Page 31 of The Duke of Fire (The Dukes of Desire #1)

S ebastian went home earlier than he usually did, not that attending balls was usual for him. He would have normally slinked into a brothel or a gentleman’s club, trying to keep the loneliness at bay.

For that was what it was, wasn’t it? All the skirt chasing in his life was all about trying to rid himself of the loneliness that lingered within him. So, when he went home, alone, but without even the distraction of Cassian and Benedict, he could not sleep.

Midnight had arrived, and the library hearth’s fire had begun dying, but he was still there.

Another bottle of whiskey stood near, half-empty.

Sebastian sat with his feet raised on the table, his hands behind his head.

His shirt was unlaced, supposedly to retire for the night, but his mind could not rest.

A letter was in his hand. He had written her name on top.

It was not his usual perfect penmanship, the one that he used for invitations and missives.

He wrote three sentences for her, but he soon crossed some of the words out.

If anyone would look at the letter, they would think that he had gone insane, and perhaps they were right.

The battle in his mind reflected on paper.

When he squeezed his eyes shut, he descended into a spirit-fueled delirium of seeing her standing there in the room.

“Tell me your dream, Amelia. Where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere but here, Your Grace,” she replied softly.

Even in his fever dream, she did not like saying his name.

Yet, when he walked closer, she did not back away.

Soon, the background changed, and they were within the world of The Arrangement .

Behind her, several feet away, as if the room had become much larger, were the men and women in masks.

He groaned as reality blended with his dream.

Bleary-eyed, he saw himself back in his library.

“What is happening to me?” he asked as he pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead.

Sebastian startled himself into a proper sitting position. Then, he crumpled the mess of a letter and threw it on his table, with several more balls of paper.

He took a deep breath and rested his quill.

Sebastian had never really given himself a chance to think. He was always flitting from one thing to another. But now, in the silence of this godforsaken night, he felt caged. So, he paced his room. They were so close to finally talking about what was really happening between them.

She was haunting him. He needed to stop drinking, get some sleep, and think about all of these when he woke up in the morning.

He crossed to the mantel, which had become more of a shrine to Amelia—the brush he had used on her hair after he had bathed her.

Her translations rested there, too; the most precious manuscript he had. A ribbon she had left behind.

She should not matter this much.

But she did.

Throughout his life, Sebastian had vowed not to seek anyone or anything. They must come to him. People did not know that the Duke of Firaine was afraid of rejection. They thought he had everything.

He had sat down to write Amelia another letter. This time, he would tell her that he wanted her. Pride would have him saying those words like a command when he wanted to beg. Yes, that was what he truly wanted to do.

The duke decided that staying in his study was futile. He was there, suffering from so many emotions—sadness, regret, lust, and frustration. Something else niggled in his brain, something that must be named, but he did not dare acknowledge.

Finally, he wrote what he needed to write. He stared at the letter until the words blurred. Then, he tugged at the bellpull.

Even though it was late, his butler came rushing not too long after he summoned him. He seemed to have dressed quickly, even though it was not a usual occurrence in his household. He did not like disturbing his staff’s rest.

“Your Grace? Are you all right?” the butler asked, looking deeply concerned. Sebastian imagined that he looked sick, and he did feel like it. The butler glanced at the hearth and made assumptions. “Shall I bring more wood for the fire?”

“No,” he said, his voice sounding a little hoarse. “I am going out to deliver a letter. I just need someone to know.”

“At this hour, Your Grace? Would you not want Samuel and Edward to perform the task for you?”

“At this hour,” he confirmed. “Please have Samuel prepare the carriage.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” the butler said with a small bow.

Soon, Sebastian was in the carriage on his way to the Warton home. He should have been in bed. Or drunk. Or in someone else’s bed. But he was not. He had broken so many of his own rules lately that he could no longer remember what the rules were.

She ruined me. Or maybe… she rebuilt something I never knew was broken.

Tonight, he would not command. He would not seduce, tease, or chase. Tonight, he would ask. And if she came willingly… then perhaps she was not just his undoing.

Perhaps she was his only chance at being whole.

“Good evening or morning, whichever it is,” Sebastian greeted the Warton butler, who looked pale and startled to see the Duke of Firaine on their doorstep.

It would have been enough of a shock to see a duke knocking at anyone’s door, but to do it an hour past midnight was outrageous.

“Good… good morning, Your Grace. How can I help you at this time? A…are you in trouble?”

“I would like to speak with Miss Warton,” he said simply, not raising his voice. He did not put on any airs, either. He did not need all those. People listened to him and let him in just because he was a duke.

“Miss Warton is abed, Your Grace,” the butler said. Then, with a little more cheek, added, “hours ago.”

Sebastian reminded himself that he was not going to demand anything tonight. He would ask. So, he gave the butler his letter, the one that took thirteen drafts to finish.

“Please give her this,” he said.

The butler quickly took something from the table in the foyer—a silver tray. Then, he placed the letter on it.

“I will, Your Grace,” he responded respectfully, although he still looked bewildered.

Then, Sebastian lingered. He took the little ribbon from the shrine he had made for Amelia.

It was one of hers, from that night he had asked her to go into the tub.

He had been keeping it in his waistcoat, thrilled at the thought that he had something of hers so close to him without anyone knowing.

Now, he put it on the tray with the letter.

He was returning it to her, just as he wanted her to return to him.

A little secret.

So secret that even Amelia did not know about it.

Sebastian stepped back into the street, into the chilly air. At least, he was able to do what he set out to do.