A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 173: Rowan’s POV
The darkness was heavy, suffocating, and completely silent.
For three days, Rowan had been trapped in a deep, dreamless void. His mind had been locked away, fighting to heal the severe trauma inflicted by the splintering wood of the falling carriage.
Then, slowly, like a swimmer fighting to reach the surface of a dark lake, sensation began to return.
First, he felt the dull, throbbing ache pulsing violently against the side of his skull. Second, he felt the soft, clean linen sheets resting against his bare chest. Finally, he became aware of a profound, desperate thirst burning in his throat.
A few minutes after Delaney left the room, Rowan woke up.
He did not open his eyes immediately. The effort seemed too great. He let out a low, rough groan that scraped painfully against his dry throat. He shifted his heavy shoulders against the mattress, his muscles stiff and protesting the movement.
The very first thought that entered his conscious mind was not of his injuries, nor of Lord Farrington’s blackmail, nor of his grand estate.
It was her name.
"Del," Rowan called out. His voice was a weak, rusty whisper. He swallowed hard, trying to summon more moisture to his mouth. "Delaney."
He waited for the soft rustle of her skirts. He waited for the gentle touch of her cool hand against his forehead. He had felt her presence in the darkness. He had felt her holding his hand, anchoring his spirit to the living world.
When no answer came, Rowan finally forced his heavy eyelids open.
He blinked against the dim, orange light of the fireplace. He turned his head slowly, wincing as a sharp spike of pain shot through his temple. He looked around.
The large master bedchamber was completely empty.
The wooden chair pulled close to his bed was vacant. The soft, comforting presence that had guarded his sleep was completely gone.
A sudden, sharp spike of panic pierced through his chest, far worse than the pain in his head. Where was she? Was she hurt? Had she survived the crash? His last memory was throwing his body over hers, waiting for the devastating impact of the breaking wood.
Rowan pushed himself up onto his elbows. The room spun wildly for a terrifying second. He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth until the dizziness slowly faded.
He opened his eyes again and saw a small crystal pitcher and a glass of water resting on the bedside table. He reached out with a trembling hand. He poured the water, spilling a few drops onto the polished wood, and brought the glass to his lips. He drank it greedily.
It cooled his burning throat, but it wasn’t enough. It did not quench the burning need to see Delaney with his own eyes, to know that she was truly safe.
He threw the heavy white quilt off his legs. He swung his feet over the edge of the tall mattress and planted his bare feet on the thick carpet. He gripped the edge of the bedside table, steadying his large frame as he slowly stood up. He was wearing only his light linen sleeping trousers. His broad chest and back were marked with dark, ugly purple bruises from the carriage walls.
He ignored the pain. He ignored the throbbing in his bandaged head. He had to find her.
He got off the bed and walked to the door. His steps were slow and slightly unsteady, but his sheer, stubborn willpower kept him moving forward.
He pulled the door open.
He stepped out into the dimly lit hallway. He immediately met the paid night nurse, a stout, older woman wearing a clean white apron. She was sitting on a small wooden stool near the door, dozing lightly.
The sound of the opening door startled her. She jumped up, her eyes going wide as saucers when she saw the Duke standing before her.
The nurse spoke, quickly dropping into a deep curtsy. "You are awake, Your Grace! Praise be! I must send for the doctor immediately!"
Rowan raised a large, heavy hand to stop her. He did not need the doctor now.
He replied, his voice rough and demanding, "Where is Delaney?"
The nurse blinked, momentarily confused by the use of a first name. "Miss Kingsley, Your Grace?"
"Yes," Rowan growled impatiently, leaning heavily against the doorframe. "Where is she?"
The nurse replied quickly, eager to soothe the irritable master of the house. "She is outside in the gardens, Your Grace. Your aunt, Lady Margery, insisted she take some fresh air. Miss Kingsley has not left your side for three days and nights. She refused to sleep until you woke."
A profound wave of relief and deep, overwhelming love washed over Rowan’s heart. She had stayed with him. She was safe, and she had guarded him like a fierce, loyal lioness.
"She is outside with your aunt," the nurse added, pointing down the hall toward the back stairs.
Rowan nodded his head. He pushed off the doorframe, gathering his strength.
He looked directly at the nurse, his eyes entirely serious. "Do not tell anyone that I am awake," he commanded in a low, firm voice. "Not my sister, not the butler, and certainly not the doctor. I will ring the bell when I am ready for them."
He wanted to see Delaney first. He wanted to be the one to tell her he was alright.
The nurse nodded rapidly, completely intimidated by his dark, bruised appearance and his strict tone. "As you wish, Your Grace. Not a single word."
Rowan turned and began to walk down the hallway. He moved quietly, his bare feet making absolutely no sound on the thick carpets. He descended the back stairs, using the wooden banister to support his weight.
He encountered two footmen standing guard near the ground-floor doors. The men’s eyes widened in absolute shock at the sight of the injured Duke walking around half-dressed. They immediately moved to bow.
Rowan silenced every guard that bowed with a shhhh, pressing a single finger to his lips. The footmen instantly froze, dropping their heads and remaining perfectly silent.
Rowan walked past them and pushed the heavy glass door open. He stepped out into the cool, crisp night air of the private gardens.
The cold wind felt wonderful against his hot skin. He breathed deeply, the smell of damp earth and crushed leaves clearing the lingering fog from his mind.
He followed the winding stone path that led toward the great oak tree at the edge of the lawn.
"She’s fine. She’s safe," Rowan thought to himself, a small, genuine smile finally touching his lips.
He could hear their voices as he advanced. The soft, familiar cadence of Aunt Margery’s tone mixed with the quiet, musical sound of Delaney’s voice. The sound drew him forward like a powerful magnet.
He increased his speed. He wanted to step out of the shadows, to see her beautiful face in the moonlight, and to pull her into his arms and hug her tightly until all the fear of the crash was entirely forgotten.
He rounded a large, dark row of manicured hedges, stepping softly onto the damp grass to mask the sound of his approach. He was only a few yards away from the wooden swing.
But Rowan stopped midway.
He froze completely in the shadows. He did not step into the silver moonlight.The smile on his face vanished entirely. The warm, loving anticipation in his chest turned instantly to ice.
He had heard Delaney’s voice clearly through the quiet night air. He heard the terrible question she asked his aunt.
"When do I leave?" Delaney asked.
The words hit Rowan like a physical blow to the stomach. The pain in his head flared violently, but it was nothing compared to the sudden, agonizing pain in his heart.
Leave? Why was she asking when she would leave?
