Page 25 of The Duke of Fire
Too late.
Still, she held on to her smile and tried to enjoy the rest of their little gathering. Serenity seemed to believe the happiness she displayed for her. What she could not see was how Amelia’s hands kept straying to her reticule.
You will be safe. But not untouched.
The words thrilled her. They should not. She was intelligent enough to know that the Duke of Firaine was not good for her. He was a rake and a means to an end. Yet, it looked like he had plans for her.
Untouched.
She should be afraid, but she was not. The sensible side of her warred with the passionate side. Certainly, she was not foolishenough to visit a man alone at night?
But he kissed so well, better than she imagined the men in her little translations did. He also knew how to appeal to her pride.
If you are brave enough.
“Yes, I am,” Amelia said, forgetting where she was.
“Are you all right, Amelia? You look so deep in thought, and now you talk to yourself,” Serenity joked, but her eyes still held concern.
“I am fine. I am simply planning what I should do for my first challenge.”
It would be a real challenge, indeed, to resist temptation.
Chapter 9
“An important letter has arrived for you, Finch,” Amelia said softly, as she stood rigidly only a few inches from the drawing room’s entrance.
The place was quickly becoming less her own, but it still carried her name. It was all that she could hold on to. She did not make any decisions in her own home, but that was expected of a woman left under a male heir’s wing. At least, that was what she told herself often—that her situation was normal.
“What kind of letter?” Finch asked, not lowering his newspaper, his gaze gliding over the top edge with sharp, indifferent calculation.
His tone was neutral, but Amelia knew better. Being careful was always the right move around her brother and his wife.
“A letter from the Dowager Duchess of Firaine.”
She had rehearsed these words countless times in her room, yet her voice still faltered on the last syllable. It came out too stiff, too formal, as if the words had to wedge themselves free of the tight coil in her chest. Her tongue felt like sandpaper.
“What did you just say, Amelia?” Octavia drawled, not even bothering to lift her head from her lounging pose, her eyebrow arched in exaggerated boredom.
“The Dowager Duchess of Firaine,” Amelia repeated, more firmly this time. “She offered to sponsor me for the Season and wants to ensure that I have everything in order. Manners. Clothes.”
“Is this some kind of joke?” There was a beat of silence. Then Octavia rose with sudden, stiff-backed disbelief and snatched the letter from Amelia’s hand and passed it to Finch.
“Why did this letter not reach me first, and why would the Dowager want to be associated with the likes of you?” he asked, his voice dismissive and cruel.
“I am not certain,” Amelia replied, keeping her calm despite the growing anxiety and resentment she was feeling. “But I believe she found our conversation at the ball… enlightening.”
“You talked to her at length?” Finch asked, sounding almost beleaguered. “How could she suddenly decide that she wants to sponsor you when you barely talked? You are—”
“Stupid? Irrelevant?” interrupted Octavia with a smirk. “I dare say the Dowager Duchess wants a little birdie to experiment on.”
“Our conversation was rather brief, but I suppose she must have taken a liking to me,” she said, not really wanting a complete discussion of what might have been said between her and the Dowager, whom she had not spoken to.
Octavia scoffed. “How desperate the Dowager must be. I am not surprised, though, considering her own grandson refused to visit her until she invited him to her supposed funeral.”
Amelia’s ears perked. They knew about that? She wondered how much of thetonknew about that night.
“Perhaps she has also lost her mind,” Finch snorted as he read the letter carefully.
