The morning sun stread into Ines’s room, a bold, bright invasion that pierced through the heavy velvet curtains. It landed right on her face, warm and insistent.
Ines groaned. She turned away from the window, burying her face deep into the soft, down-filled pillow. She pulled the silk sheet up over her head, trying to create a small, dark cave where the day could not find her.
"It is morning already?" she whispered, her voice husky with sleep.
She didn’t want to wake up. Waking up ant leaving the dreams. Waking up ant facing the bright, harsh light of reality where she was just Ines Hamilton, alone in her big bed.
But as her mind cleared, the mories of the previous night did not fade like dreams usually did. Instead, they sharpened. They rushed back to her with a clarity that made her breath hitch in her throat.
She rembered the darkness of the carriage. She rembered the firelight in Carcel’s study. She rembered the rough texture of the maid’s dress against her skin.
And then, she rembered the indulgence.
Her face, buried in the white pillowcase, turned a deep, burning crimson.
She rembered Carcel’s voice, low and dark as smoke, whispering in her ear. "You can do this when I am not around."
She rembered his hand guiding hers. She rembered the shocking, electric sensation of touching her own body while he watched. He had taught her. He had shown her how to find her own pleasure, how to chase the feelings until she shattered. He had given her permission to own her own body.
"Anywhere that gives you pleasure," he had said.
And then... the rest of the night.
She rembered the leather sofa. She rembered the desk. She rembered the way he had looked at her, with a hunger that could consu the world. She rembered the weight of him, the heat of him, the way he had filled the empty spaces inside her heart and her body.
Ines kicked her feet under the covers. It was a childish, giddy movent. She felt a burst of energy, a wild, secret joy that made her want to laugh and scream at the sa ti.
She rolled onto her back, staring at the canopy of her bed.
She let her imagination drift. She imagined a different morning.
She imagined that she wasn’t in her room at the Hamilton estate. She imagined she was at the Carleton estate house. She imagined the bed was bigger, the sheets slling of sandalwood and masculine soap.
She imagined turning her head and seeing him there. Carcel. Asleep beside her. His dark hair ssy on the pillow, his long eyelashes resting on his cheeks, his breathing deep and steady.
She imagined stretching out her arm and touching his warm chest. She imagined him waking up, his eyes sleepy and dark, pulling her into his arms, his morning voice rough with affection.
Soon, she promised herself. Just a weeks. Then every morning will be like that.
Knock, knock.
The sound shattered her daydream. The fantasy of Carcel’s arms dissolved into the cool morning air of her own room.
Ines sighed. She pushed her hair back from her face.
"Co in," she called out.
The door opened softly. Edith stepped inside. She was carrying a tray with a pitcher of warm water and a fresh towel. She looked impeccable in her black and white uniform— another of her own uniform, Ines noted with a small pang of guilt, not the one Ines had borrowed and likely ruined the night before.
Edith closed the door quietly behind her. She walked to the window and pulled the curtains back fully, tying them with a gold tassel. The room flooded with light.
"Good morning, My Lady," Edith said, dropping into a small, neat curtsy. Her voice was calm, but her eyes were sharp, scanning Ines’s face.
Ines sat up, pushing the pillows behind her back. She felt sore. Her muscles ached in a way that was entirely new and entirely secret. It was a good ache.
"How was your night?" Edith asked.
It was a loaded question. Edith knew exactly how the night had begun. She was the one who had helped Ines sneak out. She was the one who had waited by the kitchen door until dawn to let Ines back in.
Ines looked at her loyal maid. A soft smile played on her lips.
"Pleasant," Ines replied.
It was the understatent of the century.
Ines looked at Edith’s tired eyes. She knew the maid hadn’t slept much, worrying about her mistress running off into the dark.
"Thank you once again, Edith," Ines said, her voice sincere. "For everything. For the dress. For the silence. For waiting."
Edith smiled, a small, relieved expression. She poured the warm water into the porcelain basin on the washstand. The steam rose in a gentle curl.
"You are welco, My Lady," Edith said.
Then, her expression turned serious. She walked over to the side of the bed and folded her hands in front of her apron. She looked like a stern older sister.
"But," Edith said, her voice firm, "don’t pull sothing like that again, My Lady. Please."
Ines blinked, feeling like a scolded child.
"I was deeply worried," Edith confessed. "Every ti the wind blew, I thought it was trouble. If His Grace, your brother, had co ho early... if you had been hurt on the road... I would never have forgiven myself."
Ines reached out and took Edith’s hand. She squeezed it gently.
"I know," Ines whispered. "It was reckless. I was... I was not thinking clearly. I just needed to see him."
She looked up at Edith with wide, honest eyes.
"I promise," Ines said solemnly. "It won’t happen again. We have agreed. No more sneaking out. We will wait for the wedding."
Edith let out a long breath, her shoulders sagging with relief. She squeezed Ines’s hand back.
"Good," Edith said. "That is good to hear."
She stepped back, returning to her professional deanor. She picked up a hairbrush from the vanity table.
Now," Edith said briskly. "Let’s get you ready for the day. His Grace, your brother, will soon be out for breakfast. He is already in the dining room reading his papers."
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