A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 38 - Thirty Eight

Delaney turned around. She slipped away from the pillar. She wove through the crowd, keeping her head down, avoiding the eyes of the curious matrons. She needed air. She needed the dark.

She found the glass doors leading to the balcony and pushed them open.

On the dance floor, Rowan was miserable.

He was dancing with the most beautiful woman in London. He was the envy of every man in the room.

But he felt nothing.

"The music is divine, is it not?" Celine asked.

Rowan looked down at her. "Yes. Divine."

"I heard the composer is Austrian," Celine continued. "I studied music theory in Paris. The use of the cello is quite revolutionary."

Rowan nodded. Intelligent. Check.

"And politics?" Celine asked, switching topics effortlessly. "I hear the Corn Laws are causing quite a stir in Parliament. Do you think the tariffs will be lifted?"

Rowan blinked. She knew about the Corn Laws. She was smart. She was articulate.

"I believe they will be debated next session," Rowan replied. 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

"I hope so," Celine said. "Trade is the lifeblood of the empire. Il faut avancer, n’est-ce pas?" (We must move forward, must we not?)

French. Check.

She was perfect. She was ticking every single box on Delaney’s list. She was the prize.

So why was he so bored?

Why was he looking over her shoulder?

Rowan scanned the room as he spun. He looked at the marble pillar.

Empty.

He looked at the buffet table.

Empty.

"Where is she?" Rowan thought. Panic flared in his chest.

"Your Grace?" Celine asked. "You seem distracted."

Rowan snapped his attention back to the pink rose in his arms.

"Forgive me," Rowan lied smoothly. "I was just... admiring the architecture. Farrington House has excellent... ceilings."

Celine giggled. It was a polite, tinkling sound. "You are funny, Your Grace."

Funny. Check.

Rowan forced himself to focus. He asked her questions.

"Do you ride horses, Lady Celine?"

"Oh, yes," she replied. "But only side-saddle, of course. Anything else is unladylike."

Rowan thought of the girl on the balcony three years ago, straddling the railing in breeches.

"Do you like apples?" he asked randomly.

Celine looked confused. "Apples? I suppose. In a tart. But raw fruit is so... messy."

Rowan’s heart sank.

The music swelled to a crescendo. The final notes hung in the air.

Rowan brought Celine to a halt. He bowed. It was a sharp, quick bow.

"Thank you, Lady Celine," Rowan said. "That was... educational."

Celine looked surprised by his eagerness to let go of her hand. Most men begged for a second dance.

"Will you be staying for supper?" Celine asked hopefully.

"I must excuse myself," Rowan said, backing away. "I have... I have to find my cousin. She is new to town. She gets lost easily."

"Oh," Celine said, disappointed. "I see."

"Good evening," Rowan said.

He turned and walked away. He didn’t walk slowly. He cut through the crowd like a ship cutting through ice. He ignored the people trying to stop him. He ignored the mothers waving fans at him.

He had to find her.

He checked the pillar again. Nothing.

He checked the corner where the old ladies sat. Nothing.

Then he saw the curtains moving by the glass doors. A breeze was coming in from the night.

Rowan headed for the doors.

He stepped out onto the balcony.

The noise of the ballroom faded instantly, replaced by the cool silence of the London night. The air was fresh.

Rowan looked down the length of the stone terrace.

At the far end, standing by the stone railing, was a figure in teal.

Delaney was standing with her back to him. She was looking up at the moon. The silvery light washed over her, turning the teal dress into a dark, shimmering pool. Her bare shoulders glowed like marble. A gentle wind played with the loose curls of her hair.

She looked ethereal. She looked like a goddess of the night who had descended to earth for just a moment.

Rowan stopped. He let out a breath he had been holding for twenty minutes.

His heart, which had been racing with anxiety in the ballroom, suddenly steadied. The frantic feeling vanished. The boredom vanished.

He just felt... right.

He walked slowly toward her. His boots clicked softly on the stone.

"There you are," Rowan said.

His voice was a low rumble in the quiet night. It wasn’t the polite voice he used for Celine. It was warm. It was real.

Delaney froze. She didn’t turn around immediately. She composed her face. She put the mask back on.

She turned slowly to face him. The moonlight illuminated her face, showing the shine in her eyes.

Rowan stood a few feet away, his hands in his pockets, looking at her as if she were the only person in the world.

"...Miss Kingsley," he finished softly.

Delaney gripped the cold stone railing behind her.

"Your Grace," she said. Her voice was steady, but faint. "You should be inside. Lady Celine is waiting."

"Lady Celine is perfect," Rowan said. He took a step closer.

"Yes," Delaney agreed. "She is. She is everything you wanted on the list. She is your dream woman."

"She is," Rowan repeated. "She speaks French. She knows about politics. She dances like a feather."

"Then why are you here?" Delaney asked. "Why are you out in the dark?"

Rowan looked at her. He looked at the way the moonlight caught the curve of her lip. He looked at the fire in her eyes that even her current mood couldn’t extinguish.

"Because," Rowan said honestly. "I’m hungry. I would like an apple."

Delaney blinked. A confused frown creased her forehead.

"An apple?"

"Yes. Besides that, Lady Celine isn’t all that perfect," Rowan explained. He took another step. He was close now. He could smell the jasmine perfume.

"She’s a beautiful young lady but she agrees with everything I say."

"That is what a wife is supposed to do," Delaney argued weakly.

"Is it?" Rowan asked. "It sounds boring."

He leaned against the railing next to her, looking out at the city skyline.

"I danced with perfection, Miss Kingsley," Rowan said quietly. "And all I could think about was... an apple."

Delaney looked at his profile. He looked handsome and tired and confusing.

"You are impossible," she whispered. But there was no heat in it.

Rowan turned his head. He smiled at her. It was a small, crooked smile.

"I know," he said. "That is why I hired you. To fix me."

Delaney looked away, her heart pounding.

"Go back inside, Your Grace," she said. "The waltz is ending. You need to ask her for the supper dance."

Rowan didn’t move.

"In a minute," he said. "The moon is nice tonight. And the company... is better."

Delaney didn’t argue. She stood there in the silence, next to Rowan, and just stared at the moon.