Page 59 of Claiming his Cursed Duchess
With newfound resolve, she straightened up, following him through the sea of guests.
It wasn’t long before they were met by Lord and Lady Harrington, the hosts of the ball.
Lady Harrington’s voice was a sweet, but chilling, drawl as she greeted Rosaline.
“Your Grace,” she curtsied at Adam, then turned towards her, “Duchess of Oldstone, it is a pleasure to finally meet you.”
Rosaline’s lips curled into a polite smile. “The pleasure is entirely mine, Lady Harrington.”
Lord Harrington, his gaze fixated on Adam, offered a curt nod. “Your Graces. An honor.”
Adam’s expression remained as impassive as ever, his demeanor like a marble statue. “Lord Harrington. Lady Harrington.”
Rosaline could feel the tension in the air, thick enough to cut with a knife.
She turned to Adam, feeling the need to defuse the situation with some levity.
“We should leave Lord and Lady Harrington,” she suggested, her voice steady and controlled. “You must be quite busy with greeting guests.”
Adam looked at her, his gaze thoughtful, and then nodded. “As you wish.”
As they moved through the crowd, Adam subtly positioned himself between Rosaline and the prying eyes of the guests, his arm brushing against hers in a gesture that was both protective and possessive. The contact sent a jolt of electricity through her.
They continued weaving through the throng, engaging in polite conversation, with Rosaline deftly deflecting the inevitable questions and veiled remarks about her scars and the alleged curse.
“And how do you find London life, Your Grace?” Miss Jones, a simpering debutante, asked, her eyes briefly darting towards Rosaline’s scarred cheek.
“Quite invigorating,” Rosaline replied, a hint of dry humor in her voice. “Though the social whirl can be rather exhausting.”
Miss Jones blinked, momentarily taken aback by Rosaline’s unexpected candor.
“Oh, I see. If you’ll excuse me, I must return to my mother now,” Miss Jones muttered and with a flutter of her eyelashes, she quickly retreated.
“Exhausting indeed,” Adam murmured beside her, his voice a low rumble. “But I believe you are handling it rather well.”
Rosaline, feeling a flush creep up her neck, turned to him, her eyes glinting with a spark of playful challenge.
“Despite this jungle, I am finding myself calm. Calmer than I was when I was unmarried.”
Adam raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Now that you are married, you are calmer?”
Rosaline offered a small smile. “Indeed. I feel…at ease. Because I know I am protected.”
Adam took her hand and brought it up to his lips. “And you always will be, wife,” he said planting a soft kiss upon her knuckles.
The evening wore on, and Adam continued to shield her from the unwanted attention, his imposing presence both a comfort and a reminder of how much influence he wielded.
The music played, the conversations grew livelier, but Rosaline found herself feeling more and more at ease. The stares no longer pierced her skin as deeply, the whispers seemed quieter, and for the first time that evening, she found herself enjoying the night. She even laughed—a genuine, carefree laugh—as a small group of guests clustered around her, captivated by her quick wit.
“Enjoying yourself?” Adam asked, his voice low, and oddly intimate.
“Surprisingly so,” she admitted, her voice tinged with something she couldn’t quite name. “You’ve been quite helpful in that regard.”
A slow, predatory smile tugged at the corner of Adam’s lips. “My pleasure, Duchess.”
He led her onto the dance floor, his hand finding hers, and for a brief, electrifying moment, their fingers intertwined. As the music swelled around them, Rosaline felt a wave of warmth flood her body.
He’s holding me close. Too close.
