The candles created a serene atmosphere in the room, along with the fragrance of flowers and the oil from her bath.
"You may leave." Lucinda dismissed the maids helping her for the night as she put on her night robe.
"Um… Mistr—"
"I can handle it," she interrupted Nora, waving them away.
Stubborn, they waited until she was dressed on her own before leaving, which elicited an amused eye roll from Lucinda. No doubt they must be under Silas's orders to watch her like a hawk.
She wasn't a fragile chick just born yesterday, Lucinda huffed and grumbled under her breath.
She cast her gaze to Theodore, who was now tucked in bed. Looking at the large mantle clock, she started pacing around the room, awaiting Silas's return. A lot of questions plagued her, the curiosity eating her up. Was Connor aware of what had happened to them? What was the condition of her estate? How had the Viscount found them?
She needed answers.
SONG RECOMMENDATIONS: "Heaven" by Julia Michaels or "Always Been You" by Chris Grey.
"Must you always go against me?" Silas's voice came from the entrance of the room. He closed the door behind him.
Lucinda was startled but hid it well.
She turned to him, her arms folded across her generous bosom.
"Viscount. Do you perhaps enjoy the rumors? Surely you know the word will go around that Lord Silas entered a vulnerable lady's room late at night." Lucinda taunted.
"Vulnerable?" Silas scoffed. "We both know you're far from that. Besides, what is so unusual about me being with my future wife when she needs all the care right now?"
"I'm fine on my own, Viscount. At least call off your servants. I can feel their eyes boring into my skin."
"They only want to protect their mistress's health," Silas shrugged, advancing toward her.
"Which isn't me, I should say."
Silas didn't reply but just twisted his lips into a grin.
"I guess I'm right on time. So you can just do away with your garment for me."
His bold demand stunned Lucinda. Her hand flew to her chest in shock.
"I know you have no shame, but to dem—" Lucinda stopped short, seeing the innocent look on his face and the raised brow.
"What?" Silas lifted something in his hands just in time for Lucinda to see—a tray of gauze, clean cloth, and portable glass containers.
"It's time to redress your wounds."
Lucinda's cheeks heated as embarrassment washed over her.
"What did you think I meant? Enlighten me."
His voice sounded shocked and curious, but the mischievous grin on his face told her all she needed to know.
This sly man.
She turned back to the mirror, wrapping her arms around herself.
"Leave it. I'll take care of it myself."
Her gaze remained fixed on her feet as she waited for him to drop the tray. The sound of the tray settling on the bedside table made her release a tense breath. That is, until she heard the soft, padded footsteps growing more audible.
As she tentatively raised her eyes, she saw his large frame stalking toward her slowly. And just like before, she found herself starstruck. Unable to move.
The candlelight danced on his crisp white shirt, which clung to every toned muscle—it looked almost transparent on him.
She clenched her eyes shut.
She knew the moment he reached her, could feel the heat from his body. His breath was hot on her neck.
She could suddenly hear how deathly silent the room was. Only the call of nature hummed low in the background.
Then, she heard him speak.
"There's one thing I wanna make clear, Lucinda…" His voice was a low whisper, goosebumps raised on her arms as his lips skimmed the shell of her ear.
Her name was like poisoned honey on his tongue.
"The day I touch you—no, when I touch you…" His voice was a velvet caress, trailing down her skin, his breath tantalisingly close.
"You'll crave it. Need it. Beg for it."
Lucinda's pulse quickened, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. Was it his words? The brush of his lips? The promise of his touch? She couldn't tell—everything blurred together into an intoxicating whirlwind of sensation.
Then, his large hand slid up her hip, pushing the hem of her nightgown higher, exposing her skin to the cool night air. The contrast between the chill of the night and the heat radiating from him made her nerves sing, her body hyper-aware of every inch where he touched.
His other hand trailed up her arm; his touch seemed to burn. Silas cupped her jaw gently, thumb teasing her chin upwards, exposing the graceful curve of her neck, her rose-scented hair gently pushed aside. His grip on her hip tightened, tension curling through his body.
With a sudden pull, Lucinda found herself pressed against Silas. Air escaped her lips in a breathless gasp at the slight twinge from her stitches. Sensing her discomfort, his fingers rubbed gently at her side, soothing her. The warmth of his body began to engulf her. Every ridge, every muscle was against her.
