//CLARA//

I stopped worrying about the servants the moment Casimir’s door clicked shut. Whoever had seen us on the stairs could keep their secrets. I had my own to bury.

Casimir didn’t let go of my hand. His gaze trailing over the sodden, ruined hem of my grey cotton dress. I felt absurd standing on his hand-woven Persian rug in a garment that smelled of Pearl Street gutters like a smudge of charcoal in his gilded world.

"You’re shivering," he noted with that terrifyingly soft concern.

"The rain was colder than I expected," I lied. It was getting easier—the way the words slid off my tongue without tripping.

He just stared at me, waiting for the crack. Waiting for the moment my eyes would dart away or my pulse would betray me against his skin.

"A walk you say," he repeated. "To where, Clara? You smell of woodsmoke and desperation and secrets. What are you keeping away from me this time?"

"Nothing." My breath hitched. "I told you. I just walked. I needed to think."

"About what?" He stepped into my space, his hands sliding up to cup my face. "You’re not thinking about your friend, Mr. Russell? Are you?"

The name was a strike.

"I wasn’t even thinking of Elias at all."

"Good." His fingers curled under my jaw, forcing my gaze to his. "Because I find I have very little patience for men who take your attention away from me. Especially men who hide in the shadows of Grove Street."

He knew where Elias was. The understanding coiled in his eyes, dark and patient. I forced my muscles to stay fluid, to not go rigid under his touch. Tried not to let him see how deep the blade had sunk.

"Casimir—"

"Don’t speak," he murmured, his lips brushing mine, effectively stifling the next lie. "You’re freezing. You need to be warmed. And I intend to be very... thorough."

He began to unbutton the drab grey dress, his nimble fingers working the cheap fastenings with a disdainful speed. 𝑓𝓇𝘦ℯ𝘸𝘦𝑏𝓃𝑜𝘷ℯ𝑙.𝑐𝑜𝓂

He was stripping away the shadow I had tried to become, exposing the bruises he’d left on my skin the night before, the marks that proved I was his, no matter where I walked or whose secrets I carried.

The dress pooled at my feet, leaving me in nothing.

Casimir’s gaze swept over me with predatory hunger. "Turn around."

I obeyed without meaning to, my back to him, hands trembling at my sides. I heard him shed his coat then his presence behind me.

Without a word, his palm connected with my butt cheeks with a sharp crack that made me gasp. The sting bloomed, spreading warmth through my core. Another strike, harder, and I bit my lip to keep from crying out.

"I know where you’ve been today," he said, landing another spank that made my knees buckle. "You put yourself where I couldn’t protect you. Again."

"What?" My heart stuttered. I tried to turn, but he gripped the back of my neck and bent me over his desk.

"Casimir, wait—let me—I’m sorry—"

Another strike cut me off. Then his hand smoothed over the heated flesh, fingers dipping between my thighs, finding me slick and ready.

"No," he purred against my ear, his breath a scald. "You’re not sorry. You’re reckless. You need to be reminded who you’re dealing with every time you think you can break the rules."

Smack.

"Me."

He spun me around and lifted me onto the edge of his desk.

Papers scattered to the floor, pens rattled and ink pots shivered as he shoved my legs wide.

His mouth claimed mine, brutal, hungry, teeth nipping at my lower lip as his hands shoved my thighs apart. I felt the head of his cock pressing against my entrance. Scorching, and demanding entry.

"Beg me," he growled into my mouth, his thumb grinding ruthlessly against my clit. "Beg me to remind you whose mark you carry."

"Please." I arched toward him, my fingers clawing at his shoulders, my hips tilting up. "Casimir—"

He thrust into me in one powerful stroke, filling me so completely that I cried out. His hand clamped over my mouth, muffling the sound. He didn’t give me mercy. He set a punishing rhythm, driving me harder against the desk’s edge, his pelvis grinding against my clit with every thrust.

I came fast—too fast—my body clenching around him, my scream swallowed by his palm.

