Page 43 of The Duke of Fire
“I like them,” she said, smiling openly. That smile undid something in him. Of course, she would like them.
“I guess they are tolerable,” Sebastian grudgingly agreed.
They lapsed into quiet again. It was not exactly uncomfortable—but it was not comfortable either. Something hovered beneath the surface.
“The roses are so beautiful. They are more airy and light, not like the dark flowers on that estate we… went to,” Amelia said, panicking near the end as she realized she had just mentionedThe Arrangement. Her eyes were still on the blooms a few meters in front of them.
“Vain creatures,” Sebastian muttered as he watched the proud roses.
“You talk about them as if they were people,” Amelia said, sounding a little awed, or Sebastian simply wanted her to feel that way.
“You don’t?” he asked. “They can feel more reliable than most people. You know just how much to take care of them so that they will bloom. People… can be more complicated than that.”
She glanced sideways at him, as though debating whether to speak further. Then she asked, “What were you like when you were young?”
The question took him off guard. He had expected small talk. Polite nothings. Not… this.
“I was angry,” he said after a beat. “And terribly good at pretending not to be.”
Amelia nodded like she understood. “I used to think that if I could just be perfect, people would stop looking at me like I did not belong. As if I were a mistake they could not quite place.”
Sebastian did not move, did not blink. Something uncoiled in his chest.
“They always whispered,” she went on. “About my mother. About me. The maid’s daughter playing lady. I tried to prove them wrong. I studied as hard as I could to master Latin, French, and even Ancient Greek. But it never worked.”
“Your birth does not define you, Amelia,” he said quietly. “Never let anyone convince you otherwise.”
She looked at him then—truly looked at him—and there was no judgment in her eyes. Only understanding.
Her hand twitched slightly on the tablecloth, then stilled. “I know, but sometimes I think if just one person had said I was enough… I would not have had to work so hard to prove it.”
Sebastian looked down at the worn edge of the teacup in his hand. “Sometimes I think if someone had loved me properly when I was young… I would not have to keep everyone at arm’s length.”
The moment was heavy—too heavy, maybe—but neither of them looked away.
“You do not have to keep me there,” she whispered.
He swallowed hard. “I do not know how to let anyone closer.”
“I am not asking for your heart,” she said gently. “Just your honesty. Your friendship.”
And for once in his life, Sebastian wanted to give it all to her. Not because she demanded it, but because she asked for it softly and meant it.
“I apologize for that night at The Arrangement,” he admitted. “I should not have been that harsh with you.”
Amelia stood, smoothing her skirts. “You do not need to apologize to me, Your Grace. You were right, we merely have an arrangement,” she said, and she turned her face away. “I believe I must also now take my leave,” Amelia said softly after a pause.Sebastian reached for her hand, but thought better of it. His fingers hovered, then fell away.
As he raised his eyes, though, he idly noticed a pale mark peeking from the edge of Amelia’s glove. It broke the pattern of her smooth skin with an odd shape. It was not a birthmark, he knew right away.
It was a scar.
“What is that?” he asked, his attention completely taken. “Who did that to you?”
“W-what?” Amelia sounded completely off guard. She did not think someone would notice and say something.
“Your hand. By your wrist.”
She tried to tuck the hand with the bruise under her other arm, but it was too late. The sight was ingrained in Sebastian’s brain.
