Claiming his Cursed Duchess (Cursed Brides #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

FIVE YEARS LATER

“ M y lord, won’t you join us?” A drunk reached up, seizing Adam’s coat sleeve and gesturing to the haphazard mess of cards and dice on his table.

“The night is young, and Lady Luck is calling,” he added.

Adam Fitzwilliam, the Duke of Oldstone, had slammed open the dark gambling den door, scanning the room, blue eyes dark with anger, taking stock of who and what lay before him.

He was not a regular here, but it was far from his first time on this particular errand.

He had taken a purposeful, menacing step inside, glaring into the eyes of anyone who dared to meet his gaze as he shut the door behind him with a snap, making a number of drunken gamblers flinch or bolt awake at their tables.

Ignoring the spasm of pain in his bad leg, Adam forced himself to walk tall and steadily, winding through the tables.

The silence he’d caused broke in his wake, giving way to whispers that the duke had returned to fetch his brother once more.

Adam kept his expression haughty and disgusted, as if he could not hear the rumors over the immorality of the den.

“Do. Not. Touch. Me,” he hissed at the drunk.

Adam seized the drunk by his wrist, his strong grip tightening until the man released him.

Eyes hard, Adam bent his arm back toward him as the man winced and cried out, dropping to his knees from his chair to avoid letting his arm snap.

“The night has passed, and it is morning now,” the duke added, his expression casual for a man exerting enough force to keep another on the floor with one hand.

“I will be addressed as Your Grace ,” Adam’s voice was a growl, low in his throat hissing from between gritted teeth.

He kept up the pressure, forcing the man lower on the floor.

“And I will most certainly not be joining you .”

“My apologies, Your Grace!” the drunken man gasped, and Adam released him abruptly, straightening to glare at the others in the room, who were all staring silently.

“Now,” Adam commanded the room at large, his voice a low rumble that carried across the space. Each word was a demand, a silent order. “One of you is going to direct me to wherever it is that my brother is hiding.”

A beat of silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by a nervous shuffling.

Every man in the room scrambled to their feet, their eyes wide with fear and desperation.

Adam’s lips curled into a sneer.

Pathetic. This is where Henry chose to while away his life? This was the company he kept, rather than facing their home?

“You.” Adam’s gaze landed on a drunkard, his eyes narrowed.

The man, caught in the spotlight of Adam’s attention, gulped nervously. He was the steadiest of the lot, the least desperate.

“Take me to Lord Henry Fitzwilliam,” he commanded.

“Of course, Your Grace,” the man stammered, his voice barely a whisper.

He bowed hastily, his movements jerky and uncertain.

Coward , Adam thought, his disdain palpable.

“I am Viscount Shropton,” the man said.

Adam merely grunted in response, his gaze boring into the man. He turned away, his long strides carrying him towards the stairs.

A waste of space.

He followed the viscount up the creaking wooden stairs, onto a dimly lit balcony overlooking the den.

As he stepped onto the balcony, his eyes fell upon his younger brother, lounging in a chair, his face lit by the flickering candlelight.

Henry was surrounded by a group of men, his charm on full display. A wave of annoyance washed over Adam.

Always the center of attention.

“Thank you,” Adam said dismissively to Shropton, his voice cold and distant.

The man hesitated, his eyes darting between Adam and Henry. Adam’s gaze hardened, and the man quickly turned and scurried away.

Adam forced himself to move slowly, deliberately, despite the pain shooting through his leg. He kept his shoulders squared, his head held high, a silent warning to those who dared to challenge him.

As he entered the den, the room fell silent. All eyes were on him.

Henry, however, continued to laugh and joke with his companions, oblivious to Adam’s presence.

Idiotic boy , Adam thought, a flicker of affection hidden beneath his facade of indifference.

Beside his brother, one of the most notorious moneylenders in the ton smiled up at the duke with great venom.

Redmond Heron had a reputation that made up for his lack of title. He was well-known among the ton for being predatory, ruthless, and vicious.

