Page 53 of Claiming his Cursed Duchess
Rosaline felt a blush creep up her neck, though she quickly masked the warmth that spread across her cheeks with a laugh.
Then she realized that Lord Northam’s eyes hadn’t once lingered over the scar on her cheek, nor the ones on her arms.
And her smile turned from polite to genuine.
“Indeed,” Adam interjected, his voice a low, amused growl. “Intriguing enough to keep you from your duties, I presume?”
Phineas, unfazed, pulled an elegant ivory envelope from his coat pocket.
“Duties? My dear duke, I have come bearing tidings of joy! A ball is being held at Lord Harrington’s estate next week, and I was tasked with personally delivering the invitation.”
“A ball. How delightful,” Rosaline said.
“Indeed,” Phineas agreed. “And I, for one, would be honored if you and the duke would grace the occasion with your presence.”
“We shall certainly consider it,” Rosaline replied, her voice carefully neutral.
The words were automatic, but she had already made up her mind. Of course, they would attend—there was no question about it. The ball would be yet another venue to prove herself.
“Excellent,” Phineas exclaimed. “Now, if you’ll have me, I should very much like to partake of your hospitality. I hear your cook’s roast beef is legendary.”
And so, they dined. Phineas, a seasoned raconteur, regaled them with amusing anecdotes from his travels, his voice rich and inviting, and Rosaline found herself leaning in to catch every word.
“Have I told you about the time I accidentally disrupted a duel in Paris?” Phineas began, his eyes sparkling as he speared a bite of roast beef.
“Accidentally?” Rosaline echoed, a brow arched. “You do not strike me as the sort to stumble into danger, Lord Northam.”
“I assure you, Duchess, it was entirely unintentional. I happened to be riding in the Bois de Boulogne at dawn—a purely innocentmorning ride, mind you—when I came across two gentlemen with pistols aimed at one another.”
“And you decided to intervene?” she asked, her lips quirking in amusement.
“Not exactly. My horse decided for me,” Phineas admitted, his tone self-deprecating. “It seems he was more intrigued by the affair than I was and bolted straight through the middle of the scene. I very nearly ended up as the unintentional target!”
Rosaline laughed, a soft, musical sound that seemed to light up the room. “Did you at least resolve the dispute?”
“Not quite,” Phineas said with a rueful grin. “Both gentlemen were so shocked by my intrusion that they forgot their quarrel entirely and turned on me instead. I spent the better part of the morning dodging accusations of sabotage.”
“You are fortunate you did not end up in a duel of your own,” Rosaline replied, her wit sparking as easily as his.
“Ha! That is exactly what Lord David said when I told him the story. But I have my charms,” Phineas said with mock arrogance. “I managed to smooth things over with a bottle of excellent Bordeaux.”
“And here I thought you had used sheer wit and persuasion,” she teased.
Phineas chuckled, raising his glass in salute. “My dear duchess, when wit fails, wine rarely does.”
Adam, seated at the head of the table, sipped his brandy in silence, his gaze flickering between them.
“And what of you, Your Grace?” Phineas asked, his attention squarely on her. “Surely you have tales of adventure or intrigue to share. Perhaps a secret talent?”
“None so thrilling as yours,” she replied, though her tone suggested she was downplaying herself. “My adventures are confined to the drawing rooms of London.”
Phineas leaned forward, feigning a conspiratorial whisper. “I find that hard to believe. There is a little spark in your eyes that tells me you have a story or two hidden away.”
Rosaline smiled coyly, but before she could answer, Adam’s deep voice cut through. “Perhaps, Phineas, you might consider allowing my wife to finish her meal without prying into her secrets.”
Phineas leaned back with a grin, unperturbed. “My apologies, friend. It seems I have overstepped.”
Rosaline glanced at Adam, noting the tension in his jaw, but chose to ignore it.
