Page 24 of The Duke of Fire (The Dukes of Desire #1)

“ Y ou look like a man contemplating either politics or murder,” the dowager duchess declared as she entered the room, tapping her cane lightly. “Then again, those two may be argued to go hand in hand.”

Sebastian was staring out the library window. There was no more time to pretend that he was in the room to read books. His hands braced the windowsill.

“I am contemplating neither,” he said truthfully, sighing.

“A shame. You look like a man who could be dreadfully good at both.”

He shook his head, unamused. He just kept staring at the garden as if it would begin sprouting strange things that would make him forget one maddening woman. This had not happened to him before, and it made him fidgety and restless.

The dowager walked toward her grandson. She narrowed her eyes at him as he turned to face her.

“Is this about Miss Warton?” she asked.

The silence that followed was answer enough.

And in that silence, he felt it all again—the sounds she made when she came apart under his touch, the desperate way she clung to him, the trust in her voice when she whispered his name.

Her body had been warm and open beneath him, and for once, he had not felt like he was taking anything. He had felt… needed. Wanted.

Not for his title. Not for his wealth. For himself.

And that was what terrified him.

“Ah. I never thought I would see the day,” she murmured, a lopsided smile forming. “You are smitten with her, and look positively hopeless.”

“You know me, Grandmother. I am not smitten. I never fall in love.”

“Well, listen to yourself. Of course not, then,” she said, settling into her favorite chair near the History and Memoirs section.

She picked up the book she had left there and pulled at the red silk bookmark to open it.

“You were simply lost in thought, unseeing eyes unfocused in the direction of the gardens, whispering her name as if it would conjure her presence. Does she know?”

Know what? That I am halfway to madness just remembering the sound of her voice?

Sebastian did not respond. He only glared at his grandmother.

She blinked in surprise, then smiled slowly. “Oh, my.”

Even his grandmother was a traitor. Then again, she had always managed to get her way.

“I am going to White’s,” he muttered, turning on his heel.

“Drink an expensive spirit,” she hollered after him. “They are stronger at getting rid of sentimental feelings and denial.”

He grumbled as he went.

Sebastian needed something familiar and predictable. White’s provided him with the same scents every time: brandy, tobacco, polished wood, and arrogance.

It was comforting and safe. Unlike Amelia.

His friends were already there when he arrived.

Cassian had his boots on the table, fully relaxed.

He did not look like he cared at all. His glass of brandy was half-full, but Sebastian wondered if another glass had come before it.

Meanwhile, Benedict had brought a ledger and was scribbling something on it.

Notes? Finances? Damn it. Why would he even bring one to White’s?

“We were expecting you earlier than this,” Cassian complained. “Were you traipsing about in your gardens, looking for flowers to put together for a bouquet for Miss Warton?”

Sebastian threw him a warning glare.

“While it is not your business, I was with my grandmother.”

The two burst into laughter at that. “Finally, the dowager is getting what she wants, but from someone whose mind was occupied by someone else. I hope your grandmother will not be unhappy about being used as an excuse.”

“All right, then. I was detained. Partially by my grandmother.”

“And partially by the curve of Miss Warton’s neck, no doubt,” Benedict retorted.

“You have no business thinking of her neck!” Sebastian snapped as he flung himself onto an armchair, already exhausted from the back and forth.

“You must admit it is very amusing,” Cassian commented. “You are brooding and short-tempered with everyone, without even having kissed the woman properly. That is remarkable for someone like you, Sebastian.”

Normally, Sebastian would have argued about that, but he did not want them to know the details of his interactions with Amelia. Let them think that he had never kissed her. He had kissed her lips and the rest of her body just fine. It was merely the final act that he had not dared to do.

Amelia was still hoping for marriage. Bedding her would completely ruin her, although he knew that he had somehow done that already.

“Remarkable? Perhaps not. You are obsessed, Sebastian,” Benedict muttered, still finalizing his lists. “Clearly smitten.”

“I am not smitten,” Sebastian gritted out.

“Oh, dear me,” Cassian said. “That sounds like classic denial. Often from a man in love.”

Sebastian sighed, took his glass of brandy, and downed the contents in one gulp.

“It is more likely intrigue, not love. It is the thrill of the chase, especially after someone who is not like most of the women I have been with. I would have already lost interest in her after one night.”

“But you have not lost interest in her. That is why we are here.”

“That proves nothing. I cannot bed every woman I meet. My grandmother is helping her with her Season.”

Sebastian did not want to say that desire battled with his conscience.

He wanted to claim her, but he also wanted to take care of her.

He found it strange that he wanted her to follow her dreams, which included having a loving husband, wonderful children, and enough wealth to keep her comfortable and independent.

