Page 60 of The Duke of Fire
“Sebastian…”
“Do not call me that,” he said. “No. You are not supposed to call me by my name. We are not friends.”
If we had been mere friends, I would not be suffering so.
Her eyes flashed, showing a temper she had been so good at hiding. She was a woman in control who hated confrontations.
“Precisely my point. We are not friends. We are nothing to each other. So, if I disappear and no longer need you or your grandmother’s help, I have every right. I realize that I do not have to rely on anyone. We end whatever this is. The arrangement. The confusion.”
Sebastian strode toward her until there was barely any space between them. They were so close that their breaths could have mingled outside, in the chilly air. Here in the hidden room, he could feel her warmth. So close. So close that he could smell the scent of roses on her, so apt for her garnet dress.
Amelia was a fiery one. She was just as proud as he was. He wondered if she would ever give in, even as a tiny tremor seemed to pulse at the base of her throat. It was fascinating. He wondered why he was both angry and thrilled that he saw it.
“Why, then,” he began, his voice softening. He was breaking, and he did not like it. “Why, then, does your absence have me running mad looking for something or someone to replace you, but I cannot? In the end, I trapped myself in my house.”
There was another tremor. He was certain of it. She squeezed her eyes shut, probably willing him away or steadying herself—or both. When her eyes opened again, there was a resolve there that frightened him. He could not breathe. He felt like panicking, suspecting that she would say something to tear his world further apart.
“I am thankful for your grandmother’s support, and yours, as well. I was nothing but a stranger to both of you. Then, I came begging for your help. B-but people talk, Your Grace,” she whispered. “How does a Miss Warton, daughter of a maid, suddenly catch the eyes of the Dowager Duchess of Firaine? My family is not too happy with me, and I cannot have that. They must trust me so that I can—”
Sebastian knew what she was planning to say. So, he interrupted her.
“The people you live with are not your family,” he snapped. “Have you not noticed the way they treat you? It may be cruel, but your father and mother are both gone. They were your family. The viscount is not. His wife is even less so. But if you think of them as your kin, all I can say is that your family can go to hell.”
“Perhaps, you are right about what they deserve. At the moment, though, I live in their house. They hold the keys to the rooms. They do not trust me, and worse, I do not want to hear triumph in their voices if they hear any scandal about me.”
“I do not care about those people. They will hate and abuse you no matter what you do. Good or bad.”
“Oh? And you think I should just create a scandal because everything is hopeless, anyway?”
“No… Miss Warton. That is not what I meant.”
Sebastian could not believe they were still being formal with each other. They had kissed. They had touched. They had fought. Yet, on the outside, they were just two members of theton, of different social standings.
“I care about what they think because they are the ones who provide me with a roof over my head and food on my plate. Finch holds the money, and I—I have to abide by their rules until I can finally leave.”
“Rules,” Sebastian murmured thoughtfully. “I did not know you liked following them because you have broken mine.”
“Your Grace, listen to yourself. You are comparing the reality of my life to the game that you play. Not everything can be a game,” she protested. “You cannot just want to see me because you want to make me submit to you.”
“Amelia—Miss Warton, you aremine,” he said firmly. “Have you forgotten about that?”
Amelia looked like she was torn between being furious and laughing. “I am not yours. I am a human being, owned by nobody.”
He stared, and she stared back. Why should she refuse him when they had felt so perfect together?
“The dowager duchess has been ever so kind to have sponsored me,” she said, her voice dropping low. Even her shoulders slumped. He did not like hearing and seeing her like that. “You may have provided me with hope and support, and you may even demand my time, but you do not own me, Your Grace.”
Sebastian reached for her wrist. He needed to hold her, feel her skin under his. He simply needed some contact with her. When his hand wrapped around her slender wrist, she flinched not because of pain; he was certain of it.
However, it was enough to make him let go. He sighed heavily and looked into her eyes imploringly.
“You do not have to answer me now,” he added quickly. “You are your own person. I know that—I respect it. But I also need to know if you wouldwillinglyreturn to our arrangement. No pressure. Just a choice.” He swallowed, then nodded toward the hall. “The green drawing room. Fourth door down. If you are not there within fifteen minutes, I will set you free. No more letters. No more arrangements. No more anything.”
“No,” she said, firm and immediate.
His jaw clenched.
“It is a terrible idea,” she said. “You do notownme, Sebastian, to set me free. You have confused yourself with some grand, romantic narrative. And what exactly are you planning to do if I go to that room? Whatisthis?”
