Page 25 of Claiming his Cursed Duchess
Adam’s eyes flickered with a desperate hope that warred with the chilling dread that coiled in his gut.
Cancel each other out? The idea was preposterous, bordering on the insane. He’d seen the devastation his curse wrought, the lives it had consumed. Could another curse, even one of such magnitude as Rosaline’s rumored affliction, truly counteract such darkness?
A morbid game of cosmic roulette, he thought, a bitter taste lingering in his mouth.
“The key?” he scoffed, the sound bitter in his own ears. “Or a catalyst for my ruin?”
He ran a hand through his thick, dark hair, the gesture a desperate attempt to quell the turmoil within him. His fingers tangled in the strands, a stark contrast to the pristine beauty of Rosaline’s.
Why must you torment me with your beauty, Rosaline?
The memory of her rare laugh, like the chime of silver bells, echoed in his mind.
He clenched his jaw, trying to suppress the groan that threatened to escape his lips.
He could picture her eyes, the color of a summer sky, sparkling with intelligence and wit. He craved the warmth of her gaze, the gentle touch of her hand.
“Don’t be such a pessimist, my friend,” Phineas said softly.
To feel the warmth of her skin against his, to lose himself in the intoxicating scent of her hair…He quickly suppressed the thought, his body trembling with a mixture of desire and revulsion.
He was a shadow, a phantom, a creature of the night and hellish fire, forever bound to the darkness, while she was bathed in sunlight, a beacon of hope in a world shrouded in despair.
“I am not a pessimist, Phineas. Simply a realist,” Adam responded and turned away, his shoulders slumping.
He couldn’t risk her. Though she might already be his wife, it was in name alone. He couldn’t truly condemn her to a life of misery and fear, bound to a monster like him. He had to resist the siren song of her beauty, the intoxicating allure of her presence. He had to bury his desires deep within, where they could do no harm.
Damn you, Rosaline, he thought desperately, his heart pounding against his ribs like a trapped bird.
Rosaline tossed and turned in her bed, sleep evading her grasp.
With a sigh, she swung her legs over the side and padded silently down the hallway.
The library, she decided, would be the perfect place to lose herself for a while in a book.
As she entered the parlor, a startled footman jumped, his eyes widening at the sight of her.
Oh dear,she thought,I must have shocked him.
She smiled warmly at him, her kindness genuine, despite the fear that often lurked beneath the surface.
“Your Grace! I am so, so—” he began frantically but Rosaline put her hand up, stopping him.
“You startled me as well,” she said, her voice soft. “Is everything all right?”
The footman recovered quickly, his initial fear replaced by respect. “Yes, Your Grace. I was just passing by. Is there anything you require?”
“A fire, please,” she replied, her gaze drifting to the cold hearth.
She ran a hand over the scars on her arm under her shawl, a flicker of self-consciousness passing through her.
As the flames danced and crackled, Rosaline settled into a comfortable armchair, a book open in her lap.
Her husband was out again on one of his mysterious errands.
A strange man,she mused, her heart pounding a little faster. She wondered what secrets he hid, what desires burned beneath his composed exterior.
A soft smile played on her lips.