“Good morning,” Adam did not address the men as gentlemen, though he was unsure they even noticed the reminder of the difference in status. “I must disturb your game by collecting my wayward brother.”

He dropped a hand onto Henry’s shoulder, and the younger man startled, as if he hadn’t even taken notice of the duke’s approach.

“Adam! Why, I was just talking about you!” Henry enthused. “Won’t you join us, just for a hand or two? I promise to make quick work of these blokes.” He tried to wink, but it became just an exaggerated blink.

“Your cards are on the table Henry; you have shown your hand,” Adam replied, forcing his voice to remain steady even as frustration rolled off him in waves, radiating out so the other players shrank back. “Besides, you have already gambled the night away, and we have obligations this morning more befitting of our status.”

Henry tried and failed to shrug Adam’s hand off his shoulder.

“Not now, Adam, tell those obligations that our status means we can be as late as we want.” He took a deep swig from his glass and banged it down on the table. “I am in need of another whiskey, which will take me at least two rounds of cards to finish.”

Henry gestured sloppily to a man in the shadows, who stepped forward to refill the glass, but Adam froze the man in place with a glare.

“Oddly enough, brother, I find an empty glass and a fumbled hand to be an excellent time to leave the table. We should be off.” Adam’s stony gaze swept over the other men at the table, who nodded nervously in agreement, all except Redmond Heron, who smiled like a viper ready to snap its fangs over the neck of its prey.

“Where’s my whiskey?” Henry ignored the way the duke loomed over him, frowning around and gesturing again to the man for more.

“It is terribly rude to leave a table without settling one’s debts, as well.” Redmond finally spoke up, his voice oily as it slithered through the dimly lit air.

The drunks at the table all flinched to attention when he spoke.

“Don’t you agree, Your Grace?” The moneylender seemed to be the only sober man gambling, which didn’t surprise Adam one bit.

“Has my brother accrued any debt at this table, Mr. Heron?” Adam asked evenly, his grip tightening on Henry’s shoulder, making the younger man wince and squirm.

Fool, Adam thought, his jaw clenching. Always getting himself into trouble.

“He has, and not just over this current evening, I fear.” Mr. Heron’s dark beady eyes glimmered in the low light as he sat back in his chair.

“It is not all that bad, Adam,” Henry waved unsteadily, as if it were some trivial matter. “I have been courting Lady Luck with the best of them, they’ve been telling me so.”

He winced again and fell silent as Adam’s grip tightened on his shoulder.

Idiotic boy, Adam thought, resisting the urge to shake him. If only he could see the danger he ’ s in.

“What debt has my brother accrued?” Adam’s words were slow, his growl almost reluctant.

How much of a fool has Henry made of us this time?

“In all standing, given the unpaid debt and … interest, which only seems fair,” Redmond smiled, his words oozing with smugness as he sized Adam up, taking in his fine, tailored jacket and freshly shined leather shoes. “I think it would be best to say one thousand and three hundred pounds.”

Adam’s vision flashed red, a primal rage igniting within him. His grip on Henry tightened, a silent warning to the younger man to stay out of this.

Henry yelped, and Adam released him immediately, his jaw clenched so hard that a muscle twitched and shivered in his cheek.

He took a deep breath, attempting to quell the storm brewing inside him.

Adam forced his tone to remain civil, though frustration crackled beneath the surface.

“Your math is faulty, Mr. Heron. I do not pay my debts based on fairness, but on facts and sums.” He shifted his weight, a subtle display of dominance, wishing the pain in his leg would subside.

I cannot afford to make a mistake with this shark, he reminded himself, his eyes narrowing. He may be untitled, but he is not without influence.

Redmond placed an elbow on the table, leaning forward, a smug grin plastered on his face.

“Apologies, Your Grace, but my bookkeeping is of the mental variety, so I believe we will have to honor the full amount, for fairness’ sake.”

The duke blinked, feeling the tenuous thread binding him to civility finally fray and snap.

Enough is enough, he thought, his eyes narrowing.

