Lady Ines Scandalous Hobby-Chapter 148 - Hundred And Forty Eight

The afternoon sun was beginning its slow descent behind the rooftops of London, painting the sky in shades of bruised purple and burnt orange. It was a beautiful sight, but inside the drawing room of the Hamilton mansion, Ines barely noticed the view.

She sat on a plush velvet sofa, a cup of Earl Grey tea cooling in her hands. The porcelain was delicate, painted with tiny blue flowers, but to Ines, it felt heavy. Every tick of the grandfather clock in the corner seemed to echo the beating of her own heart.

Tick. Tock.

Time was running out. The Masquerade Ball was approaching. The trap for Priscilla was set. Carcel was healed. The decoy manuscript was out in the world. Everything was in motion, like a line of dominoes waiting for a single push.

Ines took a sip of the tea. It was cold. She wrinkled her nose but swallowed it anyway. She needed the routine. She needed to feel normal.

Suddenly, a commotion broke out in the hallway.

It started as a murmur, low and distant, coming from the front entrance. Then, it grew louder. The sound of heavy boots running on the marble floor. The sound of doors opening. The sound of excited voices rising in a wave of joy.

"The duke is back! The duke is back!"

Ines froze. Her teacup paused halfway to her saucer.

The servants were shouting. Their voices echoed through the high ceilings of the mansion, bouncing off the walls. There was no fear in their cries, only relief and excitement.

"The duke is back!"

Ines’s heart leaped. For a split second, her mind went to Carcel. But Carcel was the Duke of Carleton. The servants here, in her father’s house, would refer to the head of this house.

Rowan.

Her brother was home.

Ines set the teacup down on the table with a sharp clatter. a little bit of tea sloshed over the rim, staining the white lace doily, but she did not care. She stood up, her skirts rustling around her legs.

She walked quickly to the large bay window that overlooked the front courtyard. She pulled back the sheer curtain with a trembling hand.

Below, the gravel driveway was bustling with activity. A large carriage had just pulled to a halt. It was covered in the dust of the road, a sign of a long journey from the country. The horses were breathing hard, their sides heaving, steam rising from their flanks in the cooling air.

But Ines didn’t look at the horses. She looked at the door of the carriage.

A footman rushed forward. He looked eager, practically tripping over his own feet to reach the handle. He pulled the door open and lowered the metal steps.

A boot hit the gravel. Then a leg. Then, a tall, broad-shouldered figure stepped out into the fading sunlight.

It was Rowan.

He looked tired. His coat was wrinkled, and his hat was pulled low over his eyes. But as he looked up at the house—his home—a wide, familiar grin spread across his face. He took a deep breath of the London air, stretching his arms out as if he wanted to hug the building itself.

Ines felt a rush of emotion clog her throat. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

He was back. Her big brother. The one person in the world who had always been her shield before Carcel came along. He had no idea what she had been through in the last two weeks. He had no idea about the blackmail, the kidnapping, or the fever. He just looked happy to be home.

Ines turned from the window. She didn’t walk; she ran. She hurried out of the drawing room, her slippers slapping softly against the polished floor. She ignored the rules of decorum that said a lady should never rush.

She flew down the grand staircase, her hand trailing lightly on the banister.

The front doors were already open. The cool evening breeze swept into the hallway.

Ines stepped out onto the porch just as Rowan was walking up the steps.

He looked up and saw her. His grin widened, transforming his tired face into something boyish and bright.

"Ines!" he called out.

Ines didn’t wait. She rushed down the last few steps and threw herself at him.

Rowan caught her easily. He was a large man, built like a bear, and he wrapped his arms around her in a crushing hug. He smelled of horse, leather, and the fresh scent of the countryside. It was the smell of safety.

"Welcome brother," Ines said, her voice muffled against his coat. She squeezed him tight, trying to convey all the relief she felt without saying a word.

Rowan laughed. The sound rumbled in his chest, vibrating against her. He lifted her slightly off the ground, spinning her once before setting her back down.

"It’s good to see you," Rowan replied. He pulled back to look at her, keeping his hands on her shoulders. His eyes crinkled at the corners. "You look well, Ines. You haven’t caused too much trouble while I was gone, have you?"

Ines forced a bright smile. If only he knew.

"None at all," she lied smoothly. "I have been the picture of a perfect lady. Drinking tea and attending fittings."

Rowan chuckled. "Good. Because I have had enough trouble for a lifetime dealing with the Elders. Uncle Silas nearly started a war over the choice of wine for the reception."

He let go of her shoulders and reached for her hand. His grip was warm and rough.

"Come," Rowan said. "Let’s go inside. I am starving, and I want to hear everything."

He turned to the servants who were swarming around the carriage.

"Take the luggage to my room," Rowan ordered, his voice carrying the natural authority of a Duke. "And be careful with the blue trunk. It contains gifts for the bride."

"Yes, Your Grace!" the servants chorused, hurrying to obey. They began to unload the heavy trunks, heaving them onto their shoulders.