Page 35 of Claiming his Cursed Duchess
The house seemed quieter now, the earlier bustle fading into the background. She hesitated at the base of the staircase, her hand brushing against the polished wood of the banister.
For a moment, she allowed herself to wonder if the duke would notice her efforts at all.
Her lips pressed into a thin line as she shook the thought away.
It doesn’t matter if he notices, she told herself firmly.
What mattered was that she had done something. That she had proven—if only to herself—that she was capable, scars and all.
And yet, as she climbed the stairs to her room, a quiet hope flickered in the back of her mind, stubborn and persistent.
However, the fleeting sense of accomplishment was swiftly extinguished by a distressing scene unfolding in the drawing-room.
Hearing voices from within, Rosaline paused in the doorway, her heart skipping a beat. She had known he would be here, but seeing him in person, so imposing, was an entirely different matter.
His broad shoulders seemed to fill the room, his presence radiating an aura of power and authority that made the air itself feel heavy.
The Duke of Oldstone sat rigidly upright in an armchair, his posture as unyielding as the oak trees that lined the estate grounds. His brow furrowed in a stubborn crease, lips set in a thin, tight line.
“No. Take this away,” he said, refusing the tonic the physician that Mrs. Thornhill had summoned, a kind, elderly man with a gentle demeanor, had prescribed for his leg.
Rosaline paused in the shadow of the doorway, watching as a muscle in Adam’s jaw twitched in irritation as the physician hovered over him. The estate’s butler stood at attention in a corner of the room, should he be needed.
The butler was the only one whose eyes locked onto Rosaline, and for a breathless moment, she wondered if she would be announced and disrupt the moment.
“The tonic will aid in the healing process, Your Grace,” the physician was saying, his voice soft and coaxing. “The sooner you begin, the quicker you will regain more use of your leg.”
Rosaline held her breath, but the butler said nothing, his gaze returning to the scene playing out in the center of the room.
Adam’s eyes remained fixed on the empty hearth, his posture stiff, and his jaw clenched so tight it seemed as if it might shatter. His knuckles were white from gripping the armrest.
Pride,Rosaline observed, the thought almost making her smile in wry amusement.Such an impressive display.
“I do not need your remedies, doctor,” Adam growled, his voice rough, dark, and laced with a dangerous edge. “I am a duke, not an invalid.”
The physician’s expression faltered for the briefest of moments before he bowed his head, conceding. He said nothing more as he shut his physician’s bag and ghosted past Rosaline with a murmured “Your Grace,” his eyes locking onto her.
Rosaline stood for a moment, her fingers clutching the doorframe, watching Adam sit stiffly in his chair, glaring into the empty fireplace.
The heavy silence that followed felt suffocating. A pang of concern twisted in her chest, unexpected. Adam’s pride, that formidable fortress of his, seemed destined to be his undoing.
He is stubborn, yes,she thought, a wry smile curling at the corners of her mouth.But also…Her gaze lingered on him, the sharp angles of his face and the tightness of his shoulders.Vulnerable.
She hesitated, then made her move. Her steps were sure as she entered the room and approached her husband, her blue eyes locked on him with an intensity that made her heart pound in her chest. His gaze snapped up to meet hers, and she found herself breathless as he glared at her, his expression stormy.
“Perhaps the physician is right, dear husband,” she said, her voice calm, measured, yet tinged with a subtle challenge.
The words felt strange, foreign on her tongue.
Adam’s eyes narrowed with barely restrained anger. He was a study in contrasts—ruggedly handsome, his jawline sharp enough to cut glass, and under his stormy eyes, there was a fierce intelligence that made her breath catch in her throat.
“And what makes you such an expert,dear wife?” the duke asked, his voice low and rumbling like distant thunder.
The tone sent a chill down her spine, but she held her ground.
Rosaline blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the unexpected intensity in his gaze. She felt her cheeks flush with a strange warmth, and she bit her lip to steady herself, ignoring the fluttering in her chest.
Strangely enough, it didn’t feel at all like panic, but something much more appetizing.
