Ines sat on the soft velvet sofa in the corner of the library. Her legs were shaky, and her hands trembled as she lifted a glass of water to her lips.
She drank greedily. The cool liquid soothed her dry throat, but it did nothing to cool the heat that was still radiating from her skin.
Finally... finally, we had sex, she thought to herself. The words sounded scandalous even in the privacy of her own mind.
She lowered the glass, pressing the cool crystal against her burning cheek. Her face was turning red again, a deep, flushed crimson that had nothing to do with exertion and everything to do with memory.
It was more intense than I imagined, she admitted, her mind replaying the friction, the weight of him, the sound of her own voice crying out. The books... they capture the romance. But they miss the raw, shaking reality of it. It was much more thrilling than I ever fantasized.
"Ines."
The sound of his voice, low and rough, pulled her from her reverie.
She looked down.
Carcel was kneeling on the floor at her feet. He was fully dressed again, though his cravat was missing and his shirt was unbuttoned at the top. He held a pristine white handkerchief in his hand.
He was wiping her leg and cleaning her thigh, removing the evidence of their passion with a care that made her heart ache.
He looked up, his dark eyes searching hers.
"Are you in pain?" he asked. His voice was laced with worry.
Ines shook her head. The soreness was there, yes, a dull throb between her legs, but it was a good pain. It was a pain that proved she was his.
"I’m fine," she replied softly.
Carcel nodded, returning his attention to his task. He wiped her skin with slow, deliberate strokes.
"I know you don’t want a loveless marriage," he said quietly, his eyes fixed on her knee. "You told me that. You told Rowan that. I want to respect that, Ines. Truly."
He paused, his hand resting on her thigh.
"But love," he murmured, "isn’t as difficult as it seems."
He continued wiping her clean, his touch gentle, almost apologetic.
"It might be different from what you read in novels," he said, a hint of self-deprecation in his tone. "And I might not be as perfect as the men in those stories. I do not have a script. I do not always know the right words to say to make you swoon. I am just... a man."
Ines looked at him. His hair was messy. His cravat was gone. He was kneeling on the floor, serving her, cleaning her after taking her on a table.
He was better than any book. Why is he comparing himself to ink and paper?
"That’s not true," she whispered, reaching out to touch his messy hair. "You aren’t lacking at all. You are... you are everything."
Carcel stopped moving. He didn’t look up. His shoulders slumped, a heavy weight seemingly pressing him down.
"But you still don’t love me," he said.
His voice was low and sad. It was the voice of a man who had accepted a defeat.
Ines blinked. She stared at the top of his head.
What?
She opened her mouth to speak, to tell him he was wrong, but he continued, his voice gaining a sudden, fierce determination.
"I don’t care," he said, lifting his head to look her in the eye. "It is just a matter of time. You will come to love me. I will make sure of it."
Ines felt a pang of confusion. "Carcel..."
"I’ll do anything," he interrupted her, his voice rising. "I will do anything to make you love me, Ines."
He was feeling frustrated. He stood up abruptly, pacing a small circle on the rug. He looked like a caged tiger. He ran a hand through his hair, making it even wilder.
"What do you want in a man?" he demanded, turning back to her. "Tell me. Do you want poems? Do you want duels? Which character of your novels do you want me to imitate?"
He spread his hands wide, a gesture of total surrender.
"Just give me the name," he pleaded. "Stefan? The Duke from the new book? I’ll buy it. I’ll read it. I will be the best male lead to your story. I will become whoever you need me to be, if it means you will look at me with love."
Ines stared at him. Her heart was hammering against her ribs.
He was willing to erase himself. He was willing to become a fiction, just to please her.
"I thought..." she began, her voice trembling. She stood up, needing to be on the same level as him. "I thought you didn’t want this marriage. I didn’t want you to be forced."
Carcel stopped pacing. He looked at her, genuinely confused.
"Forced?" he repeated.
Ines nodded. "Didn’t you agree to this marriage because of my brother? Because of my repeated ? Because Rowan threatened to kill you?"
She took a step closer, her hands clasping together.
"You left for a month," she whispered. "You didn’t visit. I thought... I thought you were angry. I thought you felt trapped by honor."
Carcel stared at her for a long moment. Then, he moved. He tknelt down in front of her again. To beg.
"You think I’m being forced into this?" he asked, looking up at her.
Ines nodded, a tear escaping and rolling down her cheek.
Carcel shook his head. "No... not at all."
He reached out and took her hands, holding them tightly in his.
"Though the circumstances for my proposal were not the best," he admitted, a small, wry smile touching his lips as he remembered the blood and the shouting. "And though your brother’s fist was a... compelling argument..."
His expression turned serious. Deeply, profoundly serious.
"I was planning to propose to you anyway," he said. "Within a few days after I had left your home. That morning... when I left the note... I wasn’t running away. I was going to propose."
Ines gasped softly. "Propose?"
"Yes," Carcel said. "That’s what I wanted to tell you that night. In the guest room. Before Rowan caught us. I wanted to tell you to wait. To let me do it properly. And I was healing during the past month. I couldn’t bring myself to appear in front of you looking like that."
Ines’s mind reeled.
He was planning to propose? she thought to herself. He distanced himself from me because he didn’t want me to see him looking like that?
It changed everything. The last month of silence... the distance... it wasn’t rejection. It was preparation.
"I thought..." she stammered, looking down at him. "I thought you didn’t want to marry. Ever. Rowan told me about your past. About your fears. Why... why change your mind?"
Carcel let go of her hands. He reached up. He cupped her face, his thumbs brushing away the tear tracks on her cheeks.
"Because," he whispered, his eyes burning with a truth that shattered all her doubts.
"Because I love you."