Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

T he sunlight filtered softly through the lace curtains of Ciara's chamber, casting delicate patterns on the wooden floor. She stood by the window, gazing out at the sprawling estate that was now her home, a mix of excitement and trepidation coursing through her. The wedding had been a whirlwind, and now, she found herself in this new, unfamiliar place as the Duchess of Silverbrook.

A gentle knock on the door drew her attention. She turned to see a young woman, neatly dressed in the uniform of a lady's maid, standing in the doorway. She curtsied respectfully.

"Good day, Your Grace," the girl spoke courteously and with a smile that could light up the darkest of chambers. "I am Frances, your lady's maid. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." The girl curtsied deeply and respectfully, lowering her gaze.

Ciara smiled, feeling a sense of relief at the girl's kind demeanor.

She walked up to her and took her by the hand. "Frances," she replied, "it is so lovely to meet you. Please, come. I need help getting out of this tangle of lace and buttons."

Frances chuckled sweetly with a nod. "Yes, let's find something more comfortable for you to wear, Your Grace. You must be tired from the day's events."

Ciara nodded gratefully. "Yes, that would be lovely. Thank you, Frances."

Frances moved with practiced efficiency, her hands deft and gentle as she began to undo the intricate buttons and laces of Ciara's wedding gown. As the heavy fabric fell away, Ciara felt a sense of relief, the weight of the dress a symbol of the day's pressures. She was immediately offered a robe which she wrapped around herself, allowing the cool silk to envelop her.

Meanwhile, Frances moved to the wardrobe and selected a soft, flowing gown in a pale lavender hue which suited Ciara's complexion perfectly. "This should make you much more comfortable, Your Grace."

Ciara smiled as she slipped into the new gown, feeling the soft fabric against her skin. "It is perfect, Frances. Thank you."

Frances adjusted Ciara's gown, ensuring it fit just right, then began to brush out Ciara's hair with gentle strokes. "You have such beautiful auburn hair, Your Grace," she remarked, her voice filled with genuine admiration.

"Thank you, Frances," Ciara replied with a smile of her own. "It is kind of you to say so."

"Do you find everything to your liking?" Frances asked as she started to form Ciara's hair into a simple chignon that she would wear for the rest of the day.

There was still the matter of her being introduced to all the servants and the housekeeper giving her a grand tour of the vast estate.

"Yes, everything is quite lovely," Ciara said then couldn't resist adding, "Although it is all a bit overwhelming."

Frances glanced at Ciara's reflection in the looking glass. "I understand, Your Grace. It can be quite a change. But you will find your place here soon enough."

"I am wondering about that," Ciara sighed heavily. "About that and the sort of man I married."

She knew that she shouldn't have opened up about anything, not that early, but she was weighed down by an enormous amount of sorrow and guilt for the situation she found herself in. Frances' sympathetic demeanor made her hopeful that perhaps, she had found a kind soul to confide in.

"Well, His Grace… I have to admit we were all a bit shocked to find out that he was getting married," Frances stated a little clumsily, as if a part of her didn't want to be so open but another part thought she owed her mistress complete sincerity.

"Why?" Ciara asked. "Isn't every young man supposed to get married at some point?"

"Yes, yes, of course," Frances confirmed, "but judging from His Grace's past behavior…"

Ciara frowned. "Has he done something inappropriate?"

"Oh, no, no," Frances hastily shook her head. "Despite his reputation, he is a fair and just man."

Ciara couldn't believe that. "Are you certain we are talking about the same man?" she asked, intrigued by the girl's insinuation. "The Duke of Silverbrook? My husband?" She still couldn't believe those words, almost as if she were talking about someone else, someone who wanted to get married and got their wish which certainly wasn't her.

"Indeed, Your Grace." Frances finished setting Ciara's hair. "Just the other day, he assisted Mrs. Cook with her young son who had taken ill unexpectedly. His Grace personally arranged for the physician to visit and ensured the boy received the best care. Mrs. Cook has been instructed not to mention it to a living soul, but of course, we all know it. It's just that word of it does not leave the confines of this estate."

"So, you are saying that there is a kind heart beneath his roguish exterior?" Ciara felt a warmth spread through her chest at this revelation although the talon of doubt still had her by the throat. Her husband's reputation was undeniable. Everyone knew of it.

"Yes, but His Grace is adamant we keep that a secret," Frances explained.

"A secret?" Ciara was surprised. She couldn't understand why someone would do a good deed and then want to keep it a secret. It didn't make sense. "But why?"

Frances shrugged without any clarification. "We do not question his instructions."

"I see," Ciara nodded, even more confused, wondering what sort of a man she had married.

She was once again reminded of the old adage that one was never to judge a book by its cover. Perhaps there was more to her husband than met the eye. Still, that didn't mean that all of his transgressions were to be forgiven and forgotten.

"His Grace cares deeply for those in his household," Frances added, and Ciara could hear the tone of loyalty and sincerity in the girl's voice. "I am certain that you will come to see it yourself in due time."

Ciara smiled, feeling a strange and unexpected sense of comfort and against all common sense, hope. "Thank you, Frances, for revealing that."

"As I said, you will see it for yourself soon," she repeated. "As for myself, I am honored to serve you and His Grace equally."

"That is most kind of you to say." Ciara couldn't help but feel gratitude for this unexpected new friend as well as the unexpected information she had just received.

She glanced at her own reflection in the looking glass, satisfied with what she was seeing. "How about we go and find Mrs. Dawson? She told me to come and find her once I freshened up, so she can give me the grand tour of the manor house."

"I will gladly accompany you, Your Grace, if you wish me to." Frances beamed at the suggestion.

"Yes, Frances, I would really like that." Ciara smiled, getting up, eager to find out more about this place and all the people in it.

