Lady Ines Scandalous Hobby-Chapter 132 - Hundred And Thirty Two

Ines let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-sob. She rushed to the window and unlatched it. The cool night air flooded into the room as Carcel stepped inside.

He was dressed in dark clothes—black trousers, a black shirt, and a long dark coat. He looked like a thief. He looked like the most handsome thief in London.

"You should not be here," Ines whispered, though she grabbed his arm and pulled him further inside. "If anyone sees you..."

"Vance is watching the garden," Carcel said softly. He closed the window and locked it. "No one saw me."

He turned to look at her. His eyes were tired, but they were burning with the same intensity she felt. He looked at her ink-stained fingers. He looked at the stack of papers on her desk.

"You have been busy," he said.

"I wrote it," Ines said, gesturing to the desk. "The diary. It... it is hateful, Carcel. I wrote terrible things."

Carcel walked to the desk. He picked up the top sheet. He read the entry about the lavender perfume. A dark smile spread across his face.

"It is brilliant," he said. "It sounds exactly like her."

"I felt sick writing it," Ines admitted. "I had to become her to write it."

Carcel put the paper down. He reached into the inside pocket of his coat. He pulled out a small bundle of letters tied with a pink ribbon.

"If you think yours is dark," Carcel said, "wait until you see these."

Ines looked at the bundle. "What are they?"

"I have spent the last three hours with Vance," Carcel explained. "Vance found an old invitation Priscilla sent to a dinner party three years ago. It’s the same one I sent you hours ago. We used it to study her handwriting."

He untied the ribbon and handed a letter to Ines.

"Read it," he urged.

Ines took the letter. The handwriting was shocking. It was Priscilla’s. The loops, the slant of the letters, the way she crossed her T’s—it was more identical than hers.

Ines read the text.

My Dearest, Darling Carcel,

Why do you ignore my letters? I know you are keeping them. I know you sleep with them under your pillow. You must stop pretending to love that Hamilton girl. She is plain. She is boring. She is nothing compared to me.

I have a plan, my love. A wonderful plan. I will destroy her reputation and make sure she never makes it to the altar. And then, when she is gone, you and I can finally be together. If I can’t be with you Carcel, no one else can, especially Ines.

Wait for me.

Forever yours,

Priscilla

Ines gasped. She dropped the letter on the desk as if it were hot.

"Carcel," she breathed. "This makes her sound... insane."

"That is the point," Carcel said grimly. "When she exposes her ’proof’, she will think it’s your smutty novel. Instead, she will be exposing a diary about stalking me. And if she tries to deny it, I will ’discover’ these letters in the package."

He picked up the letter again.

"It fits perfectly," Carcel said. "The diary explains the obsession. The letters prove the intent."

Ines looked at the two piles of paper. Her fake diary. His fake letters. Together, they told a story of a woman who was dangerously obsessed with the Duke.

"It is a trap," Ines whispered. "A cruel, perfect trap."

"She threatened you," Carcel reminded her. His voice was hard. He walked over to her and took her hands. He rubbed his thumb over the ink stain on her finger. "She told you to stop writing. She told you to leave me. She threatened to ruin your family."

He lifted her hand and kissed the ink stain.

"We are not being cruel, Ines. We are just retaliating."

Ines looked up at him. She saw the fierce protection in his eyes. He had forged documents for her. He had become a criminal for her.

"You copied her handwriting perfectly," Ines noted. "How?"

Carcel shrugged. "I have many talents. Forgery is useful for a Duke who wants to sign boring documents without reading them. I never thought I would use it for this."

He walked back to the desk. He took the diary pages Ines had written and the letters he had forged. He began to mix them together. He placed a letter between the pages of the diary.

"We need to bind it," Carcel said. "It needs to look like a notebook she kept."

Ines opened her drawer. She pulled out a plain black leather notebook cover she had intended to use for her next Arthur Pendleton book.

"Use this," she said.

Carcel nodded. He placed the stack of papers inside the leather cover. He took a piece of twine and bound it tight.

It looked real. It looked terrifyingly real.

"Tomorrow," Carcel said, his hand resting on the book. "Vance will give this to Gladys to take to Parker. Parker will sell it to Priscilla. She will think she has bought your manuscript."

"She won’t read it?" Ines asked, worried. "What if she reads it before the ball?"

"She won’t," Carcel said confidently. "Priscilla is arrogant. She believes what she wants to believe. She will see the black notebook. She will read the first page—which is vague enough—and she will think she has won. She will want to save the ’shock’ for the public reveal."

Carcel picked up the finished decoy. He weighed it in his hand.

"Will Gladys be safe?," she murmured.

"I will protect her. Trust me," Carcel assured her.

She walked over to him. She placed her hand over his, on top of the book.

"Thank you," she said softly. "For helping me write this. For helping me fight."

Carcel set the book down. He turned to her and pulled her into his arms. He held her tight, burying his face in her hair.

"I would do anything for you, Ines," he whispered against her ear. "Writing a few fake letters is easy."

Ines closed her eyes, leaning into his warmth. "You should go. It is late. If Rowan suddenly comes back..."

"Rowan is stuck in the country eating roast pheasant," Carcel said with a small chuckle. But he pulled away. "You are right. I must get this to Vance before sunrise."

He picked up the black book. He tucked it inside his coat, next to his heart.

" Amelia is hosting a ball tomorrow night. Would you accompany me?" He asked.

Ines smiled " I would love to."

He kissed her forehead then walked to the window and unlatched it. The wind blew in again, making the candles flicker wildly.

Carcel paused with one leg over the sill. He looked back at her. The moonlight caught the sharp angles of his face. He looked dangerous and beautiful.

"Sleep well, my love," Carcel said.

"Be careful," Ines said.

Carcel winked—a gesture so unlike a Duke, and so like the man she loved.

"I am always careful."

He slipped out into the darkness. Ines watched him disappear into the shadows of the garden. She waited until she couldn’t see him anymore.

Then, she closed the window and locked it.

She turned back to the room. The desk was empty. She blew out the candle, plunging the room into darkness.The trap was set. Now, they just had to wait for the mouse to snap it shut.