CHAPTER 109: CHAPTER HUNDRED AND NINE

Ines whined, a sound of playful protest that vibrated in the quiet study.

"No," she insisted, pushing lightly against his chest. Her voice gained a bit of strength, her pride as a writer and an ’actress’ piqued. "You are laughing at me, but it is true! In my mansion, everyone knows my face. They know my walk. They know I am Lady Ines. So, of course, they would notice if I wore a gray dress."

She looked down at the rough fabric of Edith’s uniform, smoothing it over her hips with a critical eye.

"But," she continued, lifting a finger to emphasize her point, "if I work as a maid in your home... no one here knows me. They have never seen me. So, no one will know I am from the Hamilton family."

She beamed at him, a look of absolute, triumphant confidence.

"With my perfect acting, of course," she added. "I walked with my head down. I shuffled. I was the very picture of a tired, overworked servant."

Carcel looked at her. He looked at the way the firelight caught the wild, reddish-brown curls escaping her messy bun. He looked at the way her ’perfect disguise’ was currently threatening to burst open at the seams because of her feminine curves. He looked at the smudge of dirt on her cheek from her midnight adventure.

She was ridiculous. She was reckless. She was the most magnificent thing he had ever seen.

He didn’t argue. He acted.

He bent his knees slightly, wrapped his arms around her waist and under her knees, and swept her off the ground.

Ines gasped, clutching his shoulders for balance. "Carcel!"

He held her high against his chest, walking away from the door and toward the center of the room. He looked down at her, his expression softening from amusement to a deep, serious gravity.

"Yes," he agreed, his voice rough. "Truly an impressive performance, Ines. You fooled Lloyd. You fooled the stable boy."

He stopped walking. He held her there, suspended in his arms, his dark eyes searching hers.

"But," he said, his voice dropping, becoming stern. "Don’t do this again."

The playfulness vanished from his face. The reality of what she had done—riding or walking in the dark, alone, disguised—hit him hard.

"What if something happened to you at night?" he asked, a flicker of genuine fear crossing his eyes. "The roads are not safe. There are thieves. There are drunkards. If someone had seen you... a lone woman... and I wasn’t there to protect you..."

His arms tightened around her, as if he could shield her from the imaginary dangers of the past hour.

"I would go mad," he whispered. "Do you understand? I would burn the world down."

Ines looked at him. She saw the fear behind his anger. She saw the love that fueled his worry. She felt the strength of his arms, holding her as if she were precious porcelain.

Her defiance melted away. She rested her head against his shoulder, burying her face in the crisp white linen of his shirt. It smelled of him—safety, ink, and fatigue.

"I won’t do it again," she promised softly. Her voice was muffled against his chest. "I know it was dangerous. I know I was foolish."

She lifted her head, looking him in the eye. She needed him to know the truth. She needed him to know why she had risked it.

"I just..." she whispered, her voice trembling. "I just wanted to see you. I missed you so much."

Carcel closed his eyes.

The confession hit him like a physical blow, crumbling his last defenses. The exhaustion of the week, the pain of staying away, the endless, empty nights—it all washed over him.

He lowered his head. He didn’t kiss her. He simply rested his forehead against the soft swell of her breast, right above the tight neckline of the gray dress.

He breathed her in. He listened to the steady, frantic beat of her heart. It was the only sound in the world that mattered.

"Mmmm..." he hummed, a low sound of pure, exhausted relief. "Thank you. Thank you for coming, Ines."

He stayed there for a moment, drawing strength from her presence. Then, he lifted his head. He was still tired, but his eyes were burning with a new, focused intent.

He carried her to the large, leather Chesterfield sofa near the fireplace.

He didn’t put her down gently. He arranged her.

He laid her down so that her back was resting against the high, padded armrest, propping her up. Her gray skirts spilled over the dark leather like a cloud.

He didn’t sit beside her. He sat at the other end of the sofa, facing her.

He reached out and grabbed her ankles. He lifted her legs and placed them across his lap.

Ines watched him, her heart pounding. He looked so large in the small space, his broad shoulders filling her vision.

Carcel looked at her feet. She was wearing Edith’s shoes—clunky, scuffed, practical leather boots that were clearly too big for her. They looked absurd on her small feet.

"These," he murmured, his hands moving to the laces, "are not yours."

He began to untie them. His large fingers were surprisingly deft. He loosened the laces, pulled the tongue of the boot forward, and slid the first shoe off. Then the second.

He dropped them to the floor with a heavy thud.

Ines wriggled her toes in her stockings. They felt free.

Carcel didn’t let go of her feet. He began to massage the arches of her feet through the cotton stockings, his thumbs digging into the sore muscles.

Ines let out a small, contented sigh, her head falling back against the armrest. "That feels... wonderful."

Carcel watched her. He watched her throat arch. He watched her eyes flutter shut. He watched the way her chest rose and fell in the tight bodice.

He was still playing the game. He wasn’t done with the scene she had set.

"So," he asked, his voice casual, though his hands were moving slowly up her ankles to her calves. "Where is the letter?"

Ines opened her eyes. She blinked, confused for a second. "Letter?"

"The letter," Carcel reminded her, his eyes dancing with dark amusement. "The ’letter’ you told Lloyd you were delivering. The one that was so urgent it couldn’t wait until morning."

He raised an eyebrow. "Surely, a diligent maid like yourself wouldn’t travel all this way without the message she was sent to deliver?"

Ines felt a flush heat her cheeks. The lie. The excuse.

"Oh... that," she stammered.

She looked at her empty hands. She looked at him. There was no letter. There never had been.

She bit her lip, a shy smile curving her mouth.

"I didn’t bring it," she admitted softly.

She paused, then decided to be completely honest.

"Actually," she whispered, looking at him through her lashes, "I didn’t prepare it. There is no letter."

Carcel stopped massaging her leg. His hands rested on her shins. He looked at her with mock severity.

"No letter?" he tsked. "You lied to my aide? You snuck out? You broke the rules?"

He leaned forward, sliding his body along the sofa until he was looming over her legs.

"What a naughty maid," he growled.

His voice was low, a rumble of pure, playful, dangerous seduction.

His hands moved.

They slid from her calves, up over her knees. They didn’t stop at the hem of the dress.

His large, warm hands slid under the rough gray gown.

Ines gasped. The sensation was shocking. The fabric of the dress was coarse and scratchy, but his hands... his hands were hot and smooth against her skin. He found the top of her stockings, his fingers brushing the bare, sensitive skin of her inner thighs.

"Not following your master’s orders," he whispered, his eyes locked on hers, darkening with desire. "Lying. Wearing clothes that... are tempting."

He moved his hands higher, his thumbs stroking the soft skin of her thighs, inching closer to the heat of her center.

Ines felt a jolt of electricity shoot through her.

She looked at him. She saw the hunger in his eyes. She saw the love.She didn’t pull away. Instead, she spread her legs slightly, inviting him in.

She smiled. It was a slow, provocative, challenging smile.

"If I have been naughty," she whispered, her voice breathy and bold.

She looked deep into his eyes.

"Would you punish me, Your Grace?"