Page 15 of The Duke of Fire (The Dukes of Desire #1)

T he dowager duchess’ words seared Amelia’s mind, but there was nothing she could say to fix it. She knew what kind of man the duke was, and she would never set her eyes on him. She decided to forget all about him and play her part tonight.

She danced a few times with indifferent partners, men who looked at her like she was just another polite obligation. One of them stepped on her foot. Another barely made eye contact.

Eventually, she found herself standing beside Serenity, both women sipping at glasses of lemonade and trying to keep from yawning.

“You look… different,” Serenity said with a teasing smile as she gently tapped her fan against Amelia’s arm. “Your gown is divine. Is it new?”

Amelia hesitated. “It was… a present.”

“That explains the glow,” Serenity murmured, glancing around. “Or perhaps something else is responsible?”

Amelia could not answer. The note was still folded carefully inside her glove. For every moment I did not get to touch you when I wanted to.

Serenity leaned closer. “Are you going to tell me who gave you that look? You seem… flustered.”

“No one you know,” Amelia said lightly, then immediately regretted it. Serenity tilted her head, her curiosity growing.

“I see. Shall we find someone tolerable to dance with, or are you still contemplating your mysterious benefactor?”

Amelia smiled despite herself. “Let’s find someone tolerable.”

They danced with two gentlemen who were, in fact, quite indifferent. One talked of horse breeding, the other of his indigestion.

Amelia heard gasps. Then, the murmurs began. People did not expect him to show up for balls and social events. He was lurking in the shadows before, trying to remain unnoticed.

“May we announce the Duke of Firaine!”

The applause was thunderous, but her heart beat louder in her ears. He was staying for the night, and not simply visiting his grandmother and slithering out of the ballroom.But why? He was not supposed to stay.

The rest of the game had begun.

Dressed in uncompromising black, he entered the room like a shadow cutting through silk. His face was unreadable, his mouth a grim line. Everything about his posture screamed loathing for the spectacle around him. But his gaze—

His gaze found her instantly.

Awed guests followed his every movement as he strode purposefully toward Amelia. She was torn between being pleased at catching his attention and being uneasy that he seemed to make a scene.

“Isn’t that the maid’s daughter?” one lady in her late thirties exclaimed, not even bothering to lower her voice.

“Yes,” her friend replied, her eyes bulging. “A spinster. Do they know each other?”

Sebastian did not seem to care about what was going on.

His eyes were focused on her the whole time.

In the corner of Amelia’s eye, she saw another lord walking toward her.

His strides were quick, unlike the duke’s leisurely ones.

His gaze was not intense. Instead, it was open and friendly, which was surprising, given who Amelia was.

It was Lord Halsey, Earl of Newcombe.

“Miss Warton, if I may be so bold, may I claim the next dance?” the earl asked, breathlessly.

Lord Newcombe was a handsome man, taller than her but not as tall as the duke.

He had a pleasant face, with slightly round cheeks but an overall fit body.

Amelia thought that he did not sound like a terrible idea for a husband.

Not at all. He might not be the wealthiest, but he would free her from the Warton house should her plan to leave fail.

“Yes, of course,” she said, distractedly, trying to smile. Amelia offered her wrist where the dance card was tied with a purple ribbon. Lord Newcombe quickly signed his name.But even as he did, the duke was already walking toward her.

“My lord—” she uttered, but was quickly interrupted by the duke. He hovered like an infernal shadow right behind the earl and was edging closer, taking over the other man’s place.

“I am afraid her next dance belongs to me,” he said softly.

“Your Grace, I… your name was not on Miss Warton’s dance card,” the earl managed to force the words out, avoiding looking the duke in the eye.

“Oh, but she had promised me this dance.”

“I am fairly certain I did no such thing,” she insisted.

“You did,” he said. “In the way you looked at me the other night.”

Amelia glanced at Lord Newcombe in panic, recognizing the offended look. The earl was merely too polite to say anything, but the implications could ruin her.

How dare he say such a thing in public?

“I looked at you in what way?” she asked, truly awed at his words, but also internally reminding herself what a cad he was.

Was she really looking at him a certain way?

“Yes, you were. Give me the next dance. The one after this song,” he said, giving a soft command.

It was not just a command, but also a demand. He reached for her dance card without asking and crossed out Lord Newcombe’s name that was written there, boldly replacing it with his own.

“That is unbelievably rude even for you, Your Grace!” she hissed, looking left and right. People were watching them with idle interest. The women who were gossiping about them were still focused on them, their faces red from either exertion or simmering envy.

The duke did not respond to that. He merely took her hand and glared at the earl.

The other gentleman shrank away, giving way to the duke.

The authority with which the duke handled the other man made something tighten low in her belly, but she tried not to show this.

She lifted her chin, not allowing herself to be intimidated.

Startled, Amelia followed the duke to the midst of the ballroom.

His hand on her back remained respectful, but there was heat in it.

She should know. It seared through her.It was nothing mundane, like a reassuring caress.

No, it was a brand. The duke wanted her to know and remember that she belonged to him.

Still, she squared her shoulders, knowing that she would have lost if she showed how much he unsettled her.

Finally, they faced each other. The new song began, with his hand still on her back. It was possessive without being indecent, but she felt when his fingers flexed as if testing his restraint.

They moved together, effortlessly. He was a superb dancer, and although not experienced, she found herself keeping up without thinking.

His smell of clean spice and sandalwood intoxicated her senses.

He also watched her intently, as if there was nothing else in the room.

It was hard to keep her footing with her mind clouded, but she still managed to float with him.

“Why did you do this?” she finally managed to find her voice.

“Did what? Save you from a spineless earl? If he truly liked you, he would have made more of an effort.”

“No. He could be my chance to—to,” she stammered. She did not think that she should say the words, not to him. He was her only chance out of Warton House, but she could not fully trust him.

“Your chance to what? Marry?”

“Is it so bad for me to wish that?”

“You said you wanted freedom. Independence. Or at least that was what I saw in you. A kindred spirit,” he said serenely, as they continued to twirl to the music.

“Sometimes, we must consider all options. Not everyone is a wealthy, influential man of society,” she said, a little bitterly.

“Are you telling me you are envious of me?” he asked, with a smirk.

“Think whatever you want, Your Grace. But what about you? Do you ever think of what people say about you? I thought you did not attend these sorts of events.”

“I do not, Miss Warton. I came for you,” he said smoothly, his molten eyes affixed on hers. “And no, I do not care what people think of me.”

“You cannot say that, Your Grace,” she whispered, even as the music reached its crescendo and their movements sped up.

“What can’t I say, Miss Warton?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“That you came for me. You barely even know me,” she said.

“I know what kind of woman you are,” he replied. “And I know what kind of man I become around you. It is… inconvenient.”

“Is this some kind of game to you?” she asked.

She mentally beat herself for that question. She was a smart woman, something that she had been proud of all her life— something that Finch and Octavia seemed to have repressed. Of course, it was a game for Sebastian.

“Not yet. But it will be. If you are brave enough to play.”

Her jaw fell at the declaration. He did not give her a chance to say anything else, letting go of her hand and leaving her standing on the dance floor as soon as the song ended. Then, he left the ball.