney’s fingers. He watched them disappear into the hallway. The urge to follow them, to tear that man’s arm away from her, was a physical ache in his chest. His jaw was clenched so tightly his teeth ground together.

Ines watched her brother. She saw the violent tension vibrating in his broad shoulders.

She decided it was time to leave the stage.

"I must excuse myself as well," Ines announced lightly, shaking out the skirts of her green silk dress. "It has been a wonderful afternoon, but my son requires my attention. Harry gets terribly fussy if he doesn’t see me and it has been hours."

Without waiting for a reply, Ines turned and walked out of the drawing room.

As soon as Ines stepped into the cool, quiet marble hallway, she heard the heavy, rapid sound of boots behind her.

Rowan followed after her.

He did not stroll. He marched. His long legs ate up the distance between them in seconds. The air around him felt hot and charged, like a storm about to break.

"Ines!" Rowan said.

His voice was not a shout, but it was low, harsh, and filled with a sharp warning. Anger was entirely visible in his expression. His eyes were dark like a stormy sea, and a deep crease of fury marked his forehead.

Ines turned immediately. She did not flinch. She stopped in the middle of the hallway, folding her hands neatly in front of her waist. She met his furious gaze with perfect, unbothered calm.

"What is it, brother?" Ines asked. She tilted her head slightly, never taking her eyes off him. She painted a look of sweet, utter innocence on her face. "Did I do something to make you angry?"

Rowan did not answer her question with words.

He closed the remaining distance between them. He reached out and held her hand. He did not ask for permission. His large fingers closed around her wrist—not tight enough to truly harm her, but firm enough to show that he was not giving her a choice.

He turned and pulled her down the corridor. He walked fast, taking her away from the hallway, away from the guest wing, and straight toward the private sanctuary of his study.

Ines stumbled slightly to keep up with his long strides, but she did not cry out. She simply let him drag her, her green silk skirts swishing loudly against the floorboards.

They reached the heavy oak doors of the Duke’s study. Rowan pushed the door open with his free hand, pulled Ines inside, and slammed the door shut behind them. The loud click of the lock echoed in the quiet, dark room.

The study smelled of leather, old books, and beeswax. It was Rowan’s domain.

As soon as the door was closed, Ines pulled her wrist from his grasp. She yanked her arm back with a sharp, indignant tug.

She rubbed the place where his hands were. The white silk of her glove was slightly wrinkled from his grip.

"That hurt, you know," Ines said. She pushed her lower lip out in a dramatic, sisterly pout. She looked at him with wide, scolding eyes. "What will Carcel say if he sees this? He is very protective of his wife. He might challenge you to a duel for bruising a Duchess."

Rowan did not find her humor amusing. He turned his back on her and began to pace across the large Persian rug. He ran a hand through his hair, ruining the neat style.

He spoke, his voice trembling slightly as he tried desperately to contain his anger.

"What game are you playing, Ines?" He demanded. He spun around to face her, his arms thrown wide in frustration. "What is that man doing here?"

Ines dropped the pout. The playful sister vanished, and the serious, calculating Duchess of Carleton took her place. She stood tall, dropping her hands to her sides.

"I am not playing a game, Rowan," Ines replied. She became completely serious, her hazel eyes flashing with fierce intelligence. "I am saving us from a disaster. We had to sell our lie."

Rowan scoffed. "Selling a lie? By bringing a stranger into my home? By letting him touch her?"

"Yes!" Ines stepped forward. "Do you want Lady Farrington to think you couldn’t secure a match for yourself? Do you want her to realize that the ’cousin’ you introduced to her brother is actually a hired matchmaker who, in fact, lives with you alone in this house?"