Helena sighed. She did not want to contradict Amelia, but she had a difficult time believing her. Whenever she appeared, everything about the Duke made one thing clear: he wanted her gone.
Helena couldn’t help but wonder if Amelia was aware of her brother’s secret life as a spy. It seemed unlikely, given that her own father had clearly seen no need to inform his family.
Perhaps it’s the Crown’s policy to keep such matters concealed.
If that were the case, Helena knew better than to be the one to reveal Silas’s secret.
Her treacherous mind continued conjuring images of him from that morning. There was something in the boldness of the Duke’s gaze at the breakfast table, the way his large hands wrapped around the delicate cup, the sharpness in his eyes that seemed to notice everything. It stirred something inside her, a sensation she couldn’t quite place. She didn’t want it, yet it lingered, persistent and impossible to ignore.
It was an unfamiliar feeling, one she had never experienced before, and she could do nothing but try to dismiss it—unsuccessfully.
Why am I thinking about him?
She didn’t want to spend a minute more thinking about the Duke than she had to. It was bad enough she was under his mercy; she did not want to be in thrall to him.
“What are you thinking about?” Amelia’s voice broke into her musings, making her startle.
“Oh, I, er…nothing,” she stammered as heat rushed to her face, sharp and sudden, as though a fire had flared before her.
Amelia narrowed her eyes, gaze fixed on Helena’s face. Helena held the look, her features smooth while trying her best to give nothing away.
“Do you suppose we can get something to eat? I did not finish my breakfast,” she said, mostly to distract the young lady.
Amelia jumped to her feet. “Of course! It was my fault, dragging you away before you were done. I was just so annoyed at Silas.”
“I understand.”
Amelia giggled. “Stay right there, and I shall have the maids fetch us a basket so you something to eat,” she said.
Helena smiled. “Thank you.”
Amelia skipped away happily towards the kitchens, and Helena watched her go, the lightness of her movement almost infectious.
Still, a heaviness lingered in her chest. She couldn’t quite shake the image of Silas from her mind. The way he had looked at her earlier; the intensity of his gaze, the sharpness of his words… they lingered, much as she wished they wouldn’t.
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 namedesire.
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 Chemistryby Jane Marcet.”
He quirked his eyebrows in surprise, taking a step closer. “You have an interest in chemistry?”
