Page 61 of Claiming his Cursed Duchess
The duke stood tall above the men, his posture straight, hands clasped behind his back. Yet there was a subtle tension in his shoulders, Rosaline did not miss it.
His sharp jawline set, and those stormy eyes—those eyes that always seemed to pierce through everything—narrowed slightly as he listened. He was indeed a man of focus, she thought absently. And the way he looked when he concentrated like that…
Rosaline fought back the heat in her chest that bloomed unexpectedly.
Phineas chuckled. “I hope my friend has treated you well since we last met.” He winked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Rosaline offered a polite smile. “I have no complaints about His Grace, my lord.”
“No complaints?” Phineas arched an eyebrow and leaned in. “Are we speaking about the same Duke of Oldstone?”
Rosaline chuckled, then nodded. “Yes, Lord Northam. The very same.”
“Well then. My friend must have found a fine match at last,” Phineas beamed, and his gaze shifted toward Adam, whose sharp features and muscular frame seemed to cast a shadow over the crowd.
“I have noticed the sparks between you and him,” Phineas added, “They fly between you two. It is quite…entertaining.”
Rosaline’s chest tightened, her heart quickening in an unexplainable response. “Sparks?”
“Yes, Your Grace. That dance wassomething. One would be an idiot not to notice,” Phineas said.
She glanced at Adam, the brief flicker of his gaze meeting hers across the room before he turned back to his conversation.
His expression was inscrutable, but there was something in the way his jaw clenched, the way his hand brushed against his coat as if to adjust it, that told her he was anything but calm.
She was about to respond to Phineas when the orchestra struck up a waltz, the sound filling the ballroom, sweeping across the gathering. The rhythm was gentle and lilting, a contrast to the tightness that had settled in her chest.
Adam, his gaze fixed on Rosaline, hesitated for a moment, and in that brief hesitation, she felt something…dangerous. A flicker of something dark in his eyes. But then, he was moving toward her with that sure stride of his, the sound of his boots on the marble floor steady and unyielding.
There was no mistaking the way his presence seemed to demand attention, even in such a crowded room. His broad shoulders and confident posture made him appear more like a predator than a man, and it made Rosaline’s heart flutter painfully in her chest.
“May I have this dance, Duchess?” His voice was a low rumble, as though the very air around them thickened with his words.
Rosaline, still holding onto the wine glass, felt her breath catch.
Dance with him again? After that…conversation?
The thought of moving closer to him, feeling the heat of his body near hers, felt like both a temptation and a perilous choice. Her throat dried, but she forced herself to nod, placing the glass aside.
“I…I believe I should,” she replied, her voice slightly breathless, though she hated how it betrayed her.
His smile deepened, but there was something unreadable in it—something that tugged at her in ways she couldn’t explain. The moment he offered his arm, Rosaline’s breath hitched, her fingers brushing against the sleeve of his coat.
There was an electric shock in the briefest of touches, something that didn’t sit well with her. She wasn’t sure what it meant, but she couldn’t deny the way it unsettled her.
As they stepped onto the dance floor, the music seemed to pulse around them.
The crowd faded into a distant blur, and for the first time in ages, Rosaline felt as though the eyes of the room were no longer on her. It was as if there was only Adam, only the way he held her waist with that firm, unyielding hand, the warmth of him so close, so intense, that she could feel the heat of his body seeping through the fabric of her gown.
He was too close. His presence was overwhelming.
“You know, Duchess, I find myself rather distracted at the moment,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with an accent that added weight to every word, making her spine shiver involuntarily.
Rosaline, trying to maintain her composure, forced a smile that barely reached her eyes.
The music swirled around them, but she couldn’t focus on anything except the sound of his voice, the heat of his touch, the impossibly sharp gaze that never seemed to leave her.
She could feel him, all of him, in every step, every breath, and it made her stomach flip uneasily.
