Page 69 of The Duke of Fire
Even though her body ached, she kneeled to gather the pages. She felt terrible that she was not able to protect her words. Her work. Raw emotion continued coursing through her.
Everything hurt, but his words hurt the most—whore, ungrateful, burden, liar. Together, Octavia and Finch knew exactly how to break her.
What would Sebastian do if he found out about this? He was supposed to be her protector, but now it looked like she was all alone after all.
As she lay in her bed with the crumpled pages surrounding her, she wondered then if Sebastian’s game was worth it. Even he seemed like a volatile part of her life, if he even wanted to be part of hers.
However, she could not deny that every time she closed her eyes, she saw him as clear as if he were right there with her. She had almost gotten used to dealing with the torture of missing him. She should not have attended Lady Ashcombe’s ball.
One hour before she was supposed to meet Sebastian, she fell asleep.
Chapter 26
“Where is she?” Sebastian muttered to the empty study, his voice sharp with frustration.
He paced back and forth, his boots thudding softly against the rug. The room had become a prison, a witness to every tangled thought he had not dared name aloud. If walls could speak, they would whisper of nights like this.
But it was not anger toward Amelia that consumed him. It was fear.
What if she had finally decided not to come back? Did my letter scare her?
A colder, more irrational anxiety had begun to take root, tightening its grip with every tick of the clock. Amelia was not the sort to keep someone waiting. She was too kind. Too dutiful. It was the very thing Finch and Octavia exploited—her sense of responsibility.
Her family. They must have kept her in again.
The thought of those two holding Amelia back, making her do chores she did not have to do, woke a cold fury within him. Why were people like these allowed to live and lord over others?
There was a knock at the door. Sebastian, his body already tense, spun toward the door. He opened it quickly and saw his butler standing there, looking grave.
“Miss Amelia Warton is here for you, Your Grace.”
Relief punched the breath from his lungs. “Send her in. Leave the door ajar.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Sebastian did not dare retreat to his usual place behind the desk. He remained standing. When the door creaked open and her silhouette appeared, something inside him eased—then twisted.
The relief and joy were short-lived, though. When she entered the room, he could see that her face was pale and wan, instead of vibrant and alert. Her gown, though a beautiful lilac muslin, was wrinkled. Her face… what happened to her? Her eyes were wide, tears still clinging to those long lashes. She looked haunted. Not desperate, but completely gone.
“Amelia,” he breathed, his voice cracking at the last syllable. He crossed the room in two strides, reaching out instinctively to touch her, to offer her comfort. His hands found her shoulders—but she flinched.
He froze.
Not from rejection. But from understanding.
“What happened?” he asked gently.
She shook her head, her lips trembling as she covered her arms. “It is nothing, Your Grace. I… I am sorry I was so late. I am fine.”
“Fine?” His voice rose, incredulous. “Let me see. Please.”
She hesitated. Then, with her chin quivering, she gave a small nod. He lowered his eyes to her arm and carefully drew back the sleeve.
His blood turned to ice.
He gaped at the bruise blooming purple and red there. Not quite satisfied yet, he investigated the rest of her arm and saw the dark circles around her wrist.There could be no doubt what the dark and fresh bruises were. Rage shook him like it never had before.
“Warton,” he growled, barely recognizing his own voice. “It was him, wasn’t it?”
