CHAPTER 119: CHAPTER HUNDRED AND NINETEEN

Ines sat on the edge of her bed. The mattress felt too soft, offering no support to her trembling body. The smell of burnt paper still lingered faintly in the air, a sharp, acrid reminder of the news she had just destroyed.

She stared at her hands. They were empty now, but she could still feel the weight of Gladys’s letter.

"We are being watched."

The words echoed in her mind, bouncing off the walls of her safe, quiet bedroom.

"Who is this?" she whispered to the empty room. Her voice was thin and frightened.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to picture the enemy.

"Why now?" she asked, a sob catching in her throat. "Why now, when I am finally getting married? When everything was going to be perfect?"

It felt cruel. It felt like a punishment for her happiness. Just when she had found love, just when she had found a way to be herself with Carcel, the shadows of her secret life were reaching out to drag her back.

She buried her face in her hands, pressing her palms against her eyes until she saw spots of light.

"What do I do?" she thought frantically.

Her mind latched onto the one clue Gladys had given her.

Lavender water. Expensive lavender water.

Ines lifted her head and looked around her room. There was a sachet of lavender in her drawer. There was a bottle of lavender oil on her vanity.

"There are many women who use lavender," she reasoned, her heart sinking. "Me, inclusive. Half the women in the ton smell like a garden."

She thought of the balls. Lady Danbury smelled of lavender. The Duchess of Hastings smelled of lavender. Even some of the men used it on their handkerchiefs.

"How do I find who is after me?" she whispered. "It could be anyone. It could be the woman sitting next to me at tea. It could be someone I smiled at yesterday."

The unknown was terrifying. It was a ghost hunting her.

Knock, knock.

The sharp rap on her door made her jump. Her heart leaped into her throat. Was it Rowan?

Ines took a deep breath. She rubbed her cheeks vigorously to bring some color back into them and smoothed her hair.

"Compose yourself, Ines," she ordered internally.

"Come in," she called out, her voice shaky but loud enough to be heard.

The door opened. It wasn’t Rowan. It was Edith.

The maid stood in the doorway, looking calm and normal. The sight of her familiar face made Ines’s shoulders drop an inch.

"My Lady," Edith said with a small curtsy. "The Duke of Carleton is waiting for you in the garden."

Ines blinked.

Carcel.

The name was a balm to her frayed nerves. He was here.

"Carcel?" she repeated.

"Yes, My Lady," Edith said. "He is sitting by the rosebushes."

Ines stood up. A sudden, desperate need to see him washed over her. But then she paused.

"What about my brother?" she asked quickly. "Is Rowan with him?"

If Rowan was there, she couldn’t speak freely. She couldn’t tell Carcel about the letter. She would have to pretend, and she didn’t think she had the strength to act right now.

Edith shook her head. "No, My Lady. His Grace has gone out. He said he would not be back until dinner."

Ines felt a rush of relief so strong it made her knees weak. Rowan was gone. Carcel was here. They were alone.

"I’ll be down in a moment," Ines said.

"Okay," Edith replied. She stepped back and closed the door softly.

Ines stood in the center of her room. Her mind was racing, but it was no longer spinning in circles of panic. It had a direction now.

Carcel! she thought.

He knew. He was the only other person in the world who knew Arthur Pendleton was Ines Hamilton. He had protected her secret before. He had taken a punch for it.

Yes, she decided, clutching her skirt. Carcel will know what to do. He is smart. He will fix this.

She didn’t check the mirror. she didn’t care if her eyes were red or her dress was wrinkled. She just needed to talk to him.

She walked out of her room, down the stairs, and through the house. She walked fast, her slippers silent on the floor. She pushed open the French doors that led to the garden.

The fresh air hit her face. It was cool and smelled of damp earth and blooming flowers.

She walked down the stone path, her eyes scanning the greenery.

And there he was.

Carcel was sitting on the white stone bench near her prized rosebushes. The sun filtered through the leaves, casting dappled light on his dark hair.

He looked peaceful. He was wearing a casual riding coat, not his formal black. He looked like a man who had come to spend a lazy afternoon with his betrothed.

In his hands, he held a white bakery box tied with a yellow ribbon.

Ines’s heart twisted. Pastries. He had brought her sweets. He was thinking about making her happy, while she was bringing him a disaster.

Carcel heard her footsteps on the gravel.

He looked up.

When he saw her, his face lit up. It was a transformation. The serious, brooding Duke vanished, replaced by a man in love. A smile spread across his face, warm and welcoming.

He stood up immediately to greet her. He set the box down on the bench carefully.

"Ines," he began, opening his arms. "I brought you..."

He didn’t get to finish his sentence.

Ines didn’t walk to him. She ran.

She crossed the last few feet of the garden path at a sprint. She didn’t care about decorum. She didn’t care if the gardeners were watching.

She crashed into his chest.

It was a collision. She hit him hard, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in the front of his coat. She held on with a desperate, crushing strength, her fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket.

Carcel stumbled back a step, surprised by the force of her impact. His arms instinctively closed around her, steadying her, holding her tight.

Ines squeezed her eyes shut. She pressed her ear against his chest. She could hear his heart beat—a strong, steady thump-thump that felt like the only solid thing in the world.

She hugged him tightly, as if she could physically squeeze the fear out of her body and into his. She hugged him as if all her problems—the letter, the broker, the mysterious woman—would simply disappear if she held on long enough.

She breathed in his scent. He smelled of soap, and horse, and that crisp, clean air. He smelled safe.

Carcel stood still, holding her.

At first, he thought it was just affection. He thought she was happy to see him. He smiled into her hair, ready to tease her about her enthusiastic greeting.

But then, he felt it.

He felt the way her body was trembling against his. It wasn’t a shiver of cold. It was a deep, racking tremor of fear.

He felt the wetness spreading on his shirt where her face was pressed. Tears.

He felt the desperate, clawing grip of her hands on his back.

His smile vanished instantly. His body went rigid, his protective instincts flaring to life like a signal fire.

This wasn’t a happy hug. This was a cry for help.

He pulled back slightly, trying to look at her, but she wouldn’t let go. She buried her face deeper, shaking her head.

He placed his hands on her shoulders. He rubbed her back, a soothing, firm motion.

"Ines," he said.

His voice was low and serious. The playful tone was gone.

"Ines, what’s wrong?" he asked gently.

She didn’t answer. She just sobbed, a muffled sound against his coat.

Carcel’s heart began to race with worry. Had she been hurt? Had someone insulted her? Was it her heart?

He stroked her hair.

"Did something happen?" he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Is it about the wedding? Is it... is it your book?"

He felt her stiffen in his arms at the mention of the book.

He knew.

He held her tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"Tell me," he murmured. "I am here. I am right here."