He didn’t stop. He didn’t break the connection. He hauled me up, my legs locking around his waist as he carried me toward the bed, his cock ceaselessly ramming into my cunt with every heavy step.

He dropped me onto the silk sheets, my skin flushed, my breath ragged. He loomed over my length, still hard inside me.

I was still gasping, my chest heaving when then the door crashed open.

"Casimir!"

Aunt Cornelia marched in before the latch had even finished clicking.

My stomach dropped.

There was no time to hide. No time to scramble.

In a blur of motion, Casimir’s arm hooked around my waist, hauling me against his bare chest. He flung the heavy velvet duvet over me, burying my face into the crook of his neck and shielding my identity with nothing but his own body and a wall of fabric.

I lay paralyzed, my nose pressed into the scent of his skin, my hair spilled across his shoulder, the only part of me exposed to her venomous gaze.

"Have you no shred of human decency left to rot?" Aunt Cornelia’s voice was a whip, cracking through the room with enough force to make the crystal decanters rattle. "In the middle of the afternoon? Under the same roof as your niece’s intended?"

"I am a man with needs, Aunt. Surely you understand that," Casimir replied, his voice terrifyingly calm, even as I felt the vibration of his chest against my cheek.

"Needs? You have brought a creature, a common, low-born street-walker into the family wing," she spat.

I could hear the rustle of her stiff silk skirts as she paced toward the foot of the bed.

"Look at her, huddling there like a beaten dog. As well she should. To sell your flesh and your very soul in the gutters for a few coins... you are a blight, girl. A hollow, shameful thing with no dignity left to lose. You are the reason men like my nephew lose their way dragging the filth of the piers into a house of God."

The iron tang of blood flooded my mouth. I welcomed it. The pain kept me silent while she tore into the woman she thought was a stranger. The woman who was me. The intended niece, in the arms of her step-uncle.

"And this," Aunt Cornelia continued with lethal disgust.

I heard the sharp thwack of her parasol hitting the floor.

"This rag is a hazard. It reeks of cheap gin, boiled cabbage, and the unwashed masses. It is an insult to the very air we breathe."

She raised her voice, calling out to the hallway.

"Higgins! Come here and take this offal! Carry it with tongs if you must. Take it to the furnace and watch it turn to ash. I want every thread of this harlot’s presence incinerated."

"A bit extreme, don’t you think?" Casimir asked, his grip on my waist tightening.

"Extreme? What is extreme is your lack of shame, Casimir," she snapped. "And as for this... woman... let her find her way out of this mansion without her clothes once you are finished with her. Let her walk the corridors in nothing but her skin. Perhaps the freezing draft and the eyes of the stable boys will remind her that a woman who lives like an animal deserves to be treated as one. Not a stitch of clothing is to be returned to her. If she wants to leave, let her crawl out as naked as the day she decided to throw her virtue in the mud."

The door slammed shut with a finality that made the floorboards groan.

Silence descended, heavy and thick.

I started to crawl out from under the duvet, my skin prickling with cold, hollow terror—

Casimir’s hand pressed the back of my head back into the crook of his neck.

"Don’t move."

Before I could ask why, a sharp rap came at the door.

"Mr. Guggenheim." Higgins’s voice was muffled through the wood. "I’ve come for the... garment."

Casimir didn’t turn as the door opened. "It’s on the floor."

A pause. "Shall I burn it, sir?"

"My aunt was quite specific."

"Indeed, sir." Another pause, followed by a soft metallic click of tongs. Ready to pick up my dress like it was diseased. "And the lady? Shall I escort her out?"

I felt Casimir’s jaw clenched against my temple.

"No. I’ll handle it."

"Very good, sir."

Higgins’s shadow retreated. Footsteps faded down the corridor.

The silence returned.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.

"Well," Casimir murmured, pulling back just enough to look into my wide, terrified eyes. "It seems my aunt has a flair for the dramatic."

"She burned my dress."

A sly smirk lifted his lips.

"I think we both know you won’t be needing clothes for a very long time."