"For the things I would do to you, Lucinda," he whispered, lips brushing against her pulse. "Would come from the twisted depths of every fantasy."
"You're wrong," she gritted her teeth. "You won't break me, Silas." Lucinda hated how her pulse raced against her will.
Silas's lips curled into a devilish smile against the crook of her neck. She had unknowingly addressed him by his name and not Viscount.
She was in the devil's embrace; with his words and touch, he opened an awfully vivid world, one that threatened to pull her to her depths. And even then, she hadn't met his gaze, hadn't looked into the abyss.
Silas's sinful fingers slowly enclosed around her neck, firm but not harsh, controlling yet gentle. He tilted her head back slightly, demanding her attention. Slowly, she opened her eyes, and there he was—in the mirror.
His gaze locked with hers, hooded and dark, blue eyes smouldering with a hunger that stunned her. She could barely breathe. His gaze wasn't one of a charismatic gentleman. As Silas's fingers brushed the sensitive skin of her neck, the feeling of being unfolded intensified.
She saw his lips move before she could register his words.
"Your body will be my temple…" His voice was a low growl, "And I will be the very devil who worships you."
Her pulse throbbed in her throat, nerves ending alight.
"And this temptation," Silas continued, his lips brushing her ear once more, "this fire… it will pull us both down" his hot breath scorched her nerves "You will burn with me, for me, until there's nothing left."
Lucinda's gaze flickered to the mirror again, and the sight nearly became her undoing. Silas's arms were wrapped around her possessively, one hand tight on her throat, the other hiking her nightgown up, revealing the bare curve of her thigh. Her collarbone glistened with a sheen of sweat, nightgown rumpled and askew, her damp hair like a black curtain of waves emphasising her appearance. Her chest rose and fell with controlled breaths.
She could barely recognize herself. She looked like the devil's plaything. The very picture of sin.
His hand shifted, thumb slowly tracing the pillow of her plush lips.
"And right then and there… I would bring heaven to you." The words seemed to come from the very depths of hell, the timbre of his voice a low vibration that curled her toes.
And then she felt him—hard, pressing against her from behind, his presence overwhelming, inescapable. The realisation hit her like a wave, crashing through her body.
This was only the beginning.
He wasn't done with her.
For the love of all things good, he hadn't even begun.
——
What have I done?" Silas murmured under his breath, a hand over his face.
The wind felt cool on his heated skin, the top buttons of his shirt open, showing a teasing sliver of his well-sculpted chest.
He had meant to tease her, rile her up, get some fun out of it. But… He ran his hand through his hair as he stared down from the balcony.
Nothing would have prepared him for that—the reaction she caused. He had gone too far, didn't even realize when his hands started wandering.
He groaned internally, suddenly realizing he still had to change her bandages.
Silas felt his bravado whoosh out of him. He suddenly didn't want to do it. Didn't trust himself not to want more.
He was a wicked man—that he knew. But a patient man.
He didn't feel patient. That was the furthest thing from him at that moment.
He had left her before the mirror, the sight of her flushed skin and seductive appeal too much.
Was it too late to still call for a physician? He dismissed the idea as soon as it came.
No, he couldn't let her know how much it got to him.
Looking out once more at the darkened sky against his estate grounds, he turned and walked back into the room.
The first thing he noticed was that Lucinda was no longer in front of the mirror.
She was seated on the bed, her gaze on Theodore. But at the sound of the doors leading to the balcony closing, her eyes fell on him. The green of her irises was illuminated by the still-lit candles.
His eyes darted down, immediately noting the sheets clenched to her chest.
Her shoulders were bare.
He swallowed hard, groaning internally.
That was an injured woman! He chastised himself.
He could still see how flushed her cheeks were, but her eyes were guarded again. He suddenly felt more like a physician at work than her fiancé.
With a silent sigh, he walked over to the bed.
He retrieved the tray and knelt down.
Lucinda hadn't only suffered a stab wound, but there had been sparse scratches and cuts, along with burns.
Not meeting her gaze, he took his time cleaning them. Sharp inhales and the sucking of teeth were the reactions he got from her.
Unknown to him, Lucinda's gaze had lowered, studying him beneath her lashes