Page 48 of The Duke of Fire
“Incorrect,” he said smugly.
“You actually shot someone?” she asked, incredulous. Instead of moving away from this dangerous man, she leaned forward, wanting to know more.
“He challenged me. I did not mean to kill him, thus the shot in the leg,” he murmured.
“Was it about a woman?” she asked, her fingers trembling. She was not afraid of him. She was afraid of his answer.
“No,” he said simply. “He was a sore loser at cards. It was an unforgettable trip to Italy. I only told Benedict and Cassian about my various experiences. And now, you. Grandmother wants to spend more time with me, but I wonder if she would appreciate the kind of stories I have in store for her.”
She scoffed at that.“You are terrible at this game.”
“This game is about getting to know each other,” he continued. “Is it not? There are no clear winners.”
“I demand another round,” she insisted, leaning back against her chair like a queen. “This time, use facts that you would not use to impress others. Choose something real. I dare you.”
“Are you certain you want real, Miss Warton? You might not be able to handle that,” he said gruffly, raising a brow.
“I can. I want you to choose something that you would not say at White’s.”
“You are cheating, woman. Shouldn’t it be your turn?”
Her response was only a smug arch of her eyebrows. Her mockingly regal posture remained. He sighed.
“I spent a solitary winter in Scotland when I was twelve. I broke my left arm when I fell from my pony when I was ten.” A telltale pause. He was unraveling. “I have never been in love.”
“You cannot possibly have been alone for a whole winter at that age. That is the lie,” she guessed with narrowed eyes, sensing a shift in Sebastian.
“No, Miss Warton.” He laughed bitterly. “My parents sent me to our estate in Scotland so that I would be out of their way for the whole winter. And I broke my right arm when I tried to teach myself how to ride, thus the emphasis on which arm.”
He looked off into the distance, jaw clenched. “They were supposed to come for Christmas. They did not. I waited by the window for two days straight—thinking they might surprise me. I convinced myself I would hear my father’s voice calling my name. Eventually, the housekeeper told me they had gone to Italy. My mother said in her letter that the weather would be better for her health.”
His voice darkened, quiet. “I was not even angry. That is the worst part. I thought, perhaps, it was my fault. That I was not clever or charming enough to be missed. I spent that winter in near silence, reading the same four books over and over, talking to myself so I would not forget the sound of my own voice. Some days, I would not speak at all. I was surrounded by staff who were instructed not to coddle or dote. It was… disciplinedisolation.”
He drew a sharp breath, clearly unused to saying any of it aloud.
“I did not break my arm during some wild, boyish adventure. I fell because no one taught me how to ride. I watched the stable boys and tried to mimic them. I told no one I was going out. The pony spooked when I tried to mount. I went down on the ice, hard. I remember crawling half a mile back to the house, the bone sticking at the wrong angle. It was three days before a doctor was summoned. And when he came, he said I was lucky the break had not cost me the use of the arm.”
“Sebastian… I am so sorry this happened to you.” Amelia was at a loss for words. When she had asked for real, that was the least of what she had expected.
“Do not be.” His voice faltered, but he forced a laugh. “That winter was the first time I understood that I was an inconvenience to my family. And that I needed to learn how to survive on my own.”
She was taken aback. None of those statements was pleasant. Not at all. She knew that his parents had been neglectful, but he must have been terrified being all alone all the time. “Then… is the truth that you have never been in love?”
His gaze fixed on her, and for a moment she thought he might deflect. But then he gave a slow nod.
“Correct,” he said simply. “I have never been in love.”
Amelia let out a breath she did not realize she was holding. Why that answer relieved her, she did not know. Or maybe she did.
“Not even once?” she asked, her voice quieter.
“Not even close,” he said. His tone was calm, but there was something beneath it—something hard-earned and deeply buried. “Attachment is… dangerous. Temporary. And overrated.”
Amelia studied him. He sounded like a man reciting something he had told himself for years.
“You do not believe that,” she said softly, not to provoke him, but because she had thought…
For a moment there, the duke’s walls had gone down, letting her peek into his mind. It was brief, but it was there, and it rendered Amelia speechless. Then, he quickly changed the subject.
