Free Web NovelChapter 156: Chapter One Hundred-Fifty-Six: Whispers
//CLARA//
He snarled something wordless and adjusted his angle, hitting a spot deep inside me that made my breath completely hitch.
I moaned, long and loud, not caring if anyone could hear us through the walls right now.
"You don’t get to throw yourself into danger and leave me with nothing. You don’t get to make me love you and then risk—risk—"
He broke off, his rhythm faltering, and I felt a sudden pain on my shoulder.
He bit me.
I swallowed my scream, my fingers clutching the bedding tightly. Tears stung my eyes again, but I rolled my hips to meet his, urging him through whatever darkness had just broken open inside him.
His hand reached down to find my clit, his thumb circling with the same relentless pressure as his thrusts, and the familiar, tightening coil in my belly built toward complete inevitability.
"Come for me," he commanded, his voice a rough scrape of exertion. "Show me this isn’t a dream, little bird. That I wasn’t trapped in a nightmare where I had lost you."
The words pushed me clean over the edge. I came with a cry that sounded almost like his name, my body violently convulsing around him as my vision whited out.
"That’s it. Scream for me."
He didn’t stop, working me through the orgasm with merciless precision, his thumb never ceasing its movement even as I sobbed and clutched at the headboard.
He kept up the punishing rhythm until he hit his own limit, his pace breaking completely as he buried himself to the hilt and spilled inside me with a groan that sounded torn from his very soul.
We collapsed together, his crushing weight pressing me into the mattress for a long moment before he gathered the strength to roll aside, pulling me with him. We lay tangled, our breath mingling, our hearts gradually slowing from their frantic race.
I traced the sharp lines of his face with trembling fingers, learning him anew in the aftermath. His eyes were closed, his dark lashes contrasting against his pale skin.
"I’m sorry," I whispered, my voice hoarse from crying and screaming.
"For scaring you. For being reckless."
Casimir caught my hand, pressing a kiss to my knuckles that felt almost reverent.
"I know," he said, his voice finally softening, the anger spent. "But don’t do it again."
His eyes fluttered open and held mine.
"I can’t lose you, Clara. I would burn everything to ash, and it still wouldn’t be enough to fill the space where you were."
I curled into him, my head resting on his chest, listening to the steady, reassuring beat of his heart. The ledger pressed against the back of my mind, reminding me of all the secrets still kept and dangers still looming.
But for now, in this quiet room with Gary being safe, I let myself believe that we had time.
That we would find a way through the darkness together.
That love, however desperate and angry and consuming, might actually be enough to save us both.
I woke to a face full of winter sunlight and the sound of someone deliberately clearing their throat near the door.
"Hattie?" I blinked.
The room was far brighter than it should have been. The fire had died down to grey embers, and the space beside me was empty. Casimir was gone. Figures.
"Good morning, miss." Hattie stood by the door, her face rigidly turned toward the wall. "I didn’t mean to—I knocked, but you didn’t—"
I looked down at myself. Naked as the day I was born. The blankets were tangled completely around my waist, leaving the evidence of last night on full display.
"It’s alright," I said, clearing my throat to find my normal pitch. "You can look at me, Hattie. You’ve seen me naked a handful of times already."
Hattie turned slowly, her eyes fixed on my face. She looked different, as if something had shifted in her overnight. We had both almost died, and the shared trauma had stripped away the rigid boundaries between mistress and servant.
"He’s gone downstairs," Hattie said softly as if reading my thoughts. "Mr. Guggenheim. He left an hour ago to speak with the men at the gates."
I pushed myself up on my elbows, wincing as the movement pulled at the skin on my shoulder where Casimir had bitten me.
"Did he sleep?"
"I don’t think he does, miss."
Hattie swallowed hard, her fingers twisting her apron into tight knots. She didn’t move to fetch my dressing gown. She just stood there, as if trying to summon an impossible amount of courage.
