Page 26 of The Duke of Fire
“Perhaps she is desperate. I cannot speak of her motives,” Amelia said, trying for a different tactic. “However, it does not change that I cannot disregard such an offer from a dowager duchess. It would reflect very badly on our family name.”
“I admit that I find this whole affair absurd, but we cannot offend the dowager. Though I warn you to be very cautious. I would not have the Warton name tainted when you disappoint her.”
When? Was that the word he chose?When,not if.
“I will. Her Grace has requested that I join her for dinner tonight. I will do my best to make you proud,” she insisted, sniffing a little.
“Mm. Perhaps that is what you need to finally start acting like a lady,” said Octavia, fanning herself dramatically. “Go then, so that the dowager would have to deal with your insolence for now.”
“Thank you,” Amelia said dryly.
Relief exploded within her, but she remained impassive. She turned her heel and left the drawing room, blinking rapidly. She did not want Finch and Octavia to see her crying.
One last chance. This might be her only chance to rise above her increasingly dim situation, and she vowed not to waste it.
Amelia’s fingers trembled as she stepped out of the carriage. The Firaine estate loomed above her, dark and vast, its imposing silhouette illuminated only by the dim glow of a single lantern. The side entrance was discreet, just as promised. No grand welcome. No witnesses.
“What was I thinking?” Amelia whispered to herself as soon as she was led to the door. It was dark when she arrived, as planned. The coachman knew what he was doing, driving the carriage to the side.
Amelia raised her right hand to knock, but before her knuckles even met the wood, the door opened. A tall, shadowed figure emerged.
Sebastian.
“You made it,” the Duke of Firaine said quietly.
She curtsied stiffly, masking the tremor in her spine. “Your Grace.”
He narrowed his eyes at her briefly, but his face took on a more passive expression when he gestured to her to follow him.
“Come. Quietly.”
“But what about—”
“The servants are discreet, and my grandmother is having her dinner in her chambers tonight. We will not be disturbed.”
Amelia followed, her pulse thrumming. She did not know what to expect. She thought perhaps the duke would wear his usualself-satisfied smirk, but the late night had apparently taken away his attitude.
His steps were deliberate, echoing through the narrow, dim corridors. The cold stone walls seemed to close in around her, but she did not hesitate. She would not give him the satisfaction.
As they ascended a flight of stairs, she felt the strange pull of adrenaline—the odd thrill of disobedience—overwhelming the dread. When they reached a chamber at the end of a hallway, the duke pushed the door open, and lavender-scented warmth enveloped her.
That scent reminds me of something.
She found it strange that as soon as they entered the room, she smelled not just firewood, but also lavender. She scanned the room, realizing that it led to a bath. The adjoining door was open, allowing her to see the massive copper tub.
She stopped dead in her tracks.
“What is this?” she asked, her palms feeling cold and sweaty, as she turned to face him.
The duke’s lips quirked. “This is where our game begins.”
Her heart slammed into her ribs. “Do remember that I am not your mistress, Your Grace. I did not come here for this.”
This was a mistake. She should never have come to his house.
“Miss Warton, I am not like other men who would wield their wealth and power to get what they want. I will not force you to do anything. You have my word,” he promised. “I will wait for the day that you will beg. And you will.”
“You cannot possibly believe that I will beg you, Your Grace,” she gritted out. “That is quite an assumption. I may be struggling at the moment, but that does not mean I would debase myself so.”
