CHAPTER 106: CHAPTER HUNDRED AND SIX

She held her breath.

If Carcel was going... if he was going to be drinking and gambling... then he wasn’t thinking about her.

Rowan paused. He looked at her. He saw the tension in her shoulders, even though she tried to hide it.

He shook his head.

"No," Rowan said. "I sent a note to ask him earlier. I thought he might want a distraction."

Ines’s heart gave a painful thump. A distraction from what? From me?

"But he refused," Rowan continued, placing his hat on his head. "He said he had some paperwork to handle regarding the estate. Shipping manifests, tenant disputes... the usual boring business of a Duke."

Rowan adjusted his cuffs. "So, he is not going to come. He is at his manor."

He smiled, a fond, knowing look in his eyes. "Besides, you know Carcel. He doesn’t really like the club. He finds the gossip tedious. He prefers his solitude."

Solitude.

Ines felt a rush of warmth. He wasn’t out drinking. He wasn’t laughing with friends.

He was alone. Just like her.

"Ohh," she said, her voice soft.

Rowan misinterpreted her tone. He thought she was disappointed that she couldn’t tag along, or perhaps just curious about the mysterious world of men.

He reached out and tapped her nose lightly with his gloved finger.

"Moreover," he teased, a twinkle in his eye, "women aren’t allowed in the club, Ines. It is a sanctuary. No sisters allowed. So don’t get any ideas about sneaking in to find him."

Ines blinked. She forced a small, innocent smile onto her face.

"No!" she protested weakly. "I was just curious. Did I say I was going to the club? I know the rules, Rowan."

Rowan laughed. "I know, I know. I am only teasing."

He saw the sadness that lingered in her eyes, despite her smile. He sighed, his expression softening.

"I know you miss him, Ines," he said gently. He patted her head, smoothing down her hair. "It has been a week. I will send a letter tomorrow morning. I will ask him to visit for tea. Or perhaps dinner."

He looked stern for a moment. "Under my supervision, of course. We will keep it proper."

Ines nodded meekly. "Okay. Thank you, Rowan."

"Go to bed," he instructed. "Drink your water and go to sleep.Don’t stay up too late, Ines."

He stood at the open front door, his silhouette framed by the dark night and the carriage lamps outside. He looked back at his sister one last time, his face a mask of brotherly concern. He was adjusting his top hat, checking his reflection in the hall mirror one last time.

Ines stood on the bottom step of the grand staircase. She gripped the banister, her knuckles white, but she plastered a bright, obedient smile on her face.

"Okay," she chirped, waving at him. "Have fun at the club, Rowan. Win some money for us."

Rowan chuckled, shaking his head. "I will try. Goodnight."

He turned and walked to the heavy oak door. The footman standing beside it, and the cool night air swirled into the foyer.

Rowan stepped out. The door closed with a solid, final thud.

Ines listened. She heard the footman slide the heavy bolt home. She heard the crunch of boots on gravel. She heard the carriage door slam. She heard the horses whinny, and the rhythmic clop-clop-clop of the wheels fading into the distance.

Then, silence.

The house was empty.

Ines stood alone in the foyer, bathed in the flickering light of the gas lamp.

He will send a letter tomorrow, she thought. For tea.

She imagined it. Sitting in the drawing room. Rowan watching them like a hawk. Sipping tea. Talking about the weather. Not being able to touch him. Not being able to ask him why he hadn’t come.

It isn’t enough, she thought. It isn’t enough.

Even if Rowan watched us, it is better than not seeing him at all, she tried to reason with herself. I should be grateful.

But then... the realization hit her.

It started as a small spark in the back of her mind, but it quickly flared into a blaze.

Wait!

She looked at the closed door. She looked at the clock.

Rowan will be at the club.

He had said it himself. "There is a high-stakes card game." "I will be late. Very late."

He wouldn’t be back until dawn. The servants shouldbr asleep. The house was hers.

And Carcel...

Carcel was not at the club. He was not far away in London. He was at his new manor. It was only a twenty-minute ride. A forty-minute walk.

He was alone. With his paperwork. With his solitude.

A wicked idea struck her mind.

It was reckless. It was improper. It was exactly the kind of thing the heroine in The Duke’s Nightly Routine would do. It was exactly the kind of thing Ines Hamilton, the quiet, obedient sister, would never do.

But Ines Hamilton was tired of being quiet. She was tired of waiting for letters. She was tired of following the rules that kept her miserable.

A slow, determined, and slightly dangerous smile spread across her lips.

She looked up the stairs, toward her empty, lonely bedroom.

Then she looked at the door.

She wasn’t going to go to bed. She wasn’t going to drink water.

"I don’t want to wait for tea," she whispered to the silent house.

She turned and ran.

She ran toward the back of the house, her slippered feet silent on the rugs, then slapping softly against the stone floor of the service hallway. She moved like a ghost, a blur of white nightgown in the shadows.

She burst into the kitchen.

It was warm and steamy, smelling of soap and the lingering aroma of the roast beef they had eaten for dinner. The scullery maids were there, their sleeves rolled up, their arms deep in soapy water, washing the mountains of china plates and silver cutlery.

Edith was there, too. She had just finished her rounds, checking the pantry locks. She was wiping her hands on her apron, looking tired, ready to go up to the servants’ quarters for bed.

"Edith!"

Ines’s voice was breathless, sharp, and urgent.