Page 3 of The Duke of Fire (The Dukes of Desire #1)
“Well? How would you mistake a publisher’s office with a brothel?”
“I could not see a thing in that rain, and when I got in, I thought the publisher must have changed the drapery to something gaudy for a reason,” she whispered, her cheeks red with embarrassment.
Sebastian could not help but laugh. She glared at him and whirled around, intent on leaving the brothel. He sighed and stepped in front of her, using his tall and broad body to stop her from further humiliating herself.
“Move,” she ordered.
“You are not going anywhere.”
“How dare you? You cannot keep me in this… this…”
“Look at yourself,” he said. “You cannot walk into the street looking like that.”
“Looking like what?” The poor woman could not be this oblivious all the time, could she? The thought made him want to follow her everywhere, protect her from men. Protect her from herself.
He let his gaze trail slowly down her body. Her breath caught.
“Your dress leaves nothing to the imagination. It is soaked and transparent. You were already about to give everyone here a glimpse of heaven. Do not tell me you will also expose yourself outside,” he said reasonably.
Sebastian could not help but give her another look.
She had a lovely, innocent face, a lady with a courtesan’s body.
Her eyes widened when she realized her state of dress and how his eyes were traveling all over her body.
Color surged into her cheeks. Somehow, he had seen the woman change into different colors in the short period they had been acquainted.
“You could have told me sooner, so that I-I could have covered myself better,” she stammered, trying helplessly to cover herself with her dainty hands.
“I was distracted,” he admitted. “You are… hard to ignore,” he murmured, again scanning her body boldly. “I was also enjoying the view.”
“You are a cad.”
“True. But a lady of polite society like you should be more careful. Wolves are lurking everywhere…”
“I am not… I would not call myself a society lady,” she gritted out, her eyes flashing even more. He wondered if she had something against society. Interesting.
“Even better,” he said approvingly.
“My lady?” Her chaperone called from outside. Her panic rose.
“T-that is my maid, my chaperone. I must leave,” she said, her voice shaking now.
“You must not. Not like this. People will look at you, a lady bursting out of a brothel in transparent clothes. Setting foot in here is scandalous enough. Think of your reputation.”
She hesitated, uncertain. Sebastian was suddenly pulled by the urge to comfort her, but he stopped himself. He could help her get out of the situation at least.
“You need a change of clothes,” he said. “And an umbrella.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you… offering to help me undress? You said you belonged here in this brothel. Do you want to take advantage of me?”
“Sweetheart, if I wanted to take advantage, you would know.” Sebastian drawled.
He laughed again, this time a little louder.
He saw how the red traveled from her cheeks to her chest. So responsive.
He tried to push the inappropriate thoughts from his head .
“I do not need to take advantage of anyone. Usually, women come to me.”
“Y-you are unbelievably arrogant,” she stuttered in fury.
“Does that mean you want me to help you undress?” he asked, a smirk slowly spreading on his face.
Her eyes widened in outrage. It tempted him to goad her further, but he sighed and called one of the courtesans. Yes, he was a rake, but he rarely dealt with maidens. They were more trouble than they were worth.
He laughed, then turned. “Marla!”
A girl of about twenty, with warm brown eyes, appeared before them.
“What is it, Your Grace? How can I help?” she asked, almost like a lady’s maid would.
“Please find a modest change of clothes for this lady. She had been caught in the torrents outside and got lost. She will need an umbrella, as well.”
Marla’s eyes widened. He could not blame her.
It was not every day that a lady came bursting into a brothel by accident.
There were two instances of married ladies raiding The Blue Parrot , wearing their maids’ clothes while looking for their errant husbands.
He chuckled, remembering one instant he was present for.
“Come, my lady. I will help you.” Marla beckoned the yet-unnamed, drenched woman in his company.
As Marla and the lady left to have the latter change, Sebastian wondered. Who was she?
He waited for her at the front salon, glancing furtively at the patrons flirting with the courtesans. She was taking too long. What was it about women today? Perhaps he was simply becoming impatient, but he needed to see her, ask her name before she left.
Twenty minutes later, he saw Marla walking back to the front salon, but the mysterious woman was not with her.
“Where is she?” he asked.
“S-she… well, Your Grace, I believe she must have left through the back door.”
Then, he noticed her bag. She had left it on the floor. Perhaps it could give him some clues about her identity.
Curious, he opened it and saw a sheaf of papers. He began to read, the Latin flowing easily in his mind. Then he froze. Latin? That alone gave him pause. Not many women could read it, let alone write in it with such fluency—and abandon. His interest deepened. Who the devil was she?
“ She tossed her head in abandon as his mouth descended on her —” he read aloud. “Wait a minute…”
There was more of it. Detailed writing. In Latin.
He pressed her against the leather chair, and she cried out, not in pain but absolute surrender.
The lady might have the face of an angel, but her writing was full of sin. His hands tightened around the sheaf of papers, but he could not stop reading. The writing grew bolder. Darker. Delicious.
Sebastian stared at the pages, heat settling heavy between his thighs.
How? She seemed so prim and furious. Even the way her eyes sparkled with innocence and indignation. But if these were her fantasies, then there was more to this lady than she presented to the world.
“Well, then,” he murmured. “What could you be hiding?”
He licked his lips. He would find her again. He would know everything about her. Her name, her address, and all her secrets.
And when he did, he would make sure that she would lie beneath him and forget the name of every man who came before.
For how could a woman who had not had lovers know of the things she wrote?