"Miss Eleanor," she began, then stopped. She fidgeted with the fabric, took a breath, and tried again. "I need to ask you something. I know it isn’t my place, but after everything—"
"Ask me, Hattie." I gave her a small, reassuring smile. "We’re past the point of secrets between us."
"You and Mr. Guggenheim... are more than just a ward and a guardian, aren’t you?"
I went very still.
"I’m not here to judge you, miss," she added quickly, the words tumbling out in a frantic rush. "God knows I have no right to judge anyone after what we just crawled out of. But I need to know. To settle my own mind. What are you to him?"
"Hattie." I held up a hand, cutting off her spiraling thoughts. "Come here. Sit down."
She crossed to the bed and perched on the edge, her hands clasped tight in her lap. Her face was pale, but her eyes were steady.
"He’s my husband," I said bluntly. "We were married weeks ago. In a small chapel. No one knows except the people who were there."
Hattie’s eyes went wide, and her mouth fell open. The shock was so complete, so utterly unguarded, that I almost laughed.
"Your—" She pressed a hand to her chest. "Mr. Guggenheim is your husband?"
"Legally. Secretly. Yes."
"But—how—when—" She stopped, took a breath, and tried again. "The wedding? The one you ran from?"
I nodded, reaching out to take her hand.
"I know it’s a lot. I know it’s scandalous. And I need you to keep this secret. If it gets out, people will use it against us. They’ll tear us apart."
Hattie stared at me, and then slowly, she nodded.
"Your secret is safe with me, miss." Her voice was quiet but certain. "I’ve been your lady’s maid since you arrived. I’ve lied to Aunt Cornelia for you. I’ve held your hair back when you were sick. I’ve—"
She swallowed hard. "I hit a man with a metal rod for you. I think I can keep a secret."
I squeezed her hand. "Thank you."
She helped me into the bath after that. The water was scalding, exactly as I’d asked, and I sank into it gratefully, letting the heat seep into my aching muscles.
Hattie hovered by the edge, her eyes fixed on my hands.
"Miss Eleanor, your nails—"
I looked down. My fingernails were still completely black, caked with the thick, dried dirt and filth from clawing at the cellar floor. The skin of my wrists was raw, and as Hattie began to gently scrub, the water turned a murky gray-brown.
A sudden wave of realization hit my stomach, twisting it with a strange mix of embarrassment and intense heat.
Last night, in his frantic madness to possess me, Casimir hadn’t cared about the dirt. He had slammed my body into the mattress, licking the sweat from my skin, driving himself into me through the literal grime and filth of my captivity.
He had consumed me exactly as I was. It was filthy and completely beautiful in its brutality.
Hattie kept her head down, scrubbing the dirt from beneath my nails with a small brush, keeping her gaze fixed on her work so I wouldn’t see the flush on her own cheeks.
The bathwater cooled. Hattie handed me a towel, helped me into a fresh chemise, and was lacing my corset when the knock came.
"Miss Eleanor!" Higgins’s voice was sharp with panic on the other side of the door. "Miss Eleanor, you must come quickly!"
I was on my feet before my brain could even process the command, my hair dripping wet against my shoulders. I yanked the door open.
"What is it?" freewebnøvel.com
"It’s Mr. Russell, miss. He’s awake. He’s—he’s screaming."
I ran.
My bare feet slapped hard against the polished floorboards. I burst through the door of the guest room and found Gary was violently thrashing on the bed.
His bandaged arms were flailing wildly, his torso twisting against the white linen, and his one visible, swollen eye was wide with absolute terror. fɾēewebnσveℓ.com
"Gary!"
I threw my weight forward, catching his wrists and holding them down against the mattress.
"Gary, look at me. It’s Clara. You’re safe. You’re safe."
His single eye locked onto mine. His chest heaved, his breath coming in ragged, suffocating gasps.
"No," he choked out. "No! I don’t know anything. Please spare me. I see nothing."
He was looking right at me, but he wasn’t seeing me, completely lost in his own delirium.
