The heavy double doors of the drawing room clicked shut, sealing the guests inside and leaving Ines and Delaney alone in the grand, marble-floored hallway.
The mont the latch caught, Delaney’s polite, unreadable mask vanished. She dropped all pretense of the quiet, accommodating cousin. She spun around to face the Duchess of Carleton, her hazel eyes wide with a mixture of sheer confusion and rising annoyance.
"Your Grace," Delaney said. She kept her voice low, but the sharp edge in her tone was impossible to miss. "What in heaven’s na is going on?"
Ines did not look guilty. She looked incredibly pleased with herself. She smoothed the front of her green silk dress and turned to face Delaney with a calm, business-like expression.
"I am securing our story, Miss Kingsley," Ines replied smoothly. "I noticed Lady Farrington looking at you during lunch. I saw the way she watched you and Rowan. She is a very sharp woman, and I fear she might be having so serious doubts about the whole cousin facade."
Delaney swallowed hard. She knew Ines was right. Lady Farrington’s gaze had felt like a knife since the day they arrived.
"So," Ines continued, waving her hand toward the front foyer, "I had to make it real. Rowan told Lord Sterling you had a husband. We told the Farringtons you had a husband. A sailor. A very jealous Captain. A lie is only a problem if it cannot be proven. Therefore, I proved it."
"You proved it?" Delaney echoed, her heart hamring in her chest.
"I paid an actor," Ines stated plainly. "I sent a ssage to a very discreet theater manager I know in London. I paid a handso sum for a professional to act as your husband for a few days, just until the Farringtons leave."
Delaney stared at the Duchess. She felt the heavy fog of confusion slowly evaporating from her mind, but the hot prickle of annoyance still lingered tightly in her chest.
This was her life, her lie, and her danger. To have soone else take the reins without warning was terrifying.
Ines saw the annoyance. Her triumphant smile softened into sothing far more genuine. She reached out and touched Delaney’s arm.
"I am sorry I didn’t consult you first, Miss Kingsley," Ines apologized. It was a rare thing for a Duchess to apologize to an employee, and she ant it. "It all happened too quickly. I saw the way Lady Farrington was analyzing the situation, and I had to act fast to protect my brother’s secret of having a matchmaker. And to protect you from society."
Delaney let out a long, trembling breath. She closed her eyes for a second, fighting the urge to rub her aching temples. She could not change the past. The man was already standing in the foyer. She had to deal with the present.
"How long will he be here?" Delaney asked, opening her eyes. Her voice was pure business now.
"Three days," Ines replied briskly. "Just three days to show off your happily married life before they leave for their country estate. I have given him the script of what to do and say. He knows his background, he knows your fake history, and he knows how to behave in polite society."
"Let see him," Delaney demanded.
Ines nodded to the shadows near the front door. "Mr. Simmons, bring the gentleman forward."
Footsteps clicked on the marble floor.
A young man stepped into the light of the hallway chandelier. He was dressed in a very fine, dark navy coat with brass buttons that gave off a distinctly nautical, yet gentlemanly, air. He was tall—though not quite as broad as Rowan—with sandy blonde hair, tanned skin, and a very charming, easy smile.
He stopped a few feet away and gave a perfect, respectful bow.
Delaney looked the young man up and down. She evaluated him with the cold, calculating eye of a matchmaker. He was handso. He looked reliable. He looked exactly like the sort of man a sensible woman from the Scottish borders might marry.
"What is your na?" Delaney asked. She did not sound friendly. She sounded like an interrogator.
The man straightened up. He did not seem intimidated by her harsh tone.
"Smith," he replied smoothly. His voice was deep and pleasant. "Smith Jones, at your service, madam."
Delaney narrowed her eyes. "Smith Jones playing Captain Smith Kingsley. How very creative. How old are you, Mr. Jones?"
Smith smiled, a twinkle of amusent in his brown eyes. "I am thirty, madam."
"Thirty," Delaney repeated. She took a step closer to him. She did not smile. She looked him dead in the eye, channeling every ounce of cold authority she had learned from surviving the London streets.
"Listen to very carefully, Mr. Jones," Delaney said, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "You are here to play a part. You will smile, you will speak politely to the Duke, and you will convince Lady Farrington that we are happily wed. But hear my rules."
Smith’s smile faded slightly. He nodded. "Yes, madam."
"You will not enter my bed," Delaney instructed, listing the rules on her fingers. "You will sleep in the adjoining dressing room. You will not drink to excess. And above all else..."
Delaney took one final step forward, standing toe-to-toe with the actor.
"If you touch inappropriately," Delaney warned, her hazel eyes flashing with dangerous fire, "if your hand lingers too long, or if you try to make this performance real in the dark... I will fire a bullet into your head. And I assure you, sir, I am an excellent shot."
Smith Jones blinked. He looked at the Duchess of Carleton for help.
Ines simply smiled and gave a very supportive nod. "She shot an apple to pieces just yesterday, Mr. Jones. I would take her threat to heart."
Smith swallowed hard. He quickly stepped back and bowed much lower this ti.
"I understand completely, madam," Smith said, his voice entirely devoid of amusent now. "Utmost respect. Not a hair on your head shall be disturbed. I am a professional."
Delaney nodded once, satisfied. "Good."
Ines clapped her hands together, rubbing them with sheer delight. The tension of the threat only made the ga more exciting to her.
"Well then," Ines said, her eyes gleaming. "Since that is settled, and no one is going to be shot today, shall we go in? Your loving husband has returned from the sea, Miss Kingsley."
Delaney took a deep breath. She smoothed her plain blue dress one last ti. She plastered a look of mild, pleasant surprise onto her face.
"Let us go," Delaney nodded.
Mr. Simmons opened the heavy double doors.
They went back inside the drawing room.
The atmosphere in the room was so thick with tension that it felt like walking into a wall of water.
Rowan was standing by the fireplace. He looked like a statue carved from solid ice. His face was entirely devoid of color, except for a dangerous, flushed redness creeping up his neck. His hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides. He stared at the doorway as if waiting for a monster to enter.
Lady Farrington sat up straight on the sofa, her eyes narrowed like a hawk spotting a field mouse. Celine looked incredibly confused, clutching a small embroidered pillow to her chest.
What are they trying to prove? Lady Farrington thought to herself. If it will keep that matchmaker at arm’s length then i have no objection.
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