Page 55 of The Duke of Fire
“How is my wife?” he immediately asked as he entered the room. Octavia had started nodding off.
“She is… not too well,” Amelia murmured, biting back some of the things she wanted to say.
“Octavia is never well whenever she wants something,” Finch muttered, surprising his sister. Just when she was beginning to soften, he stared at her directly. “As for you, stop this business with the dowager. She is wasting her time on you, time she could have used to sponsor someone else. No matter who sponsors you, nothing will change. No man will marry you. No man will take a maid’s daughter seriously.”
“Finch,” she gasped. “T-that is unkind.”
“I am saying it so that you can stop dreaming,” he said in a low voice. “You need to face the truth. I know you might think of me as your enemy, but I am your brother, and I know what is best for you. You must stop hoping.”
“I have,” she replied, with a straight face. “I have stopped hoping, Finch. Can’t you just let me enjoy one Season?”
Amelia tried to make it sound like he was merely taking advantage of the connections, which was what she should be doing. However, it would be a lie. Deep inside her, her half-brother’s words stung.
She retreated to her room. The door clicked shut behind her, muffling the world. For a moment, Amelia stood still, breathing in the silence.
Perhaps Octavia did the right thing by saying I could not attend.
The last time she had been with Sebastian, she had surrendered everything—her restraint, her dignity, her carefully crafted walls. And for what? A single night of stolen pleasure and the echo of a man she could never truly have?
Control. That was what she had left. And control was what had helped her survive.
She walked to her dressing table, her eyes catching the edge of a velvet jewelry box. There were still a few things she could sell—fine gloves, hairpins, a few of the gowns the duke had sent. Octavia might have stolen her mother’s jewelry, but Amelia would salvage what she could.
“No man would ever marry me,” she whispered, gazing at herself in the mirror.
And maybe that was fine. She did not need a titled husband or a Season full of suitors. What she needed wasfreedom.
Just a little longer. To make enough from what she had. And then she would leave. London. Theton. Sebastian.
All of it.
Sebastian roughly pulled at his cravat, almost not feeling the tug. He was that frustrated. Soon, the cravat found itself flung at the nearest armchair. It slid down the velvet surface, like a flag of surrender.
But the Duke of Firaine? He was not the type to surrender.
“She dares ignore me,” he grumbled, as he yanked at the rest of his clothes. A button popped, but he did not care.
“Interesting. You are talking to yourself again,” Cassian said, relaxing in the chair opposite him.
Sebastian was almost surprised. He had been so caught up in his thoughts that he almost forgot his friend was there.
“Am I?” he asked, clearly still on edge.
He quickly moved to the cabinet and took a bottle of brandy. He filled his glass with unsteady hands. So, the liquid almost went past the rim. “Well, very good, then, Cassian. At least, someone was listening to me.”
“You are acting as if you are jilted at the altar, my man,” Benedict boomed from behind him. That one simply did not bother to sit down in a proper chair. Instead, he chose an ottoman. His legs were wide apart, with his elbows resting on his thighs.
“Of course, I am not jilted. What do you think? This… what we have is not even real. She simply did not come.”
“Not just for one day, but for more than that,” Benedict reminded him, scrubbing salt in the wound. However, his tone remained even, as if he was calculating the situation.
“Oh, have you been counting?” Sebastian asked, shooting his friend a sharp look. “Thank you.”
“You must admit something is amiss,” Cassian said, with the same infuriating smile. “It is unlike you to care. You usually prefer them gone by the next morning. Those who manage to remain by afternoon have something unique about them, but you still discard them.”
“This is not the same situation. My grandmother is sponsoring her. We have an understanding. You know that.”
His words sounded hollow even to himself. He had said the same words over and over to his friends.
