Page 13 of The Duke of Fire (The Dukes of Desire #1)

This time, she drew a seven. He picked a nine.

With one more layer left, Amelia wondered why she was not as panicked.

She closed her eyes as she pulled her chemise away and let it fall to the floor.

Her skin prickled from the chilly air, but the growing realization that this was real, and she was naked, warmed her.

Amelia crossed her arms, shielding what she could. The duke’s gaze trailed over her—not with gloating satisfaction, but with reverence. As if she had just given him a secret no one else was allowed to see. Then, she met his gaze. It was not a glare, but it was not meek, either.

She felt his gaze rake every inch of her, even as she tried to hide.

Still, he remained in his spot, making no move to touch her.

His decision to do this was a torment of its kind.

Strangely, she did not know what would be worse—having his hands caress her skin or having him watch her with fire in his eyes.

His jaw was slack, his eyes wide for a moment. Then, he shook his head and told her gently, “Into the bath.”

She faltered and hesitated, looking at him for answers.

“You do not need to fear me. I told you I will not take anything from you, unless you ask me to.”

Confused, breathless, she nodded.

Amelia climbed into the water, surprised at its warmth. It was scented with rose oil, lavender, and something else. The chill and tension in her body tapered down, but she still held on to it for a while.

She immersed herself until rose petals and water covered her from the shoulders down. Even though her body was still rigid, she rested her head on the tiny silk pillow provided at the end of the tub.

I knew he was eccentric, but this is far weirder than I imagined.

Just when she was about to relax, the duke carried a chair and placed it next to the tub. There, to her mortification, he sat down and pulled some papers from a nearby table. Amelia thought that she could no longer be more ashamed, but she was wrong. She recognized those papers.Her translations.

Panic flared. “You brought those?”

“Well, are they not part of why you agreed to our arrangement?” he asked, casually flipping through the pages. “They are quite illuminating. Thus, I find them good company at night.”

“You read them every night?”

“Of course, I am a man of culture. Shall I remind you of your own words?”

His voice slid through the room like silk as he read. She knew they were her words, but with his deep voice, they became pure heat.

“She thought that the water would quench her desires… she was wrong,” he read in the language they were written, with feeling and purpose. She was surprised at his mastery of the language and the sensuality he brought into her words.

Amelia felt her body betray her. Her breath shallowed, her thighs pressed together beneath the water. She was burning. Melting. And all she could do was listen as Sebastian flayed her with her own imagination.

“Her fingers trailed toward that spot between her legs. She tentatively touched herself as he watched her, rubbing circles on that sensitive bud.”

Amelia stifled a groan as she realized why she was in the bathtub after all. It was that scene. He wanted to see it come alive. But damn it all, he had that rich and smooth voice that made each syllable trail forbidden touches on her skin.

“She slipped a finger inside herself, her gaze locked with his…”

A whimper nearly escaped. She bit her lip until it ached. She burned to touch herself like the woman was doing, but her pride stopped her. Humiliation made her school her features into indifference. Control. She was always a picture of control, and she would not let the duke change that.

But while her mind continued to struggle, her body betrayed her. It was in the way her breaths became faster and shallower. Or the way her thighs moved beneath the water, pressing tightly together.She tried her best to conceal the effect his words had on her.

However, his smirk showed he saw what was going on with her, and he continued to torture her.

“I will continue, but let me remind you that you wrote this,” he said firmly.

She did not comment on that. She wanted him to continue, but she would not tell him. Her lower belly tightened at that thought of her coming undone right there in front of him.

“She moved her hips up and down as she felt the first strong wave of pleasure. Her eyes squeezed shut. So, she was startled when she felt something pull at her hardened nipple. Squeezed. Bit. It was his mouth.”

Amelia was close to panting. Her thighs pressed harder together as she tried to clench around nothing—to reach her peak without him knowing. She wished she were in the privacy of her bed, with the ability to soothe the tension between her legs, but she was not.

“Fascinating,” he murmured. “Turn your head toward me.”

Then, as if he knew she was so close, he set the pages aside. Her body went rigid, remembering what she had written about what the hero did next.

“May I touch your hair?”

“M-my hair?”

“Yes, your hair.”

“You may,” she said softly.

The duke further surprised her by proceeding to sit behind her with a brush she did not even notice in his hand. He combed her hair with measured strokes, never once touching her skin. The intimacy was more devastating than any caress.

“Why… why are you doing this? I thought—”

“You always care for everyone else,” he murmured. “When was the last time someone took care of you and asked how you wished to be touched?”

Her lips trembled, but no words came, and she let herself relax.

She moaned in protest when he stopped brushing her hair, but it seemed he was not done yet. He dried her hair with a soft, warm towel. When he finished, he rose and left her for a short while. When he was back, he had a tray of food for her. Roast chicken. Soft, warm bread with cheese. Sweet wine.

As far as Amelia knew, the meal had not been there when she slid into the tub. Her cheeks warmed when she realized a servant must have delivered it into the room.

They were discreet , she reminded herself.

Then, he fed her.

No, the duke did not just hand her a tray of food. He actually placed tiny pieces of food into her mouth. One at a time. Even as he did it, he avoided touching her. The intimacy of being fed made her forget she was still naked under the water.

Nobody had done this for her, not since she was a child. It made her ache for her father and mother. Besides them, nobody had ever cared for her.

“Your Grace, I do not understand. Why would you do all this?” she asked softly.

“I already told you. You always take care of other people, like your brother or your sister-in-law. Now that you are mine, let me take care of you.”

Amelia swallowed hard. Even as her eyes stung, she vowed not to cry. “I do not need anyone taking care of me.”

The ache in her throat was harder to swallow than the food. Silence followed. But not the kind that comforted—it stretched thin and sharp, full of things neither of them dared to name.

The duke watched her for a long moment. Something unreadable flickered behind his gaze, and then, without a word, he rose to his feet.

Amelia’s head jerked up. “What are you doing?”

He walked toward a nearby armoire and pulled out a robe. When he turned back to her, his expression had changed.

“Get dressed,” he said.

“What?” The word escaped in a breathless protest.

“This game is over. For now.”

He handed her a robe. She wrapped herself in it, feeling strangely colder now than she had been in her nakedness.

Then he leaned in, his voice a dark promise against her ear.

“You are mine now, Miss Warton. This is only the beginning.”