A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 175 - Hundred And Seventy Five
The dark room was thick with tension, completely altering the quiet, peaceful atmosphere she had left only a short time ago.
Delaney could not see him clearly in the dim light of the dying fire, but she could hear his harsh, ragged breathing. She could feel the sudden, overwhelming wave of anger and panic radiating from the large bed.
"Rowan?" Delaney whispered, her voice trembling slightly in the dark.
He did not answer her immediately. He was breathing heavily, the sound scraping against the quiet walls.
Delaney turned away from the door. She went to the small wooden table resting near the wall. Her hands were shaking, but she quickly found the small box of matches. She struck one, the sudden, bright spark illuminating her face, and held the flame to the wick of an oil lamp.
The soft, warm orange-yellow light filled the room, chasing the deep shadows into the corners.
She turned around, holding the lamp securely by its brass base.
The breath completely vanished from her lungs. She saw Rowan getting off the bed.
He did not look like a man who had just awoken from a three-day coma. He looked terrifying. He was wearing only his thin linen sleeping trousers. His broad, muscular chest was exposed, covered in dark, ugly purple bruises from the carriage crash. The thick white bandage wrapped tightly around his head only highlighted the sharp, harsh angles of his jaw.
But it was his face that truly frightened her.
He looked angry. It was a dark, wounded, entirely desperate kind of anger. His eyes were fixed directly on her, burning with an intense, raw emotion she had never seen before.
He was walking towards her.
His steps were slow and slightly unsteady, favoring his bruised left side, but he moved with the relentless, unstoppable purpose of a predator cornering its prey.
"Rowan?" She said again, her voice rising in sudden alarm.
Delaney moved back. She took a slow, careful step away from him. He matched her movement instantly, taking a long, heavy step forward. She took another step back. He followed.
She moved back with each step he took, retreating across the thick carpet until she felt the solid, cold plaster of the bedchamber wall press flat against her back.
Rowan cornered her to a wall.
He did not stop until he was standing merely inches away from her. He towered over her, his massive frame completely blocking her path. His chest was heaving with exertion and deep emotion, the bruises rising and falling with every rapid breath. His face was angry, the muscles in his jaw locked tight.
The tension between them both was incredibly thick. It crackled in the warm air, heavy and deeply suffocating.
Rowan took the lamp from her hand and placed it on the nearest table. He lifted his large arms and placed both of his hands flat against the plaster wall, one on either side of her head. He trapped her with his arms as she stood in the middle, completely caged by his overwhelming presence.
Delaney looked up at his face, her hazel eyes wide with a mixture of fear and profound concern. She had never seen him look so entirely undone.
"Rowan, are you alright?" Delaney asked, her voice a soft, breathless plea. "You should be resting. The doctor said..."
"Where are you going?" Rowan demanded, his voice a harsh, raspy growl that cut right through her polite concern.
He leaned closer, his face dropping toward hers until she could feel the heat of his skin and smell the faint, sharp scent of medical herbs on his bandages.
"I heard you in the garden," Rowan accused, his eyes flashing with a dark, wounded pain. "I heard my aunt offer you a choice. I heard you ask when you would leave."
Delaney’s eyes widened in sudden realization. He had heard half the conversation, but he had entirely misunderstood the context. He thought she was abandoning him.
Before Delaney could even open her mouth to reply, to explain the social rules and the promise of a proper courtship, the fierce anger in Rowan completely vanished.
It did not fade slowly; it shattered entirely, breaking apart to reveal the raw, bleeding vulnerability hidden beneath. The man standing before her crumbled completely.
He used one of his hands to cup her face.
His large, calloused palm slid gently against her soft cheek, his long fingers tangling slightly in the loose hair near her ear. His touch was incredibly warm, entirely desperate, and trembling with a deep, profound fear.
"Don’t leave," Rowan whispered, his harsh voice breaking into a soft, ragged plea.
He looked down into her wide hazel eyes, completely abandoning his pride, his title, and his dignity.
"Please," Rowan begged. "You don’t have to feel guilt. I know you must have blamed yourself. But you must understand... I protected you because I wanted to."
His thumb brushed softly over her cheekbone, tracing the faint scratch left by the flying glass.
"I did it because I couldn’t think of any other way to keep you safe," Rowan confessed, his voice filled with an absolute, terrifying honesty. "If that carriage had crushed you while I remained safe, my life would have ended on that muddy road. I would not have survived it. If I had to do it a thousand times, I would. You cannot leave me because of that."
Delaney’s breath caught in her throat.
"You can’t leave," Rowan continued, his words tumbling over each other in a frantic rush, desperate to convince her to stay. "I still haven’t figured out how to sit across from you and not be madly in love with everything you do."
He leaned his forehead gently against hers, closing his eyes, seeking her warmth as if he were freezing to death.
"I am quite undone by your proximity," Rowan murmured, his breath brushing against her lips, his soul completely bare before her. "I swear, you drive me crazy by just existing. The way you organize a desk. The way you scold me in French. The way you argue with me. The way you smile when you think no one is looking.The way you look at everything I love."
"I can tell I am going mad, Del," He whispered against her lips. "If you walk out that door, I will truly lose my mind."