Nighttime had always been difficult for Ciara, forcing her to reminisce, to reevaluate, to keep rethinking her choices, and that night was no different. She found herself pacing her room, her mind racing with nervous anticipation. The flickering candlelight cast soft shadows on the walls, adding to the intimate atmosphere. She had changed into a silk nightgown and a robe with delicate lace trimmings, feeling both elegant and vulnerable.

A sudden knock on the door adjoining her room to Jonathan's made her jump. Her heart pounded in her chest as she walked to the door, her hands trembling slightly. She took a deep breath and opened it.

Standing there was Jonathan, his presence dominating the doorway. He was clad only in his white shirt, unbuttoned to reveal his strong neck and a hint of his muscled chest, and his breeches. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and his eyes gleamed with mischief and something deeper as he looked at her from head to toe.

"I have brought offerings to you, my siren," he said, his voice a low, enticing rumble. He held two glasses and a bottle of wine in his arms, his grin nothing short of wolfish.

Ciara's breath hitched at the sight of him, her nerves heightened by his presence. "O-offerings?" she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jonathan stepped into the room, his movements graceful and confident. "Indeed," he said, closing the door behind him with a soft click. "A fine wine to celebrate our union. I thought it might help ease the nerves of my lovely wife."

She swallowed heavily, realizing that nothing would be able to calm down her racing mind and her nerves. Nothing but his arms around her and his lips on hers. She tried to banish the thought from her mind as it only confused her even more, making her tremble with desire. She wanted to be cold and aloof, but she was exactly the opposite, and she knew that he could easily tell the effect he had on her.

He took a seat on the sofa across from the bed and filled their glasses without taking his eyes off of her for even a single moment. She wondered how he didn't spill a single drop. Then, she remembered that he must have done this a million times before. After all, he was an infamous rake. It was just one of his skills. She was certain that he wanted to show her more, but she would then show him the door.

Still trembling like a leaf in the wind, she sat all the way on the other end of the sofa, as if fearing his proximity. The truth was, she dared not sit closer to him for fear of his cologne completely washing over her and making her forget that she wanted to refuse him, not allow him to do whatever he wanted with her.

Seeing that, he laughed. "Unlike you, my dear, I don't bite." He paused for a moment then added mischievously, "Well, unless you ask for it." He winked at her which made her blush even more fervently.

Unable to say anything, she remained quiet with a storm brewing inside of her. He handed her a glass at that moment. Her fingers curled around the crystal throat, but there was no grip. She had absolutely no control of her body or her mind. Her fingers were trembling so much that she almost dropped the glass onto the beige-colored carpet.

"Easy there," he said softly. "Just take a sip. It will help you relax."

Usually, she would not even consider drinking alcohol, but right now, she was too anxious to contradict him. She wanted to relax. She didn't want to be that tense. Her fingers still trembling, she took a long, thirsty sip. He did the same, not breaking eye contact. Then, he placed his glass on the table in front of him.

"All right," she heard him say as she tried to anticipate what he would do next. "You are trembling like a leaf, so I'll end your torture now. I will not bed you tonight. Although, most women tremble at the thought of bedding me, mind you."

His words were followed by a self-satisfied grin. She wanted to wipe that smirk off his face by telling him that she would rather die than go to bed with him, but she wasn't allowed to say that before he continued.

"I can see you are nervous and very eager with the wine. Ideally, when I do bed you, I want you to be very alert."

"Do you, now?" she asked. She could have done much better than that, but it was all she could come up with at the moment.

"Yes," he agreed still with that smirk. As he said it, he slid over closer to her. Instantly, she flinched, affected by his proximity, and the wine spilled onto her hand.

Without any warning, he gently wrapped his fingers around her wrist, bringing her hand to his lips. Then, his tongue was gliding down her fingers, lapping up the droplets of wine. Her skin exploded into a million little goosebumps which traveled down her spine, merging into an eruption of lava somewhere between her thighs, a place that had been slumbering before she had met him.

Those were mere seconds, yet she felt as if they were hours of delicious torment, and she didn't want it to end. But it did. It ended with him pulling away. His gaze made her shiver, especially after what he had just done.

"I know you are just an innocent maiden," he whispered. "Although I can sense something in you, Ciara, something perhaps you yourself are not aware of yet. But I am a patient man. I am willing to wait. This is, after all, a marriage of convenience, and I don't want you to feel any pressure to be intimate with me."

She raised an eyebrow. "But… don't you want an heir?"

Up until that point, she thought that perhaps that was the reason behind their hasty marriage. She couldn't imagine that he would care so much about her reputation. They barely knew each other.

He shook his head at her question. "We can live here together for two months until the ton's attention is required elsewhere. I predict that will be the time frame for them to finally leave us alone. Then, we can start living separately," he divulged.

She felt a pang of something strange, something she didn't like. Wasn't this supposed to be her new home? He planned on throwing her out after two months? Her heart clenched at the idea.

"Separately?" she echoed, not wanting to reveal that his words hurt her.

"Why of course," he said with a smile that plunged the knife of shock deeper into her heart, twisting it to the side. "This is not a love match, Ciara. Love is for fools who actually believe it exists."

She watched him with a look of stunned astonishment. "What made you into such a cynic?"

"I'm not a cynic, my dear," he corrected her in a matter-of-factly manner. "I am merely a realist. I see the world as it is." She had something to say to that, but before she could utter a single word, he continued, "This, of course, means that you will have the liberty and the means to do whatever pleases you as a duchess. You will need to remain discreet with your affairs, as will I, but apart from that, we can live a very happy married life, separately from each other."

The liberty and the means to do whatever pleases you as a duchess. Those words made her smile. She never had either, not in her entire life.

Now, it seemed that this marriage was opening exciting new doors for her.