The library muffled the sound of the orchestra. It was a thin barrier against the world of the ballroom outside, against propriety, against sanity. But in that moment, Carcel did not care about sanity.
He only cared about the woman in his arms.
He didn’t break the kiss as he lifted her off the floor. He couldn’t. His mouth was fused to hers, drinking in her small gasps, tasting the lingering sweetness of the punch she had drunk moments earlier. He walked blindly, guided only by memory and instinct, until the back of her thighs hit the edge of the heavy reading table.
He placed her on top, sweeping a stack of unread books onto the floor with a careless shove of his arm. They fluttered down, landing on the floor with a dull thud that neither of them heard.
He lifted her, placing her onto the table. She was now at his height.
He stepped between her legs, pressing himself against her, burying himself in the soft, giving warmth of her body. His hands, large and shaking with a restraint he was rapidly losing, moved from her small waist. They slid down the golden silk of her ballgown, gathering the fabric until he found the warmth of her skin above her stockings.
Ines moaned into his mouth, a sound that vibrated straight into his soul. Her hands, no longer pushing him away, tangled in his hair, gripping him, pulling him closer,deeper, as if she were trying to merge their very breaths.
His thoughts were a chaotic, brilliant storm.
I want to marry the woman in front of me, he thought, the realization hitting him with the force of a physical blow. It wasn’t a question anymore. It wasn’t a debate. It was a fact, as solid and undeniable as the ground beneath his feet.
I want everything that she is. Her mind, her body, her stubbornness, her ’research.’ I want to dedicate everything I have to her.
He kissed the line of her jaw, tasting the salt of her skin and the lingering scent of her perfume.
I was so afraid, he admitted to himself, the fear still a cold shard in his gut. I was so afraid I would lose her to Evans. To a man who is shared same interest with her. To a man who is... her best choice according to Rowan.
Evans Montclair read books. He was gentle. He was safe. He was everything Rowan wanted for her.
But Carcel knew, with a fierce, burning certainty, that Evans could never burn for her like this.
His hands tightened on her thighs, his thumbs stroking the soft skin.
If what Ines wants is to marry someone she loves... then I will make her love me.
The memory of his father, the screaming, the gun—it flashed in his mind, a dark, jagged lightning bolt. But for the first time in his life, he didn’t flinch. He didn’t run.
Not the way my father did with my mother, he vowed, his heart pounding a fierce, protective rhythm against Ines’s chest. I will not demand it. I will not take it by force or guilt. I will teach her to love me. On her own accord. I will be her lesson, and she will be mine.
He pulled back just an inch, his forehead resting against hers. He was panting, his breath hot and ragged, mingling with hers.
Tomorrow morning, he decided, the plan forming instantly, crystalline and perfect. At dawn. I will leave this mansion. I will go to my estate, retrieve the ring. And I will return.
I will not hide anymore. I will not use French lessons as an excuse.
I will formally propose.
I will face Rowan. I will face the anger. I will face the duel if he had to. I will let Rowan take his shot, and then I will ask for her hand again.
I will make Rowan see reason, Carcel thought, his eyes squeezing shut as he held her. I will prove to him I am worthy to be by Ines’s side. And I will love and protect her till my last breath.
He moved to kiss her again, to seal this silent vow with his lips, but Ines pulled back.
She broke the kiss, her hands resting on his chest, pushing gently. Her lips were swollen, red, and thoroughly kissed. Her chest was heaving, the golden bodice of her dress rising and falling rapidly.
"Someone," she whispered, her voice breathless and broken, "might come in."
Carcel gulped, the sound loud in the quiet room. He looked at the door. It was closed, but not locked. The sounds of the ball—the music, the laughter—were faint, distant echoes, but they were there. Reality was just on the other side of that oak panel.
"Yes," he rasped, his voice thick with unsatisfied need. "You’re right."
He didn’t want to stop. He wanted to lock the door. He wanted to take her right here, on the table, amidst the books and the scattered papers. He wanted to claim her so thoroughly that she would never look at another man again. But he couldn’t. Not like this. Not when he was going to ask for her hand in the morning.
Ines looked at him. Her eyes were dark, dilated, full of the same hunger that was eating him alive.
She reached out and adjusted his cravat, which had gone askew. It was a small, domestic gesture that made his heart ache.
"After the ball," she whispered, her voice a promise. "We meet up. Okay?"
Carcel nodded. He couldn’t trust himself to speak. If he spoke, he would beg her to stay.
After the ball. Right here. One last secret meeting before I make it public.
"Okay," he managed to say, his voice rough.
Ines slid down from the table, her feet finding the floor. She smoothed her dress, her hands trembling. She patted her hair, trying to tame the curls that his fingers had disheveled.
She looked at him one last time, a look that seared him.
Then, she composed herself, lifted her chin, and walked to the door. She opened it, checked the hallway, and slipped out, leaving Carcel alone in the library, surrounded by the scent of her perfume and the wreckage of his own heart.