Page 67 of The Duke of Fire
One would think he was part of the authorities discovering a den of thieves. Then, she smelled it. Brandy and cigarette smoke. She understood what prompted the uproar. Partly.
Finch pulled the stack of papers from her lap, where she thought they were hidden enough.
“Give those back to me!” she cried, rising quickly from her seat. She flung her hand, trying to reach for the manuscript, and ended up merely brushing her brother’s sleeve. Finch jerked his arm away from her as if he had been burned or felt disgusted.
He squinted at the papers. The text was in Latin, elegantly written, but that would do nothing for Finch. He tried to read aloud some of the words but understood nothing.
“What is this, Amelia?”
“Translations,” she blurted out. She tried to calm her breath, but it was for nought. “It is… classical Latin. You know I have been studying the language, and I am now working on Cicero. I need to do this if I want to keep remembering and mastering it. I need those papers back.”
“Oh, do not tell me this is merely for studying Latin, Amelia,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief as he barked a humorless laugh. “I have caught you before. Have you been working again? Or perhaps you have been writing utter nonsense while everyone else has to work.”
Amelia straightened herself even though her body threatened to convulse from fear. This was not how she had expected her day to be. She had spent yesterday thinking of Sebastian and when she would see him again. Even her best gown had been prepared for whenever that would happen. Then, she let her translations take hold of her for the rest of the day.
Men would never appreciate the work she had been doing as a woman. They would always think of it as a threat or an abomination. However, the work she did was supposed to befor Sebastian’s eyes. Between the pages were more scandalous translations of things she wanted him to do to her.
She knew Sebastian would appreciate the Latin translations and the hard work needed to make them happen. But Finch—he would never understand. After all, when he was given a chance as a young man to study Latin, Greek, and other languages, he used to hide away from his tutors.
“You would not understand,” she said, not really meaning to say it aloud, but her heart had been aching for years now.
Finch looked at her and shook his head in disbelief. Then, he sneered. “Is that what this is? You have always thought you are clever and better than everyone else, but it looks like you are being clever to hide things from me.”
He went through the manuscript once more as if the pages would reveal things he did not understand during the first pass. Then, he threw it on Amelia’s desk. The sheets scattered to the floor, the freshest page still dripping ink and blotting on paper.
Amelia’s heart tore into pieces. How could Finch do this to her a second time? He had already destroyed her life once and, by doing so, handed her over to the Duke of Firaine.
“That was hours of work!” she cried as she scrambled to the floor to retrieve the manuscript, page by page.
“Hours of work!” Finch bellowed, his voice at its loudest in the years that she knew him. The sound boomed off the walls; she would be surprised if the staff had not heard him. “Do you even hear yourself? This is pure defiance!”
“It is not defiance! You have seen me follow your wife’s orders. I am your sister, but you treat me lower than a servant.”
“Lies. You lie every time you open that damned mouth of yours,” he accused, advancing toward her.
Self-preservation had her backing toward the edge of the bed. Finch apparently had no scruples about hitting her. He had done it before and would do it again.
“You are keeping secrets from me, right in my household,” he said, his voice going lower this time. He looked like a coiled snake right before the attack. “You keep money and you hoard gifts. How is it that my bastard sister has more gifts than my wife?”
Her mind protested.She was not a bastard!Her father married her mother, even though she used to be a servant. There was love between them until the end.Amelia found it hard to breathe, much less swallow. Her body braced for the slap, but it never came.
“The Duchess of Firaine is sponsoring me. You know that. She has been sending me gifts because she wanted me properly attired for the various events. She did not want people to think that she was sponsoring someone and could not afford to dress her.”
He laughed, rearing back his head. It was like someone laughing for the stage. It was cruel, accusatory even before he said anything.
“Do you really expect me to believe that an old woman, the Dowager Duchess of Firaine, has chosen a nobody to spend her coin on? What do you have that would ever spark her interest? Does she know how ungrateful you are to the people who have been providing you shelter and sustenance?”
“It is true. She is the one who is providing me with everything. Yes, she is wealthier than most, but she is also lonely.”
It was not quite a lie. The dowager and her grandson had both been giving her gifts. It was just that the latter was relentless.
“Where is the money? Where have you been keeping it, Amelia?” he demanded.
Her eyes widened. What was going on with Finch?
“What are you talking about?” she asked, feeling and looking confused. What did he know?
Finch never really believed in her, nor did he believe her. With his nostrils flaring, he stalked to her dresser and started yanking open each drawer. He cursed when her stockings and chemises fell out. He did not bother to put them back when he went for the next drawer. He simply let everything fall on the floor.
