Chapter Nineteen

Clara heard the actors perform their lines, but her head and heart were miles away. So, that was Cynthia, the woman who had robbed Silas of his heart and broken it into a thousand pieces. She hadn't expected her reaction to be so visceral, but she hadn't been able to stop herself.

When the woman had first entered the library, it seemed no one had noticed, except Clara had experienced a chill just before Cynthia had spoken. A flash of pain shone in Silas's eyes before he turned to face her and while he had originally stepped in front of Clara, she had felt the distinct need to protect him from Cynthia, as much as she could.

She had held her head high and tried desperately to sound indifferent and dignified. She knew Silas was helplessly tied to her. It hurt her heart to think that he could love a woman like Cynthia and not her, but she couldn't ponder on that for too long or her heart would truly start to ache. Instead, she did her best to spend another hour dictating the others into positions and reminding them about their enunciation, while also keeping Fredrick and Violet away from one another. Those two seemed hellbent on bickering for argument's sake and while Clara might have enjoyed watching the verbal parley any other time, her mind was indeed elsewhere.

Just then, Holly came to sit next to her.

"Are you all right?" she asked softly as they watched the others perform. Clara nodded, but didn't speak. "I'm so sorry that happened."

"What could be done?" Clara asked honestly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I wonder if John was aware of who she truly is," Holly said, her brow knitting together. "It does not seem like something he would manage on purpose."

"I doubt the baron was aware of her coming. She seems the kind of woman to show up when she chooses to, doesn't she?"

"I suppose. Perhaps I should speak with John about it. He could ask them to leave—"

"Oh goodness, no, Holly. I will not be cowed by that woman. Not in front of Silas."

The mention of her husband's name caused Holly to appear even more worried.

"He must be furious."

"He isn't pleased."

"I can't imagine what it would be like. To be suddenly face to face with someone who was once your spouse. What he must be thinking."

Although Holly had clearly meant to be sympathetic to Silas, Clara couldn't help but feel as if her friend had pointed out something grievous. What would it be like to be faced with someone who he had been so intimate with? Clara had never intruded on Silas's private yearnings, but she had found herself wondering what had transpired between Cynthia and him.

Silas didn't appear pleased at all at the sight of her, but would there not be memories between them? Clara felt her face grow warm with jealousy as the others finished the scene. She mumbled a few words to them before leaving the library, eagerly beating down the feelings of envy that were overwhelming her. In truth, by the time Clara reached her rooms to get ready for dinner, she was less than excited to happen upon Silas, who was seated at the desk in their room.

"Oh," she said, coming into the room, stalling for a moment at the sight of him. He was without a jacket and his shirtsleeves were rolled up, probably in an effort to keep ink from getting on his cuffs. She ignored the surge of need and swallowed. "I didn't realize you were here."

He stood up and came towards her, and she felt trapped.

"How are you?" he asked, his eyes filled with concern.

"Fine," she said, feeling uneasy.

He stood before her, unmoving for a long moment before he spoke again.

"I think we should talk," he said and for some reason Clara felt a warning shoot through her. "About getting through the next few days."

Was he going to tell her that he was still in love with Cynthia? That he would resume some sort of relationship with her? That their marriage was a mistake?

Clara had rarely ever been so unsure of herself or her life and it shook her to the core.

"There's no need," she said, moving around him in an attempt to avoid the awful conversation he wished to have. "I'm sure there's nothing to say."

She was vaguely aware of him turning as she went towards the wardrobe where her gowns were hanging. The sapphire color gown was probably her most flattering dress, but on the other hand, the soft yellow was darling, she thought to herself, trying desperately to ignore her husband's presence.

"Clara," he said, but she shook her head.

"Silas, I'm quite all right," she said, giving him a false smile.

His eyes seemed to darken at her dismissal, but for the life of her, she couldn't understand why. What really needed to be said, anyway? While Clara supposed she had been rather haughty when talking to Cynthia, she wouldn't feel sorry for it and had no intention of apologizing, even if Silas told her to. She'd felt the need to stake her claim to the title and to her husband. Unlike her predecessor, Clara was happy to be the Duchess of Combe. She was proud to be Silas's wife.

