Page 77 of The Duke of Fire
Still, part of her could not help wondering—whathadhappened between Sebastian and Finch that night? Why had it ended with Finch transformed and Sebastian vanishing like a ghost?
Why did she feel more lost now than ever before?
Chapter 29
Sebastian knew Amelia would be at Almack’s with Finch.Hehad arranged it—gone so far as to use his grandmother’s name to secure Finch’s entry. It was a calculated move, meant to buy Amelia respectability. A chance at a future unmarred by scandal.
What a fool he had been.
He had not written her. Had not visited. He had forced distance between them, telling himself it was for her sake. That she deserved a clean slate.
And now she was dancing with another man.
Not just any man.Mr. Carlton. Handpicked by Finch. Vetted by his own grandmother. Amelia had danced with other men, but this particular one got too close. He was the ‘good man’ Finch had been tasked to find, after all. Handsome and proper, Mr. Carlton seemed to be the best choice for Amelia. Everything Sebastian was not.
Amelia smiled at him—smiled.She laughed softly at something he said. She tipped her head just slightly, the way she did whenshe wasinterested.
Sebastian stood in the shadows, his jaw clenched, one hand locked around his glass like a vice. It was a miracle it had not shattered. Jealousy twisted in his gut, hot and relentless. It clawed up his chest until it threatened to choke him.
“You are going to break the damn thing,” Cassian said behind him, his tone dry but firm.
“I agree. Let the glass go and go get the girl,” Benedict added. “You are ruining your life here, without even giving it a fighting chance.”
Sebastian said nothing.
“You have done enough pretending,” Cassian pressed. “This is not a game anymore.”
But Sebastian did not move. Could not. He had made his choice—no matter how bitter it now tasted on his tongue.
They left him alone.
He drained his glass in one swallow, then another. Drink dulled the edges of his fury, but not the vision of Amelia’s face lit by someone else’s presence. Her joy. Her ease. Her future with a man who was not him.
I handed her over. With my own bloody hands.
By the time he stumbled into a private room, his thoughts were molten and poisonous. He hated the feel of the walls. Hated the silence. Hated himself.
And yet—he could not stop seeing her.
He collapsed into the chair, the tumbler slipping from his fingers and rolling across the floor. When the knock came at the door, he did not lift his head.
“Get out,” he growled, his voice thick with whiskey and something far more dangerous.
Because if he saw another man’s hand on her again—if he heard another laugh meant for someone else—he might not be able to restrain himself.
The door creaked open, igniting a fresh wave of irritation. Sebastian did not bother looking up.Cassian again,he thought bitterly. Or Benedict, with more unsolicited advice. Instead, he heard a rustle of silks and smelled roses and apples.
“I will not,” Amelia said quietly, her voice calm, controlled. She stepped in and closed the door behind her.
Sebastian’s eyes snapped open.No, not now. Not like this.
“Amelia,” he rasped. “What in the devil are you doing here?”
She folded her arms, fury radiating from her every angle. “I should be asking you that,” she said icily. “What game are you playing with my brother?”
He laughed bitterly as he ran his fingers through his messy hair. This was not how he wanted her to see him, but there they were.
“Your brother? He merely did as he was told,” he admitted too freely, given the drink. “He played the doting brother all too willingly, and all too well.”
