The air in the library was thick, crackling with a tension that felt like a brewing storm.
"Carcel?" Ines whispered, her eyes wide with genuine surprise.
She looked at him, standing there in his formal black evening wear, looking for all the world like a dark, furious prince who had just crashed his own ball.
I thought the ball was in full swing, she thought to herself, confused. He should be dancing. He should be with the businessmen. He should be... anywhere but here.
But he was here. And he was looking at them—at Evans—with an expression that made Ines want to hide behind the nearest bookshelf.
Carcel’s question—"I hope I’m not interrupting anything private?"—hung in the air, heavy and sarcastic.
"No," Ines replied quickly, her voice a little too high. "Of course not. We were just talking."
Evans, sensing the shift in atmosphere but clearly not understanding the source of the danger, stood up. He was polite to a fault. He bowed, a deep, respectful gesture.
"It’s been a long time, Evans," Carcel said. His voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it, like a sword hidden in velvet.
Evans straightened up, offering a tentative smile. "It has been a long time, Your Grace."
Carcel shot Evans a glance. It was not a friendly look. It was a wicked glance. His eyes narrowed, dark and assessing, as if he were calculating exactly how many seconds it would take to dismantle the Earl.
Evans started sweating. He could feel it trickling down his neck. He swallowed hard.
Why is he looking at me angrily? Evans thought, his mind racing. Did I do something wrong? Is it... is it because I borrowed a
book I’m not meant to take? Is he... protecting the library?
"Indeed," Carcel said, taking a slow, deliberate step into the room. He looked from Evans to Ines, and his jaw tightened.
"It seems," he said, his voice dropping to a low, possessive growl, "you have already become friends with my Ines."
The room spun so fast, Ines thought she was dreaming.
Evans’s mouth fell open. Ines froze, her hands clutching her skirt.
She stared at Carcel in absolute shock.
My Ines? she whispered internally, her heart doing a frantic, terrified, thrilled somersault in her chest. Did he just say... ’my’?
Carcel saw their shock. He saw Evans’s confusion. He realized, perhaps a second too late, that he had said the quiet part out loud.
He shot Evans another look, this one sharp enough to draw blood. He corrected himself, his voice clipped and formal, trying to stuff the genie back into the bottle.
"My best friend’s younger sister, Ines," he clarified, emphasizing each word as if he were explaining a simple concept to a very slow child.
Evans blinked, clearly still reeling. "This is hardly us becoming friends, Your Grace," he stammered, sounding nervous. "I... I just asked her to show me the impressive library. We were discussing literature."
Carcel smiled. It was a cold, thin smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
"Just remember to be respectful," Carcel said, his voice soft but laden with menace. "Ines is the daughter of the Hamilton family."
He took another step closer to Evans, invading his personal space. His eyes darkened, becoming two pools of black ink.
"And you better keep in mind," he whispered, "that there are people around who would protect her. Vigorously."
Evans thought to himself, Since when did I become a threat to her? I am a man of literature, essentially! I am harmless!
But he was not stupid. He recognized a territorial display when he saw one.
"I understand," Evans said quickly, taking a step back toward the door. He smiled, a weak, placating thing. "Of course."
Carcel tapped Evans on the shoulder. It was a heavy, firm tap. A dismissal.
"Good," Carcel said. "There are many beautiful ladies at the ball tonight, Evans. How about you go and ask someone for a dance? Perhaps... your sister, Amelia?"
Evans looked relieved to have an exit strategy. "Yes... Th... thank you, Your Grace."
He bowed again, hastily, to Ines. "Lady Ines."
And then he fled. He practically ran out of the library, closing the heavy door behind him with a soft click.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Ines stood there, trembling with a mixture of shock, embarrassment, and a sudden, flaring anger. He had just chased away her only potential friend! He had treated Evans like a criminal!
She turned to Carcel, her eyes flashing.
"Carcel!" she cried. "The Earl hasn’t done anything to me! He was being polite! He was being kind!"
Carcel didn’t answer. He was walking towards her. His strides were long, purposeful, and predatory. He looked like a storm cloud rolling in.
Ines backed up until she hit the edge of the reading table.
"Your current words and actions are a bit rude," she continued, her voice rising, trying to hold her ground. "You cannot just march in here and... and threaten people! I don’t..."
She didn’t finish her sentence.
Carcel reached her. He didn’t stop. He didn’t speak.
He grabbed her by the waist. His hands were large, hot, and possessive, pulling her roughly against him.
And he kissed her.
It wasn’t like their usual slow kisses, which had been a promise and a temptation.
This was a claim.
His mouth crashed onto hers, hungry and demanding. He kissed her with a fierce, burning jealousy that tasted of champagne and desperation. He kissed her to silence her anger. He kissed her to erase the memory of Evans Montclair from her mind.
He kissed her to remind her, and himself, exactly whose Ines she really was.
Ines’s hands, which had been raised to push him away, faltered. They hovered for a second, caught between fury and desire.
And then, with a small, helpless moan, they settled on his shoulders. She pulled him closer. She opened her mouth to him.
And in the quiet, dim library, with the door shut against the world, the argument ended before it had even begun.