CHAPTER 120: CHAPTER HUNDRED AND TWENTY

Ines held him again and sniffed. It was a wet, ragged sound against the front of his coat.

Carcel didn’t move to push her away. He stood solid as a rock in the middle of the garden path, his arms wrapped securely around her trembling form. He lifted one hand and began to stroke her hair. He patted the messy, reddish-brown curls, a rhythmic, soothing motion.

Pat. Pat. Pat.

"Shh," he whispered into her hair. "It’s alright. Just breathe."

He held her until the violent shaking of her shoulders began to subside, replaced by the occasional hiccup. He held her until he felt her muscles loosen, just a fraction.

"Come," he said softly.

He kept one arm around her waist, supporting her weight as if she were injured. He guided her the few steps back to the white stone bench where his box of pastries still sat, cheerful and forgotten.

They sat down. The stone was cool beneath them, a grounding reality.

Carcel turned to her. He took her hands in his. They were cold, despite the warm afternoon sun. He rubbed them gently, trying to bring the blood back.

He looked at her face. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen. Her nose was pink. She looked devastated.

He reached up. With the pads of his thumbs, he gently wiped the wet tracks of tears from her cheeks. He caught a fresh tear just as it spilled over her lashes.

"Ines," he said, his voice low and demanding in its gentleness. "What is wrong? Tell me. Who hurt you?"

His eyes darkened. "Was it Rowan? Did he say something cruel?"

Ines shook her head. She sniffed again, trying to find her voice. It felt stuck in her throat, blocked by the lump of fear.

"No," she whispered. "It isn’t Rowan. It’s... it’s Gladys."

Carcel frowned. "Gladys? Your friend? Did something happen to her?"

"She sent a letter," Ines said. She pulled her hand from his and reached into her pocket. She pulled out the crumpled, empty hand where the letter had been. She realized she had burned it.

"I burned it," she confessed, her voice trembling. "She told me to. But the words... Carcel, the words are still in my head."

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and terrified.

"She said we are being watched," Ines whispered.

She poured it all out. She told him everything. She told him about the man at the print shop. The broker. The man who wasn’t looking for a story, but for a scandal.

"He bought every copy of the book," she said, the words tumbling out fast. "And he offered triple the price. Triple! Just for a sample of the author’s handwriting."

Carcel listened. His face was unreadable, a mask of intense concentration. He didn’t interrupt. He let her speak.

"Gladys said he smelled of expensive lavender water," Ines said, gripping his sleeve. "She thinks he was hired by a woman. A woman of high standing."

She took a shaky breath.

"I don’t know what to do, Carcel," she cried, the panic rising again. "If they find my handwriting... if they match it to Arthur Pendleton... everyone will know. Rowan will know."

She looked down at her lap.

"If I’m discovered," she whispered, her voice breaking, "I’m afraid I won’t..."

She was about to say ’I won’t be able to marry you.’ She was about to say ’I will ruin your name.’

Carcel didn’t let her finish.

He reached out. He placed a long, warm finger gently against her lips, silencing her.

"Shh," he commanded softly. "Don’t say it."

He looked her in the eye. His gaze was fierce. It was not the look of a man who was afraid of a little gossip.

"Ines," he said, his voice calm and steely. "Look at me."

She looked at him.

"My reputation," he said, emphasizing each word, "is built on power. Not propriety."

He leaned in closer.

"I am the Duke of Carleton," he stated. "I survived a war. I have faced cannons and swords. Do you think I am afraid of a spy with a handkerchief? Do you think I am afraid of some whispers in a drawing room?"

He took her hands again, anchoring her to him.

"I am not afraid of the scandal," he vowed.

His eyes flashed with a sudden, cold fire. He wasn’t scared. He was furious. He was furious that someone was hunting her. He was furious that someone had made her cry. He was furious that someone dared to threaten what belonged to him.

"I’ll handle this," he promised. His voice was a low growl. "I will find this broker. I will find who paid him. And I will make sure they never, ever, look in your direction again."

He squeezed her hands.

"You don’t need to worry," he said. "You just write. You leave the fighting to me."

Ines looked at him. She believed him. He looked so strong. So capable. He looked like a wall that nothing could break down.

She nodded her head slowly. The panic in her chest began to loosen its grip.

"Okay," she whispered.

Carcel saw her relax. He hugged her. The tension leaving his own shoulders.

He broke the hug, pulling back just enough to see her face clearly. He cupped her small face in his palms, his thumbs resting on her cheekbones.

She still looked sad. Her eyes were still heavy.

"Give me a smile," he coaxed softly.

He stroked her cheek.

"It breaks my heart," he admitted, his voice rough, "to see you this way. I came here to see you happy. Not like this."

Ines looked at his kind eyes. He was trying so hard. He had come all this way, just to be with her.

She forced the corners of her mouth up. It was a small, weak smile, but it was real.

"There," Carcel said.

He returned the smile. His was dazzling. It was warm and full of love.

"That’s much better," he murmured.

He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. It was a lingering kiss, a seal of protection.

He sat back. He looked at the white box sitting on the bench between them.

"I’m sure," he said, his tone shifting to one of practical care, "you haven’t even eaten. You look pale."

Ines shook her head. "I couldn’t. I felt sick."

"Well," Carcel said, picking up the box and untying the yellow ribbon with nimble fingers. "We cannot have that."

He opened the box. Inside sat four perfect, golden lemon pastries, dusted with sugar. The sweet, tart scent drifted up, chasing away the smell of fear.

He picked one up. He didn’t hand it to her.

He held it to her lips.

"Here," he said gently. "Have a bite."

Ines opened her mouth. She took a small bite. The pastry was flaky and sweet, the lemon filling sharp and bright on her tongue. It tasted sweet.

She chewed and swallowed.

Carcel watched her, his eyes intent on her mouth.

"It’s tasty, right?" he asked.

Ines nodded. "Yes. It is delicious."

She took another bite, this one a little bigger. The sugar stuck to her lips.

Carcel smiled, satisfied. He wiped a crumb from the corner of her mouth with his finger.

But while his face was smiling, his mind was cold.

Whoever you are, he thought, his inner voice dark and dangerous.

He watched Ines eat, looking at her red-rimmed eyes, the evidence of her terror.

You just made a big mistake, he vowed silently. You made a mistake targeting my Ines.