Page 19 of The Duke of Fire
“You—” she spun, hand rising, eyes blazing. “How dare you—”
Her hand seemed to have a mind of its own. It rose to slap him, but he caught her wrist midair, his grip firm, but not cruel. He stepped closer, so close she could feel the heat rolling off him, smell the brandy on his breath.
“Careful,” he warned, his voice velvet-edged in steel. “You are about to strike the man you have just asked to save you. Is that wise? Too much fire. You must stop and think. Do not forget who you are dealing with.”
The advice made sense, much to Amelia’s dismay. He was right. Beggars could not be choosers. She must know how to play her cards right, even when offended. She could have just left. There was no need to throw insults and violence. Then again, she was still there.
Her chest heaved. “Let go of me.”
But he did not. His hand was firm but gentle around her wrist. He did not immediately let go, and she had not struggled. Instead, his gaze slid to her cheek. His fingers loosened on herwrist and lifted toward her face. When his thumb brushed her skin, she flinched. It was at that moment that she realized that it still stung. Finch had used his backhand. His ring had caught her skin.
“Who did this to you?” he asked, his words sounding like a soft growl, like an animal lying low but about to leap and bite—someone else, not her.
Amelia flinched under his scrutiny. “Nobody. It does not matter—”
“It does.” His eyes darkened. “Because if you were mine, no one would dare raise a hand to you, or they would have to answer to me. Do you understand?”
With his free hand, he gently caressed the bruised skin. His fingers were rough, but the movement was soft. Everything about this man was surprising. Contradictory.
“Yours?” she echoed, her breath catching.
“Yes. Mine to protect. Mine to command. Mine to touch.”
She blinked, shocked.
“Do you accept my terms?”
His thumb brushed her cheek. It was then that she realized in horror that a tear had rolled down there. Nobody should see her cry, and yet she had been breaking all her rules recently. Why would she be offering to follow the Duke of Firaine’s rules?
“What are they?” she whispered.
“Obedience. Discretion. No lies. You come to me when I call for you. And in return…” He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “You get your freedom. If you need my assistance,financial or otherwise, you have it. You will have my protection. You do not have to do anything that you do not want.”
Her heart hammered in her chest. She came without a concrete plan. Now, the duke had agreed and offered more. Why? Confusion roiled inside her.
“Do you accept my terms, Miss Warton?” he asked, leaning in closer.
She stared at him. She knew what he could see on her face—fear, awe, and hope. He stared back with an intensity that she could not understand. Perhaps that was how men with his power did. Amelia felt her resolve unravel thread by thread. Her head nodded before she could stop it.
His smile was slow and wicked. “Very well.”
Then, his fingers reached out for her chin and tilted it. He bent to kiss her, and for the life of her, Amelia did not know why she did not push him. Her eyes closed instead, almost like a surrender.
We are sealing the deal. That is all this is about.
It was not gentle or chaste for a first kiss. It was firm and demanding, with him nibbling her lower lip, grazing it with his teeth as if marking her. It was a kiss that broke through the icy shell around her. A kiss of promise. Of fire.
He pulled back, his eyes glazed as he looked down at her. Her lips were swollen, her eyes dazed.
“I will send for you,” he promised.
And just like that, she was dismissed. But as she stumbled from the room, her lips still burning, Amelia realized something terrifying.
She had just struck a deal with the devil.
And some part of her liked it.
Chapter 7
