Julia woke with a start, her eyes snapping open into the pale grey light of dawn. The terror of the dream, the cold gloved hands, the bloody angel statue – it all rushed back in a sickening wave. But overlaid on the horror was a different sensation: the quiet tension of shared space.
Silas Corwin was still there. He was indeed sleeping in the armchair, just as she had seen in the moments before sleep claimed her. He was sprawled back, his long legs stretched out, his bare chest rising and falling softly with his breaths. His dark hair was damp, curling slightly at his temples and neck. The faint light revealed the sharp lines of his jaw, the high cheekbones, and the dark sweep of his eyelashes against his pale skin.
And then she saw it. A jagged scar, a thin white line, tracing a path from his left brow down to the top of his cheekbone. It was a stark contrast to the rest of his face, a mark of violence on features that were undeniably compelling. His face, even in repose, held that same intensity she had seen in the darkness last night. He was handsome, yes, but in a way that felt untamed, slightly dangerous. Like a wolf resting, ready to strike.
As she watched him, his eyes opened. Dark, liquid amber, they seemed to pierce through the dim light, fixing on her instantly. He wasn't startled. He simply looked at her, his gaze steady and knowing. He hadn't been asleep when she fell asleep last night. He had been watching her.
A blush crept up Julia's neck, hot and sudden. The awkwardness of the situation crashed down on her – a strange man, bare-chested, in her bedroom, watching her wake up.
A slow smile, a flash of white against his pale features, spread across Silas's face. It was a charming smile, but with a hint of something sharp, knowing, that echoed the scar on his cheek. "You're blushing, Julia," he said, his voice a low murmur, gravelly with sleep but still holding that unsettling, earthy quality.
Julia fumbled for words, pulling the blanket higher, feeling suddenly exposed. "Because this is a ridiculous situation," she retorted, trying to inject a note of indignation into her voice, "not because of you."
Silas chuckled softly, the sound a low rumble in his chest. He pushed himself up in the armchair, the blanket falling away, revealing the lean, strong lines of his torso. "Mm," he mused, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Sure it's not because I look like sin in candlelight?" He ran a hand through his damp hair, a casual, self-possessed gesture that only made her blush deepen.
Before Julia could formulate a retort, a sharp, insistent rap sounded on the door. Her heart leaped into her throat. Elsie. Or worse.
Panic, cold and sharp, seized her. Silas. She couldn't let Elsie see him here. Not like this. Not at all. She scrambled out of bed, grabbing for the nearest piece of clothing – his discarded cloak – and thrust it at him. "Quick! The bathing chamber!" she whispered frantically, her eyes wide with alarm.
Silas's smile vanished instantly, replaced by that same sharp alertness she had seen last night. He understood the danger immediately. Without a word, he snatched the cloak, his movements fluid and quick, and slipped into the adjoining bathing chamber just as the knocking came again, louder this time.
Julia smoothed down her nightgown, took a deep breath, and forced a semblance of normalcy onto her face. "Come in," she called out, her voice shaky.
Elsie entered, her face pale and drawn, her eyes shadowed with exhaustion. She hadn't slept. The terror from last night was still etched on her small features. She carried Julia's breakfast tray, her hands trembling slightly.
"Good morning, Miss Harrow," Elsie murmured, her voice barely audible. She avoided looking directly at Julia, her gaze darting around the room with that same nervous energy.
"Elsie," Julia said, her voice softening with concern. "Are you alright? You look like you haven't slept all night. Where were you last night after… after you fell asleep in the armchair?"
Elsie flinched, her small body tensing. She gripped the tray tighter, her knuckles white. "Oh, Miss," she stammered, her eyes wide with a renewed fear. "I… I woke up later. I must have been more tired than I thought. I just… went back to my room." Her explanation was hesitant, forced. It was clear she was hiding something more, something that terrified her even more than her previous confession. Her face was unnaturally pale, her eyes had a wide, haunted look.
Julia didn't press. Not now. Elsie was clearly too frightened. "Right," Julia said, her gaze lingering on the maid's strained face. "Well, thank you for breakfast."
Elsie set the tray down on the bedside table. The tea was already poured. Julia took a sip, and frowned. Something was off. It tasted… different. Slightly bitter, almost medicinal.
"Elsie," Julia asked, setting the cup down carefully. "Who prepared the tea this morning? It tastes… unusual."
Elsie's eyes widened further, a flicker of panic crossing her features. "Oh! It was… it was Mr. Finch, Miss. He said… he said he wanted to ensure it was brewed correctly for your headache." Her voice was a hushed whisper, filled with a fear that sent a chill down Julia's spine. Finch. The man with the dirt-stained gloves. The man who tended the Lady's Garden. The man who had smiled that chilling smile.
Suspicion, cold and sharp, tightened in Julia's chest. Finch had made her tea before. It had never tasted like this. Was it drugged? A subtle way to keep her docile, to make her dreams seem like delirium? She glanced at the cup, then away, a knot of anxiety forming in her stomach.
Elsie, meanwhile, had begun to tidy the room, her movements quick and efficient. She collected the discarded clothes, straightened the rug, her gaze carefully avoiding the areas where the muddy footprints had been.
"Miss Harrow," Elsie said, her voice hesitant, as she approached the bed. "Lord Alistair asked me to assist you with your bathing and to change your bandages this morning. Because of your hand."
Julia froze. Silas was in the bathing chamber. She couldn't let Elsie see him. Not now. Not ever. The panic returned, sharp and immediate. She had to refuse.
"Oh, thank you, Elsie," Julia said, forcing a bright, unnatural smile. "But that's not necessary. My hand is actually feeling much better this morning. I can manage perfectly well on my own." She held up her bandaged hand, wiggling her fingers, trying to appear convincing. "I'll just have a quick bath, and then I'll change the bandage myself."
