Page 32 of The Duke of Fire (The Dukes of Desire #1)

“ A melia!”

Amelia was used to Octavia screaming for her at all hours of the day and night, but Finch rarely ever called for her. Yes, whenever he did, he would sound exasperated. This time was different. He seemed enraged.

She startled when she heard him yelling for her, like a man about to challenge someone to a duel because the other had stolen his wife. Her quill trembled, blotting ink all over her parchment. She cursed softly, but her heart still pounded as she wondered what she had done wrong this time.

One thing was certain. She did not want Finch to see what she was working on. She pushed the paper aside just as her brother barged into her bedchamber.

“What are you doing?” he bellowed, as his furious eyes darted left and right, and all around.

One would think he was part of the authorities discovering a den of thieves. Then, she smelled it. Brandy and cigarette smoke. She understood what prompted the uproar. Partly.

Finch pulled the stack of papers from her lap, where she thought they were hidden enough.

“Give those back to me!” she cried, rising quickly from her seat. She flung her hand, trying to reach for the manuscript, and ended up merely brushing her brother’s sleeve. Finch jerked his arm away from her as if he had been burned or felt disgusted.

He squinted at the papers. The text was in Latin, elegantly written, but that would do nothing for Finch. He tried to read aloud some of the words but understood nothing.

“What is this, Amelia?”

“Translations,” she blurted out. She tried to calm her breath, but it was for nought. “It is… classical Latin. You know I have been studying the language, and I am now working on Cicero. I need to do this if I want to keep remembering and mastering it. I need those papers back.”

“Oh, do not tell me this is merely for studying Latin, Amelia,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief as he barked a humorless laugh. “I have caught you before. Have you been working again? Or perhaps you have been writing utter nonsense while everyone else has to work.”

Amelia straightened herself even though her body threatened to convulse from fear.

This was not how she had expected her day to be.

She had spent yesterday thinking of Sebastian and when she would see him again.

Even her best gown had been prepared for whenever that would happen.

Then, she let her translations take hold of her for the rest of the day.

Men would never appreciate the work she had been doing as a woman. They would always think of it as a threat or an abomination. However, the work she did was supposed to be for Sebastian’s eyes. Between the pages were more scandalous translations of things she wanted him to do to her.

She knew Sebastian would appreciate the Latin translations and the hard work needed to make them happen. But Finch—he would never understand. After all, when he was given a chance as a young man to study Latin, Greek, and other languages, he used to hide away from his tutors.

“You would not understand,” she said, not really meaning to say it aloud, but her heart had been aching for years now.

Finch looked at her and shook his head in disbelief. Then, he sneered. “Is that what this is? You have always thought you are clever and better than everyone else, but it looks like you are being clever to hide things from me.”

He went through the manuscript once more as if the pages would reveal things he did not understand during the first pass. Then, he threw it on Amelia’s desk. The sheets scattered to the floor, the freshest page still dripping ink and blotting on paper.

Amelia’s heart tore into pieces. How could Finch do this to her a second time? He had already destroyed her life once and, by doing so, handed her over to the Duke of Firaine.

“That was hours of work!” she cried as she scrambled to the floor to retrieve the manuscript, page by page.

“Hours of work!” Finch bellowed, his voice at its loudest in the years that she knew him. The sound boomed off the walls; she would be surprised if the staff had not heard him. “Do you even hear yourself? This is pure defiance!”

“It is not defiance! You have seen me follow your wife’s orders. I am your sister, but you treat me lower than a servant.”

“Lies. You lie every time you open that damned mouth of yours,” he accused, advancing toward her.

Self-preservation had her backing toward the edge of the bed. Finch apparently had no scruples about hitting her. He had done it before and would do it again.

“You are keeping secrets from me, right in my household,” he said, his voice going lower this time. He looked like a coiled snake right before the attack. “You keep money and you hoard gifts. How is it that my bastard sister has more gifts than my wife?”

Her mind protested. She was not a bastard! Her father married her mother, even though she used to be a servant. There was love between them until the end.Amelia found it hard to breathe, much less swallow. Her body braced for the slap, but it never came.

“The Duchess of Firaine is sponsoring me. You know that. She has been sending me gifts because she wanted me properly attired for the various events. She did not want people to think that she was sponsoring someone and could not afford to dress her.”

He laughed, rearing back his head. It was like someone laughing for the stage. It was cruel, accusatory even before he said anything.

“Do you really expect me to believe that an old woman, the Dowager Duchess of Firaine, has chosen a nobody to spend her coin on? What do you have that would ever spark her interest? Does she know how ungrateful you are to the people who have been providing you shelter and sustenance?”

“It is true. She is the one who is providing me with everything. Yes, she is wealthier than most, but she is also lonely.”

It was not quite a lie. The dowager and her grandson had both been giving her gifts. It was just that the latter was relentless.

“Where is the money? Where have you been keeping it, Amelia?” he demanded.

Her eyes widened. What was going on with Finch?

“What are you talking about?” she asked, feeling and looking confused. What did he know?

Finch never really believed in her, nor did he believe her.

With his nostrils flaring, he stalked to her dresser and started yanking open each drawer.

He cursed when her stockings and chemises fell out.

He did not bother to put them back when he went for the next drawer.

He simply let everything fall on the floor.

Amelia stared in horror as all her precious things—combs, gloves, ribbons, and handkerchiefs—littered her otherwise bare carpet. The search was reckless and destructive. He was not concerned about her things. All he wanted was to find what he needed.

