Page 18 of The Duke of Fire (The Dukes of Desire #1)

“ I s this… is this what you do?” she asked, pulling away from him.

“Sometimes,” he replied, watching her closely.

She wanted to increase the distance between them. She should. But she remained a few inches away, still feeling the heat of his body.

“And why did you bring me here?” The answer dangled somewhere, but she wanted to hear it from his lips.

His gaze did not waver. “Because I wanted you to see the part of my world not bound by titles or expectation. A part ruled only by want. Because I wanted you to know what it feels like to be truly desired. To be pursued… properly.”

His voice had taken a husky tone, as if he were speaking to her in the privacy of a bedchamber where there were no rules but his, which might as well be given the house’s current situation.

“And what if I do not want to be caught?” she asked, breathless but defiant.

He stepped forward again—barely, but it was enough. Enough for her to feel him at the edges of her control.

“Then, run.”

When the game began, Amelia did not ask where to run. She did not need to. She soon found herself running, with the rules of the hunt unfurling in her chest as if she had done it before.

She ran outside, finding herself weaving through the maze of shadows and rose bushes in the estate’s vast gardens. Now, she knew why the hunt had to be done at night. The moonlight added intensity and mystery to the chase.

While a garden might normally feel like the widest open space with no place to hide, it did provide labyrinthine hedges. She also had to worry about her slippers crunching over grass, branches, and dried leaves. Even the mask gave her a more vivid view of her world.

To her horror, a giggle escaped her lips. She should be afraid. She was running away from the duke, but other guests were also in the chase. While she knew the basic rules, she could not be too certain that she was off limits to the other players.

Then, she heard them. Footsteps. They sounded heavier on the grass than hers, but whoever it was did not even try to hide that he was behind her.

She whirled around to see who it was, the hem of her gown brushing against the bushes.

Nothing. Nobody. Goosebumps rose all over her arms and legs, as the sudden silence made her heartbeat sound louder.

Then, as if by magic, he was suddenly there.

The duke seemed like he had come out of the shadows, or even from nowhere.

There was no mistaking his build even as he wore a mask.

But what if it was somebody else? In the darkness of the night, anything seemed possible.

She gasped. He was so close that she collided with his chest. His all too solid chest.

“I found you,” he murmured, his hands sliding to her arms to steady her.

It was him, after all. She felt relieved and thrilled at the same time.

“You must have cheated,” she whispered, breathless.

“Do you know the rules well enough to say that?” His voice was a low drawl, teasing and dark, edged with something sharper.

Before she could answer, he was guiding her backward, step by slow step, until her spine brushed against a rose-covered arbor.

Her vision blurred. Suddenly, all she could see was his silhouette.

So close. So dangerous. The scent of petals seemed to juxtapose against that danger, which was evident in the wildness in his eyes.

“I should be screaming right now,” she admitted, her body trembling.

But I do not want to.

She did not say it aloud, but it hung in the air between them.

She swayed. Reflexively, his arm slid around her waist, anchoring her with one large hand against the small of her back.

It was not like when they danced. Then, his touch had been controlled.

Polished. Possessive, yes—but with the elegance of a gentleman playing by society’s rules.

Now, there were no rules. No watchers. No orchestra to hide behind. Only them.

“You know that nobody would hear you from here,” he murmured, brushing his gloved thumb along the edge of her jaw, then tracing it lightly over her lower lip.

“Even if they did, I doubt anyone would interrupt. They are far too distracted by their own little trysts. Besides…” His mouth tilted in a devilish smirk.

“They all know that screaming, here in The Arrangement , usually means pleasure.”

Amelia’s heart pounded, but she did not pull away.

She knew this was part of the game. That he had promised—explicitly—that nothing would happen she did not want. And, perhaps more shockingly, she believed him. He had not touched her without permission. He had not even kissed her—yet.

“Tell me, Amelia. Do you want me to stop?”

She shook her head a little more eagerly than she should.

He did not make her wait.

He closed the distance between them and kissed her—not tentatively, not with polite hesitation, but with deep, consuming hunger. Like a man who had been imagining this moment far longer than he cared to admit.

Amelia did not resist. The duke’s hands cupped her face.

His hands framed her face at first, firm but reverent.

Then they slid lower, down her arms, leaving trails of heat in their wake.

She clutched at his shirt, needing something to hold on to.

She knew a part of her wanted to be caught, but she did not expect that she would react like this. Like a woman starved for pleasure.

She knew it by the way heat pooled in her lower belly, and the way her limbs felt weak.

His tongue touched hers, making her toes curl in her damp slippers.

She moaned at the contact, tightening her fists around the fabric of his shirt.

Then, his hand slid up the back of her neck, threading into her hair.

In one swift, sure movement, he fisted the silken strands, tilting her head back just enough to deepen the kiss. Amelia gasped into his mouth, and he took the sound like a gift, answering with a low, hungry growl.

