The library was quiet. The dust motes dancing in the shaft of sunlight from the window seemed to freeze in place. The only sound was the harsh, ragged breathing of a man who had just laid his soul bare.
"I love you so much, Ines," Carcel said.
His voice was rough. It was the raw voice of a man who was terrified he had already lost the most important thing in his life.
He reached out. His large hand, warm and slightly trembling, cupped her jaw. His thumb brushed against her skin, a touch so gentle it made her heart ache.
"I don’t want to lose you," he whispered, his dark eyes searching hers. "Not to Evans. Not to any man. The thought of you... with anyone else... it drives me mad."
Ines stood frozen. Her hands were still clasped in front of her. She stared at him, her lips parted in shock.
He stepped closer, invading her space, surrounding her with his scent of soap and desperate hope.
"I want to spend my life with you, Ines," he vowed. "Not because of honor. Not because of your brother. I love you. So I want to marry you. Because I cannot imagine a day without you in it."
Ines was too dumbstruck to speak. Her mind was a blank page. The words were there—love, marry, life—but she couldn’t string them together into a sentence.
He loves me? she thought, the idea bouncing around her head like a trapped bird. Carcel... loves... me?
She didn’t answer him. She just stared, her hazel eyes wide and glassy.
Carcel saw her silence. He mistook it for hesitation. He mistook it for doubt.
He let out a shaky breath. He moved back, just a step, giving her room to breathe. He looked around the room, as if searching for a way to convince her.
He saw the low reading table. He sat down on the edge of the table. He slumped slightly, his shoulders heavy. He looked up at her, his expression open and vulnerable.
"Ines," he said softly. "Just give me a chance."
He reached out and took her hands. He pulled her a little closer, until she was standing between his knees.
"Give me time," he pleaded. "Give me time to make you love me. I know I am not the hero in your books. I know I have a past. I know I am... complicated. But I will work for it. I will earn it."
He looked down at her hands. They were small and pale in his large ones. He used his thumb to stroke the back of her hand, a rhythmic, soothing motion.
"I will be patient," he promised, his eyes fixed on their joined hands. "I won’t rush you. I won’t ask for more than you can give. Just... let me stay. Let me try."
Ines looked down at him. She saw the dark head of hair she had tangled her fingers in. She saw the strong shoulders that had carried the weight of his family’s tragedy. She felt the warmth of his thumb on her skin.
He was begging for a chance to win a heart he already owned.
A wave of emotion crashed over her. It was relief, and joy, and a sudden, sharp hilarity at the absurdity of it all.
She finally found her voice. It was small, but it was steady.
"You don’t need to," she whispered.
Carcel’s thumb stopped moving. He went still. He didn’t look up. He thought she was rejecting him. He thought she was saying ’You don’t need to try, because it is hopeless.’
"You don’t need to give me time," Ines clarified, her voice gaining strength. "And you don’t need to make me love you."
Carcel looked up then. His eyes were dark pools of pain. "Ines..."
"Because," she said, looking straight into his eyes, her soul bared, "I already love you."
Carcel’s eyes widened in shock.
He froze. His mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. He looked like a man who had been prepared for a battle, only to find the gates were already open.
"What?" he choked out.
He searched her face, looking for a lie, looking for pity.
"You... you love me?" he asked. His voice was a whisper of pure disbelief.
Ines nodded her head. A tear slipped from her eye, tracking down her cheek. A tear of happiness.
"Yes," she said. "I do. I have... for a long time. Maybe since the first time you danced with me. Maybe since I started writing about you."
Carcel stared at her. His brain was working fast, rewinding the last months, the last week, the last hour.
"So," he said slowly, piecing it together. "So... it was all a misunderstanding?"
He let out a short, incredulous laugh.
"Due to our miscommunication?" he asked, shaking his head. "I thought you wanted a bookworm. You thought I wanted freedom. I thought you were disgusted by me. You thought I was trapped."
He looked at her, a dawning light in his eyes.
"We already love each other," he said, the words tasting sweet on his tongue. "But we just... missed each other’s feelings? We were running in circles, trying to protect each other from things we didn’t even want?"
Ines let out a watery laugh. "Yes," she replied. "It seems that way now."
It sounded like the plot of one of her novels. The irony was not lost on her. The famous author, the expert on romance, had completely failed to read the romance in her own life.
"But..."
Ines paused. Her smile faltered.
The joy was there, yes. But the old insecurity, the voice that had whispered to her for years that she was the "weird" sister, the "sick" girl, the "icy" spinster, was hard to silence.
Her face turned red. A bright, burning crimson that stained her cheeks.
She pulled her hands from his. She covered her face with her palms, hiding from him.
Her voice became small, almost like a squeak from behind her hands.
"But it feels strange," she muffled.
Carcel frowned, leaning forward. "Strange? What feels strange?"
"You," she whispered. "You say... you say you love me?"
She couldn’t quite believe it. He was Carcel. He was the most handsome, eligible man in London. And she was... Ines.
She separated two of her fingers, creating a small hole. She opened her palm a little to peep through the hole at him with one hazel eye.
"Are you lying?" she asked, her voice trembling. "To protect my honor? To make me feel better about... about what we did?"
She had to know. If this was just another layer of his nobility, another sacrifice to save her from shame, she couldn’t bear it.
Carcel looked at her.
He saw the woman hiding behind her hands. He saw the doubt that had been planted by years of isolation and illness.
He didn’t get angry. He didn’t give a speech.
He chuckled.
It was a warm, rich sound that rumbled from his chest. It filled the library, chasing away the shadows of doubt.
"You’re so adorable," he murmured.
He moved.
He didn’t stand up. He reached out, grabbed her by the waist, and pulled.
"Ah!" Ines gasped as she was lifted off her feet.
He dragged her from where she stood in front of the sofa, right into his lap.
She landed sideways on his thighs, her blue dress billowing around them. Her hands flew from her face to his shoulders to steady herself.
She looked at him, wide-eyed. He was smiling. A real, dazzling, happy smile.
"If it’s hard to believe," he said, his arms encircling her waist, holding her securely against his chest, "then I have a solution."
He looked deep into her eyes.
"I’ll spend my entire life proving it to you," he vowed.