Chapter 6 #3
It wasn’t just his words. His presence, so commanding, so unsettling… It made her toes curl in her slippers. It spread a kind of warmth she’d never felt before, and it came from below her stomach.
A warmth she could only name desire.
There was no time for such a thing. The Duke was only offering her shelter, albeit begrudgingly; once he’d learned what he needed for his work, Helena would probably never see him again.
With a quiet sigh, she forced herself to look away, pushing the thoughts of him back where they belonged: out of reach, at least for now.
Silas walked into the library, expecting it to be empty.
He stopped short when he saw Helena curled up on a chair, her face buried in a book.
The sun had already set, leaving the room cloaked in shadow, yet she was utterly absorbed, eyes so close to the page it might have hurt another’s. He couldn’t help but admire her concentration and the grace with which she leaned into the book, entirely unaware of him.
“Good evening,” he said.
She looked up, her eyes wide, and put down the book. “Er, good evening, Your Grace.” She looked apprehensive as if waiting for him to shout at her for being in his library.
“What are you reading?” he asked.
She pressed her lips together, blushing slightly. “Conversations on Chemistry by Jane Marcet.”
He quirked his eyebrows in surprise, taking a step closer. “You have an interest in chemistry?”
“Don’t we all?”
He took a seat across from her. “Well, no. Especially not women your age,” he said, folding his hands on the table.
She took a deep breath. “Chemistry informs so many things. From cooking our food, to candle making—” She indicated the candle in front of her. “So many everyday things are made due to chemistry.”
“Did they teach you that in St. Margaret’s?”
“No. My father was the one who introduced me to the wonders of science.”
He nodded slowly. “I do remember that about him; he was fascinated by how things work.”
Helena smiled, eyes soft with the memory. “Yes, he was.”
He studied her a moment longer, quiet, his gaze never leaving her face. There was something in the way she hesitated, in the slight pause before she spoke, that drew his attention.
She was still holding back.
She thought she could keep her secrets buried, hiding the full truth from him. But Silas remained calm. He needed to exercise patience with her. Yet a part of him felt that if he kept waiting, she’d keep her secrets locked away forever.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low and steady. “You’re not being entirely honest with me, my lady.”
Her eyes flickered briefly, and she straightened, a small, defensive motion.
“I have told you all I know, Your Grace,” she said, but the slightest tremor in her voice gave her away.
“No, you haven’t,” he pressed.
He took a step forward, his boots silent on the polished floor, his presence closing in on her. He could see the pulse at her throat fluttering, her breath quickening.
She was trying to keep her cool, but he knew better, as this was not his first interrogation.
“What else is there?” he asked, deliberately slow. “What else are you keeping from me?”
The words hung heavily in the air, laced with meaning. Every syllable was a calculated move, forcing her to acknowledge the truth—or deny it outright.
Her gaze flickered, a brief flash of vulnerability. But she quickly masked it, turning her back to him and walking toward the window.
He watched her every movement, every shift in her posture. She thought she was out of reach, but he wasn’t fooled.
“There is nothing else to know, Your Grace,” she muttered, barely above a whisper.
Silas kept his eyes pinned on her. “I understand more than you realize, Lady Helena.”
Her back still turned, Helena’s shoulders tensed. “Well. I have clarified that I don’t know anything else,” she said firmly, but he could hear the lie in her words.
She wasn’t fooling him, not for a second.
He moved closer, his pace deliberate, controlled. “You are hiding something, my lady,” he said softly, but there was no mistaking the command in his voice. “You’re afraid to admit it, but you know more than you’re letting on.”
Her gaze snapped to him, and for a split second, their eyes locked. He could see both defiance and uncertainty. He knew he had her cornered, knew the struggle raging inside her. But she wouldn’t break. Not yet.
He moved closer still, stepping into her personal space with the predatory ease of a man who knew how to dominate a situation.
His voice dropped lower, barely a whisper now. “What aren’t you telling me, Helena? About your uncle? Your mother?”
Her breath hitched, and she stepped back, but she couldn’t escape him, not anymore.
“I have told you all that I can,” she snapped, her voice shaky but still holding on to the edge of defiance.
He admired that about her. But it wasn’t enough. Not with him standing here, so close she could feel the heat radiating from him.
“Do you really expect me to believe that?” Silas’s voice was firm now, a command she had no choice but to obey. “Tell me what you know, Helena. The truth.”
He saw her lips part, just slightly, and for a moment, he thought she might finally break, finally confess.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she stepped back, her eyes avoiding his, her hand moving to her throat as if she could shield herself from his questions.
His patience was running out, but he wasn’t about to let her go just yet. He closed the distance between them again.
“Helena,” he breathed her name, his voice a dark whisper.
The way her name rolled off his tongue… Heavens, he enjoyed how easy it was to speak it without formality. He wanted to say it again and again, to taste every syllable of it, as much as he wanted to learn every inch of her.
What had been done to her? What had hardened her so much that she would persist in silence this much?
He saw her breath quicken, her pulse hammered beneath the delicate skin of her throat. He could feel the tension in the air.
The space between them seemed to shrink with every heartbeat. He couldn’t tell whether he wanted her answer more, or the tantalizing possibility that she might inch closer, just as he longed to do the same.
“You do not need to hide from me, Helena,” he whispered into her ear. “Not from me.”
As he pulled back, Helena stiffened, her body freezing in place, but her azure eyes flashed with something he couldn’t quite read.
“All I’ve ever done is hide, Your Grace,” she murmured back.
She was so close now. He could feel her warmth, smell the subtle scent of lavender on her skin.
“I know,” he replied, his voice softening. “And yet… you do not have to anymore.”
For a moment, everything else faded—the investigation, the danger, the secrets. All that mattered was her.
Then, in a sudden motion, her palms pressed against his chest, fingers splayed. Her eyes snapped wide, darting up to his, the slightest tremor in her jaw betraying her resolve.
“I can’t do this,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
“Helena—”
Before he could respond, she turned and fled, her footsteps soft yet urgent against the floor.
Silas remained still, watching her go. A quiet awareness stirred in him, something protective, almost instinctive, tightening around him.
He did not move, did not speak, but one thought lingered in his mind.
She mattered.