“You forget yourself, Mr. Heron,” Adam’s voice was low and hushed, the men at the table suddenly becoming very uneasy, shifting in their seats, holding their breath to better hear him.

“And you forget your station,” Adam continued, his broad shoulders set squarely, authority clear in the sharp lines of his jaw and brow, blue eyes dark. “I tire of entertaining your games.”

“If you were entertaining my games, you’d be in as much debt as your brother, Your Grace. Unless a gift with card games is one of the secrets you keep.” Redmond’s eyes flashed dangerously, but Adam overrode him before he could continue.

“Mr. Heron, have you forgotten that you address the Duke of Oldstone?” Adam snarled, looming tall over the table.

He glared down his nose at the moneylender, disgust and fury creasing his handsome face.

I won ’ t let him get away with this.

“I do not negotiate.” The duke released Henry just long enough to count out the money from his wallet, slamming it on the table forcefully enough that everyone seated flinched back.

“There is one thousand pounds to settle my brother’s debt, and I imagine that, given your loose bookkeeping, that sum includes enough interest already, as well as an extra fee of my own.”

“An extra fee?” Redmond repeated incredulously, the self-satisfied smirk long since wiped from his face.

“Yes,” Adam dragged Henry out of his chair by his shirt collar, setting him on unsteady feet, then glared back down at Redmond Heron. “Consider it payment in advance for the service you will be providing me, in ensuring that my brother never steps foot in this establishment again.”

“Adam,” Henry began with a whine, but Adam steamrolled over him; he would thank him later. “And should you fail to provide this service I have paid for, I will personally collect my refund, with interest.”

Redmond glared up at Adam, his jaw locked shut and rage glistening in his beady eyes as his fingers drummed with helpless frustration on the table.

“Do I make myself clear, Mr. Heron?” Adam’s voice was nearly a whisper, but every man at the table heard it clearly, hanging on his every word, looking wide-eyed to the moneylender to see if he would defy the duke.

A beat of silence passed, then two.

Adam did not back down from the staring contest with Redmond, knowing that looking away would be seen as weakness.

Finally, after several tense breaths, Redmond looked away, fixing his poisonous smile back in place, though his eyes glittered coldly.

“Of course, Your Grace. It has been a pleasure doing business with yourself, and Lord Fitzwilliam.”

“Indeed,” Adam nodded, then half-dragged Henry from his chair, glaring at his brother until the younger man sighed and began his painfully slow, sulky way down the stairs and out of the gambling den.

“Must you always embarrass me?” Henry moaned, rubbing his eyes against the morning light, the weight of his brother’s disapproval heavy on his shoulders.

In the harsh daylight, his haggard features were laid bare, a stark contrast to his usual debonair facade.

Adam snorted, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes.

Typical Henry, always needing to be rescued.

He turned away, his jaw clenched, and began the walk back to the townhouse.

Henry trailed behind and Adam’s injured leg protested with every step.

“I am not the one being dragged out of the gutter in the wee hours of the morning,” Adam retorted, his voice laced with disdain.

“I was making my own fortune! Isn’t that what you always say you want for me?” Henry protested, his voice rising.

Adam rolled his eyes.

Fortune? What fortune? A pile of gambling debts and a tarnished reputation?

He turned to face his brother, his gaze piercing. “We have fortune enough as it is. I would prefer the way you find be a wife, not the bottom of a bottle or the knave of spades. Build a life, not an empire.”

Henry scoffed. “I meet more interesting people this way,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

Adam’s patience was wearing thin. He stepped closer, his voice low and dangerous.

“Enough.” He grabbed Henry’s collar, his grip firm. “Do not mistake my interference for tolerance.” His eyes bore into Henry’s, a silent threat.

One more misstep, and I ’ ll cut him off completely.

Henry’s eyes widened in fear. He nodded slowly, his voice barely a whisper.

“Y–You’re right, brother. I–I–I am sorry.”

Adam released his grip, a flicker of pity crossing his face.

“Do not be sorry,” he said, his voice hard. “Be better .”

And with that, he turned and strode away, leaving Henry to his thoughts.