Elsie frowned, her young face etched with concern. "Are you sure, Miss? Lord Alistair said…"
"Yes, I'm quite sure, Elsie," Julia insisted, injecting a note of firmness into her voice. "I'm feeling much stronger today. I'd actually prefer to… to bathe alone. I don't feel comfortable with… with assistance." She hoped her nervousness sounded like shyness, not outright deception. "And I can change the bandage myself. The hand is healing very well, you see."
Elsie hesitated for a moment longer, her gaze searching Julia's face. The defiance in Julia's tone, the unusual insistence, seemed to surprise her. But the maid was timid, and Julia was a guest. "Very well, Miss Harrow," Elsie murmured finally, her shoulders slumping slightly in resignation. "But… I will stay and finish tidying the room while you bathe, if that's alright."
Julia's heart sank. Elsie staying in the room meant she couldn't linger in the bathing chamber. She would have to be quick. Very quick. And silent.
"Yes, Elsie, that's perfectly fine," Julia said, trying to sound grateful. "Thank you."
Elsie returned to tidying, her back to the bathing chamber door. Julia rose from the bed, her heart hammering against her ribs. She glanced at the tea, deciding against drinking more of it for now. She grabbed a fresh set of clothes, a towel, and slipped into the bathing chamber, closing the door softly behind her.
Silas was standing by the window, looking out at the grey morning light filtering through the grimy pane. He turned as she entered, his eyes, the color of molten honey in the dim light, questioning. He was still bare-chested, the scar on his cheek visible.
"Elsie is outside," Julia whispered, her voice tight. "She's tidying the room. I told her I would bathe alone. I… I couldn't let her see you."
Silas nodded, his expression understanding. He glanced towards the door connecting to the bedroom. "She thinks I'm hiding," he murmured, a faint, wry smile touching his lips. "Which, of course, I am."
Julia felt a fresh wave of awkwardness. The space was small, confined. Silas was right there. Bare-chested. She needed to bathe. Now. Before Elsie finished and wondered why she was taking so long.
She looked at the large, claw-footed tub, then back at Silas. Her cheeks flushed again. She couldn't bathe with him in here. It was impossible.
Silas seemed to read her mind. He chuckled softly, a low, warm sound. "Don't worry, Julia," he said, his voice gentle, understanding. "I can stand in the corner and close my eyes. Or I can face the wall. Whatever makes you comfortable." He gestured vaguely towards the corner of the room, a picture of relaxed self-possession despite the ridiculous circumstances.
Julia hesitated for a moment longer, torn between propriety and the urgent need to maintain her deception for Elsie. His offer, while entirely practical, felt strangely intimate. But she had no choice.
"Just… just close your eyes and face the wall," Julia said, her voice a little stiff.
Silas gave a small, acknowledging nod, that knowing smile playing on his lips. He turned, walking to the far corner of the small room, and stood facing the wall, his back to her.
Julia quickly filled the tub with warm water, her movements hurried. She bathed as quickly as she possibly could, acutely aware of Silas's silent presence just a few feet away. It was perhaps the strangest, most unnerving bath of her life. The water was warm, soothing her aching muscles, but the tension in the small room was palpable.
When she finished, she dressed quickly, her bandaged hand making the task clumsy. She emerged from the bathing chamber just as Elsie was finishing tidying the last corner of the room.
Elsie helped her change the bandage on her hand, her small fingers surprisingly steady. She finished, murmuring a soft, "There, Miss. That looks much better." She gave Julia a brief, hesitant smile. "I'll just clear these things away, then I'll be downstairs if you need anything."
Julia nodded, relief washing over her as Elsie gathered the used bandages and the basin. "Thank you, Elsie," Julia said, genuinely grateful for her help, despite the underlying tension.
Elsie curtsied, casting one last nervous glance around the room, and then exited, closing the door softly behind her. Julia and Silas were alone again. The silence that followed Elsie's departure felt both safe and charged with urgency.
Silas stepped out of the bathing chamber, now dressed in his still-damp outer clothes, looking less like a dangerous wolf and more like a man on the run. His bare chest was now concealed, but the intensity in his eyes remained.
"That was… eventful," Silas said, his voice low. He walked over to the armchair, running a hand through his damp hair.
Julia nodded, the reality of the situation settling back in. They had successfully hidden him, but for how long? Alistair was due back soon. Finch was clearly suspicious.
"We need to decide what to do," Julia said, her voice serious. "You can't stay here, Silas. It's too risky. If anyone finds you…" She didn't need to finish the sentence. Mrs. Denning's fate was a chilling reminder.
Silas looked around the room, his gaze lingering on the locked door, the window, the heavy furniture. "Where else is there?" he murmured, almost to himself. He looked at Julia, his eyes thoughtful. "What about the East Wing?"
Julia's heart leaped. The East Wing. The forbidden place. Marian's room. It was dangerous, yes, but it was also deserted. Sealed. If anyone could hide there, it would be someone who knew its secrets, someone who had perhaps been there before.
"The East Wing?" Julia repeated, contemplating the possibility. It was a terrifying thought, returning to that place of decay and ghosts. But it was also the most logical hiding spot in the house.
They began to discuss the risks, the layout of the wing, the possibility of being discovered. Silas asked sharp, practical questions about its accessibility, about the staff's movements. Julia shared what she knew, the terrifying details of Marian's room, the shattered mirror, the bloodstained nightgown.
Just as they were discussing how Silas could safely reach the East Wing without being seen, a sudden, loud voice echoed from the hall downstairs. Commanding. Familiar.
"Finch!" Alistair's voice boomed, sharp and clear. "Where is Julia?"
Julia and Silas froze, their eyes locking. Alistair was back. Sooner than expected. And his first thought, his first question, was about her.