Page 76 of The Duke of Fire
She curtsied, and they exchanged polite greetings.
“With the Dowager Duchess of Firaine’s kind assistance,” Finch continued, “I have met Mr. Carlton and discovered he is searching for a wife. He is seeking someone of good character, gentle disposition, and intellect. I have thought of you, Amelia, and have told him so. He has asked me for permission to court you.”
“He did what?” she asked, her mouth falling open.
Mr. Carlton immediately turned red. “If you would permit me, Miss Warton, I would deem myself fortunate.”
Why hadn’t Finch acted this way before she had ever met the Duke of Firaine? Then, her world would have been focused on the man before her. The blushing, gentle man.
But it had not. And now she was burning.
Burning with thoughts of a man who kissed like sin and whispered promises in the dark. A man who haunted her waking hours and invaded her dreams.
As she turned to her right, her gaze collided with Serenity’s. Across the distance, her friend’s eyes were full of quiet warning. Amelia knew Serenity could read her too well.
But the decision had already been made.
“You are too kind, Mr. Carlton,” she said, mustering a soft, demure smile. The sort she imagined he would like.
“Kind? No, Miss Warton,” he replied, a bit flustered. “You are gracious to even speak with me. Might I… might I have the next dance?”
For one moment, she nearly refused. Nearly ran.
She wanted to storm across the ballroom and demand answers from Sebastian—demandeverything.
But that would be foolish. Reckless. Reputations shattered for far less. And right now, she had the semblance of a future: a reformed Finch, a good man standing before her. The decent path. The wise one.
She forced herself to nod. “Of course.”
He led her to the center of the ballroom, and they danced. Mr. Carlton could be some good, gentle girl’s dream. He was proper but also truly unremarkable, at least for her. She tried her best to engage in conversation, but her smiles were forced, and her heart ached.
Sebastian was nowhere to be seen for most of the dance. Near the end, he was conversing with Mr. Straton and two ladies.
After the final note faded, Serenity found her and promptly pulled her aside.
“What was that all about?” she demanded, her voice low but urgent.
“What?” Amelia asked, feigning confusion.
“That!” Serenity snapped, gesturing toward the dance floor. “That performance with Mr. Carlton. You were going through the motions. Smiling without meaning it. You think no one noticed?”
“I do not know what you are griping about.”
“You are pretending, Amelia,” Serenity said bluntly. “You are trying to convince yourself you could be happy with him. But your heart is not in it.”
Amelia’s jaw tightened. “My brother—he has changed.”
“Even if he has, he does not get to choose your heart. He does not get to rewrite your desires. That is yours alone. He can suggest, even guide, but he cannotownthat part of you.”
Amelia said nothing. Her gaze drifted back toward Sebastian.
There he was—smiling, saying something that made the elegant lady beside him laugh. She was everything Amelia was not: polished, pedigreed, untouched by scandal. His equal.
He has moved on. The game is over.
That night together had meant nothing. There were no promises. No future. He had always been a rake, a wanderer. She had just been… a temporary distraction.
She could practically hear Finch’s voice in her head. ‘Be smart, Amelia. You cannot afford to hope.’
