CHAPTER 88: CHAPTER EIGHTY EIGHT

The footsteps stopped. Right outside the door.

A shadow fell across the crack at the bottom of the door, blocking the faint light from the hallway. Someone was standing there.

A voice came from the other side. A low, muffled voice.

"Carcel?"

It was Rowan.

Rowan? Ines mouthed the name, too terrified to speak it.

Carcel put a finger to his lips. Shh.

"Carcel," Rowan said again, a little louder this time. "Are you awake? I saw a light."

Ines clutched the sheets to her chest, her heart pounding so hard she was sure the person outside could hear it.

"Rowan?" Carcel called out. "Is there any problem?"

"I need to speak with you," Rowan said. "It is important."

"Now?" Carcel asked. "It is three in the morning."

"I know," Rowan said. "It’s urgent. Open up."

Ines shook her head frantically.

No. No, no, no.

Carcel looked at the room. The bed was a mess. The air smelled of intimacy. There was no way to hide this.

"Give me a moment," Carcel said, his voice firm. "I am... I am not decent."

"Fine," Rowan said, sounding impatient. "Hurry up. I’ll wait."

Carcel turned to Ines. He grabbed her.

"The wardrobe," he whispered, pointing to the large, heavy oak wardrobe in the corner of the room. "Hide. Now."

Ines scrambled off the bed. Her legs were shaking so bad she almost fell. She ran to the wardrobe. It was huge. It was full of his coats.

She opened the door. It creaked.

"Hurry," Carcel hissed.

She stepped inside, pressing herself into the corner, behind a row of his heavy winter coats.

She pulled the door shut. She left a tiny crack, just enough to see.

She saw Carcel quickly kick her slippers under the bed. He smoothed the sheets, though they still looked slept in—and lived in. He ran a hand through his hair to make it look like bedhead, rather than lover’s hair.

He took a deep breath. He walked to the door and opened it.

Rowan stood there. He was holding a candle in a brass holder, the small flame casting long, dancing shadows against the walls. He was still dressed in his evening clothes, though his cravat was loosened. He looked tired, his eyes weary from the long ball.

"About time," Rowan grumbled, walking into the room without waiting for an invitation.

Ines held her breath. She pressed her hand over her mouth. She watched through the crack in the wardrobe door as her brother walked into the room where she had just been ruined.

Rowan looked around. He sniffed the air.

"It smells... strange in here," Rowan noted, wrinkling his nose. "Like... lavender?"

Carcel leaned against the doorframe, blocking Rowan’s view of the bed as much as he could.

"My soap," Carcel lied smoothly. "New brand. Mrs. Briggs insisted."

Rowan looked at Carcel and was silent.

Carcel sat on his bed, book in hand, looking calm.

Rowan shrugged. He walked to the table and placed the candle down, blowing out the flame as the room was already lit by Carcel’s lamp. He then sat in the armchair near the fireplace.

"I saw the letter," Rowan said without preamble. "The one you left for me on my desk in the study."

Carcel’s fingers tightened on the book. The letter.

"Are you really sure about it?" Rowan asked, his brow furrowed.

Carcel nodded slowly. He didn’t trust himself to speak too much. The wardrobe was only ten feet away. Could Rowan hear Ines breathing? Could Ines hear them?

Rowan leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. He was talking about the contents of the letter—Carcel’s sudden declaration that he intended to leave the Hamilton estate the very next morning. He had written that he wanted to buy a small manor close by, a place of his own, so that their business dealings wouldn’t be interrupted by his constant presence in Rowan’s home.

It had been a lie, of course. He had wanted to leave to be able to propose to her respectfully.

"Why the sudden decision?" Rowan asked, his voice laced with concern. "Did something happen? Is the guest wing not comfortable? Have the servants been negligent?"

Carcel shook his head. "No, not at all. The hospitality has been... perfect." Too perfect, he thought. It gave me everything I ever wanted.

"Then why?" Rowan pressed.

Carcel looked at his friend. He hated lying to him. But he couldn’t tell him the truth. Not yet. Not while Ines was hiding in a cupboard wearing nothing but a silk nightgown.

"I just..." Carcel started, searching for words. "I have been here a long time, Rowan. A man needs his own space. And with the new shipping contracts, I need a place to set up a proper study."

Rowan stared at him. He studied Carcel’s face with the intensity of a brother. He saw the tension in Carcel’s jaw. He saw the way Carcel’s eyes kept darting away.

"You are hiding something," Rowan stated flatly.

Carcel froze.

Rowan sighed, leaning back in the chair. "But I know you. You are stubborn. I will wait until you are ready to tell me."

Rowan stood up. He looked around the room, his gaze sweeping over the bed, the window, and—for one terrifying second—the wardrobe. But his gaze moved on.

"I just wanted to know," Rowan said softly, "if I have wronged you in any way. For you to take such a sudden decision. We are brothers, Carcel. If I have offended you..."

"No," Carcel said quickly, forcefully. "You haven’t. Never."

Rowan smiled, a small, relieved expression. "Good. Hearing your part has lightened my heart."

He walked over to the bed. He reached out and tapped Carcel on the shoulder, a gesture of affection and camaraderie.

"Try to get some sleep," Rowan said. " Sorry for interrupting your evening."

"I will," Carcel said. "Goodnight, Rowan."

"I’ll be off now."

Rowan turned and walked to the door. He opened it, stepped out into the hallway, and closed it behind him.

Click.

The sound of the latch was the sweetest sound Carcel had ever heard.

He waited. One second. Two seconds. He listened to Rowan’s footsteps retreating down the hall, fading into silence.

Carcel threw the book aside. He scrambled off the bed, not caring about dignity. He rushed to the wardrobe.

He yanked the heavy door open.

"Ines" he said, his voice breathy.