Page 10 of His Mad Duchess
Margaret froze mid-twist, half-balanced, half in his arms.
Sebastian’s hands tightened reflexively to steady her, but it was too late. They were framed in lamplight, perfectly posed.
Her torn skirts bunched in his grip. Her hair fell in wild curls across her shoulder. His mouth was far too close to her ear.
The night air billowed the loose silk just enough to make it look worse than it was.
A small chorus of shocked gasps met them, three guests in full evening dress, one dowager’s hand flying to her mouth in horror.
Behind them, the sound of polite music trickled in from the ballroom, a cruel counterpoint to the gossip waiting in every single frozen stare.
Sebastian’s mouth curved in a grim, humorless echo of a smile.
“Well,” he murmured under his breath, eyes still locked on hers. “I suppose jumping would’ve been the better option after all.”
Margaret squeezed her eyes shut. It was too late to disappear, too late to fix any of it.
Her voice slipped out in small, broken, equal parts fury and mortification.
“I hate you.”
Sebastian’s grip steadied her anyway. “I know.”
CHAPTER 4
The dark pressed too close. Heat swelled until the air tasted of smoke—sweet at first, then bitter as burned sugar.
Margaret stood barefoot on scorched floorboards. Curtains hung limp, blackened where flames licked higher. The shadows twisted on the walls were not dolls nor nursery shapes but something tall moving in the flicker.
“Mama?” she called. No answer, only the hiss of wood splintering.
A man stood in the firelight, coat black as the smoke curling around his boots. His eyes caught the light like glass.
“Stay back—” Her voice scraped raw.
He stepped forward, sparks leaping at his cuffs. Long fingers reached for her, nails cracked and blackened. No words came, only a sound like wind howling down an empty chimney.
Her heel struck something soft, her rag doll, one glass eye staring as its braid burned away.
The man’s cold hand closed on her shoulder. She tried to scream, but smoke filled her lungs. His cracked grin moved soundlessly before a black whisper slid into her ear:
“Margaret—”
She lurched upright in the real dark. A gas lamp guttered in the corner, throwing yellow slices across the ceiling. Her shift clung to her chest, damp with sweat that felt like ashes still clinging to her skin.
A scream tore loose before she could swallow it. It was sharp and raw, knifing through the quiet until her throat closed.
Her breath came in broken gasps. She shoved her hair from her face with shaking fingers, her eyes wild, searching the corners for flames that weren’t there.
“No fire,” she whispered, voice rasping. “No fire. No…”
Just her, small and shaking. The taste of burning was still on her tongue.
She gripped the sheet.Remember where you are. Remember?—
But the other nightmare rushed in. The door swung open. Faces in the doorway, shocked, delighted, hungry. Music from the ballroom was bleeding into the library.
Her torn dress bunched at her waist. His hands were steadying her.