"I'm not," he said lowly, but to Clara it was deafening.

Of course, he wouldn't be. She tried to swallow her foolish feelings. He wouldn't simply be fine seeing the woman who broke his heart. What a fool she was to be standing here, worried about her own silly nonsense.

Dropping her hands from her gowns, she turned to face him.

"I'm sorry, Silas, I didn't even consider how you might feel at seeing her," Clara admitted. "I was so consumed with my own reaction to her that I didn't think of how hurt you must be at confronting her again."

Silas's head cocked slightly, his brow furring above his dark eyes.

"Hurt?" he repeated.

"Well, yes. Aren't you?" she asked, confused.

They stared at one another for a long moment and the shadow that had plagued Silas face vanished. He took a step towards her, his large hands going to her elbows.

"You think seeing her hurt me?"

"Yes," she said. "Didn't it? You said you were not all right."

Silas shook his head.

"My feelings are on your behalf. I hate that there was no warning—that she was sprung upon us so abruptly. I didn't wish for you to ever meet her, let alone be surprised by the encounter."

"Surely you did not think we would never cross paths?" Clara said, confused. "Besides, I was perfectly fine seeing her. I may have been a bit rude, I admit, but it wasn't a traumatic experience."

"I'm glad for that."

A strange, stilted silence followed. Clara was sure there was more to say, she wasn't sure exactly what. She gave him a small smile, which he returned, but when she tried to move out of his grasp, his grip tightened slightly.

Glancing up, she saw a heat in his eyes that hadn't been there before.

"Silas?"

"Is there nothing that phases you?" he asked. "You always seem so wholly unaffected by things that would bother most people."

Clara shrugged.

"Most people care about foolish things," she said softly. "Like their own popularity or importance. I couldn't begin to explain why those things never mattered to me. Perhaps because I spent the first half of my life as a schoolmaster's daughter before my father's inventions gained traction. In that quiet life, I never had hopes of impressing anyone." She inhaled and exhaled slowly, as she averted her eyes, worried about her next words. "But to say I am unaffected would be an understatement. I'm neither happy nor mad that Cynthia is here, nor do I much care what she has done with herself or whom she now intends to marry. I am not interested in her or her escapades in the least. What I do care about… is you." She swallowed, trying to remove the sudden lump in her throat. "I have fears, Silas, and insecurities and worries, just like everyone else. I am half confident, half full of doubt at all times regarding us."

"What do you doubt about us?"

"That no matter how much I might love you, it won't ever be enough to extinguish the pain from your past," she said, ignoring the slight squeeze of his hands at her elbows. She looked up at him, which was a mistake as his face had become thunderous. "I know you said you couldn't love me. And I wouldn't want to force any sort of lie from your lips, but please, Silas, don't… Just don't…"

"Don't what?" he asked.

"Don't be tempted," Clara said as her throat constricted painfully.

For a fragile moment neither of them moved as her words sank in.

Silas's finger dug into her arms as the meaning of her confession seemed to dawn on him.

"You think I would be unfaithful?" he grounded out in a guttural tone.

To Clara's humiliation, tears formed in the corner of her eye. She tried to brush them away, but he held her.

"I don't think you would mean to," she tried. "But she has a power over you."

"She does not."

"She does, Silas," Clara said. "And I am not asking for things you cannot give, but—"

"What word could that woman possibly give that could command me to do anything at all?" he said, his words angry. "She is nothing to me."

If only that were true… but Clara knew it wasn't. He had told her himself that he was incapable of loving her and Clara felt certain that it was because he still held Cynthia in his heart.

Pulling from him slowly, she put her hand to his chest.

"It's all right," she said through tears, cursing them. "I would just like it if you were careful."

That didn't seem to be the correct thing to say, as in the next moment, Silas pulled her fully against his hard body.

