Rowan had just admitted his feelings for the matchmaker out loud, and the walls of the manor had not collapsed. In fact, he felt lighter than he had in weeks.
Rowan looked at his brother-in-law. Carcel was still sitting back in his chair, trying to process the shocking fact that the rigid Duke of Ford was planning a highly scandalous, entirely romantic marriage.
But he was not finished. His mind was moving quickly, making plans not just for his own future, but for Delaney’s.
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the polished oak desk. He looked directly at Carcel, his eyes sharp and focused.
"In addition to the investigation on the Farringtons," Rowan spoke, his voice carrying the deep, commanding tone of a man giving a vital order. "Could you tell Vance to investigate about the Oakridge case?"
Carcel blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in topic. He set his crystal glass down on the table. "The silk scam? Rowan, that case is twenty years old. The trail of evidence will be completely cold. The ledgers are likely burned or buried."
"I do not care how cold the trail is," Rowan replied firmly. He tapped his long fingers against the desk. "Since Hawksley is connected to it all, I want to be sure."
"Sure of what?" Carcel asked, his dark eyebrows drawing together.
Rowan looked down at his own hands. He thought of Delaney’s fierce pride. He thought of the plain, dark dresses she wore, and the quiet, heavy sha she carried on her shoulders every single day because of a cri she did not commit.
"I want to be sure Baron Kingsley is actually a criminal," Rowan explained softly. He raised his head, his eyes burning with a fierce, protective fire. "Or if he was frad. Hawksley is a liar and an extortionist. It is entirely possible he built his fortune on the Baron’s ruin."
Carcel nodded slowly, seeing the logic. "It is very possible. n like Hawksley do not suddenly beco honest when dealing in business."
"Exactly," Rowan said, his jaw clenching with determination. "And if he was frad, I am going to get justice. I will use every ounce of my power in the House of Lords to clear her family na."
Rowan’s voice dropped, becoming incredibly gentle and fiercely devoted.
"I want to clear her family na so that she would get her sense of identity back," Rowan continued. "She hides herself, Carcel. She acts as a servant when she was born a noblewoman. I want to give her the freedom to walk into a ballroom without fear. I want her to hold her head high."
Carcel just stared at Rowan.
The Duke of Carleton was completely speechless. He sat perfectly still in his leather chair, staring across the desk as if a stranger had suddenly taken Rowan’s place. The Rowan he knew would never risk his own immaculate reputation to dig up a twenty-year-old scandal for a disgraced woman. The Rowan he knew cared only about duty, estate ledgers, and quiet, sensible decisions.
Carcel slowly shook his head in absolute wonder.
"Where is the real Rowan?" Carcel asked. His voice was a hushed whisper of sheer disbelief. He leaned closer, inspecting his brother-in-law’s face. "What did she do to you?"
Rowan did not look offended by the question. He did not puff up his chest or try to defend his masculine pride.
Instead, Rowan replied with a smile. It was a slow, genuinely happy, and incredibly peaceful smile that reached his eyes. He looked like a man who had finally put down a very heavy burden.
"She owned ," Rowan said simply.
The admission was smooth and utterly confident. He did not feel weak for saying it. He felt incredibly strong. Delaney Kingsley had challenged his rules, broken his perfectly ordered life, and captured his heart entirely.
Carcel let out a soft breath, a small, knowing smile touching his own lips. As a man completely devoted to his own wife, he recognized the look of total surrender.
"Well," Carcel murmured. "I suppose there are worse fates for a Duke."
Rowan picked up his glass of brandy. He took a long, fortifying sip of the dark, warm liquid. The strong alcohol burned pleasantly down his throat. He needed the courage for what he was about to do next.
He set the glass down with a soft clink.
"By the way," Rowan announced, his tone shifting back to serious business. He pointed to the thick, crisp legal contracts resting between them. "I have to tell everyone about the trap."
Carcel’s jaw dropped completely open.
"You are letting the family know?" Carcel asked, his voice rising in shock.
For as long as Carcel had known him, Rowan had been the impenetrable shield of the Hamilton family. He never shared his worries. He never showed his failures. If a crop failed, Rowan fixed it quietly. If an investnt went poor, Rowan covered it without a word. To openly confess that he had been tricked into a blackmail sche was entirely against Rowan’s nature.
Rowan nodded his head. He looked slightly uncomfortable, but entirely resolute.
"I am," Rowan confird.
Carcel rubbed the back of his neck, completely baffled. "Why the sudden change of heart? I thought you wanted to protect Ines and Aunt Margery from the scandal."
Rowan sighed. He looked toward the door, thinking of the woman waiting in the drawing room.
"She insisted I tell them," Rowan admitted, a faint blush touching his ears. "Miss Kingsley made it very clear that a family should carry burdens together. She ordered not to be the ’shiny Duke’ anymore. That is what she calls ."
Carcel stared for a second. Then, he threw his head back and laughed.
It was a loud, booming, joyous laugh that filled the quiet study. Carcel slapped his hand against his knee, thoroughly amused by the situation. Rowan was taking direct orders from a small, dark-haired matchmaker.
"You are right," Carcel laughed, wiping a tear of mirth from the corner of his eye. "She really owns you."
Rowan took another sip of his drink and groaned loudly. He glared at his brother-in-law over the rim of the crystal glass.
"Stop making fun of ," Rowan grumbled, though there was no real heat in his warning.
"I cannot help it," Carcel chuckled, picking up his own glass to finish his drink. "It is highly entertaining to see you acting like a normal, foolish mortal man. But do not worry, my friend. Your secret is safe with ."
Carcel’s face sobered as he set the empty glass down.
"Vance and I will do our best," Carcel promised sincerely. "We will dig into the Oakridge case. We will find out what thr Farringtons are hiding. We will break this contract."
Rowan nodded. "Thank you."
They finished their drinks in comfortable, companionable silence.
Rowan stood up from his leather chair. He reached out and carefully gathered the thick, white parchnt papers of the marriage contract and the railway addendum. He folded them neatly and held them tightly in his right hand.
"Let us go," Rowan said, taking a deep breath to steady his nerves. "It is ti to face the ladies."
They walked out of the dark study and headed down the wide, marble hallway toward the drawing room.
As Rowan approached the heavy double doors, his heart began to beat a little faster. He was a brave man, but the thought of disappointing his aunt and his sister terrified him. He was supposed to be the perfect head of the family. Now, he had to walk into the room and confess that he had nearly lost the entire estate because he failed to read the fine print of a business deal.
Mr. Simmons opened the doors for them.
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