CHAPTER 38: CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

Rowan’s fork was halfway to his mouth. He was staring at his sister. Carcel was a statue of stone, his eyes wide, his hand frozen on his teacup as he also looked at Ines.

"Carcel?" Rowan repeated. His voice was no longer amused or teasing. It was slow, and sharp, and very, very confused.

Ines blinked. The warm, dreamy haze that had enveloped her all morning popped. It vanished, replaced by a jolt of panic.

Oh, no.

Her mind, which had been so happily replaying the events of the library, scrambled.

Did I just say his name? Out loud?

Did I say it like... that? Like a lovesick, half-witted, mooning fool?

She could feel Rowan’s stare, sharp and questioning. Worse, she could feel Carcel’s stare, which felt like a physical weight filled with horror.

How do I cover this up now? she shrieked internally. He will know. Rowan will know. He’s not stupid. He will put it all together! The diary, the cough, the spilled coffee, the smile, and now this... this... sighing his name like a character in one of my own dreadful novels!

She had to do something. She had to laugh it off.

She let out a high-pitched, nervous chuckle. It sounded like a strangled bird. "Ah, Carcel..." she began, having absolutely no idea where the sentence was supposed to go. "I... I was just, um... thinking. About..."

"I was teaching Ines French."

Carcel’s voice cut through her babbling, as sharp and clean as a blade. It was firm. It was smooth. It was, to her astonishment, completely and utterly calm.

Ines’s mouth snapped shut. She turned to him.

He was not looking at her. He was looking at Rowan. He lifted his teacup, his hand miraculously steady, and took a sip of the cold, dreadful tea, as if he were merely commenting on the weather. He looked, in that one, perfect, awful moment, completely and totally unbothered.

Rowan’s gaze snapped from his sister to his friend. "French?" he asked, his confusion not lessening, but merely... changing direction.

Ines was flooded with a wave of relief. He lied. He lied for me. He lied for us. He is... he is brilliant.

She seized the lie as if it were a lifeline.

"Yes! French!" she said, her voice a little too bright, a little too eager. "My... my days were so very boring. I have been complaining, have I not, Rowan? So I asked... Carcel... His Grace... to teach me. Just a few words. I recently... I recently got a French book! A new one. Yes. From a bookseller. And I am just so eager to read it. So he was helping me with... with the pronunciation."

She was babbling. It was a terrible, thin, patchy lie, but it was a lie.

Rowan’s brow furrowed. He looked at Carcel. "You speak French, of course, but... since when are you a tutor?" He turned back to Ines. "Hmm. If you want to study French that much, Ines, I can simply hire a tutor. A proper one. I am sure Monsieur Jacques is still in town. Or perhaps a Frenchwoman, a companion..."

A tutor? Ines’s heart sank. A real tutor? That was the last thing she wanted. A real tutor might catch her and expose her. A real tutor would... actually tutor her. And that was not the "lesson" she was interested in.

"No!" she said, a little too quickly. She softened her voice. "No, thank you, Rowan. Absolutely not." She needed a reason. A good one. "Having Gladys as a tutor is enough. I... I am too old for a swarm of tutors. Having another one would just... it would make me a laughingstock among the other ladies. Please. It is just a small, silly hobby."

Rowan sighed, frustrated by her logic. "Fine. But Ines, I am afraid you will be a disturbance to Carcel. He is not here on holiday. He is here for business. He does not have time to teach you lessons like a little girl."

This was it. Carcel’s chance. His escape.

Ines looked at him.

Carcel immediately saw his "out." He could get out of this. He could end this madness. He could put a stop to the "lessons" before it becomes too late.

He nodded, putting on his most grave, "burdened duke" expression. He looked at Rowan.

"Rowan is right, Lady Ines," he said, his voice formal and distant. "I agree. The business we are conducting is... very demanding." He then turned his gaze on her, his eyes cold and hard. "Isn’t it better to learn from someone else? A professional? I am, I assure you, a very poor teacher."

He was practically begging her.

Let me go. Take the out.

Ines looked at him. She looked at this man who had, only hours ago, shown her what pleasure meant. She looked at him, now, trying to hide behind his "business" and his "duty." She looked at him, trying to run away, after he had been the one to start this.

She felt a surge of feminine power. She had him. And she was not, under any circumstances, going to let him go.

She turned her gaze from Carcel’s hard, pleading stare to her brother. She softened her entire expression. She became the very picture of sweet, pleading, feminine innocence.

"But... I... I want to learn from Carcel," she said, her voice small and soft, her eyes pleading.

She then turned her head, slowly, and looked directly at Carcel. Her eyes were no longer pleading. They were direct. They were a challenge. Her gaze said, clear as a bell: You started this. You will finish it. You owe me.

Carcel stared at her. He saw the challenge. He saw the blackmail in her pretty, innocent, hazel eyes. He was trapped. Utterly, completely, and hopelessly trapped.

Rowan was watching them. He couldn’t refuse. Not without seeming like a cruel, unkind cad. Not without raising a thousand more questions.

Carcel let out a long, slow, defeated sigh. It was the sigh of a man who had just been checkmated. The sigh of a man who was being led to the gallows.

"If you insist," he said, his voice flat, his gaze still locked on Ines’s victorious one, "I will... continue to teach you."

He then added, his voice dropping, each word a separate, hard, warning, meant only for her.

"Same time. Same place as yesterday."

What Rowan heard: A daily, scheduled lesson. How very organized.

What Ines heard: Tonight. Midnight. The library. The place of our ’lesson’. You want to continue? Then you will come to me.

Her heart gave a wild, joyous leap. He wasn’t just agreeing. He was inviting her. A radiant, delighted, and utterly triumphant smile bloomed on her face. She had won.

She clapped her hands together, a gesture of joy.

"Yes!" she exclaimed. "Thank you, Carcel! That is wonderful! I shall be a very good student, I promise!"

Rowan just stared at them both, his fork hovering over his eggs. His sister, who looked like she had just been handed the crown jewels. And his best friend, who looked as if he had just been sentenced to hard labor.

"Well... good," Rowan said, completely baffled. "I am glad that is... settled."