A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 117 - Hundred And Seventeen

SLAP!!!

The sound echoed sharply in the vast, quiet study. It was a violent, shocking noise that bounced off the dark walls and the rows of leather-bound books.

Lord Hawksley cried out. He held his face as he staggered backwards. His polished leather boots slipped on the thick Persian rug. He fought to keep his balance, his arms windmilling for a brief second before he finally caught himself against the edge of a heavy wooden armchair.

He stood there, breathing hard. His right hand was clamped tightly over his left cheek. The skin beneath his fingers was already burning, turning a bright, angry red in the shape of a large handprint. He did not dare to look up immediately. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

Before him stood Lord Farrington.

Lord Farrington was not a man who raised his voice often. He was a man of cold, calculated precision. He was dressed impeccably in a dark, tailored coat and a pristine white cravat. His gray hair was perfectly combed. But right now, Lord Farrington was angry. It was a terrifying, quiet sort of anger that froze the blood in Hawksley’s veins.

Farrington slowly lowered his hand. He flexed his fingers, adjusting the heavy gold signet ring on his right hand that had just collided with Hawksley’s cheekbone.

"Where is the marriage contract?" Lord Farrington asked.

His voice was dangerously low. It did not hold the heat of rage, but rather the freezing chill of absolute authority. He stepped forward, invading Hawksley’s space.

Lord Hawksley trembled. He was a man who terrified young girls and bullied business partners, but in the presence of his brother-in-law, he was nothing more than a frightened hound. He swallowed the metallic taste of blood in his mouth.

"It... it is still with the Duke, my lord," Lord Hawksley replied. He stammered slightly, his voice lacking its usual smooth, gravelly confidence. He kept his hand pressed to his stinging face.

Lord Farrington stopped moving. He stared at Hawksley with eyes as hard and gray as flint.

"With the Duke," Lord Farrington repeated softly, testing the words on his tongue as if they tasted sour. He clasped his hands behind his back. "You assured me the matter was settled. You assured me the trap was closed. When did he say he is signing it?"

Lord Hawksley forced himself to stand up straighter. He lowered his hand from his cheek, though he kept his gaze slightly averted, unable to meet Lord Farrington’s terrifying stare directly.

"He did not refuse, my lord," Lord Hawksley replied quickly, desperate to defend himself. "He took the addendum. He read the penalty clauses. He knows he has no other choice." 𝒻𝑟𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝑛𝘰𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝘤𝘰𝘮

"That does not answer my question, Hawksley," Lord Farrington snapped. His eyes narrowed. "I do not care what the Duke knows. I care about the ink on the paper. When?"

Lord Hawksley swallowed hard. A bead of cold sweat rolled down the side of his neck, disappearing into his collar.

"In the day of the Hamilton ball," Lord Hawksley replied. His voice was breathless with fear. "Before the engagement announcement. He promised to have the document signed and witnessed in his study before he formally presents Celine to society as his future Duchess."

Lord Farrington stared at him for a long, agonizing minute. The silence in the study was heavy and suffocating. Hawksley felt as though he were standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to be pushed.

Finally, Lord Farrington turned away.

He walked slowly toward his large, polished desk. On the corner of the desk sat a heavy, ornate wooden humidor. Farrington opened the lid. The rich, earthy scent of expensive imported tobacco filled the room.

He reached inside and selected a thick cigar. He picked up a small silver cutter and snipped the end with a sharp, decisive click.

Lord Farrington lit the cigar. He struck a match against the stone fireplace, holding the small flame to the tip of the tobacco. He dragged deeply, the end of the cigar glowing bright orange in the dim light of the study. He held the smoke in his lungs for a moment, letting the silence stretch out, torturing the man standing by the armchair.

Then, he puffed out the smoke. A thick, gray cloud swirled through the air, drifting toward the ceiling.

"What about your sister and my daughter?" Lord Farrington asked. He did not look at Hawksley. He watched the smoke rise, his face a mask of cold indifference.

Lord Hawksley quickly wiped the sweat from his forehead with a shaking hand. He was grateful for the change of subject, though he knew better than to relax.

"They are doing well, my lord," Lord Hawksley replied eagerly. "The Duchess of Carleton has kept them entertained. The Duke has been perfectly polite. The plan is working."

Lord Farrington took another drag of the cigar. He turned his head slowly, fixing his hard eyes on Hawksley once more.

"When do they plan to return?" Farrington asked simply.

"They should be coming back tomorrow," Lord Hawksley replied. "To prepare for the ball. The dresses must be fitted, and Celine must rest before the grand announcement. My sister sent a missive this morning stating they will depart Hamilton House after breakfast."

Lord Farrington took another long drag. He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling a thin stream of gray smoke from his lips. He walked around his desk and sank into his large leather chair. He looked incredibly comfortable, like a king sitting on his throne, entirely in control of the world around him.

He pointed the glowing end of his cigar directly at Hawksley.

"You have to make sure he signs it," Lord Farrington commanded. His voice was stripped of all polite pretense. It was a raw, hard order.

"I will, my lord," Hawksley promised, nodding his head vigorously. "The penalty clause is flawless. If he backs out, the Hamilton estate owes the consortium one million pounds. He cannot afford it. The threat of the money alone will force his hand."

Lord Farrington let out a dry, humorless chuckle.

"You are a fool, Hawksley," Lord Farrington said smoothly. "You measure the world only in pounds and shillings. You think like a merchant, not like a peer of the realm."

Hawksley blinked, confused and insulted, but he did not dare to argue. "My lord?"