A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 36 - Thirty Six

Rowan could feel himself falling deeper into whatever ditch Delaney dug up for him.

He could hear his thoughts screaming a the top of their lungs. " This was a violation of the rules. This was crossing the line. Dukes did not flirt with their staff. Employers did not ogle the help."

And worse, if he admitted he thought she was beautiful, he would have to admit that he had been staring at her mouth for the last thirty seconds. He never noticed she had such soft looking lips. That was definitely scandalous.

He needed to cover it up. He needed to say something else. Anything else. He needed to be the "Golden Duke" again. He needed to be aloof and critical.

He scrambled for a word. Any word.

He looked at her dress. It was teal. It was bright. It wasn’t gray.

Color. Bright. Food. What is teal and bright and definitely a food? Why am I thinking about food? What is wrong with me?

His brain misfired completely.

Rowan shook his head, clearing the fog of lust that had settled over him.

"I said," Rowan stammered, his voice pitching a little too high, "you look like a fruit."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Delaney stared at him. Her mouth fell open slightly. The vulnerable look in her eyes vanished, replaced by pure confusion.

"A... fruit?" she repeated.

She looked down at her dress. It was dark blue-green.

"A fruit?" she asked again, looking back at him. "Like... a plum? Or a very confused grape?"

" What have I done?" Rowan winced. " Why is conversation with her hard suddenly so difficult?" He groaned bitterly inside. He knew it was stupid the moment he said those words. But he was committed now. He had to stick to the lie.

He scratched the back of his head, ruining his perfect hair. He looked away, unable to meet her gaze because he was blushing. A Duke, blushing.

"Yes," Rowan lied. "A fruit. Tropical. Very... bright. Unexpected. Good looking. Delicious. You usually look like a rainy Tuesday, and today you look like... a harvest."

He was babbling. He needed to stop talking immediately.

Delaney looked at him as if disappointed. The magic of the moment evaporated. She let out a small breath.

Of course, she thought. He is making fun of me. I knew it.

She smoothed the silk of her skirt. The confidence she had built up in front of the mirror crumbled a little.

"That doesn’t make sense, Your Grace," she said flatly. "There are no teal fruits. Perhaps you are thinking of a vegetable? A kale leaf, perhaps?"

Rowan laughed nervously. "Right. A vegetable. That is what I meant. Healthy."

"You are calling me a vegetable," Delaney deadpanned.

"A very expensive vegetable," Rowan corrected quickly. "A prize-winning vegetable." 𝕗𝐫𝐞𝕖𝕨𝐞𝗯𝚗𝕠𝘃𝐞𝚕.𝐜𝗼𝚖

"Stop talking, Your Grace," Delaney whispered, shaking her head. "Just stop."

Rowan closed his mouth. "Yeah. It doesn’t make sense."

He felt like an idiot. He had wanted to tell her she looked like a goddess. He had wanted to tell her that she took his breath away. Instead, he had compared her to produce.

The tension in the air was thick and awkward. Rowan wanted to bang his head against the marble pillar.

Suddenly, the heavy oak door to the servants’ quarters opened.

Mr. Simmons walked in. He looked perfectly calm, as if he hadn’t just interrupted the most disastrous compliment in history.

He stopped when he saw Delaney.

Even Simmons, the man of stone, paused for a fraction of a second. His eyebrows went up a millimeter. He looked at the dress. He looked at the hair. A flicker of approval crossed his face.

But he was a professional man. He bowed low.

"The carriage is ready, Your Grace," Simmons announced. "And the driver has checked the harness twice."

Rowan let out a massive sigh of relief.

"Thank you, Simmons," Rowan said. His voice was loud, grateful for the interruption.

He straightened his coat. He adjusted his cuffs. He pulled the "Duke" mask back onto his face. He was safe now. Simmons was here. The carriage was here. He could stop talking like an idiot.

"We must not be late," Rowan said, checking his pocket watch again, though he didn’t actually read the numbers. "The Farringtons are expecting us."

He turned back to Delaney.

She was standing there, looking a little deflated. She was gripping her fan, looking at the floor.

Rowan felt a pang of guilt. He had ruined the moment. He wanted to fix it. He wanted to tell her the truth.

But he couldn’t. Not yet.

Instead, he stepped forward. He moved into her space. He smelled the scent of her perfume—not the usual soap, but something richer. Jasmine and rose.

"Shall we, Miss Kingsley?" Rowan asked softly.

He extended his hand.

It was a formal gesture. A gentleman offering his arm to a lady.

Delaney looked at his hand. It was large, gloved in white, and steady.

She looked up at his face. He wasn’t mocking her now. His eyes were warm. He was looking at her with a strange intensity that made her stomach do a flip.

She took a breath. She shifted her fan to her left hand.

She reached out and nodded slowly.

"We shall, Your Grace."

She placed her hand in his.

Rowan’s fingers closed around hers.

Even through the layers of white kidskin gloves, she felt it. A spark. A jolt of electricity that traveled up her arm and settled in her chest.

Rowan felt it too. He tightened his grip slightly, pulling her a fraction of an inch closer.

They stood there for one second longer than was necessary, hand in hand, the idiotic comment forgotten, the air crackling between them.

Then, Rowan turned, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm.

"Let us go," he said. "And try not to be too... serious at the ball."

Delaney let out a small, startled laugh.

"I will try my best, Your Grace," she whispered.