Page 40 of The Duke of Fire
Yet, the feelings that involved her were not only present whenever she was there. They were also there during her absence. His estate felt dimmer whenever she was not there.
Sometimes, his mind dragged him back to the gardens. Tothatkiss. The truth of it was that he had panicked. He had felt something stir in his chest—something warm, terrifying—and it had gutted him. So, he said the cruelest thing he could. That she was nothing to him. Just a bargain.
But even now, he remembered the way her face had changed. The way she had so quickly smoothed over her expression, the way she tucked the pain away, spoke volumes. She had done that before. Many times. Too many. And he had added himself to the list of people she had learned to shield herself from.
It haunted him.
She told him she had hoped that he might be someone worth wanting. And wasn’t that what he feared most? That someonewouldwant him, and he would ruin it?
Because deep down, Sebastian knew the truth.
She had not been the one playing with fire.
He had.
That morning, he thought that Amelia would be there. He stood by the window, as usual, but moved even closer. He pressed hisforehead against the glass as if it would help him see her.
“She is not out there,” the dowager duchess muttered from behind him.
Sebastian quickly straightened himself. “I was just looking at the rose beds. Is it just my imagination, or do some of them look a little flat?”
“Mm. I do not believe it is the rose beds that had your attention. Not for a moment, Sebastian. Miss Warton is at home. She is not coming today,” his grandmother commented, obviously not believing him.
“I did not ask, did I?” Sebastian said dryly, turning toward her. She was holding a cup of tea. She merely sipped some of it, hiding a little smirk.
“True. But you looked so upset watching the rose beds that I was certain that it could not be about them,” she said, looking perfectly amused.
He walked toward her, every stride a challenge. Despite his painful childhood, he could not truly hate her. She was the only one who had somehow made an effort. He had told her that his recent efforts were too late, but he still hoped that… that what? He stopped his thoughts before they ventured into dangerous territory.
“You are imagining things, Grandmother.” He scoffed.
“You are restless,” his grandmother said, moving toward a table to put down her cup. “Your face lights up only when her name is mentioned. The other day, Lord Bertram made her laugh. As her sponsor, I should be glad about it, but you looked like you were prepared to jump out of the window and murder him. I sawyou.”
“Bertram is a fool, and you know it,” he grunted, sitting down and resting his back.
“He is harmless, Sebastian. Unlike someone else I know. If you cannot offer Miss Warton marriage, do not hinder her opportunities. He seemed quite taken with her, and for good reason.”
He said nothing at that. Of course, his grandmother made sense, and he did not like it. He did not like that she could read him like a book.
“Careful, grandson,” she continued, turning toward the door to announce her exit. “You taught yourself to survive without wanting things. But sometimes, things do not work out quite as we plan.”
One afternoon, Sebastian finally went out to the gardens. The peeking and hiding did not feel like him anymore. He felt like a coward. One other reason he went out was to find some fresh air. There was no hope for solitude, though, because he swore he heard his grandmother’s cackling somewhere outside.
Following the sound, he did find a table with tea. The dowager duchess’s silver tray was neatly arranged on a wrought-iron table near a rose arbor. It was a feast, as well, with delicate cakes and other pastries, her favorites.
To make matters worse, his two oldest and most infuriating friends, Benedict and Cassian, were also in attendance. It seemed that his grandmother enjoyed goading him by spendingtime with the two idiots.
“What in God’s name is going on here?” he asked, stopping a few feet away from the little picnic.
“A tea party, naturally,” Cassian replied, lifting his cup with theatrical grace. “You do recall what that is, don’t you?”
“Hard to say,” Benedict added. “He has traded tea for liquor and manners for hedonism. I daresay the man would not recognize civility if it wore a corset.”
Sebastian sighed and rubbed his forehead. “How fortunate that I am surrounded by such shining examples of restraint.”
The dowager duchess turned in her chair, her posture regal and unmoved. “Your friends came to visit you, Sebastian. It was only polite of me to provide refreshments while you lurked in whatever corner of the estate you call home these days.”
“Of course, they came to seeme,” Sebastian muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had not seen the trio much together lately, but a few seconds of seeing them had already given him a headache.
