Page 52 of Claiming his Cursed Duchess
“Tell him to leave,” Adam commanded, his eyes still locked with hers, his gaze possessive and hungry.
Rosaline couldn’t help the wordless moan that escaped her lips once more. Adam’s eyes darkened, his lips curling into a feral smile.
“P–pardon my d–directness, Your Grace, but w–would–wouldn’t it be imprudent?” the butler stammered, his voice barely audible.
“Excuse me?” Adam growled as he turned to face the man, his eyes narrowing at him.
Rosaline, ever the dutiful hostess, intervened before things escalated. “He is right, Duke,” she sighed, a playful glint in her eyes, though her breath hitched in her chest. “It would be…decidedly improper to turn away Lord Northam.”
Adam groaned, frustration darkening his features. “Of course, it would be,” he muttered, his voice a low growl. “Damnably improper.” He turned to her, his gaze possessive, a flicker of a smile playing on his lips. “This isn’t over, Rosaline.”
He leaned in, his breath warm on her ear, his voice a silken caress. “Iwillclaim what is mine,” he promised, his possessiveness unmistakable.
Rosaline felt a shiver—a not at all unpleasant one—running down her spine.
She tilted her head back, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. “We shall see about that, Your Grace,” she countered, her wit evident. “Perhaps I shall find a way to make you beg first.”
Adam chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that sent a thrill through her.
“I doubt it, wife,” he said, his gaze hardening. “But I look forward to the challenge.”
He turned and strode towards the door, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, an undeniable aura of power surrounding him.
Rosaline watched him go, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
Chapter Seventeen
“Well, well, well,” Adam’s friend, Lord Northam, drawled, his gaze sweeping over Rosaline with an appreciative gleam as she entered the parlor. “If it isn’t the beautiful Duchess of Oldstone.”
In the parlor, Rosaline had found Adam and Lord Northam, already seated, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes as he’d glanced up at her arrival.
“Phineas, this is my wife,” Adam stood up along with Lord Northam. “Duchess, this is my friend, Phineas Wilson, the Earl of Northam.”
Rosaline inclined her head, her expression remaining poised despite the fluttering in her stomach. She executed a graceful curtsy, the motion precise, concealing the slight tremor in her hands.
“It is a pleasure, Lord Northam. I may finally put a face to the name I have so often heard spoken.”
The lord’s laugh startled her.
“Adam must have warned you about his need for decorum in public,” Phineas grinned. “I doubt he has ever mentioned me to you; I can barely drag a sentence out of him about the weather. I am sure he is not filling your head of sweet stories from our boyhood together.”
Adam, however, seemed less pleased. He narrowed his eyes, and his voice, though steady, held a sharp edge.
“Phineas,” he said, his tone clipped, “explain your presence.”
Phineas chuckled, unbothered by the curt response, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
“My dear Adam, have you forgotten your manners? You sound like a thundercloud.”
He turned his gaze back to Rosaline, his smile warm and sincere, though she knew better than to let herself be fooled by his easy charm.
“Don’t mind him, Duchess. He’s simply unaccustomed to unexpected company.”
Rosaline, ever the diplomat, stepped forward, her movements fluid and confident, a smile curling at the edges of her lips.
“I do apologize for my husband’s abruptness, Lord Northam. He can be formidable when roused.” She offered him a genuine smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
Northam, charmed, accepted her apology with a flourish. “No offense taken, Duchess.” He paused, giving her a sly smile. “Though I must confess, I findyourcompany far more intriguing.”
