The ball was finally, blessedly, over. The last carriage had rumbled down the gravel drive, the last glass of champagne had been drained, and the house had settled into a deep, exhausted silence.
Ines had moved through her own ritual quickly. She had taken her bath, scrubbing away the powder and perfume of the evening, but leaving the memory of Carcel's touch. She had dismissed Edith early, claiming fatigue.
Now, she stood in the dim hallway, wearing a new nightgown. It was silk, the color of midnight blue, and it clung to her like a second skin. She had chosen it carefully.
She walked to the library door. It was the meeting place.
But she never made it inside.
A shadow moved from the darkness of the alcove. Before she could even gasp, strong arms swept her off her feet.
"Haaaa!" she started to shout, but her instinct, honed by weeks of secrecy, kicked in. She slapped her hands over her own mouth, stifling the scream into a muffled squeak.
