A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 16 - Sixteen

Rowan blinked twice.

It wasn’t an old lady with a lace cap. It wasn’t a stranger.

It was the woman from the church. It was the woman with the sharp hazel eyes. The woman who had told him he had poor spatial awareness. The woman who had called him "shiny" and "rehearsed." The woman who had looked at him with total disdain and walked away.

Rowan’s jaw actually dropped. He stood there, his mouth hanging open like a fish. He stared at her. He blinked again, wondering if the hangover was causing hallucinations.

"You!" Rowan blurted out.

It wasn’t a Duke-like thing to say. It wasn’t eloquent. It was just a sound of pure shock.

"You!" he said again, pointing a finger at her.

Aunt Margery looked between them, confused. "Rowan? What is wrong?"

Delaney Kingsley did not look shocked. She did not look confused. She looked calm. She looked cool. She looked perfectly professional.

She looked at his pointing finger, then up at his face. A tiny, barely visible smirk touched the corner of her lips. She recognized him, of course. She knew exactly who he was.

She grabbed her skirts and sank into a flawless curtsy. It was deep, respectful, and mocking all at the same time.

"At your service, Your Grace," she said. Her voice was clear and crisp. "I am Madame Coeur. But you can address me as Miss Kingsley."

Rowan stared at her. He felt the blood rushing to his face.

This was the matchmaker? This prickly, rude, gray-dressed woman was the expert who was supposed to find him a wife?

He remembered kneeling in the mud for her. He remembered her refusing his money.

"You are the matchmaker?" Rowan choked out.

Delaney straightened up. She folded her hands in front of her. "I am."

"But... but you are..." Rowan stammered. He waved his hand at her. "You are the woman who dropped her papers in the mud!"

"And you are the man who knocked them out of my hands," Delaney replied smoothly. "Small world, isn’t it, Your Grace?"

Aunt Margery’s eyes went wide. She looked like she was watching a boxing match. "You two have met?"

"We bumped into each other," Delaney explained calmly to Margery. "Literally. Outside St. George’s Church."

"He knocked you down?" Margery gasped. She glared at Rowan. "Rowan! How clumsy!"

"I did not knock her down purposely!" Rowan protested. He felt like a schoolboy being scolded. "I caught her! I was a gentleman! I even offered to pay for the damage!"

"And I refused," Delaney reminded him. Her eyes flashed. "Because as I said, Your Grace, you cannot buy your way out of everything."

Rowan felt a vein in his forehead throb. His headache was coming back with a vengeance.

"This is a mistake," Rowan said. He turned to his aunt. "Aunt Margery, this is a mistake. Send her away."

"I will do no such thing," Margery said, crossing her arms. "She is hired. We have a contract."

"Fire her," Rowan ordered. "Pay her whatever she wants. Just get her out."

Delaney took a step forward. She didn’t look intimidated. She looked bored.

"If you wish to terminate the contract, Your Grace," Delaney said coolly, "there is a cancellation fee. It is fully detailed in the agreement Lady Margery signed. It is quite expensive."

Rowan glared at her. "I don’t care about the money. I care about... about..."

"About the fact that I am the only woman in London who doesn’t swoon when you smile?" Delaney suggested.

Rowan opened his mouth. He closed it.

She was right. That was exactly what bothered him. She saw right through him. She saw the "performance." And having her in his house, watching him, judging him... it was terrifying.

"I do not need a matchmaker," Rowan growled. "Especially not one who thinks I am ’shiny’."

"Shiny?" Aunt Margery asked, intrigued.

"It was a metaphor," Delaney said innocently. "His Grace is very... polished."

Rowan ran a hand through his hair, ruining his perfect grooming. He paced across the room.

"I cannot work with her," Rowan said. "She is... she is disagreeable."

"I am honest," Delaney corrected. "There is a difference. Most people are too afraid of your title to tell you the truth. I am not."

She looked him in the eye.

"You want a wife, Your Grace?" she asked. "A real wife? Not a fan? Not a sycophant? Then you need someone who will tell you when you are being an idiot. And right now, you are being an idiot."

The room went silent.

Mr. Simmons, who was listening at the door, held his breath.

Aunt Margery’s jaw dropped. No one called the Duke an idiot. Not to his face.

Rowan stared at Delaney. His chest was heaving slightly. He was furious. He was insulted.

And... he was intrigued.

His friends at the club had told him to settle for a docile wife. Lady Belle was docile. Almost every young lady in London is docile.

Delaney Kingsley was about as docile as a cactus.

He looked at her standing there in her gray armor, chin held high, ready to fight him.

A slow, dangerous smile spread across Rowan’s face. It wasn’t his nice smile. It was a challenge.

"Fine," Rowan said softly.

He walked toward her until he was standing right in front of her. He loomed over her, using his height to his advantage.

"You think you can find me a match, Miss Kingsley?" he asked.

"I know I can," she replied, not backing down an inch.

"Good," Rowan said. "Then prove it. You have two months. If you fail... you leave without a penny. And you admit that I was right."

Delaney’s eyes narrowed. "And if I succeed?"

"If you succeed," Rowan said, leaning down so his face was level with hers, "I will double whatever my aunt promised you. After the wedding, you will receive your payment."

Aunt Margery gasped. "Rowan!"

Delaney didn’t blink. She held his gaze. The air between them crackled with tension. It was hate. It was annoyance. And it was something else, too hot to name.

"Deal," Delaney whispered.

Rowan straightened up. He adjusted his cuffs.

"Welcome to Hamilton House, Miss Kingsley," he said coldly. "I hope your reputation precedes you."

He turned and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

The silence in the drawing room was deafening.

Aunt Margery let out a long breath and collapsed onto the sofa. "Oh, my. That went... well?"

Delaney stood in the center of the room. Her heart was racing so fast she thought it might explode. Her knees felt weak.

She looked at the closed door.

She had just challenged the Duke of Ford. She had just insulted him in his own home.

"He is insufferable," Delaney said.

"He is," Margery agreed. "But he didn’t fire you."

"No," Delaney said. She picked up her bag. "He didn’t."

She looked at Margery.

"Where is my room, my lady?" Delaney asked. "I have a lot of work to do."

Because now, it wasn’t only about the money. Now, it was personal. She was going to find that arrogant, shiny man a wife if it was the last thing she did.