Lady Ines Scandalous Hobby-Chapter 76 - Seventy Six

The silence that followed Carcel’s declaration was not empty. It was heavy. It rippled out from them like a stone dropped into a still, dark lake.

Priscilla’s eyes widened. Her perfect composure cracked.

"Pardon?" she whispered.

It was a word of pure disbelief. Her hand, which she had held out for the dance, dropped to her side. It hung there, useless and rejected. She looked from Carcel’s stone-cold face to Ines, her blue eyes wide with shock and a deep, burning humiliation. 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚

Ines couldn’t breathe. The air in the ballroom felt thin. She stared at Carcel’s profile. He wasn’t looking at Priscilla anymore. He wasn’t looking at the crowd. He was looking only at her.

What is he doing? She thought to herself.

"Carcel?" she whispered, her voice trembling so much she barely recognized it. "What are you..."

"Dance with me, Ines," he whispered to her.

Carcel realized he was still gripping her wrist. It was too rough. Too possessive for a ballroom. He released her wrist slowly, his fingers lingering on her skin for a second longer than necessary.

Then, he stepped back to give her a proper invitation. He bowed. It was a deep, formal, courtly bow, the kind a knight gives to his queen.

He stretched out his hand, palm up, waiting.

"Lady Hamilton," he said, his voice clear and loud enough for the nearby gossips to hear. "If you don’t mind, may I have the honor of the first dance?"

Ines looked at his hand. She slowly raised her own hand. It was shaking.

"Yes," she breathed. "If... if you don’t mind having me."

She placed her small, gloved hand in his.

Carcel’s fingers closed around hers. He didn’t just hold her hand; he anchored her. He gently squeezed her gloved fingers, a secret message of reassurance.

"Certainly," he said with a soft smile on his face.

Priscilla was watching them. Her face was pale. She was furious. The rejection was public, and it was absolute. But she was a lady of the ton, she has to maintain her composure. She took a deep breath, forcing the rage down, and a smile—tight, brittle, and fake—appeared on her lips once more.

Carcel did not wait for Priscilla to speak. He turned, still holding Ines’s hand, and began to walk toward the center of the dance floor.

He pulled Ines with him. Not forcefully, but with a steady, undeniable momentum.

The crowd parted.

It was like the Red Sea. People stopped talking mid-sentence. Heads turned, the feathers in the ladies’ hair bobbing like excited birds. The whispers started, a low, rushing wave of sound that followed them like the wake of a ship.

"The Duke? With Lady Ines?"

"Not Lady Priscilla?"

"Did you see that? He walked right past her!"

"Look at his face. He looks... intense."

Ines felt a thousand eyes on her. They felt like tiny pinpricks on her skin. She felt the heat of the hundreds of candles in the chandeliers above. She felt exposed. She felt the familiar urge to run, to hide in her garden, to disappear into a book.

But mostly, she felt his hand.

It was warm. It was solid. It was the only real thing in the room.

Just as they passed Priscilla, the lady spoke. She could not let him go without one last, poisonous scratch.

"You are very kind, Your Grace," Priscilla said, her voice loud enough to carry.

A smirk appeared on her lips. It was a cruel, knowing thing.

Carcel stopped. He did not let go of Ines, but he turned his head. His expression was polite, but his eyes were like shards of black ice.

"Pardon?" he asked.

Priscilla tilted her head, looking at Ines with a pity that was worse than hate.

"Seeing that you prioritize your best friend’s sister’s feelings," she said sweetly, "over your own desires. It is... charitable. To save her from standing alone."

Ines felt the blood drain from her face. Charity. That was it. That was the narrative. He was being kind to the poor, spinster sister.

Carcel’s jaw tightened. He turned his body fully toward Priscilla. He shielded Ines with his shoulder.

"Maybe Lady Alworth doesn’t know me well," he said. His voice was smooth, calm, and dangerous. "I have never neglected my own desires. Not once."

Priscilla’s smile faltered. "But..."

Carcel interrupted her. He did not raise his voice, but the steel in his tone cut her off completely.

"I know best what I want," he said.

He looked at Priscilla, then he looked down at Ines. His gaze softened, the ice melting into a dark, burning fire.

"And I have it."

He turned his back on Priscilla.

"Let’s go, Ines," he murmured.

They walked the last few feet to the center of the floor. The other couples, who had been waiting for the music to start, stepped back. They gave them space. They gave them the floor.

Carcel stopped. He turned to face her.

He was so tall. In his formal black clothes, the stark white of his shirt contrasting with his tan skin, he looked devastating. He looked like the hero of every novel she had ever written, come to life to save her.

He released her hand, only to place it on his shoulder.

He placed his other hand on her waist.

The contact burned through the gold silk of her dress. It was a brand. He pulled her close. Closer than was strictly proper for a ballroom. There was barely a breath of air between them.

Ines looked up at him, her hazel eyes wide and searching. She was looking for the truth. What is his intention?

Carcel looked down at her. His dark eyes softened. The severity vanished.

The music swelled. The conductor raised his baton.

The waltz began in earnest.

Carcel swept her into the first turn. He moved with a grace that belied his size. Ines followed him effortlessly. Her body knew his. They fit together like two pieces of a puzzle.