A Scandal By Any Other Name

Delaney let out a small, quiet breath of profound relief. The evidence was safe.

She walked past him, moving over to her trunk sitting at the very foot of her large bed. She grabbed the iron handles and opened the lid.

She took out the two small silver dueling pistols.

She held the cold metal firmly in her hands. She checked the narrow barrels one last time, ensuring the lead balls and the dark gunpowder were perfectly loaded and completely dry.

Hamish watched her actions, his eyes widening slightly in surprise as he realized she was completely armed and entirely ready for a violent fight.

"Take the trunk down now, Hamish," Delaney ordered softly, not looking up from the weapons.

Hamish stepped forward immediately. He closed the lid, lifted the massive wooden trunk easily onto his broad, strong shoulder, and carried it out of the room.

Delaney was finally entirely alone.

She acted quickly. She hiked up the voluminous silk skirts of her beautiful wedding dress, gathering the fabric in her hands. She reached down to her thigh.

She strapped the first pistol securely into the tight, elastic lace garter of her white stocking on her right leg. She took the second pistol and strapped it firmly into the garter on her left leg. She adjusted the weapons carefully, ensuring the metal would not slip down her leg when she walked.

She let the silk skirts fall back down. She smoothed her dress perfectly back into place, ensuring there were no strange bulges.

Delaney lifted her chin high, squared her narrow shoulders, and walked confidently out into the hallway.

She walked slowly and gracefully down the grand, sweeping marble staircase. The house was completely silent. Aunt Eunice was likely locked away in her own room, weeping bitterly for her arrested husband and her ruined social standing.

Delaney reached the bottom of the long stairs and walked across the wide, polished marble floor of the grand foyer. She stepped out through the open front wooden doors and out into the crisp morning air.

Outside, the large traveling carriage was waiting patiently in the circular gravel driveway. The horses stamped their hooves, their breath pluming in white clouds in the cold air.

Hamish was busy at the very back of the carriage, securely strapping her trunk to the metal luggage rack with thick, strong leather belts.

Standing near the open door of the carriage was Lucas.

He was holding a thin, strong-smelling cigar in his right hand, bringing it to his lips to take a deep drag.

When Lucas heard the distinct crunch of her soft shoes on the gravel, he turned his head slowly.

When he saw Delaney walking toward him, looking incredibly beautiful and completely submissive in the shining silk dress, a dark, wicked, entirely victorious gleam entered his empty dark eyes.

He took a final, long, deep drag of the cigar. He threw the smoking, glowing end to the ground. He raised his leather boot and crushed it violently, completely extinguishing the fire beneath his heel.

He smiled at her. It was a cold, incredibly arrogant, utterly confident smile.

Delaney noticed his posture immediately. His left arm was still securely bound in the dark silk sling, hidden carefully beneath his coat. He was holding himself slightly stiffly, leaning slightly to the right, clearly protecting the severe, painful shoulder injury Odis had given him the night before.

Delaney reached the side of the carriage.

She stopped walking completely. Her sharp hazel eyes noticed something entirely unexpected and highly concerning.

There was someone else sitting high up in the driver’s box.

It was a large, incredibly rough-looking man. He was wearing a worn brown coat that smelled faintly of cheap ale, and a low, flat cap pulled down tightly over his eyes to hide his face. He did not wear the uniform of the Kingsley estate drivers. He looked exactly like a cheap, violent hired thug from the dangerous taverns in the countryside.

Delaney frowned slightly. She turned her head and looked directly into Lucas’s eyes. She asked, her voice perfectly calm and politely curious, "Who is he?"

Lucas smirked. He gestured casually with his good right hand toward the rough man sitting silently on the high box.

"He is simply a hired hand," Lucas replied smoothly, though the cruel, calculated lie was entirely obvious in his mocking tone. "He would be driving us safely to London today, while your loyal footman accompanies us on the box for extra security on the dangerous roads."

Delaney stared at Lucas.

She thought to herself, a cold, heavy knot of dread forming in her stomach. "He brought company. He knows Hamish is strong and highly capable. He hired a cheap thug to ensure Hamish cannot fight him if things go wrong."

The situation had just become incredibly dangerous. Lucas was paranoid, he was injured, and he was taking absolutely no chances with his massive payday.

Delaney did not argue with him. She simply nodded her head at him, a tiny, dismissive neutral gesture.

Hamish finished strapping the trunk to the back rack. He walked around to the side of the carriage. He lowered the small metal step with his foot.

He held out his large, gloved hand to help her up.

Delaney placed her small gloved hand in his. She hiked up her silk skirts and climbed gracefully into the interior of the carriage. She sat down on the far side of the worn, cracked leather bench, folding her hands neatly and perfectly in her lap.

Lucas followed closely behind her. He climbed into the carriage, moving slightly awkwardly and grimacing slightly to protect his injured left shoulder. He sat down directly across from her on the opposite bench. His eyes never left her face for a single second.

Hamish closed the carriage door securely, climbed up the side of the carriage and went to sit at the high driver’s box, taking his place right next to the rough, hired driver.

The hired driver did not speak. He simply clicked his teeth loudly and slapped the leather reins forcefully against the backs of the strong horses.

The carriage jerked slightly, throwing Lucas back against his seat. The large wheels crunched loudly on the loose gravel. The horses began to move forward, quickly picking up a steady, fast trot. The carriage rolled steadily down the long, winding driveway, passing completely through the wrought-iron gates, finally moving away from the Kingsley estate forever.