Helena snorted in surprise, shaking her head. “Well, I don’t know, Your Grace. I’ve never been married before.”
A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes, but it didn’t reach the rest of his expression.
“Indeed,” he said, exhaling slowly. “And… it’s just Silas now. We can drop the formalities when it’s only us.”
Heat rushed to her cheeks before she could stop it. “Oh. Yes… I suppose so,” she muttered. “Silas.”
This wasn’t the first time she’d uttered his name, yet it somehow felt different. This time, she had a right to it, as his wife. As he had a right to hers.
“Helena,” he murmured, stepping closer.
Her pulse quickened with each measured step, her chest tightening as the distance between them shrank. His gaze seemed to darken, drawing her in, almost suffocating in its intensity. She tried to steady her breath, but the air itself felt charged, each heartbeat loud in her ears.
Then he bent slightly, eyes never leaving hers, and grabbed the bell from the coffee table. He shook it, producing a shrill, trilling chime that cut through the tension like a sudden splash of cold water.
She stared at him, curious as to what he meant to do. The door opened and Jeeves came in.
“You called, Your Grace?”
“Yes, bring the girl in.”
Helena’s eyes widened.
Girl? What girl?
“Yes Your Grace.” Jeeves said, sounding as unruffled as ever.
Helena turned towards the door, her heart beginning to race as Jeeves returned with a woman dressed in a maid’s uniform.
Helena’s shoulders slumped with relief.
“Your Grace,” Silas said, “This is your lady’s maid. Her name is Patricia. She will show you to your new chambers now.”
Chapter Seventeen
Silas closed the door to his chambers and began to pace up and down.
He’d left Helena in her lady’s maid’s capable hands, and retired to his suite of rooms for lack of a better idea of what to do.
It was his wedding day, yet he had no idea how to proceed.
He folded his arms, walking to the window and peering out into the courtyard. There was the usual hustle and bustle of a typical day, nothing to indicate that the world had changed in fundamental ways.
I should go to my study and get some work done.
Even as he said it, he knew he was too distracted to focus.
I have a wife now. Helena is my wife.
Silas could only characterize his mental state as one huge exclamation mark. He had always expected that he would marry, it was his duty, after all. But…he had thought it would be a clinical process: he would find the most advantageous suit—after Amelia’s marriage, of course—and produce an heir and a spare, after which he and his bride would go their separate ways.
Instead, he was caught in a web of intrigue, confused emotion and the need to protect his bride, both from external threats and his own worst instincts.
He could hear movement in the suite of rooms next to him. No doubt Mrs. Owen and Patricia were taking charge of moving Helena to the Duchess’s quarters.
He took a step towards the adjoining door, wondering if he should join them.
No. Give her some time.
