A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 58 - Fifty Eight

Delaney Kingsley shifted in her chair. She didn’t look at Rowan. She looked directly at the bulldog across the table.

She didn’t look angry. She looked confused, in a polite, aristocratic way.

"My cousin mentioned that the alternative route—the one you would have to take if you do not use the Hamilton land—runs through the marshlands near Basingstoke," Delaney said. Her voice was smooth, like velvet over steel.

Lord Sterling blinked. He wasn’t used to women speaking in this room, let alone about geography.

"That is correct, Miss...?"

"Kingsley," Delaney supplied. "Now, I am not an engineer, my Lord. But my father often spoke of the Basingstoke marshes. Didn’t the Southern Line try to build a trestle bridge there five years ago?"

She paused for effect. She tilted her head.

"I believe it sank," she said softly. "Swallowed whole by the mud. Cost the investors... oh, what was it? Fifty thousand pounds?"

Lord Sterling’s face turned a shade of puce. The other directors shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

"That was... an unfortunate incident," Sterling muttered.

"Indeed," Delaney agreed. She smoothed her burgundy skirt. "It would be a shame if the Sterling Consortium made the same mistake. Spending a fortune to drain a swamp, only to lose the track in the first heavy rain."

She turned to Rowan, her eyes wide and innocent.

"Cousin," she said, "Lord Sterling is a wise man. Surely he knows that paying a fair price for solid, rock-bottomed Hamilton land is cheaper than sinking gold into the mud?"

She turned back to Sterling. She smiled. It was a terrifyingly charming smile.

"Quality is an investment, my Lord. Not an expense. Isn’t that the motto of your company?"

Silence stretched in the room for five seconds.

Rowan stared at her. He had to physically stop his jaw from dropping. She had just dismantled their leverage with a single anecdote about mud.

Lord Sterling looked at Delaney. He looked at the map. He looked at the other directors, who were nodding slowly.

He let out a bark of laughter.

"Well," Sterling said, slapping the table. "The lady has a point. No one likes mud."

He picked up his pen.

"Five percent reduction," Sterling offered. "And we name the station after your family."

Rowan breathed. "Agreed."

The papers were signed. The deal was done. The tension in the room evaporated, replaced by the smell of fresh ink and success.

Rowan felt a weight lift off his shoulders. He looked at Delaney. She was back to being a statue, staring at her gloves as if she hadn’t just saved the Hamilton fortune.

He felt a surge of admiration so strong it almost knocked the wind out of him. She was brilliant. Very brilliant.

The meeting concluded. Lord Sterling stood up. He walked around the table to shake Rowan’s hand.

"A pleasure doing business with you, Your Grace," Sterling said.

Then, he turned to Delaney.

Sterling wasn’t a young man, but he was a wealthy widower, and he had an eye for quality. He looked at Delaney with a newfound appreciation.

"And you, Miss Kingsley" Sterling said. He took her hand and bowed over it, lingering a little too long. "You are a revelation. Most women would have fainted from the cigar smoke by now."

"I have a strong constitution, my Lord," Delaney said politely, trying to extract her hand.

"Indeed," Sterling said. He didn’t let go. He looked at Rowan. "Your cousin is quite formidable, Your Grace. Intelligent. Beautiful. And she understands the value of land."

Sterling smiled a oily, eager smile.

"I should like to call on her," Sterling announced. "I want to court her. I have been looking for a wife who can manage a household, but a wife who can manage a boardroom? That is a rare prize."

Delaney froze. Her eyes widened.

Rowan froze.

The air in the room changed again. It wasn’t business tension this time. It was personal.

Rowan looked at Sterling’s hand on Delaney’s glove. He felt a flash of pure, hot jealousy. It was irrational. It was sudden. And it was overwhelming.

Sterling was old enough to be her father. But he was rich. He was titled. He was technically a "good match."

But the thought of Delaney with him—pouring his tea, managing his life, smiling that rare smile at him—made Rowan want to flip the heavy mahogany table.

He didn’t think. He didn’t plan. He just reacted.

Rowan stepped forward. He placed his hand on Sterling’s shoulder—a friendly gesture that was actually a claim of territory.

He gave a polite, tight smile.

"That is a generous offer, Lord Sterling," Rowan said smoothly. "But I am afraid it is impossible."

"Oh?" Sterling asked. "Is she promised?"

"She’s already married," Rowan lied.

The words came out crisp and clear.

Delaney snapped her head so fast toward him that her neck audibly cracked.

She stared at Rowan. Her mouth fell open slightly. Her eyes were huge, round orbs of shock.

Married?

The thought screamed in her head. Married? To whom? When? Has he lost his mind?

She looked at him, waiting for the punchline. She expected him to say, "Married to her work" or "Married to the church."

But Rowan just stood there, his face a mask of polite regret. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞

"Her husband is... away," Rowan added, digging the hole deeper. "In the Navy. Very jealous man. He would challenge you to a duel if he knew I let another man hold her hand for this long."

Sterling dropped Delaney’s hand as if it were a hot coal.

"I see," Sterling said, stepping back. "My apologies, Madam. I did not see a ring."

"She doesn’t wear it when she travels," Rowan said quickly. "For safety. Highwaymen, you know. She prefers the title ’Miss’ for personal reasons."

Delaney was paralyzed. She couldn’t breathe.

He would have just said I wasn’t interested, she thought to herself. He could have said I am entering a convent. He could have said I hate railways. Why did he say I was married?

She opened her mouth. She was about to speak. She was about to change the narrative. She was about to tell Lord Sterling that her cousin was confused and that she was very much a spinster available for courting (not that she wanted Sterling, but the lie was ridiculous).

As if Rowan could sense what she was about to do—as if he could feel the rebellion rising in her—he moved.

He reached down under the cover of the table tablecloth.

He found her hand. His large, warm hand engulfed hers.

He gave her a tight squeeze.

It wasn’t a gentle hold. It was a warning. It was a plea. It was a desperate anchor

.

Don’t, the squeeze said. Don’t correct me. Don’t execute your thoughts.

Delaney looked up at him. Rowan was looking at Sterling, smiling his fake Duke smile, but his thumb was rubbing frantic circles into the back of her hand under the table.

She felt the heat of his skin. She felt the desperation in his grip.

She closed her mouth. The words died in her throat.

"Yes," Delaney managed to choke out. "My husband. The... sailor. Mr Kingsley."

Rowan let out a breath he had been holding. He didn’t let go of her hand. He held it tighter, locking her fingers with his, binding them together in the lie.

"Shall we go, Cousin?" Rowan asked, his voice rough. "We have a ball to plan."

"Yes," Delaney whispered. "We do."

She let him lead her out of the room, her hand trapped in his, her heart pounding a rhythm that sounded suspiciously like trouble, trouble, trouble.