His other hand gripped her hip, anchoring her as his mouth trailed down her neck, teeth scraping just lightly enough to tease.

She shivered and felt the brush of his lips at her collarbone.

His thigh pressed harder between her legs, and her hips moved without her permission—seeking, pleading, the friction maddening.

“Sebastian,” she breathed, her voice barely a whisper, but full of need.

He lifted his head, then. His eyes were dark, dilated, wild.

Then—too soon—he pulled back. Not entirely, but just enough for her to feel the loss.

He looked at her with heavy-lidded eyes even as he panted.

Disappointment coursed through her. She wanted more.

She had wanted to be caught all along. And now she knew why.

It was her chance to feel desire. Lust. Being wanted.

“Sebastian—”

This time, his name was a protest. Her body was still trembling even from the slight caresses he gave her, and her lips trembled from his kisses. Why would he stop?

Without a word, he took her hand and led her back to the house. Every step made her chest ache. Did she do anything wrong? Was she that undesirable?

Still, he did not release her hand. They entered the house, where some couplings continued or resumed after the chase. All of these other people seemed to be getting what they wanted tonight.

“Where are we going?” she asked, her voice higher in pitch as she realized that he was leading her up the stairs.

“You are very demanding today,” he chuckled as he continued to go up. His hand was still warm around hers. Firm, yes, but also protective.

They soon entered a private room. He closed the door behind them. Amelia realized that her palms had begun to sweat as he took a bottle of wine from a cabinet and poured her a glass. He then sat next to her and began to massage her shoulders, sending fresh goosebumps across her arms.

“Why did you stop?” she asked, trying to keep her voice even. Then, he kissed the back of her neck and took a sip of the wine.

“Because I wanted you to think about it. I want you hungry, Amelia. I want you to ache for me.”

Amelia did not know what to say to that. She drank more of her wine, feeling the buzz relax her a little. However, even the wine could not dampen her desire. She did ache. He knew it. But he wanted more. He wanted her to be at the very brink of insanity—or at least it felt like it.

“Do you do this often? This little game of yours?” she finally asked, setting down the empty glass of wine.

“Not exactly like this,” he replied. “I have never spent more than a few hours with a woman. I never wanted to.”

She was not really that surprised. She knew about how he had gone through widows, fallen aristocrats, and courtesans like a starving man.

And perhaps he was. She was just now understanding what that hunger was like.

Even as she reminded herself that such hunger could not bring anything good.

It would not lead her to a good marriage.

It would not make her a respectable wife one day.

What she would have was a life of independence. But before that, she could explore her passions with no expectations. Like a man. Like the Duke of Firaine.

“I am not surprised, Your Grace,” she said. “Your grandmother told me that you have no plans to marry.”

“She is right in that regard,” he replied.

Amelia told herself that whatever she was feeling was not disappointment. She had no right to think that her presence would change the way he was.

“What made you like this? There must have been something in your youth that made you reject marriage. Even rakes like the Duke of Wildcrest eventually married. He might still have mistresses, I would not possibly know, but—”

“You are asking questions I cannot answer,” he said, cutting her off—not cruelly, but firmly. “And that was never part of our arrangement.”

Amelia inhaled sharply. “I am aware of our arrangement. I am selling myself to you. Your grandmother has helped build my reputation, which you will tear apart anyway. So, forgive me for trying to understand the man who holds my future in his hands.”

“Understand me?” he repeated, his voice low. “Miss Warton… Amelia… I would not try that if I were you.”

“All I am asking is that you act friendly with me,” she pushed. “Or at least civil.”

He looked away, his jaw tight. “I am not built for civility. Not in the way you deserve.”

Amelia flinched. “You make it sound as though I am beneath kindness.”

“No,” he said, finally meeting her gaze, and his voice was raw now. “You are not beneath it. But I am not the one to give you what you need.”

How could someone who could kiss her so passionately be inherently cold? His grandmother was right to send him a notice of her death! The man was unfeeling.

“Make sure you do not forget why we had this arrangement in the first place. My grandmother was right to remind you about what I am. Who I am. In the end, what we have lies in using each other. I am using you, yes, but you are also using me to escape Warton House.”

The truth of it stung worse than any lie. And yet, somehow, she found her spine. What did she think? That their situation would change after a kiss?

“You think I do not know that?” she whispered. “You think I have not spent every night wondering what I have become just to get out of Warton House?”

Amelia recognized the truth in his words. Still, it hurt. It hurt to hear it from him. She thought that the hunt would become a fantasy to get lost in. Instead, it became a reminder not to get lost in the fantasy that she had begun spinning in her head.

Sebastian looked away.

Amelia swallowed hard. “I thought I could endure this if I pretended—for a little while—that you were someone worth wanting.” Silence bloomed in the space between them. “But now I see,” she continued. “You are not just guarded. You are heartless.”

His hand twitched on his knee, but he did not speak again.

Back in the carriage, they were quiet once more. It was as if the kiss by the gardens never happened.Except she still felt it everywhere.