Eleanor’s heart pounded as she took a shaky breath, her fingers curling into fists at her sides.
“What do you mean, ‘because of me’?” she demanded, her voice firmer than she intended.
Silas, who had already returned his attention to the papers on his desk, didn’t bother looking up. Instead, he simply waved a hand in dismissal.
“You should leave now. The seamstress is expecting you.”
Eleanor’s brows furrowed. “Silas—”
“Go,” he said, his tone final.
Frustration bubbled inside her. What was this celebration? Why was it happening now?
Her mind raced with possibilities, but none of them made sense.
Her gaze flickered to Silas, who was calmly flipping through paperwork as if he hadn’t just dropped that bomb on her.
She bit her lower lip in frustration.
Silas had always been the most composed of the brothers. The most controlled. But… was there something more?
A flicker of memory surfaced—yesterday, when he had told the maid to dress her and send her to his room. The way his gaze had lingered on her. The way he had studied her, like he was seeing something no one else could.
He had some sort of affection for her.
And if that was the case… she could use it.
Eleanor took a slow step forward. Then another.
Silas finally looked up, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly in question.
“What is it, Eleanor?”
His voice was deep, steady. But she saw the way his fingers stilled over the papers.
She tilted her head, lowering her voice into something softer. “Tell me what this celebration is about.”
Silas didn’t answer. She took another step forward, now standing directly in front of his desk. Slowly, deliberately, she licked her lips. It was a gamble. A reckless one. But she saw the way his eyes darted to her mouth.
Her pulse quickened.
His gaze darkened, his expression unreadable as he studied her.
Her own eyes flickered down to his lips. She held them there, just long enough to be noticeable before meeting his gaze again.
Silas exhaled slowly, as if trying to maintain control.
But something shifted. The air between them crackled.
And then—
He moved.
In one swift motion, Silas pulled her forward, his grip firm but not rough.
Their faces were inches apart, and she barely had time to breathe before his lips crashed onto hers.
A soft gasp escaped her, but the moment his mouth moved against hers, any hesitation melted away.
This was nothing like before.
That first kiss had been different—meant to soothe her pain after he had hurt her. But this…
This kiss was something else entirely.
It was raw. Desperate.
Possessive.
A low growl rumbled in Silas’ throat as he deepened the kiss, his hands gripping her waist, pulling her flush against him.
Eleanor’s knees went weak. She clutched onto his shirt, afraid that if she let go, she would collapse from the sheer intensity of it.
Silas tilted his head, his tongue slipping past her lips, tasting her, claiming her.
Heat coiled in her stomach, and she pressed closer, needing more.
His hands roamed, sliding down her back, over her hips.
Eleanor barely registered when her gown shifted, the fabric riding up her thighs.
All she knew was the feel of his hands on her bare skin, the way his fingertips pressed into her, igniting something deep inside her.
She moaned softly, tilting her head back as his lips left a searing trail down her jawline.
Silas growled again, a sound so raw and unrestrained that it sent shivers down her spine.
His mouth found hers once more, but this time, it was rougher. Hungrier.
Eleanor bit down on his lower lip.
Silas lost it.
With a deep groan, he kissed her harder, his grip tightening on her waist as he pulled her into his lap.
Their bodies pressed together, heat radiating between them.
Eleanor’s breath hitched as his hands slid further up her thighs, teasing, exploring—
She let out a frustrated sound, arching against him, silently begging for more.
Silas inhaled sharply, his forehead pressing against hers. His breathing was ragged, his control slipping.
Just as she was about to tell him to take her—someone knocked on the door. The sound sliced through the moment like a blade. Silas’ eyes snapped open, and the haze of desire instantly shattered.
Eleanor felt the loss immediately, her body still burning with need.
For a second, neither of them moved.
Then, Silas slowly pulled away, his breathing still uneven.
Another knock. More insistent this time.
His jaw clenched.
Eleanor swallowed, trying to steady herself. Her dress had bunched up around her thighs, and she hastily tried to fix it.
Silas exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair.
“Who is it?” he called, his voice hoarse.
No response.
His expression darkened.
Eleanor licked her lips, still tasting him, still feeling the ghost of his touch on her skin. The tension between them remained until Esther spoke from outside that it was her.