“You know what this proves?” Benedict asked, finally putting down his pen. “It proves that you want to prolong the inevitable because you are afraid you will lose whatever you have now. You have grown to care for her.”

“Well, too bad, then,” Sebastian muttered. “Because I do not believe in love and do not believe in marriage.”

“She does,” Cassian said, flinging back the truth at him.

It hit hard, but his friends did not want to let him forget. Benedict also had something to say.

“Miss Warton wants and needs a home. She would thrive in one with a garden, a library, and a nursery for her children. You cannot give that to her, not because you are poor. You are the opposite, but you will not.”

“I know,” Sebastian admitted, hanging his head.

Of course, he knew. He had deliberated about it. It stopped him from claiming her completely, something he initially thought would be easy for him to do.

“What are you doing, then?” Cassian demanded. “You cannot play with her until she breaks. Miss Warton seems like a decent young woman who just happens to be in the wrong family.”

What I am doing is that she is in my head from the moment I wake up to the moment I sleep.

“You have not met anyone like her. Someone who could do all that to you,” Cassian observed.

“I cannot claim Miss Warton. I am not the man she needs in her life.”

“That does not stop you from wanting her, or wanting her to want you,” Benedict said, as he drank his brandy.

“Perhaps it is time to retire,” Cassian suggested.

The three then stood up and walked down the street.

As the cool air struck their faces, the conversation moved from serious to plain trivialities.

Somehow, Sebastian was relieved to talk about politics, hunting, and even the upcoming ball.

He was eager to rid his mind of Amelia, even for a short time.

It was a quiet night, with the moon looming over them and the crisp air cutting through some of the slight effects of brandy.

Then, a figure suddenly appeared before them.

A gypsy woman, perhaps in her fifties, wearing heavy glass bracelets of varying colors and a long, tattered dress, stood in the middle of the road.

“A gold coin for a glimpse of what is to come, my lords?” she offered in a singsong voice.

“No, thank you,” Cassian said in a tight voice, trying to brush past the woman without looking at her.

“Not for me, either. I do not believe in fortune-telling,” Benedict muttered as he made it past the gypsy woman.

Sebastian, walking last, did not say anything. He just wanted out. He just wanted to go home and the sweet oblivion of sleep. Escape. But the gypsy woman had other plans. She grabbed his wrist as he walked past her.

“A moment, my lord,” she rasped.

“Let go. I do not want to hurt you,” he said, pulling back his hand.

Her fingers had already dug into his palm. She pulled his fist open and narrowed her eyes at whatever she saw there.Then, she laughed. It was not a harsh sound. The damned gypsy actually sounded delighted.

“What? What is it?” Sebastian snapped.

“I have been looking at palms all my life, but I have never seen such a future,” she declared, a grin forming on her face. “It is bright and loud. One would say too loud . You will have seven children, my lord.”

“Absolutely not!” he yelled, taken aback.

How was that possible? This gypsy was nothing but a fraud. She could not even read his lack of desire for marriage. One woman could not be enough for him. He had no wish for affection. Children would make things even more complicated.

Laughter rang on the otherwise quiet street. His friends seemed thoroughly amused.

“Seven children!” Cassian spluttered.

“Well, I have to start making a list of their possible names. What do you think, Sebastian?” Benedict asked.

“You have no idea who you are talking to,” Sebastian told the gypsy. “I have no plans of marrying. I will not be siring children, and I do not believe a word you said.”

“We will see about that,” the gypsy interrupted. “Come back to me after your third or fourth child because I am rarely wrong.”

“I guess this is one of those nights, then,” Sebastian quipped. “Because you are wrong now.”

“Tell me when the time comes,” she said ominously.

Before Sebastian could ask her whether she wanted her precious coin, the woman had vanished into the mist like a ghost. Almost like a wraith of doom.

“It looks like you have several little ones in your future. I can help knit little clothes and booties,” Cassian offered, clapping his friend on the back.

“You do not know how to knit, Cassian,” Sebastian grumbled.

“I will send my gifts. Monogrammed cradles for the first five, perhaps with the letter ‘A,’ after our favorite girl,” Benedict added, nudging Sebastian hard on the shoulder.

“You two can both go to—” Sebastian began. “Never mind. I can tell you two to stop, but you will not. Believing in fortune-tellers only proves your idiocy.”

They laughed even harder.

Sebastian realized that he was not as angry as he pretended to be. He walked fast, but the gypsy’s voice followed him, haunted him. What if it was just a scenario? A possibility?

Seven children.

The strange thing was that the only woman he could imagine having a child with was Amelia. Her image carrying a newborn child, smiling and cooing at it, quickly came into his mind’s eye.

He swore under his breath. His friends laughed again, but their voices sounded muffled now. He realized that the gypsy’s fortune did not really frighten him. It was how he had quickly envisioned what it would have been like to have a family.