The Duke's Sins | ongoing

To Go Down in Flames PT 2

14~to go down in flames PT 2

I tightened my hold over Delilah's hand. It seemed to fit perfectly in mine. Just as strong, just as professional.

Delilah. The spy, the woman that tricked me from right under my nose, the woman that dragged me from Amsterdam to London.

I undid the top button of my shirt, rolling my sleeves up.

Her gaze was calculative, protective—just like the spy she was.

At times, when her hand was laced through mine and the taste of her lips was still seeping down my throat, it was difficult to think of her as anything but Delilah.

It was difficult to stop thinking of her at all.

"Yes," she offered Emma a kind smile and for a moment all I could do was stare. "You must be Emma. Jaxon's sister?"

Indeed," Emma hesitated, "I am."

I felt Delilah squeeze my arm faintly, nervousness dancing in her eyes.

Emma's smile faltered slightly. "You're the first one that hasn't commented about," she waved a hand down at her, "this."

My sister's wheelchair was obvious. And so was her disability.

I reeled in the same shock that was scripted over Emma's face.

No snarky comments, no teasing, nothing rude.

Delilah's face cast over in confusion. "I don't understand why anyone would make a comment." Truth echoed in every syllable of her sentence. "Whether sly or—"

"Oh, no. They were all sly." Emma shot me a surprised smirk. "Jaxon, your taste has finally improved."

Professional.

Deep down, I'd hoped that Delilah would be sly—would be disrespectful with Emma.

It would have made things easier.

I felt my jaw clench. "I know. It finally has."

Delilah took in a sharp breath, letting her irritation flood over her face as soon as Emma had left. "Why would anyone say anything?"

"It's not difficult to guess," I said.

I watched as her eyes darkened in anger. "I understand that," Delilah bit out. "But she's your sister. The Duke's sister. Why would anyone dare?"

"You'll find that the people who dare are normally the ones whom even I can say nothing to."

Her grip on me tightened. "Why not? Because of some messed up royal politics?"

"No. Because she's my sister."

Emma was constantly in the public's eyes. In tabloids, in the news, across newspapers and broadsheets. No one, not a single soul, let her leave the house in peace.

They watched her every movement, offerings sympathy in words laced with mockery.

Emma had asked me to stop interfering.

Because with every interference, the British press hit back stronger.

Delilah didn't bother keeping her anger hidden. It was scrawled legibly on her face—most of her emotions were. Clear in her rust-coloured eyes as the day. "So why not tell me?"

"Because I wanted to see."

She narrowed her eyes. "You thought I would say something? Something rude?"

"We kiss and we touch, Delilah. But what the contract prohibits are any feelings. If you would have been rude to Emma, it would have made things easier for me."

This situation was professional—anything beyond those boundaries was dangerous territory.

A flash of surprise blazed across her expression; it was gone just as quickly. "But you still do it. Even when you don't have to."

"Practice makes perfect."

I'd practised this response, practised it to perfection. The one thing I couldn't seem to perfect was keeping my hands off the spy that was supposed to be my protection.

If you value your life, you'll stop.

She gave me a curt nod, her voice void of any emotion. "Understood."

Apparently, I didn't value my life.

"Ladies first?"

"Sure."

We walked, side by side to the reception room where tea and cakes were laid neatly along the table. Delilah's presence was demanding—she sought attention from every which corner of every room.

I remembered seeing her at that ball, floating along the dance floor in silks and velvets that seemed to cling to her skin.

You really do not value your safety, Jaxon.

I shifted my hand to her lower back, pressing to urge her forward.

"Delilah." My mother walked in with the housekeeper. "I'd love to sit and talk with you, dear but Jaxon says you have a media conference in an hour. Would you prefer to discuss details with him first?" I caught onto the approval in my mother's tone. She'd taken a liking to Delilah as soon as I'd first spoken of her.

I'd told my mother—not that she was a spy—but that she carried herself with respect and took bullshit from no one.

That same, warm smile adorned my mother's face now.

"Yes, Your Grace. I would very much prefer that," Delilah said slowly, careful not to trip over her words.

Emma loosed a chuckle. "Call her Eliza. You can, in close quarters."

Delilah tucked a loose strand of hair behind her hair, a flush caught in her cheeks. "Eliza. I'm sorry."

"There's no need to apologise. We'll leave you two be."

I don't know what I expected.

For Delilah to pull out our files and start rehearsing or for her to start pacing with anxiety.

What I did not expect was for her to fist my collar, tug me down and press her lips to mine.

•••

Would you guys like more of the Duke's POV?

Unfortunately, the British press has a bit of a reputation for being ruthless especially in recent events with Meghan Markle.

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Love,
Laila.