Page 40 of Claiming his Cursed Duchess
Her lips curved into a faint, defiant smile as they entered the dining room, arm in arm.
At the long, polished table, Lady Elmsworth, an aging marchioness, was the first to speak.
“Your Grace,” she said, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness, “how unexpected to see you here tonight…and with your new wife,” the marchioness turned to Rosaline. “Your Grace, you have opted for such aninterestingensemble.”
Her sharp eyes flicked to Rosaline’s scars, her lips twitching in a way that suggested mockery rather than politeness.
Adam didn’t hesitate. “I would say the surprise is mine, Lady Elmsworth,” he said coolly. “It’s not often I encounter someone with such a gift for speaking before thinking.”
The marchioness paled, her forced smile faltering. “I—I only meant that?—”
“You meant no harm,” he cut in, his voice sharp enough to silence the table. “But do continue. I am sure everyone is eager to hear your defense.”
Rosaline hid her shock behind a sip of wine. The room fell uncomfortably silent, the tension crackling like a struck match.
Another guest—a young viscount eager to fill the void—spoke up. “But truly, Your Grace, marriage! We were all certain you’d remain a bachelor indefinitely.” He chuckled nervously. “Tell me, what inspired this…change of heart?”
Adam’s gaze turned glacial, though his tone remained deceptively polite. “I married because I chose to. A concept that, I suppose, may be foreign to some.”
The viscount’s smile faltered, and he quickly turned to his soup.
Rosaline bit back a laugh, feeling a surge of admiration for Adam’s sharp tongue. Yet the scrutiny shifted to her.
“Your Grace,” a young debutante piped up, her tone falsely sweet. “Your scars—how brave of you to display them. I imagine gloves are terribly uncomfortable.”
Rosaline’s jaw tightened. Before she could respond, Adam spoke, his voice dangerously smooth.
“Indeed, they are,” he said, his gaze fixed on the debutante. “And terribly impractical for someone withnothingto hide.”
The girl flushed, shrinking back into her chair.
Rosaline glanced at Adam, her heart beating faster. His hand rested lightly on the back of her chair, a subtle but protective gesture.
“You needn’t defend me,” she murmured softly.
He turned his head slightly, his voice low and for her ears alone. “I will defend you as often as necessary.”
The next course arrived, drawing the attention of the guests and giving Rosaline a moment to collect herself.
But as the conversation around the table resumed, she caught snatches of murmurs.
“Married so quickly…strange, isn’t it?”
“They say she was in a carriage accident—ruined her prospects entirely.”
“What does he see in her?”
Her chest tightened, the words digging into her like tiny barbs.
Adam leaned closer, his voice low. “Focus on me,” he said.
She turned her head, startled by his quiet intensity.
“You do not need their approval,” he continued and gently placed his hand on her thigh from underneath the table.
Warmth bloomed in her cheeks, and although she knew Adam’s gesture was meant to steady her, it did the opposite. Well, it did distract her from the others, indeed, but her heart began pounding in her chest.
She bit her lip and saw Adam’s eyes darken. He leaned in and whispered, “Do you like that?”
