“We are trying to help because you are our friend. Because we care about you. I know your pride refuses to hear this, but at some point in your life, you will have to accept help when it is freely offered. Help that comes unattached to any sort of economic or emotional exchange, help that just is.”
“That’s called charity,” I told him sourly.
“And so what if it is? Are you so willing to hold on to this principle of independence that you won’t even consider something that could be beneficial to you and this company you care so much about? Is your pride worth that much?”
That wounded my pride—being called prideful. “I’ve sacrificed everything for this company,” I said. “Including my pride. Including my dignity and my self-worth—”
I broke off without meaning to, my throat suddenly too tight to speak, shame crawling over my skin like a swarm of insects.
He was over to me in an instant, dropping to his knees in front of me, his hat tumbling to the floor as he reached for me. His hands found mine, and I didn’t resist as he laced our fingers together. He still wore his gloves, and I looked down to study the contrast of my freckled wrists against the white leather.
“Tell me,” Silas said, ducking his head so I had to meet his eyes. They burned blue in the dim light, and I never wanted to look away. Except that shame that prickled and skittered over my skin…
“I saw it in your face outside,” he continued, his voice soft. “There’s something you haven’t told us—haven’t told me.”
“I haven’t told anyone,” I said. That was a truth that was easier to force out. The truth about the truth. “Except Birgit.”
I saw the moment understanding kindled in his eyes. The moment he absorbed the only reason I would tell Birgit my secret when I hadn’t told anyone else. The moment that his concern fused together with incandescent rage.
“When.” His affect was downward, making it not a question at all, making it an edict instead. I would tell him, that tone of voice said, and I would tell him now.
And somehow, his change of demeanor unstuck my throat. I couldn’t tell my grinning, happy Silas, but I could tell this stern, powerful man who’d spanked me, who’d fingered me in a ballroom, who’d come all over my face while growling harsh, depraved things to me. And somehow, the very idea that this domineering, almost cruel version of Silas, might think less of me because of what I’d done with Cunningham was ridiculous. I don’t know why I felt that way, just that something about the way he looked at me now—like he could see beyond my flesh and bone to the soul buried deeply within—told me that he saw me as something untainted and lovely. Something that was his.
“When I was fourteen,” I answered after a minute. “Not long after my fourteenth birthday.”
“Did he…” Silas’s jaw worked as he attempted to restrain his anger. “…Did he force you?”
I shook my head, my eyes hot with tears as I started from the beginning of the story. Not with tears of shame, but with tears of relief. I was finally, finally telling him about the burden I’d carried for a decade and a half. And as I told him, he held himself completely still, completely controlled, even though I could feel the tremor in his hands as he clutched mine harder and harder. As if to reassure himself—and me—that we were here together and I was safe and the things I was describing to him now were securely in the past.
After I finished, Silas took a minute. “I’ll kill him,” he said eventually, and the words were completely cold and completely calm.
I shivered.
“You can’t,” I said. “Can’t you see that I’ve thought endlessly about this? There’s no way to punish him for what he did. What he still does to me. He’s too powerful and my own reputation is too…murky…for me to be a reliable witness. All we can do is protect Birgit.” I took a deep breath and said out loud that darkest thought that haunted me. “It’s too late for me. He’s won. He’s defeated me, and he’s ruined me. I can’t purify myself, I can’t fix what he’s sullied. I’m tainted now.”
Silas pressed his lips together, the deep frown forbiddingly handsome on his face. “No,” he said. “I won’t hear any more words like that from you.” And then he tugged off a glove with his teeth, exposing his bare hand, which now slipped under my skirts.
“Silas,” I breathed, still unsteady from my confession. “We can’t…”
“I can’t touch you with intent to bring pleasure,” he interrupted. “This is not a touch to bring about pleasure. This is to remind you whom you belong to. Feel free to use your safe word.”
I should. I should use it because we couldn’t do this, but then his hand skated over my knee, following my stocking until it ended at the middle of my thigh. And then his fingers were brushing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, sliding up and toward my center…
My legs fell open of their own accord. Even though I knew I shouldn’t allow this, even though I knew Julian or the Baron or—God forbid—Martjin van der Sant could walk into this room at any moment…
“Whom do you belong to, Mary Margaret?” Silas asked.
Now his fingers were there, right there, the rough pads seeking out my entrance, and then he shoved two of them harshly inside. He was right, it wasn’t about pleasure, it was about possession, except the very nature of such a possessive act was inducing something very, very close to pleasure inside me. My legs widened as far as my skirt would allow, and I was now at the very edge of the chair, shamelessly rocking again
st his hand. Viola had gotten me off last night, but this is what I’d really wanted. Silas. His flesh, his fingers, his fury, as he jabbed his fingers in and out. It hurt so good, my toes curling from the sharp discomfort twined with intense pleasure.
“I said, whom do you belong to?” His voice was hoarse now, and I knew without looking that he was hard.
Just that thought made my mouth water. “You,” I confessed. “I belong to you.”
“Precisely so, Mary Margaret. And my Molly doesn’t get to talk about herself like that. My Molly knows that she’s not tainted, she knows that only that monster is to blame. My Molly knows that she belongs wholly and entirely to my love and that she’s worthy of every single second of it, and not despite of what happened. Because it’s part of your history and part of you, and I love every single part of you, wounded or otherwise.”
He’d lied, because now his thumb was rubbing hard against my clit, and he was going to make me come, even though it was forbidden and wrong and dangerous, he was still going to make me come.
