Chapter 23

CHAPTER23

Emma did not know what Silas had meant by a “reward.” She could imagine and waited with breathless anticipation, but as the glowing lights of London receded into the darkness, and the cobbled streets and babbling noise giving way to peaceful countryside, he still had not enlightened her.

“Marina will scold me for leaving with you,” she said, desperate to break the silence. “Then, she will scold her mother for not concentrating on me. I do not think even your mother will escape a chiding.”

Silas gazed out of the window. “No, I suppose not. She would deserve one.”

“What is it that Lord Luke intends to do this evening? Were you not invited to join him?” Emma sensed that mentioning the younger brother might finally snare Silas’s attention.

“You would have to ask him,” Silas replied.

Emma fidgeted with the gold beading that adorned her gown. “I must thank your mother again for lending me this dress. She said she had been holding onto it, to give to the future bride of one of her sons.” She laughed nervously. “I am not certain it captures the essence of “bride” though, do you?”

“That would depend on the groom,” Silas said, turning at last. “It certainly made an impact this evening, my wildling. There was not a gentleman there who could take his eyes off you.”

Emma swallowed thickly. “That is a blatant lie, Your Grace.”

His eyes flared. “Do not call me that.”

“Was that not our agreement?” Her heart leaped, her cheeks warming as she added, brazenly, “As I am not screaming, should I not refer to you that way?”

A husky laugh rumbled from his chest. “Oh, you wicked, delicious creature.”

“I simply wish to know what is proper,” she replied, feigning nonchalance.

“I loathe the word. ‘Proper’. I hate it.” He rocked forward, pushing himself off his side of the squabs, falling toward her. “When it comes to you, there is not a single proper thought in my head.”

His hands halted his fall, slamming into the top edge of the squabs on either side of her head. She eased back against the velvet, gazing up into his eyes. Whether it was the red gown or what he had made her feel last night, she refused to show any flicker of intimidation in his presence.

“I have been expecting the reward you spoke of,” she challenged, bosom heaving.

“I know,” he replied slyly. “Why do you think I have made you wait? It heightens the pleasure, my wildling.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “Is that so?”

“Allow me to show you.”

He bent closer, his arms bulging as they held his weight… but he did not kiss her immediately. He let his breath tease her, bringing his lips so close to her skin without touching that, within seconds, she felt she might explode if she did not feel his mouth on her.

She tried to close the gap herself, tilting her head up to catch his mouth, but he would not be caught. He dipped his head toward her shoulder, her neck, tormenting her further with the promise of kisses, but no actual reward.

“Silas,” she growled. “I believe you have made your p⁠—”

He kissed her hard, pushing her back into the soft give of the velvet squabs. She responded without hesitation, crushing her mouth against his, pulling his head down so she could kiss him more deeply, the relief of having him close once more unlike anything she had ever known.

Indeed, it was not until that moment that she could be certain that the previous night was not just an anomaly. A one-night event, never to be repeated.

His arm slipped around her waist. In one swift, powerful move, he pivoted her and laid her down upon the squabs, while he eased himself on top of her.

For a moment, he paused, just gazing down at her as he brushed the dark tendrils out of her face. He smiled, and she reached up to touch the curve of his lips with her fingertips, committing that precious smile to memory as he had committed her body.

“You are dangerous when you smile,” she told him.

“In what way?”

She shook her head. “I cannot tell you that.”

He kissed her more slowly, his lips meeting hers in a sensual dance. She ran her hands through his long hair, a gasp slipping from her throat as his hips nudged forward. Something hard and enticing pressed against the peak between her thighs, straining to vanquish the barrier of his trousers and her skirts and petticoats. It did not require much thought to realize that what she felt was the same thing she had seen the previous evening.

Her hand moved between them, eager to investigate that unknown hardness.

“Do not,” he rasped, catching her by the wrist. He brought her hand up over her head and pinned it there, smiling devilishly. “If you do that, I will have to have you. All of you.”

“What does that mean?” She truly did not comprehend, for it already felt like he had possession of her, body, mind, and soul.

He shook his head. “I will enlighten you another time. A carriage is not the place.”

His other hand smoothed over the solid lines of her stays, beneath her gown, and down to her hip. There, he grabbed her skirts, gathering them up until her legs were exposed, bare skin brushing against the slightly rough material of his trousers.

He kissed her fiercely and she kissed him back in kind, freeing her hand so she could wrench away his tailcoat. He paused only to shrug off the garment, his waistcoat joining it on the carriage floor. Feverishly, Emma fought with his shirt buttons, until he was bare chested above her.

