Page 46 of The Duke of Fire
“A rake, the worst kind!” Serenity gladly finished for her. “He does not form attachments, Amelia. Not like we do. He can make a woman feel like she is the most wonderful person in the world until he gets what he wants from her.”
“I know,” Amelia whispered, her fingers brushing over the edge of a note left on a bouquet. “It is all a game to him.”
Letting the words out of her own mouth did not make it hurt less. But it was the truth. While there might be more to the Duke of Firaine, she could not let herself forget about his true nature. Serenity was right.
“You know, but you are still tolerating this?” Serenity asked, sweeping her arm to gesture at the flowers and presents.
“He is only sending me these presents because his grandmother has requested it. I imagine Her Grace did not want me going out in shabby clothes and accessories,” Amelia explained.
Her friend narrowed her eyes, placing her hands on her hips. She traced a flower with her fingertips, obviously not convinced.
Before Amelia could say more, a footman came with a letter on a tray. A single red rose was placed right on top of it. The duke certainly had a way with things. He could have just added it to the various presents he had already sent.
Tonight. My residence. Eight o’clock. Come hungry.
Her eyes went back to the red rose. She took it and smelled its rich, provocative smell. Then, she remembered who it was from, and, as if burned, she set it back on the tray and nodded at the footman to take it away.
“Please, promise me that you will be careful,” Serenity begged. “A gift or two is one thing, but this? This is a man trying to win you in the only way he knows how. And men like him do not change.”
Despite all the warnings though, Amelia went to his house. As soon as she got there, she was led into a dimly lit room, its entrance hidden by heavy drapery. It was small and private.
Near the hearth, a round table waited. Silver candlesticks provided a low, golden light from the center. The glasses already held red wine, and the covered silver platters emitted steam.
It was a private dinner.
Shehadcome hungry, but not because she wanted to devour the food at the duke’s place. Her nervousness had prevented her from eating properly. She was too anxious, questioning his gifts and gestures. She also questioned her own sanity.
“Freedom. This is for freedom,” she muttered to herself, envisioning a home of her own with a study where she couldwork at her leisure. Her heart almost burst at the seams at the combined hope and sadness. Would she feel lonely in her new life?
Something moved in the dark corner, and she gasped as she realized that Sebastian had been standing there all along. As usual, he was dressed in black. He must know how devastating he looked in the color.
“Miss Warton,” he said, as his way of greeting. “You came.”
“You asked,” she said simply, keeping her tone level even as her heart thundered in her chest. He could not possibly hear it. Could he?
“You wore the blue dress,” he remarked as he pulled out a chair for her.
“That was what you ordered. Did you not?” she asked, as she took her seat.
Amelia knew that everything was a game for the duke. So, she hunted for hidden notes amongst the dresses he sent. The blue dress had a note,‘Be the angel to my devil.’She guessed then that white was too suggestive of something else, one that she refused to think about.
“Oh, did I?” he asked with a smirk as he took a seat across from her.
The table was small. So, it would be easy for either one of them to reach for the other. At this point, she would not dare, though. She let herself focus on the sumptuous dishes before her—roast duck glazed with honey and sprinkled with rosemary. Sweet apples. Spiced carrots. Then, there was the wine. She was already feeling heady so close to him that she was afraid thatspirits would further impair her judgment.
Still, she took a sip.
“This tastes perfect.” She could not help but comment.
Sebastian merely grinned at her, clearly pleased. He carved into his duck slowly, precisely, like he was trying to tell her something with each cut. Was it a message? Did he mean to tell her that he could be patient?
She could play that game, too.
So they ate in silence for a few moments. Amelia focused on the culinary heaven teasing her taste buds. She caught him watching her as she raised her glass again, finishing it this time. His gaze was unreadable, but intense.
“What would you say to a game?” she asked, her voice teasing as she twirled her wineglass between her fingers.
Sebastian leaned back slightly, intrigued. “Another game? Are we not already playing one?”
