Ines stared at Carcel, her heart a trapped bird against her ribs. She gave Edith a tiny, jerky nod.
Edith looked from the duke's stone-cold face to her mistress's pale, frozen one. She had never been in a room with so much silent, terrifying tension. "My lady," she whispered, as if to apologize. She bobbed a quick, frightened curtsy, backed out of the library, and pulled the heavy door shut.
The click of the latch was the loudest sound Ines had ever heard. It was the sound of a key turning in a lock. The sound of a trap springing shut.
She was alone. With him.
She stood where she was, halfway between the door and the desk. Her gardening basket, still clutched in her hand, felt as though it were filled with stones. Her mind was running in frantic, useless circles.
How? How did he get it? she thought, her pulse hammering in her ears. Did I drop it on the table by mistake last night? It was so dark... no, I remember closing the book.