She strained upward, pressing slow kisses to his warm, hard chest, her entire body thrumming with each stifled gasp that slipped from his lips. There was something intensely satisfying about hearing him breathe so raggedly, as though she had the same effect upon him that he had upon her.

“You have to cease… wearing garments… that I cannot tear,” he growled, tugging her neckline down.

She cried out as he drew her nipple into his mouth, one of his strong, rough hands gripping her waist as his other snuck beneath the ruffles of her gathered skirts. His fingertips slid down from her swollen bud to the heat of her entrance and, with a moan from his own mouth, he pushed his fingers inside her.

“Oh, Silas!”

He smirked down at her. “Quiet, now. The noise of the wheels and horses will only conceal so much. You will have to restrain yourself… if you can.”

He kissed her lips, as if to silence her himself. She bucked against his palm, clawing at him as his thumb began to work delirious magic upon the pulsing center of her pleasure. That tiny spot that held so much raw, glorious power.

She could feel her pleasure building, soaring to delirious heights with every pulse of his fingers, every circle of her swollen bud, every frantic graze of his mouth on her skin. Indeed, she was charging straight toward that explosion of bliss, when the carriage jolted suddenly.

One moment, she was lying on the squabs, lost in a world of ecstasy. The next, she was falling.

Silas moved quickly, wrapping his arms tightly around her, and as they both tumbled off the squabs, thrown by the motion of the carriage, he made sure that he was the one who hit the floor first.

“A ditch, Your Grace!” the driver yelled down from the box. “We’re over the worst of it!”

Silas wheezed, his laughter choked as he held Emma closer. “I told you a… carriage is not the place.”

“Who knew a journey home, alone together, could be so dangerous?” she whispered in reply, as laughter of her own overtook her initial shock.

They lay together, entangled on the carriage floor, their stifled, giddy chuckles replacing the gasps and moans of a moment ago. And though she could not deny it was a disappointment not to continue, there was something truly beautiful about just being with him, laughing in his arms, knowing she was safe there… and knowing he felt comfortable enough to laugh, too.

* * *

“I thought you were going… to pour me a drink to… help me sleep?” Emma gasped as she stretched out on the sheepskin rug in his study, bathed in the warmth of a flickering fire.

Silas rolled over onto his side, tracing his fingertips between the valley of her breasts, before dipping his head to follow the path they had marked. “Has that not made you tired? Should I do it again?”

“I do not know if I could do it again,” she replied, chuckling.

In the hour since their return from London, he had brought her to a shuddering, delirious conclusion four times, all with the particular talents of his tongue and fingers. Several times, she had tried to return the favor, asking him to show her how, but he had refused. As such, while she was stripped bare again, limp and content with the still-pulsing pleasure in her veins, he still wore his trousers.

He flicked his tongue against the peak of her nipple. “You cannot know unless we find out, together.”

“I do not mean to offend you, but I think I would prefer that drink for now. A brief reprieve from paradise,” she said, closing her eyes. “And it will soon be dawn. I should hate for the maids to come in and find us like this.”

He made a grumble of dissent but got to his feet anyway.

She cracked open one eye, watching as he walked to the side-table with the decanters. His broad shoulders were covered in the faint red lines that her fingernails had left, his muscular back rippling as he poured two glasses of brandy. Her gaze trailed downward, appreciating the firm swell of perfect buttocks and the defined lines of powerful thighs; the tightness of his trousers leaving little to the imagination.

Yet, her mind drifted back to the carriage: the two of them lying on the floor together, smiling and laughing at the unfortunate timing of that ditch. He had touched her, tasted her, moved his fingers and tongue inside her, but those precious few minutes in the carriage, after their tumble, felt more intimate than everything else combined.

He had allowed her to see him, stripped of his cool, mysterious exterior. And with that fleeting glimpse, she had the most unnerving feeling that she was falling in love with this man.

“Gawping at me?” Silas tutted playfully. “I would have expected more from a lady like you.”

She chuckled, draping a blanket around herself as she sat up. “I told you I was not ladylike.”

He sat down beside her, passing her one of the glasses. “If I had known that fetching you a drink would have inspired you to cover yourself, I would have insisted on helping you sleep another way.”

“I think you have seen quite enough of me for one night,” she replied, sipping her drink.

“Never.”

As the brandy warmed her belly, she peered up at him. “You realize you have broken my strictest rule more than once now, do you not?”

“Are you going to punish me for it?” Mischief glinted in his eyes.

Emma hesitated. “No, but… it has made me consider our arrangement.” Nerves constricted her throat. “Rather, potential changes to our arrangement. New conditions, perhaps.”

