Page 30 of The Duke of Fire
Heat scorched Amelia’s cheeks.
Oh.They must be from the duke.
Despite her initial shock, Amelia rushed toward the boxes. She had not felt like a child during Christmastide in a long time. It was almost like she was afraid that the packages would disappear.
As the footmen retreated, Mary curtsied, whispering, “Call for me if you wish help to dress or to try them on, Miss Warton.”
Amelia hardly heard her. She was already kneeling, untying the first ribbon with trembling fingers. A velvet crimson gown tumbled out, the fabric so soft it could have been spun from dreams. Next came pearl-embroidered gloves, satin slippers, layers of delicate lace.
She tore through box after box until the floor was a sea of ribbons and finery. And in the middle of it all, she found a folded note, small and discreet, hidden beneath a glove.
She knew whose handwriting it was the moment she touched it.
For every moment I did not get to touch you when I wanted to.
It was just one line. He did not even bother to sign his name, but somehow the duke’s words had her swaying on her feet.
Amelia’s breath caught. Her heart gave a traitorous flutter as she clutched the note to her chest. For a reckless, fleeting moment, the usually practical Amelia allowed herself to daydream. She sat on the edge of her bed, clutching the note to her chest, and imagined herself wearing all her new fineries at a ball. The duke would be standing somewhere near, wearing a black coat, eyeing her intently to see if she was worth all the presents. Then, he would nod approvingly and disappear into the crowd while she danced with the rest of the guests, all the while feeling his gaze from a distance.
“Foolish,” she whispered to herself. “You get a few gifts, and suddenly the Duke of Hell is a good man?”
The door burst open, interrupting her musings.
“Amelia!” That shriek could not be coming from anyone but the angry pregnant woman by her door. She did not even notice Octavia enter her room. Octavia stormed in, her dressing gown in disarray, her face flushed with fury.
“What is the meaning of this? Are these for you? All of these?” she demanded, pointing at the chaos of boxes.
Amelia stood, calm as still water. “Yes. They are.”
Octavia’s eyes narrowed to slits. “The dowager sent all of these?”
Amelia took a deep breath. Her sister-in-law had provided her with a convenient story, and she would take it.
Amelia did not blink. “Yes. She believes I must be properly attired for the upcoming ball.”
“The ball!” Octavia spat. “You think a few gifts elevate you? You have shoes to polish. You did not clean my shoes yesterday! Three pairs are waiting for you. My drawers also need organizing, Amelia!”
A maid could have done these things, and Amelia had said so a few times. She clenched her jaw, no longer rising to Octavia’s bait. Not this time. Not when she had a chance of leaving this place. It was still slim and distant, but she would take it.
“I cannot today,” Amelia said, her voice soft but immovable. “The dowager expects me to attend her ball. As Finch said, we would not want to offend her, would we?”
“Oh, now you are feeling so high and mighty over a few presents? Return them, Amelia!” Octavia ordered, pointing at the parcels.
“I will not return them. That would be rude. Remember that it was Finch who advised me to behave according to the Warton name.”
“You are a fool,” Octavia accused, but her words had no effect on Amelia. “You have always been.”
“Perhaps I am,” Amelia said, shrugging. “However, I will not let the dowager wait too long for me. I will have to get ready. You do not want to be the object of her anger.”
Octavia’s face contorted with silent fury. She opened her mouth, thought better of it, and stormed out, muttering curses under her breath.
When she was alone again, Amelia turned to the crumpled note and reread the words. The Duke of Firaine had just shown her she was not only a delight to undress but also to dress. And today, he had dressed her, layer by layer, in silk and command.
Tonight, she hoped to see him again.
The dowager duchess’s ballroom was as she remembered it, but somehow it felt even grander. The place glittered with crystal and gold, and the crowd swirled around in a dance. However, there was something more. She wondered if the duke was somewhere in the ballroom, either spying on her secretly or eyeing other guests with disdain.
She stood at the edge of the dance floor, skirts swirling around her as couples twirled in perfect harmony. However, her heart fluttered, no longer steady in its rhythm. She felt it before she saw him—the weight of his gaze.
