The library was a tomb of blackness. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn, blocking every stray sliver of moonlight, plunging the room into an absolute, suffocating dark.
Ines stood frozen just inside the door, her heart hammering against her ribs. She couldn’t see anything. Not the desk, not the chairs, not the thousands of books.
She could only sense him, a tall, warm, breathing shadow in the void. He was close. The scent of his clean soap was sharp in the still air.
He moved past her, his step confident and silent on the thick carpet. He knew this room, even in the dark. She heard the soft, heavy shush of the curtains being pulled aside, not to let light in, but to ensure no light from within would escape. He was sealing them in.
A sharp scratch tore through the silence, making Ines turn.
A spark.
A tiny flame bloomed in the darkness, held in Carcel’s large, steady hand. He touched the match to the wick of the heavy brass lamp that sat on the reading table. The flame caught, and a soft, golden light bloomed, pushing the shadows back, painting the room in hues of honey and amber.
The light fell on Ines, and she blinked, her pupils contracting. She was still clutching her silk robe at her throat. Her adrenaline was high, and it made her bold.
"You startled me," she said, her voice a little too loud, a little breathless. "You were just... standing there. In the dark. Like a spider."
Carcel turned, the lamp now fully lit, illuminating the desk and the small circle of floor around it. The golden light caught the faint smile that still lingered on his lips from the hallway.
"And who," he retorted, his voice a low, amused rumble, "suddenly jumped out of the shadows and bumped into me? I believe I was the one who was startled."
"Well, it’s true, I did," Ines conceded, feeling a bit foolish. She needed to regain her composure. She was not a child to be teased. She is an adult now.
She tried to look casual, leaning back against a tall, carved bookshelf.
"But still," she continued, "you must admit, it was a very strange way to... to wait..."
Carcel wasn’t listening anymore.
He had turned to face her fully. And now, in the clear, steady lamplight, he was truly seeing her for the first time.
The woman in the hallway had been a shadow, a scent, a feeling of silk and soft curves. The woman in the lamplight was a revelation.
His smile vanished. His breath caught in his throat.
She was wearing a nightgown of pale, luminous blue silk. It was the color of a summer sky at dawn. And the lamp... the lamplight... it was shining right at her. The thin, expensive chiffon, which might have seemed merely lovely in the daylight, was rendered almost completely transparent by the golden glow.
He could see everything.
He could see the shadow of her slender legs. He could see the gentle, perfect curve of her hips and the small, feminine swell of her stomach. The light kissed the fiery, reddish-brown curls that fell in a wild, soft cloud around her pale shoulders.
I have never, his mind whispered, a single, sharp note of panic, even dreamed of laying a hand on my best friend’s sister.
This was Ines. Rowan’s little sister. The girl with the weak heart. The girl he had pulled from the ivy, her face smudged with dirt, her eyes blazing with defiance. She was family.
What are you thinking, Carcel? he reprimanded himself, his jaw tightening. Stop. Stop looking.
But he could not. His eyes, against every command, against every vow of honor, disobeyed him.
But looking at her like this...
His gaze traveled up. The silk was tied loosely at her waist, and it fell over her breasts, clinging. He could see their shape. They were high, and full, and perfect. He could see the dark, rosy shadow of her areolas, and even... he swallowed, his throat suddenly bone dry... he could see the distinct, hard points of her nipples, clearly visible, pushing against the delicate fabric. She was cold... or she was...
Blast it.
He felt a sudden, sharp, undeniable heat. A coiling knot, low in his belly. His body, his base, treacherous body, was reacting.
I thought I would protect her from other men, he thought, a wave of self-loathing crashing over him. He had come here tonight as a guardian, a protector, a substitute for her brother.
He could feel himself getting hard.
He closed his eyes for a brief, agonizing second.
"But at this rate, I’ll be the biggest threat."
"...and so I just assumed that you wouldn’t even be here, that you had thought better of it," Ines finished, her voice sounding very far away. She was completely, blissfully, dangerously unaware of the war he was fighting.
Carcel opened his eyes. He had to take control. Of the room. Of himself. He needed to sit down. He needed to put something, a very large, very solid piece of furniture, between him and her.
"Let’s sit and talk," he said, his voice clipped and rough. It sounded, to his own ears, like a stranger’s.
Ines, however, brightened. The teasing was over. The lecture was, apparently, not coming. The lesson was about to begin.
"Oh, yes!" she said, her voice full of a sudden, eager happiness.
Carcel turned and pulled one of the heavy, carved oak chairs away from the wall and placed it on his side of the desk. He sat down, a quick, rigid movement, grateful for the shadow and the solid wood.
Ines, however, did not take the matching chair. To his horror, she walked to the desk and rested against it, leaning on her hips, directly opposite him. She was bathed in the full, unforgiving glow of the lamp.
She reached into the pocket of her thin silk robe.
"What’s that?" Carcel asked, his voice wary. He was braced for anything. Another absurd confession. Another manuscript.
Ines unfolded a single piece of paper. It was covered in her neat, familiar handwriting.
"This," she replied, her face lit with the pure delight of a child on a sunny bright morning, "is a list of questions I would love to ask."