“What are you thinking of offering?” he replied, sipping his drink.

She stared down into the amber liquid, brow furrowing. Throughout the carriage ride to Silas’s manor, she had contemplated what she could offer instead of what they had already agreed upon.

She had considered setting him free from the agreement altogether, but that had seemed cowardly. She had considered asking for a true marriage of convenience, just so she could stay close to him, but that had not seemed like enough to satisfy what he had awoken in her.

Yet, the fear of rejection halted what she truly wanted from forming into words.

She shook her head. “Forget I mentioned it. It does not matter.”

“No, speak your mind,” he insisted, setting his drink down and taking hold of her hand. “I would hear what you wish to offer. A morsel, so I can make a thorough assessment.”

She could not help but chuckle, rolling her eyes. “You are cruel to use my own words against me.”

“Not at all.” He grinned. “I am very fond of such words, considering where they have led.”

She took a breath, concentrating on her hand in his. “I think…” She met his eyes. “I think we should actually get married.”

He dropped his gaze and panic gripped Emma’s chest in a vice.

“We already know we like one another’s company,” she hastened to continue, unable to stop. “That is more than many couples can say. And the… passion between us is more than I could have asked for—indeed, I would not have known to ask for it, as I did not know it could exist like this. We have more between us already than countless society matches, we know this union would be of benefit to us both, and I do not think either of us would make the other unhappy. We would vex each other at times, of course, but… I believe our passion would be a balm for that. If not, we could⁠—”

He kissed her into silence, his smile against her lips keeping a small flame of hope alive.

As he pulled back, he cradled her face, stroking the apple of her cheek with his thumb. “I am no good for you, my wildling,” he said softly. “I cannot offer you much more than what we already have.”

“I am not asking for more than that,” she told him, though it was not the complete truth.

He paused, the silence unbearable. “I was not even able to protect myself, Emma. How could I wed you, not knowing if I would be able to keep you safe?”

“Are you talking about where you went?” Emma frowned.

He nodded.

“What happened to you?” Her heart slowed, fighting to restrain her curiosity. No one in society knew where Silas had been, not even Eliza. If he revealed the truth, she knew what it would mean: that he trusted her, more than she had anticipated.

He turned his attention toward the fireplace, watching the last of the small flames flicker and crackle. A stillness came over him. “I was kidnapped and imprisoned for a year,” he said, after a moment. “There was a ball at this very manor, in honor of my birthday.”

He told her of the note, of his sprint through the woods, of the scream that sent him hurtling toward the hut hidden there, of the shadow he saw within. “I made the grave mistake of opening the door. I was struck hard in the head the moment I stepped inside. It dazed me, and as I fought to regain my composure, a sack was pulled over my head. I was struck again, in the back of the head this time. When I awoke, I was in the dungeon of a Scottish keep. Alone.

“My kidnapper visited once every few weeks, always out of sight. They never spoke, but they smoked cigars.” He shuddered. “In the interim, a young man brought me food and water every few days. He would give me notes from my kidnapper. Threatening notes. I thought I would die there, but I escaped and survived, thanks to Duncan.”

“Your valet?”

He nodded. “He found me, half dead, on the edge of the woodland where he had a cottage. He restored me to health and has been trying to help me find the culprit ever since.” A sigh rattled through him. “The young man vanished without a trace, and every trail we have followed has led to nothing. But I suppose I should be grateful for one thing.”

“You should?”

Silas turned to Emma. “If you had met me before my incarceration, nothing would have compelled you to want to be married to me. I was a bastard. A wretch of epic proportions. I am… not quite so bad anymore.”

“I doubt you were as bad as you thought,” she told him, meaning it. “You went into those woods to help someone in trouble, though you did not have to. You could have ignored it, as I am sure countless gentlemen would. That shows the potential you had, the person you could be, and I think you are exactly the kind of man who can take care of me. Not that I need much protecting from anyone but myself.”

He eyed her intently and let his hand drift down to her waist. She gasped as he pulled her close, her hands pressing against his chest. His heart beat rapidly. “I do not deserve you, my wildling,” he whispered, “but if you still desire me, as I am, then who am I to refuse?”

He caught her mouth with his, kissing her deeply.

Before she could lose herself in his lips, she pulled back a little. “Does that mean you accept?”

He smiled. “Yes, my wildling. If you will have me,” his hand slipped between her thighs, “then I would be more than happy to take you.”

“But you must ask… my father first,” she gasped.

“Later,” he said with a grin. “I am busy right now.”