But, his torture was nowhere near finished, as he heard the rustling start up again, more urgent this time.
Raking a hand threw his hair, he tugged on his scalp, fighting and losing the battle to walk away.
Honora.
Her name echoed in his mind like a prayer.
He remembered with aching clarity the feel of her pressed close to his side, the way she had slipped her small dainty hand over his chest, tucking herself against him like he was her only anchor in a storm.
It had been touch and go, but somehow he had stopped himself from dragging her up against him, tilting her head back and sealing his mouth to hers with a fevered kiss he had imagined far more times than was good for him.
Already, he was finding it harder to remember just why he shouldn’t with every moment spent in her company. And now…
“Silas-”
Christ above. The soft, pleading sound of his name leaving her lips was the most erotic thing he had ever heard, and Silas jerked away from the door, crossing the hall as if the hounds of hell were after him, even as he reached down and unbuttoned his fall with shaking hands.
A traitorous creak sounded from below his boot, as he forgot his stealth with the sheer force of the need coursing through him.
Falling as quietly as possible into the chair, Silas took himself in hand, jaw clenched, teeth bared against the anguish of the pressure begging to be released in his balls.
Hips bucking up against his palm, Silas stroked himself desperately towards the summit of his release, reliving every second of the last few minutes in excruciating detail as he choked the slick, engorged head of his cock through the first jagged burst of pleasure, pulling out a handkerchief and holding it haphazardly over himself as seed spurted, hot and thick, against the palm of his hand, running down over his pumping fist as he replayed the moment he heard her cry out his name.
It was depraved. It was despicable.
But Silas couldn’t deny the brief moment of satisfaction that washed over him.
She wanted him.He knew it now.
The knowledge sang through his blood like a klaxon call.
And, Lord help him, he would never be able to forget it.
Nine
The next morning,Silas made for the breakfast room with purposeful strides.
A pathetic attempt to cover his dishonourable actions the night before?
Perhaps.
Nonetheless, he had made a decision and he needed to inform Honora.
As he walked towards the dining table, he caught sight of Honora moodily sipping her tea, a pile of scandal sheets laid out before her.
She glanced up distractedly, and Silas certainly didn’t imagine the pink flush that warmed her cheeks at the sight of him.
“Good morning, Silas,” she stammered, returning her gaze to her teacup with haste.
Silas wondered if she knew he had been outside her room last night.
Was she as embarrassed as he, or was that merely a sign of a guilty conscience?
Whichever it was, there was no way Silas would forget a single second of that moment for the rest of his life.
“Honora,” he greeted her in return, inclining his head politely in an attempt at civility.
As if he wasn’t already half-mast at the very sight of her.
