Back To Make Them Pay

Chapter 9

Clara

The private study on the top floor of the Mercer Manor was bathed in the soft, amber glow of the hearth. Outside, snow lashed against the tall arched windows, sealing the metropolis of Valenria in a cocoon of frost and dark glass.

​I sat at the heavy mahogany desk, the light from the desk lamp casting sharp shadows across the maps of the northern trade channels Kenneth had brought me. My velvet coat lay discarded across a settee, leaving me in a fitted midnight-blue bodice and silk shirt.

My fingers were stained lightly with black ink as I made precise notes in the ledger.

​Silas stood by the window, a tumbler of dark amber liquor held loosely in his right hand.

He had shed his heavy military cape and sword, leaving him in a dark, form-fitting waistcoat and white linen shirt, the top two buttons undone to reveal the strong line of his throat.

​For nearly twenty minutes, neither of us had spoken. He kept staring at his gloves like they were a piece of armour.

​"You didn't flinch when Victoria threatened you," Silas said quietly, his voice breaking the stillness like low thunder.

​I didn't look up from my ledger, though I felt the weight of his gray eyes settling on me. "I spent three years being terrified of that woman, Your Grace. They kept using me to do their bidding."

​I heard the quiet, slow rustle of his leather boots across the thick rug. He didn't stay by the window. He walked toward the desk, stopping just beside my chair.

The scent of him; cold iron, sandalwood, and a trace of expensive pipe tobacco filled the air around me, warm and intoxicatingly heavy.

​"Silas," he murmured softly.

​I paused, my fountain pen hovering over the paper. A small drop of black ink gathered at the nib, threatening to fall. "What?"

​"When we are in private, Lady Clara, you can drop the 'Your Grace,'" he said, his voice dropping an octave, slipping beneath my armor with terrifying ease.

​I slowly set the pen down in its brass tray, resting my hands on the cool mahogany as I turned my head to look up at him.

​He was standing close, so close that if I leaned forward even an inch, my shoulder would brush against his thigh. He was looking down at me, his gray eyes were dark and unreadable, catching the flickering orange light of the fire. My heartbeat quickened.

​"And what should I call you, then?" I asked softly, tilting my chin up, refusing to let him see the sudden, sharp spike in my pulse. "My ally? My business partner?"

​A faint, wicked tilt touched the corner of his lips; a rare, mesmerizing smile that transformed his harsh, warlike face into something dangerously handsome.

​"Silas will do," he replied, taking a slow step closer, closing the last remaining distance between us. He set his empty glass on the corner of the desk and reached out.

​My breath caught in my throat. I didn't move. I didn't pull back.

​His gloved fingers didn't touch my skin; not yet. Instead, he gently reached for the long, stray lock of dark hair that had slipped free from my braided crown during the confrontation with Victoria.

Very slowly, his leather-clad fingers brushed the hair behind my ear, his knuckles lingering for a fraction of a second against the warm skin of my jaw.

Is this Duke Silas Vance touching me? Duke Silas Vance who has been known to keep his distance from women, even in my past life he remained single.

​The touch was light, almost featherweight, yet an electric shock ran straight down my spine, making my breath hitch softly in the quiet room.

​"You are a terrifying woman, Clara Mercer," Silas whispered, his head dipping slightly lower, his dark gaze locking onto my lips before rising back to meet my eyes. "Cold as ice and completely unyielding."

​"Is that a complaint, Duke Vance?" I asked, my voice barely above a breath, my chest rising and falling rhythmically beneath the dark silk of my shirt.

​"No," he corrected, his thumb tracing a tiny, agonizingly slow circle along the edge of my jawline, just above my collar. "You know I have seen men fight for power and women plead for protection but I have never met one who takes both by force... and looks so magnificent doing it."

​My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird, but I kept my eyes fixed on his, leaning subtly into the firm pressure of his hand. In my past life, Julian’s touches had always felt possessive, dirty, and full of unspoken demands.

​Silas’s touch felt different. It felt like an invitation to a dangerous dance where we intended to lose control.

​"Be careful, Silas," I murmured, a low, lethal warmth threading through my voice as I reached up, my gloved hand resting flat against his chest, right over the steady, heavy beat of his heart. I could feel the heat radiating through his linen shirt. "If you stare too long into a fire, you might get burned."

​Silas didn't pull away. Instead, he placed his hand over mine, his long fingers closing around my gloved fist, trapping my hand against his chest. He bent down slightly, bringing his face so close I could feel the warm brush of his breath against my cheek.

​"Then let it burn," he whispered, his gray eyes blazing with a dark, suffocating intensity that made my knees feel dangerously weak. "I brought you into my world so we could burn it to the ground together."

​For a long, agonizing second, neither of us moved. The space between our lips was less than three inches, filled only with the crackle of the hearth and the intoxicating, heavy tension stretching between us.

​Then, with supreme, agonizing control, Silas slowly let go of my hand. He stepped back, drawing a deep breath, the cold, distant mask of the Iron Duke slipping seamlessly back over his features, though the heat lingering in his eyes betrayed him.

​"Kenneth is waiting with the preliminary dossier on Senator Malakar," Silas said, his voice smooth and steady once more, though slightly deeper than usual.

​I blinked, taking a slow, steadying breath to master my racing heart. I straightened my spine, picking up my fountain pen once more, my fingers tightening around the brass barrel.

​"Senator Malakar," I repeated, my voice dropping. The man who supplied the rare nightshade poison Julian used on my tea in my past life.

​Silas offered me his gloved hands once more, as I placed my fingers in his, the dark promise between us hung in the air.