A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 137 - Hundred And Thirty Seven

Rowan did not argue with her. He simply leaned further down from the saddle.

Before Delaney could take another step backward, Rowan reached out with both of his incredibly strong arms. He gripped her firmly by the waist.

"Rowan...!" Delaney shrieked loudly.

She grabbed his forearms in pure panic as her feet completely left the stone ground. Rowan lifted her up from the floor with staggering, effortless ease, as if she weighed absolutely nothing at all.

With a smooth, practiced motion, he pulled her up and placed her directly on Meg, settling her sideways across the front of his saddle.

Delaney gasped, completely breathless. She was sitting side-saddle, her legs dangling over the left side of the horse, while her side was pressed flush against the solid, warm wall of Rowan’s broad chest. His arms came around her on both sides to hold the leather reins, completely caging her in his embrace.

"Hold on tightly, Miss Kingsley," Rowan whispered directly into her ear, his breath tickling her skin.

He did not give her a single second to protest or demand to be put down.

Rowan held the reins firmly. He clicked his tongue sharply against the roof of his mouth.

"Come on, Meg!" Rowan commanded.

The mare responded instantly. Meg started moving forward, her metal horseshoes clattering loudly against the stone courtyard.

As soon as they passed through the grand iron gates of the stable yard and reached the vast, open green fields of the Hamilton estate, Rowan nudged the horse’s sides with his boots.

Meg picked up the pace. She went from a brisk walk into a smooth, powerful trot, and finally into a fast, thundering canter.

The sudden burst of speed took Delaney’s breath away completely. She let out another loud shriek, instinctively dropping her hands to grip the thick black leather of the saddle horn. She leaned heavily against Rowan’s chest, relying entirely on his strength to keep her from falling.

The cool, crisp morning breeze blew fiercely into their faces. It was incredibly refreshing, carrying the scent of damp earth and wild grass.

But the wind was an absolute disaster for Delaney’s careful appearance. The fierce breeze whipped around them, tearing at her hair. The neat, tight bun she had crafted that morning did not stand a chance. The metal pins in Delaney’s hair were fighting a desperate, losing battle to keep her hair in place. One by one, the pins slipped loose, falling into the grass below.

Her long, dark hair tumbled down her back in a wild, chaotic mess, blowing freely in the wind and whipping gently against Rowan’s face.

The sheer speed, the height of the horse, and the scandalous thrill of being pressed so tightly against the man behind her created a sudden, bubbling panic mixed with absolute joy in Delaney’s chest.

She lost her grip on her polite English manners completely. In her sudden panic, her mind instantly reverted to her mother’s native tongue.

"Ralentis, ralentis, Rowan!" Delaney cried out.

(Slow down, slow down, Rowan!) She squeezed her eyes shut as the horse leaped over a small, grassy ditch, her hands gripping the saddle even tighter.

Rowan felt her tense against him. He heard the beautiful, frantic French words tumbling from her lips. He did not pull back on the reins.

Instead, he simply tightened his arms around her waist, keeping her perfectly safe and secure.

Rowan chuckled. The deep, rich sound of his laughter vibrated right through his chest and directly into her back. He was having the absolute time of his life.

Hearing his laughter, Delaney opened her eyes. The fear vanished, replaced by a sudden, exhilarating rush of pure freedom. She realized she was perfectly safe. He would never let her fall.

But she was still a matchmaker, and she was still supposed to care about the rules.

"Idiot," Delaney cussed playfully, a bright, helpless laugh escaping her own lips. She scolded him, turning her head slightly so her voice would carry over the rushing wind.

"Quelqu’un va nous voir." (Someone will see us.) She warned him, though she was smiling so hard her cheeks actually ached.

Rowan leaned his head down, pressing his face into her wild, wind-blown dark hair.

"Let them see," Rowan called back over the sound of the galloping hooves.

They rode across the vast, rolling green hills of the Hamilton estate, feeling free in each other’s arms.

High above the rolling green lawns, on the wide stone balcony of the manor’s second floor, an observer was watching the entire scandalous display.

Aunt Margery stood near the carved stone railing. She was still wearing her aggressive yellow silk dress. The cool morning wind ruffled the bright tiers of fabric, but she did not retreat inside.

She held Fifi the poodle securely in her arms. She stood perfectly still, squinting her sharp eyes against the bright morning sun.

She watched the large chestnut mare galloping across the distant fields. She saw the dark-haired woman sitting sideways in the saddle. She saw the large man holding her tightly, his head bent close to hers.

Even from this great distance, Aunt Margery could hear the faint, joyful sound of their shared laughter carrying on the morning wind.

Aunt Margery’s wrinkled face softened into a look of profound, genuine satisfaction. She reached down with her free hand and gently patted Fifi’s curly apricot fur.

"Well, well, well," Aunt Margery murmured to herself.

She thought of the rigid, deeply serious nephew who had walked through these halls for the past years. She thought of the man who never took a day off, who never rode simply for pleasure, and who certainly never lifted an unmarried woman onto his horse in broad daylight.

That man was completely gone.

"Seems our matchmaking is making our Rowan smile wholeheartedly," Aunt Margery noted softly, a deeply proud smile touching her lips. She had known the moment she sat with Delaney Kingsley on that swing that she was the exact spark her nephew desperately needed.

Aunt Margery turned her head slightly. She looked down at the small, spoiled dog resting in her arms.

"What do you think, Fifi?" Aunt Margery asked playfully. "Do you think we shall be planning a true Hamilton wedding very soon?"

Fifi looked up at her mistress, tilted her small head to the side, and let out a sharp, happy bark.

Fifi barked in agreement.

"I completely agree," Aunt Margery chuckled.

She turned around, her yellow silk skirts rustling loudly, and walked back inside the warm manor to finish her tea.