A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 77 - Seventy Seven

The game of Pall Mall continued with what seemed like civility.

"After you, Lady Celine," Rowan said, gesturing to the hoop with a gallant bow.

"Thank you, Your Grace," Celine replied, tapping her pink ball gently. It rolled through the hoop with a polite little plop.

"Well done!" Aunt Margery cheered from her chair. "Fifi is impressed!"

For the first ten minutes, it was a lovely scene of aristocratic leisure. The sun shone, the birds sang, and Ines kept score with a pencil that scratched softly against the card.

Then, Delaney hit Rowan’s ball into the bushes.

It wasn’t an accident. She had aimed. She had squinted. And she had struck her yellow ball with a force that sent his blue ball rocketing off the course and into a patch of particularly thorny roses.

Rowan turned to look at her. His mouth fell open.

"Miss Kingsley," he said, scandalized. "You just... you just sent me into the shrubbery."

Delaney shrugged. She adjusted her shawl. A small, mischievous spark lit up her eyes—the first spark Ines had seen there all day.

"It was in my way, Your Grace," Delaney said innocently. "Strategy."

Rowan narrowed his eyes. "Strategy. I see."

The game changed instantly.

It stopped being about the hoops. It became a war.

Rowan retrieved his ball, scratching his hand on a thorn. He placed it down. He didn’t aim for the hoop. He aimed for Delaney.

Thwack.

Her yellow ball went flying across the lawn, landing near the fountain.

"Oh!" Delaney gasped. She looked at him. "You did that on purpose!"

"Strategy, Cousin," Rowan smirked.

For the next twenty minutes, they ignored everyone else. They chased each other across the lawn. They blocked each other. They hit each other’s balls into mud puddles, tree roots, and once, dangerously close to Aunt Margery’s foot.

"Rowan!" Ines shouted. "The hoop is that way!"

"In a minute!" Rowan yelled back, lining up a shot to destroy Delaney.

Celine stood by the third hoop. She leaned on her pink mallet. She watched them.

She saw the way Rowan’s coat strained across his shoulders as he swung. She saw the way Delaney hiked up her beige skirts, revealing her sensible boots, and ran to check the angle of her shot.

Celine looked at Ines.

Ines looked at Celine. She sighed.

"They have forgotten us," Ines said dryly.

"I believe they have," Celine agreed softly. She didn’t look angry. She looked thoughtful. "I have never seen His Grace... run. Or shout."

"He usually doesn’t," Ines admitted. "He is usually very... Duke-ish."

"I think I shall retire," Celine said, dropping her mallet. "The sun is quite hot."

"I will join you," Ines said. "Let the children play."

They walked off the field, leaving the battlefield to the combatants.

Delaney didn’t notice they left. She was too focused. She had one shot left. If she hit the center stake, she won. But Rowan’s ball was blocking her path.

She bit her lip. She walked around the ball. She calculated the angle.

"You can’t make it," Rowan taunted. He was leaning on his mallet, looking arrogant and handsome, his hair windblown. "It’s an impossible angle."

"Watch me," Delaney whispered.

She pulled back her mallet. She didn’t hesitate. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

Crack.

The yellow ball soared. It curved. It clipped the side of Rowan’s blue ball, knocking it aside, and rolled perfectly, beautifully, to hit the wooden stake with a satisfying clack.

"I won!" Delaney shouted.

She didn’t politely clap. She didn’t curtsy.

She jumped.

Both feet left the ground. She threw her hands in the air, the mallet raised like a sword.

"I won! I beat you! Take that, Your Grace!"

She laughed. It was a loud, uninhibited sound, free of burdens, free of debts, free of fear. Her face was flushed pink. Her hair had come loose from its severe bun, tendrils framing her face.

For a moment, she wasn’t the matchmaker. She wasn’t a noble woman. She was just a girl who had won a game.

Rowan stood there. He should have been annoyed. He hated losing.

But he wasn’t annoyed.

He was mesmerized.

He stared at her. He watched the way the sunlight caught the joy in her face. He watched her chest heave with laughter. He had never seen her like this. She was radiant.

"You cheated," Rowan said, but his voice had no bite. It was soft. "You must have used magic."

Delaney turned to him, still grinning. "I used physics, Your Grace. Pure physics."

Rowan smiled back. It was a helpless, dazzled smile.

From the terrace, Celine watched them. She saw the look on Rowan’s face. It was a look he had never given her. It was a look of hunger.

"Something is not right," Celine whispered to herself.

It wasn’t an accusation. It was just a fact, as undeniable as the sun in the sky.

An hour later, the mood had shifted.

The footmen had cleared the mallets. They brought out a long wooden case.

"Target practice?" Lady Farrington asked, fanning herself on the patio. "Is that safe?"

"It is a Hamilton tradition," Rowan said. He was inspecting a beautiful, long-barreled rifle. "My father believed that a steady hand meant a steady mind."

Ines sighed. She looked at the empty spot where Carcel would have stood.

"It is a pity Carcel isn’t around to join you," Ines said. "He loves shooting. But I suppose you will have to shoot alone, Rowan. This game isn’t for women. The kickback bruises the shoulder."

Rowan nodded. "I suppose so. unless Lady Farrington’s brother —I mean, Lord Hawksley—returns."

"I can shoot," a voice said.

Everyone turned.

Delaney was standing by the refreshment table. She had retied her hair, but she still looked alert, her energy high from the croquet victory.

Rowan looked at her. "You?"

"Yes," Delaney said. "I am quite a good shot."

Lady Farrington laughed. It was a sharp, incredulous sound. "My dear Miss Kingsley, shooting is not like embroidery. It is dangerous. You might hurt yourself."

"I won’t," Delaney said calmly. She walked over to the gun case. She looked at the rifles with a knowledgeable eye.

"Who taught you?" Rowan asked. His voice was tight. He felt a sudden, irrational spike of jealousy. "Did your father teach you?"

Delaney hesitated. She couldn’t talk about her visits to the underground shooting ring.

"No," she said. "My husband."

Rowan flinched. The sailor. Captain Smith.

"Ah," Rowan said coldly. "The Captain. Of course. I forgot about the talented Captain."

He picked up a rifle and thrust it toward her.

"Show us then," Rowan challenged. "If the Captain taught you so well."

Everyone watched with surprise. The servants paused in their work. Lady Celine leaned forward.

Delaney took the rifle. It was heavy, but she handled it with ease. She checked the chamber. She adjusted her stance, feet shoulder-width apart.

She didn’t aim at the large target. She aimed at a small, red apple that had been placed on a fence post fifty yards away.

She took a breath. She let it out.

Bang.

The shot echoed across the lawn.

The apple exploded. Red pulp sprayed into the air.

Silence.

Delaney lowered the gun. She blew a stray hair out of her eyes.

"The Captain was a very good teacher," she said coolly.

Rowan stared at the destroyed apple. He felt a mix of fury and arousal that was confusing and potent. He hated the imaginary husband. But God, he loved the way she held that gun.

"Again," Rowan said.

He picked up his own rifle.

"Let’s make it a competition," he growled. " whoever hits the most target wins. And the reward is to ask the loser for something."

Delaney nodded " It’s a deal."

The competition had moved.

The lawn was too easy. The targets were too static.

"We need a moving target," Rowan had declared. "To test reflexes."

They had walked to the edge of the woods that bordered the estate. The trees were old and thick, their branches creating a canopy that filtered the light into green and gold shafts.

The others had stayed behind. Lady Farrington complained of the mud. Ines had to feed Harry. Celine had politely declined, sensing the tension.

So it was just the two of them.