Page 18 of Discovering the Duke

“Jane,” Lady Doursly snapped. “Lord Hesterton is outside this very door.”

“Mama, I do not believe—”

“This very door,” Lady Doursly repeated in a hiss. She grabbed her daughter and pulled her into the hall. Julia followed in time to see Lord Hesterton spin away and quickly limp in the opposite direction. Lady Doursly walked toward him. He moved with more haste. Lady Doursly matched his pace and the hunted marquis limped faster still.

Lady Jane, however, held back. “Thank you for your advice, Your Grace. I found it most enlightening.”

“As did I,” Julia said to herself. Not that it mattered, for Lady Jane was already making her way back to the salon for the games.

Julia followed slowly, her mind lost in her observation of William. He was kind, and always had a way of making her feel safe. Even their lackluster consummation had been the direct result of him not wishing to hurt her. Surely, such a man was trustworthy.

When she entered, the salon’s candles were half snuffed out and a large punchbowl had been set at a table’s center, which the guests gathered around. The distinct aroma of brandy hung in the air.

“Snapdragon.” Nancy clapped her hands. “Who is going first?”

The game had always frightened Julia. The entire bowl was to be lit aflame and people had to pluck a fat raisin from the fiery depths. She had never played the game herself.

“I think the Duke of Stedton ought to take the lead.” A dry, papery voice spoke up. Everyone in the room turned to find Lord Venerton, quite awake, his dark eyes glittering in the semi-darkness.

William gave a charming smile and stepped forward. “By all means.” He rolled up the sleeve of his left arm, the one without the burn.

A servant touched a candle to the brandy, and blue flames leapt to life over the smooth surface amid the gasps and delighted coos of the small crowd. A muscle worked along William’s jaw and the jovial expression on his face looked more carved than natural.

It was cruel to make a man who had narrowly escaped from fire to plunge his good arm into a bowl of it. No doubt Lord Venerton knew as much.

Apparently, he did deserve his wife.

“Come now,” Julia said. “Shouldn’t it be ladies first?”

William startled and glanced down at her, his bared forearm held aloft.

“I’ll have a go of it, if you don’t mind, Your Grace.” Before he could protest, she pushed her sleeve’s dangling lace from her elbow and plunged her hand into the fire.

The brandy was warm, but even the flames were not hot where they whispered harmlessly over her skin. This was not nearly as frightening as she had always assumed. Her fingers skirted along the bottom, seeking out the lump of an unseen raisin. One brushed at her fingertips.

Blast. She’d missed it.

Her hand pushed forward and nudged the thing again. She chased it about the bowl, determined not only to catch the confounded thing, but to win the game. After all, when she won, she could choose her own prize.

Her arm was stretched out over the wide bowl now. The raisin couldn’t escape her now.

“Your Grace, mind your sleeve,” Lady Cecelia said in her gentle voice.

But the hunt was on. And one deft little grab was all Julia needed to grasp the raisin and win the game. Julia straightened and was met with a flash of light.

“You’re on fire,” Lady Bursbury exclaimed.

Julia jerked back, but the flames came with her. She was truly on fire.

Fire, an all-consuming beast that destroyed everything in its wake, turning lives to ash. Years had passed, and yet still William could recall the torment of it on his skin, the flames licking over healthy flesh and burning it away.

He had lived in fear of it, never even smoking cheroots or getting too close to a hearth.

Until the moment Julia’s arm lit up with those wicked tongues of fire. He acted immediately, tugging his jacket free, wrapping her in it and using his own body to smother the flames.

Everyone stood in a moment of stunned silence before erupting in cheers and gasps of relief. He hardly heard them. He instead stared at the blossoming spots of red on Julia’s arm amid the singed lace. “You’re hurt.”

“Only a little.” She fingered the blackened edge of lace. “My gown is certainly ruined.”