Chapter Twelve

Upon entering the bedchambers, Clara felt herself begin to shake. Her nerves were wrought with tension and as she stood in the center of the room, waiting as Silas closed the door, she heard the door click. Then, she heard a deep sigh.

Clara frowned. He sighed? Confused as to why, she turned to see him leaning against the door, his eyes closed as his head pressed back against the wood. He was fully dressed, not changed in any particular from how he had been moments before, but there was a shift in his posture, making him appear almost relived. She studied his face as he breathed, noting the stubble that had begun to grow around his cheeks, chin and neck. His black brows and dark, curling hair that had been held by pomade had dropped slightly, and his dark skin seemed to glow in the light of the candles the maids had lit. He seemed tired, if not content.

His eyes opened and focused directly on her and she felt her heart begin to beat furiously. He really was attractive, far more so than she usually allowed herself to realize, for it was dangerous to admit that she had married a man far superior to her in every way.

Feeling slightly insecure, she held her spot until he pushed himself off the door and came towards her, tugging at his cravat as he did.

"A successful night, I suppose," he said as he walked past her, leaving her feeling slightly empty. There was no heat behind his words, no emotion. He seemed really rather composed. Frowning slightly, she turned to watch him as he walked about the room. "We are married."

"Yes, we are," she said, ignoring the crack in her voice.

He sat on one of the chairs that faced each other at the foot of his bed as he removed his boots. She jumped at the touch of his hand on her shoulders. Turning around, she saw him hold his palms up, his face confused.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes," she said unconvincingly. She swallowed and nodded at the large mirror that hung on the far wall. This room was nearly identical to hers. "You have a very unique style."

Silas glanced around the room, seemingly unimpressed before he undid the buttons of his vest.

"I did not decorate it."

It dawned on Clara that Cynthia had most likely chosen all the décor.

"Oh. Well, it is, um, quite unique, indeed."

"Yes," was all he said.

Clara wondered what she had said that had agitated him. Perhaps he was offended by her wording?

"I didn't mean to say that I don't like it," she tried. "I only meant that I've never been in a room that was so, well…opulent I guess would be the word. I've certainly never seen black silk drapes," she said, walking to the bed. "Do you have an affinity for mirrors?"

"No."

"Oh," she said, frowning. "Then why are there so many in this room?"

"I'll show you later," he said.

Clara shrugged to herself, curious as to why he was being so short with her. Her hand came up to the bed posts as her fingers gently traced over the suggestive wood carving. "And I've never seen a bed like that before."

He did not respond and after a long moment she turned to face him. Silas was watching her intently and she wondered why his body seemed tense. Swallowing, her eyes shifted back to the bed and then back at him. He followed her stare.

"You wouldn't happen to be nervous? About…" he nodded towards the bed. "…that, would you?"

"Nervous?" she repeated. "No, of course not. What a silly thing to be nervous about."

His brows lifted.

"Some ladies would disagree."

"Yes well, I'm sure those ladies never had the privilege of growing up in the country. I know perfectly well what's expected of me."

Slowly, an unfiltered grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. Clara gulped.

"Do you now?"

"Yes."

"Then please, enlighten me."

Clara's eyes went wide at his suggestion. He wanted her to say it out loud? Good heavens, she might be poorly bred but she wasn't completely without scruples. The humor in his eyes eased her worry.

"Well, I suppose I shall l-lay right over there," she pointed at the bed. "And then you will, um…" She couldn't find the words and nodded her head. "Well, you… will attend to it."

"Attend to it?" he repeated and she nodded again, ignoring the hint of amusement in his tone. "Well, if you say so." His voice was slightly huskier than before and Clara had the vague sense that he was teasing her. "And will you be clothed?"

She blanched.

"Pardon?"

"I ask if you will be clothed."

Clara felt herself begin to panic. Surely people did not stay clothed during the act, but then she had never been privy to such information. Did the upper class stay covered for propriety? Oh, why was he asking her such a ridiculous question?

"No," she said slowly. "I don't suppose so. Is that correct?"

He nodded.

"Quite correct," he said. After a short pause he took a step towards her. "Well then, shall we?"

She took a step back.

"Shall we what?"

"Unclothe you," he said.

Clara swallowed hard, apprehensive, though she nodded to show her consent. But Silas didn't move. He only stood there before her, watching her for long moments before she grew bold enough to look him in the eye.