"Silas—"

But whatever she was going to say fell away as he kissed her. It was a rough, earnest sort of kiss, one that conveyed anger and need and desire all at once and Clara melted into his hold on her. She was surprised that a kiss could be so punishing and she wondered what she had done to deserve it.

Whatever she did, she found that she didn't really care as she let herself fall in the familiar warmth that always enveloped her when he kissed her. Only a second later, he tore his mouth from hers and found her ear.

"There is no woman, no creature on this earth who could tempt me to be unfaithful to you," he said. His hot, angry breath sent shivers down her shoulders.

Clara was desperate to believe his words, but for the two months that they had been married, she had seen how utterly consumed he still was by memories of his previous wife. She wanted to believe him and really, he had never shown any sort of signs that he would stoop to unfaithfulness, but having seen Cynthia and the reactions between the two, she just couldn't help worrying. Clara had been accused of a lot of things: poor fashion, ill manners, a lack of respect for her betters, even reaching above her station. But she had never considered herself a fool. Would she be betraying her good sense by believing him?

She didn't speak, unable to alleviate his anger because she wouldn't lie to him. He seemed to read her feelings and his brow cinched together, forming a deeper set of vertical lines between his eyebrows.

"You don't believe me?" he asked, half incredulous, half furious.

Clara opened her mouth to answer him, but Silas silenced her with his mouth. His kiss was filled with anger and determination and she felt herself break as he held her roughly, trying to convey his fury at her lack of faith.

Silas's hands dug into her back as he lifted her body effortlessly and moved her back against the wardrobe door. Clara let out a huff of breath as he kissed her, consuming her with desperation. His mouth was all over her skin and she felt his hand tear at the front of her gown, breaking the fabric with ease.

"Silas!" she said, worried that he'd ruined her gown, but he would not be deterred.

Pulling the bodice of her gown down, Silas's mouth covered her breasts with aggressive kisses, sucking and biting a path down to her nipple. Clara let out a painful cry, but much to her surprise, the hurt she felt wasn't nearly as prominent as the ferocious pleasure that flooded her body.

Clara's body shook and she felt herself become bold. She wanted to meet his desire in every respect. In an instant, her arms fought against the tight bands of steel of his arms and wrapped around his head as she held him tightly to her chest. Letting herself be taken by the basest of feelings, she clawed and tore at the fabric of his jacket as she kissed his forehead.

Encouraged by her reaction, Silas's hands pushed at the fabric of her gown until it slipped past her hips, falling in a heap on the floor. Her chemise was torn, but that didn't seem to register. One of his arms crushed around her waist, clutching her soft form to him while his other hand undid his ties.

Clara breathed in raggedly as his rough touch found the spot between her legs. She groaned as he moved his fingers within her, growling to discover that her body was wet and waiting. Shame might have filled Clara if she had given herself a moment to think, but in the next instant, Silas pushed her up and pulled her down on his hardness, impaling her against the wooden door of the wardrobe.

A curse tore from his mouth as he moved inside of her and Clara's eyes closed as his mouth slid up her neck. She hissed as his tongue moved into her ear, causing a tremor to course through her body. He pushed his hardness deeper into her, far deeper than she believed he ever had and just as she was about to protest, he spoke.

"Take it."

Clara's heart slammed against her chest and her eyes flew open at his words. The biting tone of his command was amplified by his angry gaze and she kept her gaze intently on him, wordlessly accepting every bit of him.

A guttural sound came from him as he pumped into her, causing a ferocious feeling of pleasure to roll within her. Lord above, she wasn't sure why his anger about the whole situation appealed to her so much, but she very much wanted to take in all the anger from his body. She was desperate to please him.

Worried that her words would fail her, she shook her head slightly as she stared into his eyes, acknowledging his statement. Emboldened by her acceptance, Silas's fingertips bit into her buttocks as he held her up, pushing into her repeatedly as her breath caught.

"Tell me you believe me," he said.

