Lady Ines Scandalous Hobby-Chapter 135 - Hundred And Thirty Five

Ines gave her a wide smile.

"Thank you, Countess," she replied softly. "You are very kind."

She then turned to the young man standing beside Amelia.

Ines dropped into a perfect, deep curtsy.

"Earl Montclair," she said respectfully.

Evans bowed low in return. "Lady Hamilton. It is an honor to have you here tonight."

He turned to Carcel and shook his hand firmly. There was a silent communication between both of them —a nod of understanding. Evans likely didn’t know the details, but he knew Carcel was on edge.

"Duke Anderson," Evans said. "Please enjoy yourself. The wine is good tonight, and the music is lively. I won’t be able to stay all night as I will be retiring early but if you need anything, meet my sister."

"We will," Carcel said. His voice was smooth, betraying none of the tension coiling in his gut.

Carcel took Ines’s hand again. He tucked it into the crook of his arm, pulling her close to his side.

"Shall we?" he asked.

They moved further into the ballroom. The heat of the room hit Ines immediately—the scent of beeswax candles, expensive perfume, and hundreds of bodies. It was overwhelming, but Carcel was her anchor.

The orchestra began to play a waltz. It was a slow, sweeping melody that seemed to demand movement.

Carcel stopped. He turned to face her.

"Dance with me," he said. It wasn’t a question.

Ines nodded. "I would love to."

He led her onto the polished dance floor. Other couples were already swirling around. Carcel placed one hand on her waist. His grip was firm, possessive. Ines placed her hand on his shoulder.

They began to move.

For a few minutes, the world narrowed down to just the two of them. One, two, three. Step, turn, step.

Ines looked up at him. Carcel was looking down at her with such intensity that she felt her knees go weak.

"You are doing perfectly," Carcel murmured, his lips barely moving so no one else could hear. "Smile. Let them see how happy we are."

Ines smiled. It was easy to smile when she was in his arms. The movement of the dance soothed her nerves. The sway of her skirts, the warmth of his hand through the silk of her dress—it all felt wonderful.

"I am happy," Ines whispered back. "As long as I am with you."

Carcel’s eyes softened. He spun her around a corner, expertly navigating the crowded floor.

"Do you see her?" Ines asked, keeping her voice low.

"Not yet," Carcel replied, his eyes scanning the perimeter of the room even as he danced. "But she is here. I can feel it."

The music swelled to a crescendo and then faded into silence. The dance was over.

Carcel bowed to her, and Ines curtsied. They were breathless, not from exertion, but from the closeness.

"I need some water," Ines admitted, fanning herself with her peacock feather fan. "My throat is dry."

"I will get it for you," Carcel offered.

"No," Ines said quickly. She needed a moment to compose herself, to step out of the spotlight. "I will go to the refreshment table. You stay here. Talk to Evans. It won’t be proper if you cling to me all night like a guard dog."

Carcel hesitated. He didn’t want to let her go. But he knew she was right. Priscilla would notice something was wrong and become suspicious because she doesn’t know Carcel knew everything from the beginning.

"Be careful," Carcel said. "Do not go out onto the terrace alone."

"I won’t," Ines promised.

She turned and walked toward the long table set up on the side of the room. It was laden with crystal bowls of punch, trays of sweet cakes, and pitchers of iced lemon water.

Ines picked up a glass of water. The crystal was cool against her gloved fingers. She took a long sip. The cold liquid soothed her parched throat.

She turned around, leaning her back against the table, and surveyed the room.

It was a sea of smiling faces. Lords and ladies laughed, gossiped, and flirted. They had no idea that a war was being fought right in their midst.

Ines scanned the crowd, looking for her man.

He was standing near a marble pillar, talking to another gentleman. He looked tall and commanding. Even from across the room, his presence was magnetic. He was nodding at something the other gentleman was saying, but Ines could tell his attention was divided. He was watching the room, just like her.

Then, Ines saw movement.

Out of the crowd, a figure emerged.

It was a woman. She was wearing a dress of deep purple—the color of royalty. Her blonde hair was piled high, adorned with expensive diamonds that glittered under the chandeliers.

It was Priscilla.

Ines’s heart stopped. She gripped the water glass so hard she feared it might shatter.

Priscilla did not look for Ines. She was not looking at the food. She was not looking at the dancers.

Her eyes were locked on one target.

Carcel.

Priscilla was moving toward him with a slow, deliberate grace.

Ines watched as Priscilla approached Carcel’s blind side. Carcel was still talking to the other gentleman, unaware that the predator was closing in.

Priscilla’s face was twisted into a smile. It wasn’t the polite smile of a lady. It was a smile of triumph. It was the smile of a woman who was about to light a match and burn everything down.

Ines pushed herself off the table. She set the glass down with a clink.

She had to get to him. She had to be there when the trap was sprung.

But she felt like she was moving through molasses. The crowd seemed to thicken, blocking her path.

She watched as Priscilla reached Carcel. She watched as Priscilla reached out a gloved hand and tapped him on the shoulder.

Carcel stopped talking. He turned around.

The first look on his face when he saw Priscilla was cold enough to freeze fire then it soften a bit.

But Priscilla didn’t flinch. She just widened her smile, leaned in close, and whispered something to the Duke.

Ines felt her blood boiling.