Page 20 of The Duke of Fire (The Dukes of Desire #1)

“ Y ou what?” Sebastian asked, looking dumbfounded.

“I have been enjoying Cassian and Benedict’s company. Add Miss Warton, and it would be a perfect day!” his grandmother replied smugly. How was it possible that this old lady had a straighter back than some of the men and women his age?

“You had no right. I see Miss Warton when I choose to,” Sebastian said.He had not explained the terms of their agreement, but his grandmother could probably guess.

“Well, is this not my home now as well, Sebastian? I invite whoever I want to come here, and now you will see her when I do,” she replied, fanning herself while tilting her chin up at her grandson.

As if on cue, they heard the garden gates squeak open.

“Well, that needs oiling,” Benedict commented, even as he worked through his big slice of cake.

“Yes. Definitely. Sebastian, you must see to your estate. It seems you have let yourself get… distracted lately,” Cassian said.

Sebastian threw a scone right on Cassian’s head. His attention had already been caught by the emerging figure dappled in sunlight. Amelia strode toward them, a smile on her face. It was as if she had not been affected by the distance between them over the past few days.

I should be relieved . The last thing he wanted was a clingy woman who wanted more from him than one night. She paused when she saw him, and her face transformed, then, from happiness to confusion.

Sebastian rose abruptly. To his annoyance, his friends did the same, giving Amelia the respect she deserved. She curtseyed for them in return.

“Your Grace. Gentlemen,” she greeted them. Then, she glanced at the dowager duchess, saying, “Thank you for the invitation.”

“My pleasure, Miss Warton,” the dowager duchess said coolly, as if she did not just wreak havoc on a simple tea party.

“Come, Miss Warton,” Benedict smiled at Sebastian, tapping the chair between him and Cassian. “Sit here. It will save us the trouble of dueling for your attention.”

Amelia chuckled, bowing her head a little to hide a blush.

The soft pink rising to her cheeks made something primal flare inside Sebastian.

She took the seat. Between them . Sebastian inwardly seethed, even as he settled down to the seat he had taken to the right of his grandmother.

He wondered if the crafty old woman had ordered the two traitors to act like that toward Amelia.

Torture.

He knew that it was going to be pure torture.

Sebastian watched his friends speak to Amelia, with his hand gripping his teacup. The contents were long gone, but he needed something to hold on to. It felt like a theft to him whenever Amelia gave Cassian and Benedict an acknowledging nod or a happy smile.

He should have been the one making her laugh.

He listened—or pretended to—as Amelia spoke animatedly to Cassian about a painting she had once seen in Bath. Sebastian had never heard her talk about art. And now Cassian had that honor?

He had held her. He had kissed her like he had meant to steal the breath from her lungs. And now, watching her lean slightly toward Benedict as he made some joke about poets and pirates, Sebastian felt as if something in his chest was burning away inch by inch.

She should not be smiling at them like that.

His friends could be exasperating at times, but he had never felt like punching the smiles off their smug faces until now. Something sharp sparked in his chest whenever she shared a glance with either of his friends.

It should not matter.

Sebastian had no claim over Amelia. Still, he could not rid himself of the feeling that she was giving them something that should only be his.

“Pardon me, everyone. I must head to my chambers now. I suddenly feel faint; perhaps there is too much sun for my age. It is best I leave you young people here in the fresh air,” the dowager duchess declared, rising.

Sebastian squinted at her, wondering just how strong his grandmother really was. Why did he even believe that she had suddenly died? She would more likely make a big fuss about dying before she actually did.

“Ah, I also remembered I must do something somewhere,” Cassian announced, rising with the aid of his cane.

Benedict followed suit, giving a little bow for effect. “Well, since our dear hostess is leaving, I might as well depart. I only remembered that I have some… ledgers I have to organize.”

“Do not worry. We are not leaving because we do not want your company. We simply did not plan to be here for longer than a few minutes,” Cassian said, leaning toward Amelia with twinkling eyes.

Sebastian’s hand tightened its grip around his cup.

