Lady Ines Scandalous Hobby-Chapter 123 - Hundred And Twenty Three

The silence stretched between them again.

The clock chimed the quarter hour.

"So," Carcel said, straightening his spine. "We have a mole in the print shop. We have an unknown enemy with deep pockets. And we have a deadline. The wedding is in two months."

"I can remove the mole," Vance offered. His voice was devoid of emotion, as if he were discussing removing a stain from a rug.

"Parker can be... encouraged to leave London. Or I can have Mr. Hobbs fire him."

"No," Carcel said instantly.

Vance raised an eyebrow. "Your Grace?"

"If we fire Parker, the enemy will know we are onto them," Carcel explained. His mind was working fast now, moving pieces on a mental chessboard. "They will just find another way in. They will bribe a maid, or a footman, or break into the shop at night. If we remove Parker, we lose our only link to them."

A slow smile spread across Carcel’s face. It was not a nice smile. It was the smile of a hunter who had just spotted a trap and decided to walk around it.

"We keep Parker," Carcel said. "We let him think he is clever. We let him think he is getting rich."

Vance’s eyes gleamed with understanding. "You want to feed him disinformation."

"Exactly," Carcel said. "If Priscilla—or whoever this ghost is—wants a manuscript, we will give her one. But we will control what she gets. We will make Parker deliver exactly what we want him to deliver."

"A decoy," Vance said, nodding with approval. "Brilliant."

"But first," Carcel said, "I need to know everything about Parker. Where he spends his money. Who his friends are. What he eats for breakfast. I want to own him before he even realizes he has been bought."

"Consider it done," Vance said, standing up. He smoothed his gray suit. "I will have a file on his life by tomorrow morning."

"And Vance?" Carcel added, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"Yes, Your Grace?"

"I want protection around Lady Ines. I want you to double it." Carcel looked toward the door, as if he could see through the walls to where Ines was currently sleeping in her own home across town. "She is not to go anywhere without a guard. But be discreet. I do not want her to feel like a prisoner. She is already frightened enough."

"I will put my best men on it," Vance promised. "She will be safer than the Queen."

Vance bowed again and turned to leave. He moved so silently that Carcel didn’t even hear the door click shut. He was just gone, melting back into the shadows where he belonged.

Carcel was alone again.

He let out a long breath, releasing the tension in his shoulders. He felt a heavy weight on his heart. He hated this. He hated the secrets. He hated that the woman he loved, who wrote stories about love and passion, was being dragged into a world of spies and deceit.

He needed to talk to her. He couldn’t go to her now; it was the middle of the night, and showing up at her family’s house would cause a scandal of its own. But he could not leave her wondering. He knew Ines. She was likely lying awake right now, staring at the ceiling, imagining the worst. She would be thinking that he was angry with her, or that he was disgusted by the trouble she had caused.

He had to stop those thoughts before they took root.

Carcel sat back down at his desk. He pulled a fresh sheet of heavy, cream-colored parchment from the drawer. He dipped his quill into the inkwell. The ink was black, stark against the paper.

He paused for a moment, searching for the right words. How could he tell her that she was actually in danger, but that he had it under control? How could he explain that he was using a nineteen-year-old boy as bait without scaring her?

He decided on the truth—or at least, the version of the truth that would give her strength.

He began to write. His handwriting was bold and angular, confident strokes that carved into the paper.

My Dearest Ines,

Do not worry. I am writing this to you while the rest of London sleeps because I know your mind is likely racing, and I cannot bear the thought of you facing the dark alone.

I have met with the man I spoke of. The situation is serious, yes, but it is not unmanageable. We have found the leak. It is a small crack in the dam, nothing more. A boy at the shop has been swayed by coin. He believes he is selling your secrets, but he does not know that he has just handed us the weapon we need to destroy your enemy.

You were right to be afraid, but you must stop now. Fear is what they want. They want you to panic. They want you to make a mistake. Do not give them that satisfaction.

We are going to play a game, my love. It is a dangerous game, but it is one we will win. We are going to let them think they have caught you. We are going to let them believe they have won. And when they step forward to claim their prize, they will find nothing but their own ruin.

I need you to trust me. I need you to continue your life as if nothing is wrong. Attend your fittings. Drink your tea. Smile at the women who whisper behind their fans. Let them wonder.

Mr. Vance tells me the enemy is hiding in the shadows. But they forget that I was raised in this city. I know its shadows better than they ever will.

Try to sleep. Dream of our wedding. Dream of the life we will build. Leave the nightmares to me. I will stand guard, even from afar.

Yours, in this life and the next,

Carcel

Carcel read the letter over. It was firm, but tender.

He folded the parchment carefully. He did not use the official ducal seal—that would draw too much attention if the letter was intercepted. Instead, he used a plain wax seal, pressing his thumb into the red wax while it was still hot. A personal mark.

He rang the bell again. This time, his aide appeared. Lloyd looked sleepy, his dark hair mussed, wearing a dressing gown over his nightclothes.

"Forgive me for waking you, Lloyd ," Carcel said softly.

"Not at all, Your Grace," Lloyd said, stifling a yawn. "Is something wrong?"

"I need this delivered to Lady Ines immediately," Carcel said, handing him the letter. "Do not use the main carriage. Use the servant’s pony trap. Go to the back entrance of the Hamilton estate. Give it only to her maid, Edith. No one else. Do you understand?"

Lloyd’s sleepiness vanished instantly. He straightened up, sensing the urgency. "I understand, sir. Into Edith’s hand. Immediately."

"Thank you, Lloyd."

The aide took the letter and hurried out of the room.