“I know how to be careful,” she pressed.
He continued to shake his head. “No. Anything but that. If you want to help, write down your testimony so that I can submit it when I need to.”
To his surprise, she growled in frustration, and he reared back in shock at the sound.
“I am doing everything I can to find evidence so that we may arrest these people.”
“You won’t tell me anything and you won’t let me help. What do you want from me?”
Silas gave her a disbelieving look. “What do I want from you?” He laughed ruefully. “Now, isn’t that a good question.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Iwant many things from you, Helena, many of which I am not entitled to.”
Bosom heaving, Helena blinked at Silas, wondering if he was mocking her. He didn’t seem to be, but she couldn’t think of another explanation for his words.
“What do you mean by that?” she asked, beyond tired of his riddles and stonewalling.
He shook his head. “You should get some rest. I should leave you to—” he began to stand up.
She reached for his arm, to stall him, before she could think. “No. Don’t… don’t go.”
“Was there anything else you wished to discuss?”
“No. But… please, stay?”
She blushed, mortified at her neediness, but was unable to keep quiet any longer. She felt too lost, too alone, too adrift in a sea of uncertainty and Silas was just making it worse with his reticence.
Silas’s face softened. “Oh. All right. I’ll stay.”
He took her hand from his arm, turning it around to stare at her palm as if he were a fortune teller. He looked at it for a long time before running his thumb against her calluses.
“Your hands tell such a story of your life. A difficult one, maybe, but resilient as well. Hands that don’t give up or give in.” He looked up at her, placing her hand against his cheek, his eyes closed. “A little rough perhaps from all the misuse, but not neglected. Not uncared for.”
“What…” she began to say, confused.
“Hush. Allow me to finish,” he interrupted.
She nodded to him to continue.
He palmed her hand in both of his. “The moment I saw you, I was intrigued by the utter fearlessness in your eyes. You looked me in the eye as if you were my equal, and not a raggedy girl sneaking around a convent.” He smiled. “And well… you saw me.Do you remember what you told me the night you caught me playing the pianoforte? Before Amelia showed up?”
Helena hesitated, her mind flooding with the memory of her singing, and her cheeks heated up once more. But then, she recalled how vulnerable he’d been, only for that brief moment.
“That you play beautifully,” she repeated. “And that your playing didn’t sound like someone who wishes to disappear.”
He nodded. “Then you touched my cheek. You just touched my cheek, Helena, and I felt like I’d fall apart. Turn into a cloud. Become one with the air. I don’t know,” he sighed, looking down at her hands.
“I…I didn’t mean to upset you?—”
“Helena,” he cut her off, looking up from her hands, meeting her gaze, his serious and unsmiling. “You didn’t upset me.”
“Oh,” she blinked, her pulse picking up. “Then…”
He leaned closer, his eyes still fixed on her.
“I want you, Helena. I want you as you are—fierce, fearless, spirited, and protective of those you love. I want to experience how it feels to be the object of your emotion, to have all that passion… aimed at me.”