“You made quite an impression on us. We would like to see more of you.”

Sebastian had a strong urge to tell his friend just how much he would be seeing Amelia—never if he could help it.

“Enough of that,” Sebastian growled, finally revealing some of his restrained anger now that his grandmother was no longer within earshot.

His friends left, glancing back from time to time with their matching smirks.

Silence fell upon the tea party for two. Sebastian glanced at Amelia, whose shoulders had gone rigid and eyes had taken a faraway glaze. Was that what he did to her?

“Your friends are…” Amelia began, looking down at her plate. “Spirited.”

“Traitors and fools, both of them,” Sebastian grumbled.

“I like them,” she said, smiling openly. That smile undid something in him. Of course, she would like them.

“I guess they are tolerable,” Sebastian grudgingly agreed.

They lapsed into quiet again. It was not exactly uncomfortable—but it was not comfortable either. Something hovered beneath the surface.

“The roses are so beautiful. They are more airy and light, not like the dark flowers on that estate we… went to,” Amelia said, panicking near the end as she realized she had just mentioned The Arrangement . Her eyes were still on the blooms a few meters in front of them.

“Vain creatures,” Sebastian muttered as he watched the proud roses.

“You talk about them as if they were people,” Amelia said, sounding a little awed, or Sebastian simply wanted her to feel that way.

“You don’t?” he asked. “They can feel more reliable than most people. You know just how much to take care of them so that they will bloom. People… can be more complicated than that.”

She glanced sideways at him, as though debating whether to speak further. Then she asked, “What were you like when you were young?”

The question took him off guard. He had expected small talk. Polite nothings. Not… this.

“I was angry,” he said after a beat. “And terribly good at pretending not to be.”

Amelia nodded like she understood. “I used to think that if I could just be perfect, people would stop looking at me like I did not belong. As if I were a mistake they could not quite place.”

Sebastian did not move, did not blink. Something uncoiled in his chest.

“They always whispered,” she went on. “About my mother. About me. The maid’s daughter playing lady. I tried to prove them wrong. I studied as hard as I could to master Latin, French, and even Ancient Greek. But it never worked.”

“Your birth does not define you, Amelia,” he said quietly. “Never let anyone convince you otherwise.”

She looked at him then—truly looked at him—and there was no judgment in her eyes. Only understanding.

Her hand twitched slightly on the tablecloth, then stilled. “I know, but sometimes I think if just one person had said I was enough… I would not have had to work so hard to prove it.”

Sebastian looked down at the worn edge of the teacup in his hand. “Sometimes I think if someone had loved me properly when I was young… I would not have to keep everyone at arm’s length.”

The moment was heavy—too heavy, maybe—but neither of them looked away.

“You do not have to keep me there,” she whispered.

He swallowed hard. “I do not know how to let anyone closer.”

“I am not asking for your heart,” she said gently. “Just your honesty. Your friendship.”

And for once in his life, Sebastian wanted to give it all to her. Not because she demanded it, but because she asked for it softly and meant it.

“I apologize for that night at The Arrangement,” he admitted. “I should not have been that harsh with you.”

Amelia stood, smoothing her skirts. “You do not need to apologize to me, Your Grace. You were right, we merely have an arrangement,” she said, and she turned her face away.

“I believe I must also now take my leave,” Amelia said softly after a pause.

Sebastian reached for her hand, but thought better of it. His fingers hovered, then fell away.

As he raised his eyes, though, he idly noticed a pale mark peeking from the edge of Amelia’s glove. It broke the pattern of her smooth skin with an odd shape. It was not a birthmark, he knew right away.

It was a scar.

“What is that?” he asked, his attention completely taken. “Who did that to you?”

“W-what?” Amelia sounded completely off guard. She did not think someone would notice and say something.

“Your hand. By your wrist.”

She tried to tuck the hand with the bruise under her other arm, but it was too late. The sight was ingrained in Sebastian’s brain.

“I… it was from a small burn.”

“What caused it?” he demanded, stepping closer to Amelia.

“It is nothing. I was only helping the cook prepare meat pies,” she said, not meeting his eyes.