“Stop! Please stop,” she cried. She knew that Finch would never treat her as a sister. Not now. Not ever.

She rushed to him, trying to pull his arm, but he was much stronger. He flung her away forcefully against the bedpost. She bit her lip to keep on screaming from pain as the wood connected with bone.

“Where is the money, Amelia?” he yelled once more. “You have been hiding things from us.”

“I have nothing to hide!” she screamed back at him, even as her shoulder throbbed.

Her heart dropped when he got on his knees and pulled the bottom drawer open.

He stilled. She knew that he had found what he was looking for.

She wanted to cry. The feeling intensified when she heard the jingling of coins.

Finally, he stood up with a small leather pouch in his hand, which he triumphantly showed her.

It was her money. She had been able to sell some of the jewelry and accessories Sebastian and the dowager had been generously providing her for balls and musicales.

Finch had done this once, broken her before. Then, she gained some hope with the help of the Duke of Firaine. When she thought she was rising from the depths, her brother had found a way to break her again.

“What is this, then?” Finch asked, sneering. “This is proof that you have been making a fool of me. You are here in my house, being taken care of, and yet you are doing this? Hiding coins like a common thief. We have talked about this before, Amelia.”

“All that is mine,” she whispered. “I am not a thief. You—”

His eyes bulged at what she was about to say, but she could not. Her hand flew to her mouth, and tears sprang from her eyes. It was not her proudest moment.

“Liar! Where have you been getting this money? Working again?” He closed the distance between them.

He grabbed her arm, and she knew that he no longer had an ounce of control left.

His fingers dug into her already bruised skin.

She gritted her teeth at the new bloom of pain.

“I read the letter the duke left for you the other day. Is he paying you? What is your relationship with him? Tell me, Amelia. Are you a whore just like your mother?”

“What!” Amelia cried, fury pumping in her veins now as she tried to free herself from her bruising hold. “It is not like that. Never like that. And my mother might not have been a lady, but she was never a whore.”

What did he mean by a letter? Had the duke sent for her? She had so many questions, but there were so many other things that she wanted to say, including ones about Octavia. She told herself that she would be a better person.

His response was another round of raucous laughter, bitter and taunting. Not yet content with mocking, he used both hands to shake her by the shoulders, so hard that her teeth clacked against each other.

“Who do you think people will believe, Amelia? A titled lord like me or you, a servant’s daughter? You are nothing but a burden, but you have been acting like an ungrateful wretch the whole time you have been here!”

Ungrateful? Amelia had been nothing more than Octavia’s servant. She had borne every humiliation in this house. She had lost all her dowry and earnings to a half-brother she hoped would learn to love her, or even like her.

“You are hurting me,” she said, a tear falling down her cheek even as she tried not to cry at all.

“You deserve worse than that,” he ranted, and she could see the veins on his temples popping.

He could have been a handsome man if he had not been drinking so much or being so spiteful all the time.

“From now on, you will remain in this house. Let me be clear. That means you cannot attend balls, soirées, or any other social events. You cannot accept calls either. No going in or out. You are done.”

Amelia felt like someone was pulling at her scalp and the skin on her face. She could not breathe. She wondered if it was what it felt like for someone to be trapped in a glass jar, hands pressing against it to no avail.

“You cannot do that!”

“I can, and I just did.” His grip tightened on her arms. Then, he shoved her back on the bed, her calf hitting wood. “You will stay here and be glad that you have a roof over your head. Do not ever defy me, or you will see an even worse side of me, Amelia.”

Finch shamelessly pocketed her coins and left the room in a rush, slamming the door so hard that everything seemed to shake inside the room.

Then, there was silence. The only thing that she could hear was her heart still hammering in her chest. Her shoulder throbbed, a strong vibration on its own.

Finally, she let her tears free, even as she muffled the sound of her sobbing.

She pulled down the neck of her dress to see her arm turning purple and blue.

Her right wrist also looked just as battered.

Everything was sore, but it was not as bad as her broken heart.

She looked up at the ceiling and imagined past that. Why did her father and mother leave her like this? With these people? Cruel, vindictive people.

A few minutes later, there was a soft knock at the door, and in came Mary.

“Miss, are you all right?” she asked, her eyes wide with fear and concern.

“I have been better,” she said, trying to make light of it.

“Wait for me, Miss. I will get you something for your… bruise,” Mary said, before she scampered away.

To make matters worse, she remembered her manuscript. The pages were stamped by Finch’s boots. There was no way she could still share them with Sebastian, especially now that she had become a true prisoner in what she always thought of as her own home.

Even though her body ached, she kneeled to gather the pages. She felt terrible that she was not able to protect her words. Her work. Raw emotion continued coursing through her.

Everything hurt, but his words hurt the most—whore, ungrateful, burden, liar. Together, Octavia and Finch knew exactly how to break her.

What would Sebastian do if he found out about this? He was supposed to be her protector, but now it looked like she was all alone after all.

As she lay in her bed with the crumpled pages surrounding her, she wondered then if Sebastian’s game was worth it. Even he seemed like a volatile part of her life, if he even wanted to be part of hers.

However, she could not deny that every time she closed her eyes, she saw him as clear as if he were right there with her. She had almost gotten used to dealing with the torture of missing him. She should not have attended Lady Ashcombe’s ball.

One hour before she was supposed to meet Sebastian, she fell asleep.