Page 73 of Claiming his Cursed Duchess
Rosaline approached him cautiously, her gaze fixed on his face.
She gently lifted his leg, her fingers brushing against his skin. A jolt, like static electricity, surged through her.He’s warm. Strong.She quickly suppressed the unexpected surge of sensation, focusing on the task at hand.
She poured a small amount of the liniment onto her palm, her fingers tracing the contours of his leg, the muscles taut and rigid beneath her touch.
“Does this…hurt?” she asked softly, her voice filled with concern.
“No,” he growled, his voice rough. “Just…unfamiliar.”
Rosaline smiled, a small, encouraging smile. “It will feel better soon.”
She began to massage the liniment into his skin, her movements gentle, soothing.
“This… this is quite…pleasant,” he admitted, his voice softening. “Surprisingly so.”
Rosaline, her cheeks flushing, continued to massage his leg, her mind racing. The unexpected intimacy of the moment, the quiet hum of their shared breath, filled her with a strange sense of exhilaration.
“Your mother,” he said, his voice low and husky, “was a wise woman.”
“She was,” Rosaline agreed, her voice soft. “She taught me many things. Not just about healing, but about kindness, about compassion.”
“Kindness,” he repeated, his gaze fixed on her face. “A rare commodity these days.”
Rosaline, feeling a surge of defiance, met his gaze. “Not in my world,” she said, her voice firm. “Everyone deserves kindness, regardless of their station or status.”
Adam studied her face. ‘‘You are a remarkable woman,” he admitted, his voice husky. “Compassionate, intelligent…and surprisingly stubborn.”
Rosaline, taken aback by his unexpected praise, blushed. “Stubborn?” she echoed, a playful lilt to her voice. “Perhaps a touch.”
Adam chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent shivers down her spine. “Indeed. But a stubbornness tempered with kindness. A rare and intriguing combination.”
Rosaline, feeling a blush creeping up her neck, lowered her gaze.He’s studying me. Analyzing me.
“You are…observant,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.
“Observant,” he repeated, his voice a low growl. “And perceptive. You see beneath the surface, duchess. You see the man, not the duke.”
Rosaline, startled by his intensity, looked up at him. His eyes, dark and penetrating, held hers captive.
“Perhaps,” she said, her voice trembling slightly, “I see more than I should.”
Adam smiled, a slow, predatory smile that sent a shiver down her spine.
Rosaline, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs, felt a tremor run through her.
This is not how it was supposed to be. She had envisioned a life of quiet solitude, a life untouched by the complexities of court life.
But with Adam, everything had changed.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“You don’t understand,” Henry’s words slurred, thick with alcohol and emotion. “I see his face, Adam. Every time I close my eyes?—”
Rosaline shouldn’t have been woken by noise downstairs. Instead, she found herself stirring awake on the edge of a restless dream, her senses pricking at the faint sound of raised voices below.
The low rumble of her husband’s deep, measured tone carried through the floorboards, countered by another voice—Henry’s—louder, slurred, and tinged with desperation.
Her pulse quickened, a sharp, instinctive reaction to the familiar tension that always seemed to linger around Adam.