As she titled her head back, she saw the same heated eyes she had seen in the chapel and her mouth fell open slightly. His eyes dropped to her lips and she was sure he would kiss her, only he didn't. His gaze slowly lifted to meet hers again and the longer he went without touching her or reaching for her, the more disconcerted she became.

"What should I do?" she whispered.

Her question seemed to please him.

"Turn around," he said and she did as she was told.

She saw his bent head in the reflection of the mirror as he worked to undo the buttons at the back of her gown. It was rather fascinating to be able to watch him as he undressed her. She wondered if the mirrors had been hung, not out of vanity but for some other reason. She felt herself flush.

He made quick work of her dress's fastenings and soon she felt the garment sag against her skin. Hesitantly, she lifted her arms and slipped out of the sleeves, letting the dress fall to the floor, leaving her covered in nothing but her chemise. She felt his hands go to her hair next, and to her surprise he began to take out her ribbons and pins until her hair fell loose over her shoulders. The intake of breath she heard from him caused her to turn around and face him. When she did, she saw a mixture of desire and hesitation in his expression. It was a strange thing to see, and she guessed it was probably difficult for him to see her in such an intimate way. They were friends, after all, and she had never had a friend with whom she wished to do these sorts of things. Surely, he was finding it problematic to reconcile himself to being with her this way.

Suddenly insecure, she took a deep breath. Exhaling shakily, she put her hand to the collar of her chemise, but his large hand stayed her.

"I'd like to," he said softly, gently moving her hand back down to her side.

She nodded silently as his larger fingers hooked beneath the strap of her chemise and pulled it down slowly. What agony, Clara thought as a mosh of emotions came over her. Arousal slammed into her as well as shivering need and humiliation. She felt as if she were at his disposal. She might have felt rather insignificant in a way, if not for the desire in his eyes.

He was watching her as if she were the only being in the world. And to her surprise, she felt like the only being in the world too.

The strap of her chemise slid down her arms, as the fabric slowly exposed her breasts, then her stomach and finally her legs, leaving her only wearing a pair of silk stockings. Except something caught his eye, just above her knee.

A thin, blue ribbon was tied around her leg.

Silas was motionless for a moment. His dark gaze moved slowly up and she felt her body begin to tremble with trepidation.

"I… I don't know why I…"

She shook her head, unable to finish her train of thought. Lord knows why she had tied the silly ribbon around her knee every day since that night in Vauxhall Gardens, but she had. There had been a draw to do it, a nameless power that had called for her to obey and she secretly relished it.

Her awareness of it at random moments throughout her day had sent a shiver up her spine. She hadn't even meant for him to see it, but she had become tied to the idea, for lack of a better term. The daily secret, a low stakes reminder of him had made her feel daring and slightly wicked.

The heat in his stare made her apprehensive however. Had it been a foolish thing to do? She assumed she would have died of embarrassment at this moment, to be so fully naked before a man, but somehow she was still alive. More than just alive, she was happy. Because she felt revered beneath the admiring warmth of his gaze.

"Clara," he whispered, his tone one of genuine surprise as his eyes roamed over her naked body. "You're beautiful."

A paralyzed part of her wanted to laugh at his words, as she had rarely ever been described as such. Strangely lovely, or bizarrely attractive, maybe. She had never simply been described as singularly beautiful, but she wanted to believe him.

"Kiss me," he said.

Clara knew he wasn't particularly interested in anything but friendship with her, but she could almost swear she heard a desperate note in his voice. Consummation of a marriage was the final task for their union needed in order to be legitimized. While it was more a duty than anything, Clara was finding it hard to separate her feelings from the practicality of it all. It didn't feel like this was just another duty to him. She decided to kiss him wholly and with every feeling she felt in that moment, even aware that he might chastise her for being too eager.

Her hands went to his shoulders and pulled him towards her as she pressed her mouth to his. An arm wrapped tightly around her back, pressing her against him and she felt like he was consuming her. Clara sought out the heat of his body as she pressed herself closer. The soft, fine fabric of his clothes against her bare skin was a tantalizing experience. She had never once imagined what the sensation of a wool suit would feel like against her nude body and she was almost scandalized at how much she liked it. She leaned closer to him still, eager to be held by his powerful grip.

In an instant he turned his back to the bed as he gently but firmly pressed her down atop the cool silk sheets. She let out a surprised sound as he stood over her and finished undressing. Clara should have averted her eyes, but her curiosity was too much for her and she stared at him as he removed his unbuttoned vest and untucked his shirtsleeves, pulling it over his head and tossing it on the ground.

