Page 38 of Claiming his Cursed Duchess
Adam’s hand tightened around the armrest, the veins standing out prominently. “My duties are many,” he said, his voice clipped.
“Indeed,” Finch agreed, his voice carefully neutral. “And perhaps a reminder of your authority…a show of strength, if you will…might be prudent.”
He let the words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning.
Adam’s eyes narrowed. He knew what Finch was implying.
Adam’s jaw clenched. He would not be swayed by fear, by the ghosts of the past.
“I will consider it,” he said, his voice tight with suppressed anger. “But I will not be dictated to by rabble.”
Finch bowed his head, his expression carefully inscrutable. “Of course, Your Grace. As you wish.”
The door to his study swung open, and Rosaline entered.
“Your Grace,” she greeted with a curtsy.
Adam’s breath hitched. She was a vision in emerald green, a goddess descending, her flowing gown shimmering like dew-kissed leaves in sunlight.
Her dark curls, a raven’s wing against the pale skin of her neck, framed a face of breathtaking beauty. Piercing blue eyes, the color of a stormy sea, met his, and a jolt, raw and unexpected, surged through him.
He was mesmerized. Her movements were a study in grace, each step measured and deliberate, yet imbued with an effortless elegance that seemed to command the room.
Even Mr. Finch, a man of impeccable composure, faltered for the briefest moment.
“Duchess,” Adam greeted back.
Adam felt a strange heat bloom in his chest, a primal urge that threatened to consume him. He found himself acutely aware of the way the light played across her skin, illuminating the delicate curve of her neck, the subtle swell of her breasts beneath the emerald silk.
Rosaline moved across the room, her presence radiating a quiet confidence that seemed to fill every corner of the study. It was as though the very air itself crackled with anticipation, the oppressive atmosphere of the room suddenly charged with a vibrant energy.
“Duchess, allow me to present Mr. Finch, my solicitor,” Adam said, his voice cool and measured.
“Mr. Finch,” Adam continued, his voice carrying a touch of authority, “this is Her Grace Rosaline Fitzwilliam, my wife.”
“I–It is a pleasure to m–meet you, Your Grace,” said Mr. Finch, his face a mask of strained composure, as he stammered a greeting. His eyes darted nervously between Adam and the woman who had just become his duchess.
“Likewise, Mr. Finch,” Rosaline returned the greeting with a grace that belied the storm of emotions Adam suspected must be swirling within her.
Adam, watching her, felt a strange stirring within him. It was not merely admiration, not simply the satisfaction of possessing such a captivating creature. It was something deeper, a primal urge that threatened to consume him.
His gaze lingered on her, taking in the curve of her neck, the defiant tilt of her chin, the way her eyes held a mischievous glint. He found himself strangely intrigued, captivated by her defiance, her refusal to be cowed by his imposing presence.
“Perhaps,” Mr. Finch suggested, recovering slightly, “a meeting with their…duchess…would be beneficial for relations with the tenants.” He gestured vaguely toward Rosaline, clearly unsure of how to proceed.
Adam had not intended to involve Rosaline in these matters, and he certainly would not allow her to be dragged into the mire of his dealings with the tenants. These were his concerns, his burdens, and he would deal with them himself.
He would not allow anyone—least of all his wife—to bother herself with such trivialities.
“Oh, that sounds like an excellent idea, Mr. Finch!” she exclaimed, her voice a melodious chime that cut through the oppressive silence.
Her eyes sparkled with an unexpected enthusiasm, and Adam found himself staring, captivated. He had not anticipated her participation, let alone this…vivacity.
“It would be invigorating to escape the monotony of the estate for a while,” she continued, her tone playful, a hint of mischief in her voice.
Adam inclined his head, a slow, deliberate movement. “I expect decorum at all times,” he responded, his voice a silken thread of authority.
A playful glint entered her eyes, a challenge that both disturbed and exhilarated him. He found himself strangely intrigued by this woman, this unexpected spark in the stagnant waters of his existence.
