Page 14 of The Duke of Fire (The Dukes of Desire #1)

G entle knocks startled Amelia awake. Blinking against the morning light, she sat up, disoriented for a moment as reality settled back upon her shoulders.

She was back in her room, yet the memories of last night still clung to her skin.

The duke’s voice, his unreadable gaze, the heated words whispered in the bath—she could still feel them.

“Come in,” she called, already bracing herself for Octavia’s shrill commands.

But it was Mary who entered, her arms burdened with a parcel wrapped in elegant ivory paper. Amelia’s brow furrowed.

“Miss Warton, you have a… delivery,” she said softly, her eyes wide and alight with curiosity.

Before Amelia could respond, footmen filed in, each carrying another box. They moved like a silent brigade, stacking present boxes in delicate towers of silk and satin until her modest chamber looked ready for a royal fitting.

“I… what is this? What is all this?” Amelia stammered, eyes wide.

“They are from the dowager duchess, miss,” the maid replied, sounding awed. Her face held a bright smile this time, her eyes dancing with glee.

“W-who?” Amelia asked, suddenly confused. Why would the dowager buy her so many things at the same time?She had not even met her yet.

The maid raised her eyebrows. “Of course, it is the Dowager Duchess of Firaine. Were you not visiting with her last night for dinner?”

Heat scorched Amelia’s cheeks.

Oh.They must be from the duke.

Despite her initial shock, Amelia rushed toward the boxes. She had not felt like a child during Christmastide in a long time. It was almost like she was afraid that the packages would disappear.

As the footmen retreated, Mary curtsied, whispering, “Call for me if you wish help to dress or to try them on, Miss Warton.”

Amelia hardly heard her. She was already kneeling, untying the first ribbon with trembling fingers. A velvet crimson gown tumbled out, the fabric so soft it could have been spun from dreams. Next came pearl-embroidered gloves, satin slippers, layers of delicate lace.

She tore through box after box until the floor was a sea of ribbons and finery. And in the middle of it all, she found a folded note, small and discreet, hidden beneath a glove.

She knew whose handwriting it was the moment she touched it.

For every moment I did not get to touch you when I wanted to.

It was just one line. He did not even bother to sign his name, but somehow the duke’s words had her swaying on her feet.

Amelia’s breath caught. Her heart gave a traitorous flutter as she clutched the note to her chest. For a reckless, fleeting moment, the usually practical Amelia allowed herself to daydream.

She sat on the edge of her bed, clutching the note to her chest, and imagined herself wearing all her new fineries at a ball.

The duke would be standing somewhere near, wearing a black coat, eyeing her intently to see if she was worth all the presents.

Then, he would nod approvingly and disappear into the crowd while she danced with the rest of the guests, all the while feeling his gaze from a distance.

“Foolish,” she whispered to herself. “You get a few gifts, and suddenly the Duke of Hell is a good man?”

The door burst open, interrupting her musings.

“Amelia!” That shriek could not be coming from anyone but the angry pregnant woman by her door. She did not even notice Octavia enter her room. Octavia stormed in, her dressing gown in disarray, her face flushed with fury.

“What is the meaning of this? Are these for you? All of these?” she demanded, pointing at the chaos of boxes.

Amelia stood, calm as still water. “Yes. They are.”

Octavia’s eyes narrowed to slits. “The dowager sent all of these?”

Amelia took a deep breath. Her sister-in-law had provided her with a convenient story, and she would take it.

Amelia did not blink. “Yes. She believes I must be properly attired for the upcoming ball.”

“The ball!” Octavia spat. “You think a few gifts elevate you? You have shoes to polish. You did not clean my shoes yesterday! Three pairs are waiting for you. My drawers also need organizing, Amelia!”

A maid could have done these things, and Amelia had said so a few times. She clenched her jaw, no longer rising to Octavia’s bait. Not this time. Not when she had a chance of leaving this place. It was still slim and distant, but she would take it.

“I cannot today,” Amelia said, her voice soft but immovable. “The dowager expects me to attend her ball. As Finch said, we would not want to offend her, would we?”

“Oh, now you are feeling so high and mighty over a few presents? Return them, Amelia!” Octavia ordered, pointing at the parcels.

“I will not return them. That would be rude. Remember that it was Finch who advised me to behave according to the Warton name.”

“You are a fool,” Octavia accused, but her words had no effect on Amelia. “You have always been.”

“Perhaps I am,” Amelia said, shrugging. “However, I will not let the dowager wait too long for me. I will have to get ready. You do not want to be the object of her anger.”

Octavia’s face contorted with silent fury. She opened her mouth, thought better of it, and stormed out, muttering curses under her breath.