Clara's eyes travelled down the hard planes and contours of his large, muscular chest, visually tracing the fine dark spattering of hair that trailed down his stomach. Her mouth went dry as her eyes drifted lower, watching as his hand unbuttoned the front panel of his trousers. Hooking his thumbs into the waistband, he pushed them down, his eyes never leaving hers.

Clara's cheeks must have turned red as he kicked away the last of his clothing. She could feel how hot her face had grown—and yet she couldn't bring herself to look away. The hard length of him sprung up from dark curls as he stood back up, seemingly unfazed by his naked state. He reminded Clara of a stature she had once seen in a museum, only he was darker, larger and his member was not at all like it had been depicted in the artwork.

Her breath hitched as he slowly leaned forward and pressed his mouth against her abdomen. Her legs flinched involuntarily, but Silas only moved his hands up her thighs, as if to soothe her body's nervous energy. He kissed her stomach gently and Clara felt her brow pucker, unsure about the purpose of such an act. He moved upwards, pressing a trail of kisses up to her sternum. Clara was practically shaking from excitement and trepidation as he licked between the valley of her breasts. She was sure she might cry out when he moved to her left breast and began nipping and sucking on her nipple.

Clara's entire body shook from pleasure as something overpowering swept over her body. She started to convulse as sheer ecstasy enveloped her.

Silas pulled back and watched her writhe with wonder.

"My god," he said, his words hot against her skin. "You're sensitive."

Clara couldn't speak, couldn't think as his mouth dropped back to her skin. He moved lower, back down over her abdomen and lower still, until he was positioned between her legs. She was barely aware of his intentions as the hazy afterglow of pleasure fogged her mind. It wasn't until she felt his warm tongue lap at the center of her that she let out a choked cry.

Clara tried to sit up.

"Silas."

"Hush," he murmured inside of her as his hands snaked up her torso and gently pressed her back. "Don't move."

She shivered at his words, vibrating within her like some sort of magic spell. He kissed and licked at her in a way she was sure would send them both to hell, but she couldn't bring herself to protest. Not when another devastating crush of pleasure claimed her. It rose within her, slowly at first, until it was bubbling at the surface and then spilled over like a kettle too filled of water over a fire.

Silas's hand came up to hold her inner thigh in an iron grip. Clara moaned as it slowly slid upward and this thumb pressed into her, just below where his tongue had been. Her eyes closed tightly as it entered her, moving in a gentle rhythm as she felt the pleasure crest, breaking over her like a lightning strike. Soon, Silas's body was over hers, kissing her mouth and cheek as she shook. He leaned forward and spoke in her ear.

"Hold onto me," he said roughly as she felt him position his length at her entrance.

She reached up and held onto his wide shoulders as he moved forward in a single, swift movement.

"Aug!"

A pained cry ripped from Clara's mouth as he paused within her. She felt herself stretch and ache as she settled around his invasion, accommodating him as best as she could. He was motionless for a long moment, and she could feel the tension of his body vibrate beneath her touch. His hand came up and moved against her face, holding her head as she stared at him.

"Easy," he said as he began to move.

In and out, in and out. Clara's bottom lip fell open and trembled as a wave of emotion rushed over her. It was the oddest feeling, to stare into his eyes while he moved within her. It felt as though he were claiming every inch of her. She had never felt so exposed and simultaneously so wanted in her entire life.

Soon, his movements became short and fast and her breath sped up to match. When he fell deep into her on a final stroke Clara tried to lift her knees, almost wishing to wrap her legs around him. Thinking that to be too wanton, she forced her body to relax as the weight of his body dropped on her, making her feel oddly comforted trapped beneath his form.

Some moments later, she heard his breathing even out. He slowly pulled himself from her and got up. She watched with curiosity as he made his way to the water basin that stood beneath a north window that overlooked the garden. When he returned to bed, he had a length of dampened towel, which he used to clean her. Not merely between her legs, but her entire body, prompting her to sit up. She winced when he reached her thighs, but his hand was gentle.

When he was done, he moved the covers down and she crawled beneath them, watching him as he turned out the lamps and blew out the candles. Soon, he rejoined her in bed, his long lean body pressed against her soft one.

Clara wasn't sure if she should speak, and even if she should, what would she say? He hadn't said anything since he finished, but when he laid beside her, she felt his arm unexpectedly come around her waist and pull her tightly against his chest.

"Good night," she whispered, her eyes wide in the dark.

But Silas did not speak. He only left out a gentle snore, leaving Clara alone with her thoughts.