A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 132 - Hundred And Thirty Two

Later that night, the grand halls of Hamilton House were completely quiet. The servants had retired to their quarters, and the heavy velvet curtains were drawn tight against the dark, cool night. The only light in the long corridors came from the few wall candles left burning for safety.

Delaney could not sleep.

She sat on the edge of her large, soft bed in her bedroom. The events of the afternoon played over and over in her mind. The Hamilton family had welcomed her into their circle. They had treated her not as a hired employee, but as a trusted friend. They had shared their deepest secrets and their most dangerous fears with her.

Yet, she was still hiding her own secret.

The guilt sat heavily in her chest. It felt like a physical weight pressing down on her ribs.

Rowan was preparing to risk everything he had to fight Lord Farrington and Lord Hawksley. He was putting his name, his family, and his estate on the line. How could she stand by his side and pretend to be a simple matchmaker from the Scottish borders when she carried a scandal that could ruin him?

She had to tell him the truth. She had to tell him before he finds out from someone else.

Delaney stood up. She pulled her warm, dark woolen shawl tightly around her shoulders, wearing it over her simple cotton nightgown. She did not bother to put on her shoes. She walked out of her bedroom in her soft stockings, stepping silently onto the thick carpet of the hallway.

She walked toward the Duke’s study.

A thin line of golden light spilled out from beneath the heavy oak door. She knew he would still be awake. Rowan rarely slept when there was a problem to solve.

Delaney stopped in front of the door. Her hands were shaking. Her heart was beating so loudly she was afraid it would wake the entire house. She took a deep, shaky breath to calm her nerves. She raised her hand.

Knock... knock... knock...

The sound was soft, but it echoed clearly in the silent hallway.

From the other side of the heavy wood, Rowan replied almost instantly.

"Come in," Rowan called out. His voice was deep and steady.

Delaney turned the brass handle and slowly pushed the door open. She walked in.

The study was warm, lit by a cheerful fire in the grate and a small oil lamp on the large desk. Rowan was sitting behind the desk. He had removed his formal coat and his cravat. His white linen shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, and his blond hair was slightly messy from running his hands through it. He was looking over a stack of letters, his brow furrowed in concentration.

When he heard the soft rustle of her skirts, he lifted his head and saw her.

The serious, tired lines on his face vanished completely. A warm, genuine, and incredibly soft smile spread across his handsome features. He put his quill pen down immediately.

"Del," Rowan said. His voice was a gentle, welcoming rumble. "What brings you here?"

He asked the question with pure affection. He did not mind the late hour, and he certainly did not mind that she was standing in his study in her nightclothes. To him, she was a welcome sight.

Delaney did not smile back. She stopped a few feet away from his desk. She felt incredibly small in the large, imposing room.

She folded her hands in front of her waist. She looked down, her fingers nervously finding a loose thread on the edge of her woolen shawl. She began playing with the loose thread, twisting it around her thumb.

"I need to speak to you, Your Grace," Delaney said.

Her voice was very quiet, and very formal. She used his title as a shield, trying to put a proper distance between them because she knew the words she was about to speak might make him send her away forever.

Rowan’s smile faded instantly. He recognized the heavy formality in her tone. He saw the way she was refusing to meet his eyes. He saw the anxious, frantic movements of her small hands twisting the thread.

Rowan frowned, looking closely at her nervousness. He leaned forward, resting his strong arms on the desk.

"What is wrong?" he asked. His voice was no longer teasing or relaxed. It was entirely serious, filled with a deep, protective concern.

Delaney swallowed the dry lump in her throat. She forced herself to look up from the thread and meet his eyes.

She replied, her voice trembling slightly. "I haven’t been completely honest with you since I came here."

She paused. The words felt like stones in her mouth. She took a deep breath, gathering every ounce of courage she had left. She lowered her head, unable to bear the look of disappointment she was certain would cross his face.

"I am the daughter of Baron Kingsley," Delaney confessed to the floorboards.

She waited for the gasp. She waited for him to demand an explanation. But Rowan remained completely silent, allowing her the time and space to speak her truth.

"The Kingsley involved in the scam against the Crown," Delaney continued, the words rushing out of her now in a desperate, painful stream. "But he is innocent. I am sure of it. My father was a good, honest man. He would never do such a thing against the crown. We were even sabotaged."

She squeezed her eyes shut. The terrible memories of that rainy night flooded back into her mind. She could smell the wet earth. She could hear the terrible sound of the wood breaking.

"The harness attached to the horses was cut," Delaney whispered, her voice breaking on the memory. "It was not an accident. The leather was sliced clean through. Someone deliberately wanted us dead."

A single, hot tear escaped her closed eyes and rolled down her pale cheek. Then another followed. She didn’t know when she was crying. The tears simply fell, a silent release of years of hidden pain, loneliness, and fear.

Rowan did not stay behind his desk.

The moment the first tear fell from her eye, he stood up. He did not hesitate. He walked quickly around the desk and walked towards her.

Delaney kept her head bowed, wiping her wet cheeks with the back of her trembling hand. She needed to finish the story. She needed him to know exactly how much danger she was in.

"I didn’t mean to hide my identity from you and your family," Delaney sobbed softly, her shoulders shaking. "But Lord Hawksley has been looking for me. He has been hunting me for years because my uncle sold me to him."

She looked up at Rowan through her tears. She looked so incredibly fragile and completely exhausted. 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

"I didn’t know who to trust," Delaney cried, her voice full of raw, bleeding anguish. "And..."

She could not finish her sentence.

Rowan reached her. He did not ask questions. He did not demand proof. He did not care about the proper rules of society or the boundaries between an employer and an employee. Well he never cared when it comes to her.

He reached out and pulled her into a tight hug.

He wrapped his large, strong arms entirely around her small frame. He pressed her gently but firmly against his broad, warm chest. He tucked her head beneath his chin, holding her with a fierce, unwavering protectiveness that told her she was finally, truly safe.

Delaney collapsed against him. The last of her strong, independent walls completely shattered.

She cried in his arms. She gripped the soft white linen of his shirt with her small fists, burying her face into his chest. She wept for her father, for her mother, and for the young girl who had been forced to survive alone in a cold, unforgiving city.

Rowan held her steadily. He rested one hand on the back of her head, gently stroking her dark hair, while his other arm held her waist securely. He let her cry. He did not tell her to hush. He did not tell her to calm down. He simply stood there, serving as a solid, unbreakable anchor in the middle of her storm.

" I am utterly exhausted." She murmured into his embrace.