When she was alone again, Amelia turned to the crumpled note and reread the words. The Duke of Firaine had just shown her she was not only a delight to undress but also to dress. And today, he had dressed her, layer by layer, in silk and command.

Tonight, she hoped to see him again.

The dowager duchess’s ballroom was as she remembered it, but somehow it felt even grander.

The place glittered with crystal and gold, and the crowd swirled around in a dance.

However, there was something more. She wondered if the duke was somewhere in the ballroom, either spying on her secretly or eyeing other guests with disdain.

She stood at the edge of the dance floor, skirts swirling around her as couples twirled in perfect harmony. However, her heart fluttered, no longer steady in its rhythm. She felt it before she saw him—the weight of his gaze.

Sebastian.

At first, he seemed engrossed in conversation with a couple of gentlemen hidden from view. Amelia was right about the type of outfit he would wear, as he donned black and silver. She watched him, feeling emboldened because of the distance and his preoccupation.

Then, he turned as if he could feel her. His gaze landed on her and stayed. It did not glance or skim. It devoured her. She felt naked, even though she was well covered with lace and silk. She burned. Her right hand reached for her neck, as if the gesture would help her breathe.

Matching his stare for stare, she barely registered the soft rustling behind her.

“Sebastian can have that effect on women,” came a voice, rich with amusement.

Amelia twirled around to see the Dowager Duchess of Firaine standing beside her. She blushed furiously, realizing that someone had been observing her lusting after the Duke of Firaine—his very grandmother of all people!

The dowager duchess was elegant as expected, wearing a gown of deep violet. Her braided silver hair formed a crown over her head. But even though she was dressed like a queen, there was still something sharp about her.

“Your Grace,” she curtsied, but the dowager waved it away. “I am honored to be here.”

“Oh, none of that tonight, dear. You know who invited you. Finally, we have an opportunity to speak plainly,” the dowager said, not unkindly.

The dowager gestured toward an alcove just a few feet away. They could also sit there. Amelia followed, her heart hammering in her chest.

“The duke is not fond of these affairs,” the dowager said as they sat. “He is here, which surprises me. But I suspect he will vanish soon.”

Amelia was disappointed, but she tried her best to keep her expression impassive.

“Oh, I see. Am I to accompany you then, Your Grace? I was not certain what to make of my invitation,” she said honestly.

“I believe you know the answer to your own question, Miss Warton. Though if I were you, I would be careful around my grandson.”

Amelia’s hands were in her lap. She was tempted to rub her fingers together. She could not help but look down on them, though.

“Your Grace, I hope you do not mind, but I would like to know more about His Grace. Was he… always like that?” she asked, deciding that she would push forward.

“My grandson was always clever,” the dowager replied, but though her expression softened, there was what looked like regret on her face. “But he was hurt very young,” the dowager duchess continued. “By the people who should be taking care of him. He is not a man who can be approached easily.”

“I am so sorry to hear that. He does seem… guarded,” Amelia said, marveling at how her words actually made sense.

“He is, Miss Warton. He is guarded even from me, and I only want what is best for him.”

It might be Amelia’s imagination, but it seemed like the older woman’s voice had taken a new edge. She did not know how to respond to that. So, silence reigned between them for a short while. It was at that moment that Amelia became aware of the music from the ballroom once more.

“He is not the marrying kind, Miss Warton.” The dowager duchess suddenly broke the silence.

“I—pardon, Your Grace?” Amelia was startled by the way the conversation had steered that way.

“Sebastian is fond of games.”

Amelia thought of the card game she had found herself playing as if it were her idea all along.

“But not of permanence. He tires of things easily. So, he is not fit for vows.”

She thought of the presents and that she had thought for a moment that she was special. Of course. She was a fool. Octavia was perhaps right about her.

“Your Grace… The duke has not mentioned anything close to a courtship or the corruption of it.”

“Of course not,” the older woman said. “But you are a clever girl. So, if it is marriage you want, you should save yourself the heartache and look elsewhere. He will pursue, if he has not already, but it will not lead to that happy ending every good girl wants.”

Amelia’s hands curled into fists. Her throat felt tight as she understood the implication of what the dowager was saying. It was a warning, but she was not who she thought she was. She was not after the duke. She only wanted freedom.

But there were things she could not just say if she wanted her plans to work.

“I thank you for your advice, Your Grace,” she said, even as her heart rebelled.

“It was nice talking to you, dear,” the dowager duchess said to finish the conversation.“I hope that you make sure to protect yourself.”

When she was gone, Amelia remained in the alcove, wondering if she had made a mistake by being involved with the duke and the dowager.

I need to leave one day , she reminded herself. She just had to steel herself against Sebastian.