Page 68 of The Duke of Fire
Amelia stared in horror as all her precious things—combs, gloves, ribbons, and handkerchiefs—littered her otherwise bare carpet. The search was reckless and destructive. He was not concerned about her things. All he wanted was to find what he needed.
“Stop! Please stop,” she cried. She knew that Finch would never treat her as a sister. Not now. Not ever.
She rushed to him, trying to pull his arm, but he was much stronger. He flung her away forcefully against the bedpost. She bit her lip to keep on screaming from pain as the wood connected with bone.
“Where is the money, Amelia?” he yelled once more. “You have been hiding things from us.”
“I have nothing to hide!” she screamed back at him, even as her shoulder throbbed.
Her heart dropped when he got on his knees and pulled the bottom drawer open. He stilled. She knew that he had found what he was looking for. She wanted to cry. The feeling intensified when she heard the jingling of coins. Finally, he stood up with a small leather pouch in his hand, which he triumphantly showed her.
It was her money. She had been able to sell some of the jewelry and accessories Sebastian and the dowager had been generously providing her for balls and musicales.
Finch had done this once, broken her before. Then, she gained some hope with the help of the Duke of Firaine. When she thought she was rising from the depths, her brother had found a way to break her again.
“What is this, then?” Finch asked, sneering. “This is proof that you have been making a fool of me. You are here in my house, being taken care of, and yet you are doing this? Hiding coins like a common thief. We have talked about this before, Amelia.”
“All that is mine,” she whispered. “I am not a thief. You—”
His eyes bulged at what she was about to say, but she could not. Her hand flew to her mouth, and tears sprang from her eyes. It was not her proudest moment.
“Liar! Where have you been getting this money? Working again?” He closed the distance between them. He grabbed her arm, and she knew that he no longer had an ounce of control left. His fingers dug into her already bruised skin. She gritted her teeth at the new bloom of pain. “I read the letter the duke left for you the other day. Is he paying you? What is your relationshipwith him? Tell me, Amelia. Are you a whore just like your mother?”
“What!” Amelia cried, fury pumping in her veins now as she tried to free herself from her bruising hold. “It is not like that. Never like that. And my mother might not have been a lady, but she was never a whore.”
What did he mean by a letter? Had the duke sent for her? She had so many questions, but there were so many other things that she wanted to say, including ones about Octavia. She told herself that she would be a better person.
His response was another round of raucous laughter, bitter and taunting. Not yet content with mocking, he used both hands to shake her by the shoulders, so hard that her teeth clacked against each other.
“Who do you think people will believe, Amelia? A titled lord like me or you, a servant’s daughter? You are nothing but a burden, but you have been acting like an ungrateful wretch the whole time you have been here!”
Ungrateful? Amelia had been nothing more than Octavia’s servant. She had borne every humiliation in this house. She had lost all her dowry and earnings to a half-brother she hoped would learn to love her, or even like her.
“You are hurting me,” she said, a tear falling down her cheek even as she tried not to cry at all.
“You deserve worse than that,” he ranted, and she could see the veins on his temples popping. He could have been a handsome man if he had not been drinking so much or being so spiteful all the time. “From now on, you will remain in this house. Let me be clear. That means you cannot attend balls, soirées, or any othersocial events. You cannot accept calls either. No going in or out. You are done.”
Amelia felt like someone was pulling at her scalp and the skin on her face. She could not breathe. She wondered if it was what it felt like for someone to be trapped in a glass jar, hands pressing against it to no avail.
“You cannot do that!”
“I can, and I just did.” His grip tightened on her arms. Then, he shoved her back on the bed, her calf hitting wood. “You will stay here and be glad that you have a roof over your head. Do not ever defy me, or you will see an even worse side of me, Amelia.”
Finch shamelessly pocketed her coins and left the room in a rush, slamming the door so hard that everything seemed to shake inside the room.
Then, there was silence. The only thing that she could hear was her heart still hammering in her chest. Her shoulder throbbed, a strong vibration on its own. Finally, she let her tears free, even as she muffled the sound of her sobbing. She pulled down the neck of her dress to see her arm turning purple and blue. Her right wrist also looked just as battered. Everything was sore, but it was not as bad as her broken heart.
She looked up at the ceiling and imagined past that. Why did her father and mother leave her like this? With these people? Cruel, vindictive people.
A few minutes later, there was a soft knock at the door, and in came Mary.
“Miss, are you all right?” she asked, her eyes wide with fear and concern.
“I have been better,” she said, trying to make light of it.
“Wait for me, Miss. I will get you something for your… bruise,” Mary said, before she scampered away.
To make matters worse, she remembered her manuscript. The pages were stamped by Finch’s boots. There was no way she could still share them with Sebastian, especially now that she had become a true prisoner in what she always thought of as her own home.
