Page 29 of The Duke of Fire
Her lips trembled, but no words came, and she let herself relax.
She moaned in protest when he stopped brushing her hair, but it seemed he was not done yet. He dried her hair with a soft, warm towel. When he finished, he rose and left her for a short while. When he was back, he had a tray of food for her. Roast chicken. Soft, warm bread with cheese. Sweet wine.
As far as Amelia knew, the meal had not been there when she slid into the tub. Her cheeks warmed when she realized a servant must have delivered it into the room.
They were discreet, she reminded herself.
Then, he fed her.
No, the duke did not just hand her a tray of food. He actually placed tiny pieces of food into her mouth. One at a time. Even as he did it, he avoided touching her. The intimacy of being fed made her forget she was still naked under the water.
Nobody had done this for her, not since she was a child. It made her ache for her father and mother. Besides them, nobody had ever cared for her.
“Your Grace, I do not understand. Why would you do all this?” she asked softly.
“I already told you. You always take care of other people, like your brother or your sister-in-law. Now that you are mine, let metake care of you.”
Amelia swallowed hard. Even as her eyes stung, she vowed not to cry. “I do not need anyone taking care of me.”
The ache in her throat was harder to swallow than the food. Silence followed. But not the kind that comforted—it stretched thin and sharp, full of things neither of them dared to name.
The duke watched her for a long moment. Something unreadable flickered behind his gaze, and then, without a word, he rose to his feet.
Amelia’s head jerked up. “What are you doing?”
He walked toward a nearby armoire and pulled out a robe. When he turned back to her, his expression had changed.
“Get dressed,” he said.
“What?” The word escaped in a breathless protest.
“This game is over. For now.”
He handed her a robe. She wrapped herself in it, feeling strangely colder now than she had been in her nakedness.
Then he leaned in, his voice a dark promise against her ear.
“You are mine now, Miss Warton. This is only the beginning.”
Chapter 10
Gentle knocks startled Amelia awake. Blinking against the morning light, she sat up, disoriented for a moment as reality settled back upon her shoulders. She was back in her room, yet the memories of last night still clung to her skin. The duke’s voice, his unreadable gaze, the heated words whispered in the bath—she could still feel them.
“Come in,” she called, already bracing herself for Octavia’s shrill commands.
But it was Mary who entered, her arms burdened with a parcel wrapped in elegant ivory paper. Amelia’s brow furrowed.
“Miss Warton, you have a… delivery,” she said softly, her eyes wide and alight with curiosity.
Before Amelia could respond, footmen filed in, each carrying another box. They moved like a silent brigade, stacking present boxes in delicate towers of silk and satin until her modest chamber looked ready for a royal fitting.
“I… what is this? What is all this?” Amelia stammered, eyes wide.
“They are from the dowager duchess, miss,” the maid replied, sounding awed. Her face held a bright smile this time, her eyes dancing with glee.
“W-who?” Amelia asked, suddenly confused. Why would the dowager buy her so many things at the same time?She had not even met her yet.
The maid raised her eyebrows. “Of course, it is the Dowager Duchess of Firaine. Were you not visiting with her last night for dinner?”