"I—I," she tried to speak, but he continued to move inside her.

She nodded, but his grip tightened, unsatisfied.

"Say it," he demanded.

"I believe you," she whispered against his mouth.

"Have you always doubted me?" Clara closed her eyes. She did not want to say. "Answer me."

"Silas, please," she begged, but he wouldn't let her skirt away from his questioning.

"Answer me."

"No!" she said louder than she had intended. "I never doubted you, Silas. I just… I just…"

"You just what?" He sneered.

"I just want you to be happy."

It was a pathetic statement, but Clara couldn't possibly tell him that she wanted him to love her. She had desperately wished that Silas could love her just as ferociously as he had Cynthia but to say it out loud, to beg him to care for her, would be too much. Her pride wouldn't allow it, not when she was so frightened that he would never be able to love her after all.

"Please," she said, tears coming to her eyes. "Silas, please."

"Tell me," he began through clenched teeth, his voice gruff. It seemed her words had affected him greatly. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders as his muscles tightened beneath her hands. "Tell me you…"

Clara felt her heart break for some reason when he couldn't finish. The desperation in his voice, the desire to be in complete control of himself, made her think back to the panic attacks he had suffered in the beginning of their relationship.

"What? Tell you what?" she asked.

But the words would not come. Silas's strong body seemed to barely contain itself. His head dropped to her shoulder as he breathed and for the faintest of moments, Clara heard him speak so gently that he almost sounded desperate.

"Tell me you love me."

Clara's arms clutched to him with all her strength. She did. She really did.

"I love you, Silas," she said softly into his ear.

Silas's mouth found hers and the urgency with which he kissed her tore at her heart. Clara wrapped her arms as tightly as she could around him as he crushed against her. The heavy need she felt break over her just as Silas's body became rigid seemed to hold itself in limbo. He shook and jerked in her arms, and Clara peppered his head with kisses, disappointed that her own release had not come but thankful to be in his arms.

As their breathing calmed, Clara waited for Silas to release her. But even after a long moment, his grip did not slack.

Clara frowned.

"Silas?"

Without warning, Silas turned, Clara high in his arms against his chest as he walked across the room. She gasped slightly as he dropped her on the bed. Clara pushed herself onto her elbows as she watched her husband undress fully, removing his jacket and shirt, before coming over her once more.

Surely, he didn't mean to do that again so soon? But when he crawled over her body, his mouth moving over her chest and stomach, she felt herself relax under his touch. He was far gentler now than he had been moments ago and yet, he was so intent on the task, as if he was completely unaware that he had already reached his peak.

Clara wanted to ask him how he could be so ready to continue, but then his hands were on her and she couldn't think quite right.

Silas moved his hand down her body, the pad of his thumb pressing against the bud of her. Clara arched into his palm as he worked, and she squirmed beneath his mouth as it descended to meet his fingers. She wanted to push him away, to clean herself before he continued, but it was as if Silas was possessed. He didn't have any thought to stop and his sheer determination to bring her to orgasm sent a carnal sense of power and pleasure through her body.

Silas pushed her knees down and when his tongue finally reached her, lapping slowly at her most intimate part, Clara felt a sudden break. Her body convulsed with the rapid jolts of pleasure that enveloped her. She cried out as her hips tilted up and Silas's hands moved around her hips and buttocks as he pulled her up, feasting on her without restraint.

Shockwave after shockwave pulsated through her for what felt like eternity until her body finally sagged. It felt as though her bones had melted as her insides fizzled. Her hips dropped down to the bed as her convulsions ceased and Silas moved up over her body, curling behind her as his arm pressed against her chest, pulling her into a tight embrace.

Clara's mind was foggy, like a night sky after a firework show. She could barely think, let alone decipher what had happened between her and Silas. Worried that trying to put it into words would somehow lessen the fragile state of their relationship in that moment, Clara's hand came over his and squeezed his large fingers beneath her small ones.

Tomorrow, she mused vaguely as her eyes shut. She would speak with him tomorrow.