Sebastian was not content with this explanation nor with the small peek he had of the scar. He gently removed her glove to see what it looked like for himself.

“Is that a habit of yours? Going into the kitchens?” he asked, not convinced.

“Y-yes. I like making myself useful. It also makes me think,” she said, her cheeks coloring from what looked like embarrassment.

“Useful?” Sebastian echoed, testing the word on his tongue. He did not like the idea that Amelia had to prove herself useful when he had seen how her family treated her.

“It’s—” she began to protest, but he had already taken her hand again to inspect the scar more closely.

It looked angry and tender, as if it had not been there for long. It must still hurt much, but she had acted as if she had no care in the world. She had seemed so happy.

“Goddamn it, Amelia,” he cursed. “Are you certain that is the case? Because if not—”

She stiffened at that, trying to pull her hand away.

“I am telling you the truth, Your Grace,” she insisted, stepping backward. He did not like that she had been hurt, but she was visibly shrinking away from him after they had just had a normal conversation. “I do not know what you are fussing about. It is small. It is nothing.”

Small. Nothing. Useful.

Why must these words be used to define or redefine a woman like Amelia? Her family stole her money, which she had earned herself by writing in French and Latin. Did they know how brilliant she was? How passionate but repressed?

“You will come with me,” he said, as he pulled her up with him.

“To where?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“To my study.”

She looked confused for a little bit, but some realization dawned on her face. “I am fine.”

“I did not ask you that anymore, did I? You would have lied to me again, and you just did. You are coming with me.”

Amelia narrowed her eyes at him, but she did not resist. She followed him, even as she muttered a few words under her breath—something about theatrics and overreactions.

They walked through the corridor quickly. Sebastian held her by the elbow to avoid hurting her as he rushed to his study. He led her to the chair closest to the hearth. After taking a few supplies from his drawer, he kneeled before her.

“Your Grace…”

“Just give me your wrist,” he said softly.

She did. He rubbed ointment on the area gently, almost afraid to apply pressure. She hummed as he did it, and flinched even though his finger reached the top edge of the burn. It must still hurt, but she only bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut. There were no moans or complaints.

Sebastian kissed her hands. Then, as he slowly rose, he also peppered kisses on her arms. She hummed once more, her eyes still closed. Then, when he let his open mouth brush against the top of one arm, she gasped.

“You should have told me,” he whispered as he stood over her, holding her face in his hands. “You should have let me take care of you. Someone should have as soon as this happened.”

“It is not your concern,” she said softly.

“Everything about you is my concern now, Miss Warton,” he said firmly. “I told you, no one can hurt you for as long as you are mine.”

“Is that true, Your Grace?” she asked, exhaling slowly as her eyes fluttered open. “You disappeared. Our meetings are according to your whim, not mine. It is part of our arrangement.”

“I am here now, Miss Warton. Am I not?”

“You are here but not to your own accord. It was your grandmother’s idea to invite me,” she reminded him. “That is not enough.”

There was a pause as he lowered his arms to his sides. His eyes focused on the hearth behind her. The flamesburned like his heart.

“I did not claim it to be enough,” he said huskily.

“You expected me to anticipate and wait. It was part of your game. All of it,” she said in that monotone she sometimes disappeared into.

“I had expected—no, wanted—you to miss me,” he admitted, his voice dipping lower. “I like it when you do. I want you to think of me when I am not there.”

He did not tell her about the many times he had caught himself peering through the windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. Hoping to hear her talking to his grandmother.

It was pathetic.

He was not meant to feel like this.

Sebastian reminded himself that it was probably the novelty of the situation. He had not bedded her yet, and had not been with any woman since he met her. It must be that. That could be remedied.

“I did miss you,” she whispered, meeting his gaze with her intense eyes. “More than I should.”

His hand moved to her cheek, his rough knuckles brushing her jaw.“I will send for you soon. I have missed you, too. More than I should.”

He did not kiss her this time. He should not, but somehow he felt the space between them crackling—becoming more open. Gaping wide.