Page 12 of The Duke of Fire
“Well, nobody knows you wrote them,” Serenity whispered. “Hopefully, you did not write your name as the author.”
“Of course not. I am not a fool.”
“Then do not worry. It is just a story, and not everyone can read Latin. No one will know. Besides, you are almost at your goal, areyou not?”
Amelia nodded again. “Yes, I only need a little more money, and I can finally leave all this behind.”
They shared a wistful silence.
Even though thetonhad never welcomed her into its snobbish arms, this was still her home. Leaving it behind was frightening. But it was the only way to escape a life where she was little more than a servant under Finch’s roof.
Soon, though, Serenity had found a way to steer her away from her problems through rumors and the latest fashion. It would be a momentary escape, but it was enough to make Amelia’s face break into a genuine smile.
“Do you know that the dowager’s grandson is here tonight?” Serenity asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I heard,” Serenity said, leaning in conspiratorially, “that the dowager had to fake her funeral to get her grandson to attend!”
“What? That is completely absurd!” Amelia exclaimed, not even bothering to lower her voice. “What sort of man does not visit his own grandmother until she pretends to die?”
“A cold, brooding, impossibly handsome one, I hear,” Serenity replied with a wink.
A fan snapped loudly a few feet to Amelia’s right. Just like that, her night was potentially over.
“Amelia!” Octavia called. “Bring me a drink. Then, find me a cushion.”
She scrambled to get all the things her sister-in-law asked for. Then, she went back to Serenity and said, “Please cover for me. Ijust need some time to breathe outside. Hide from her.”
“Go, Amelia,” her friend encouraged softly.
So, she slipped away and into the gardens. She inhaled the night’s fresh air, thinking that she had finally found some peace. The air was cooler here, heavy with roses and quiet laughter from inside. She wandered down a stone path, grateful for the solitude. But then she heard voices—low and urgent.
She crept closer. A woman was pleading.
“One more night, Sebastian, please.”
“I was clear about my rule, Portia. Never twice,” Sebastian insisted, trying to put some distance between them.
“We were good together—”
“I told you it was only for one night. And it is over.”
“But it felt so good, Sebastian. I know you felt the same. Let’s not pretend—”
He grabbed her wrists, not cruelly, but firmly enough that she stilled. “Let’s not pretend you did not know what this was. I told you what I am. And what I am not.”
The woman pressed her body closer to his, wrapping an arm around his neck. She was so close, he could not breathe. He had once been drawn to her, he was sure of it—but now he wondered how he had not noticed her tendency to cling. Or perhaps he simply had not minded it before. Now, it felt suffocating.
“What do you want from me, Portia?” he said, his voice darkening, pulling her away from him. “To have an understanding? A courtship? I was clear from the start that I do not do those things. We are done.”
The disgruntled woman opened her mouth, more likely to protest some more, but then they heard something.
A snap. A twig.
Someone had gotten too close. Sebastian’s gaze cut through the hedge.
Portia’s eyes widened. With a gasp, she ran off, leaving the duke to investigate the hedges. He would not be disappointed, for there stood a familiar silhouette. A familiar face. It was the soaked girl from the brothel.
“You again?” he asked wryly, pretending to mask his excitement.
He expected to be furious about the identity of his little stalker, but he felt amused. A smirk formed on his face. He felt other things, too.
