Page 44 of The Duke of Fire
“I… it was from a small burn.”
“What caused it?” he demanded, stepping closer to Amelia.
“It is nothing. I was only helping the cook prepare meat pies,” she said, not meeting his eyes.
Sebastian was not content with this explanation nor with the small peek he had of the scar. He gently removed her glove to see what it looked like for himself.
“Is that a habit of yours? Going into the kitchens?” he asked, not convinced.
“Y-yes. I like making myself useful. It also makes me think,” she said, her cheeks coloring from what looked like embarrassment.
“Useful?” Sebastian echoed, testing the word on his tongue. He did not like the idea that Amelia had to prove herself useful when he had seen how her family treated her.
“It’s—” she began to protest, but he had already taken her hand again to inspect the scar more closely.
It looked angry and tender, as if it had not been there for long. It must still hurt much, but she had acted as if she had no care in the world. She had seemed so happy.
“Goddamn it, Amelia,” he cursed. “Are you certain that is the case? Because if not—”
She stiffened at that, trying to pull her hand away.
“I am telling you the truth, Your Grace,” she insisted, stepping backward. He did not like that she had been hurt, but she was visibly shrinking away from him after they had just had a normal conversation. “I do not know what you are fussing about. It is small. It is nothing.”
Small. Nothing. Useful.
Why must these words be used to define or redefine a woman like Amelia? Her family stole her money, which she had earned herself by writing in French and Latin. Did they know how brilliant she was? How passionate but repressed?
“You will come with me,” he said, as he pulled her up with him.
“To where?” she asked, her eyes wide.
“To my study.”
She looked confused for a little bit, but some realization dawned on her face. “I am fine.”
“I did not ask you that anymore, did I? You would have lied to me again, and you just did. You are coming with me.”
Amelia narrowed her eyes at him, but she did not resist. She followed him, even as she muttered a few words under her breath—something about theatrics and overreactions.
They walked through the corridor quickly. Sebastian held her by the elbow to avoid hurting her as he rushed to his study. He led her to the chair closest to the hearth. After taking a few supplies from his drawer, he kneeled before her.
“Your Grace…”
“Just give me your wrist,” he said softly.
She did. He rubbed ointment on the area gently, almost afraid to apply pressure. She hummed as he did it, and flinched even though his finger reached the top edge of the burn. It must still hurt, but she only bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut. There were no moans or complaints.
Sebastian kissed her hands. Then, as he slowly rose, he also peppered kisses on her arms. She hummed once more, her eyesstill closed. Then, when he let his open mouth brush against the top of one arm, she gasped.
“You should have told me,” he whispered as he stood over her, holding her face in his hands. “You should have let me take care of you. Someone should have as soon as this happened.”
“It is not your concern,” she said softly.
“Everything about you is my concern now, Miss Warton,” he said firmly. “I told you, no one can hurt you for as long as you are mine.”
“Is that true, Your Grace?” she asked, exhaling slowly as her eyes fluttered open. “You disappeared. Our meetings are according to your whim, not mine. It is part of our arrangement.”
“I am here now, Miss Warton. Am I not?”
