Page 13 of The Duke of Fire
Desire. Something seemed to tingle inside his brain. Who knew? He was used to another part of him twitching whenever he encountered beautiful women, and yes, he was so close to that, too, but something else was going on.
The woman looked mortified.
“Were you following me? Trying to listen to my conversations?” he demanded, striding toward where she stood frozen. “If so, then I am flattered. Very much so.”
Amelia floundered, her breath catching as she turned sharply toward him. “I was not following you. I did not know you andyour… companion were here. I just needed some air.”
Sebastian folded his arms slowly, his expression unreadable. “That sounds far too convenient, don’t you think? If you wanted to speak with me, you need only ask.”
“I did not want to speak with you!” she snapped, taking a few steps back. “Your ego is sufficiently large without me contributing to its upkeep.”
“You are on fire,” he said, striding toward her without hesitation.
She blinked, momentarily thrown by the sudden shift in his tone. “Excuse me?” Her hand instinctively flew to her bodice as she stepped back, nearly stumbling over the hem of her gown.
He reached out, but did not touch her, merely pointed with a flick of his fingers. “Look at your dress,” he said, his voice edged with urgency now. “It is on fire.”
Amelia followed his eyes—only to see the faint glow at the hem of her gown, where it had swept too close to one of the lanterns set low among the hedges. A thin tendril of smoke curled upward. She shrieked, batting at the smoldering fabric with her hands.
“Stay still!”
Sebastian was already there. His jacket came off in one swift motion, and he smothered the fire without hesitation. Silence fell again, broken only by the sound of her shaky breath and the distant music from the ballroom.
“You are welcome,” he murmured, straightening.
She looked down at the singed edge of silk, then back up at him. “This is all your fault.”
“My fault?” he asked, amused, pointing at himself.
“Yes! If you had not started with your ridiculous accusations—”
“How is this my fault? You are the one who got soaked in the rain, lost your maid, went into a brothel by mistake, eavesdropped on a duke, and set yourself on fire. You are either cursed or terribly fascinating.”
“I am not cursed,” she replied, though he thought he saw uncertainty flicker in her eyes.
There was a pause as the two regarded each other. The fury momentarily left her face. Instead, something else flickered there as she assessed him. She must have felt it, too, he thought. Perhaps it was destiny that drove this accident-prone woman onto his path.
“I will settle with fascinating, then,” he said honestly.
Then he crouched before her, without asking, and lifted the hem of her dress. She stiffened as he touched her ankle. He felt it. It was a quick response.
So responsive.
“What are you doing?” Her voice trembled, but he could see shame in her eyes. She did not seem to enjoy being vulnerable. Soaked or on fire, she was still defiant. And exquisite.
He did not answer right away. His fingers lingered for a fraction too long, his thumb brushing a small singed patch near her ankle.
“Unhand me!”
“Be quiet,” he said, brushing his fingers lightly over her ankle again as if checking for further damage.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Do you?” he asked, rising smoothly to his feet, his expression unreadable. “We have plenty of time for that.”
“You are a rake with no manners! You think every woman will beg for you. Well, I will not! I would never beg you for the world!” she exclaimed, her eyes flashing.
“Oh? We will see about that. For someone who writes salacious Latin fiction, you are surprisingly prudish. I merely wanted to examine your legs in case they were harmed by the fire,” he said with a shrug.
