Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
“ S o, my friend,” Phineas Wilson, the Earl of Northam, began, a mischievous glint in his eye, “you have finally tied the knot. Quite the surprise, I must say.”
A sense of unease hung heavy in the air as Adam and Phineas sat across from each other in the dimly lit tavern.
Phineas, a man known for his sharp wit and even sharper tongue, couldn’t resist the opportunity to tease his friend.
Adam, his expression impassive, took a sip of his ale.
“Do not be dramatic, Northam. It was a hasty affair.”
“Hasty?” Phineas scoffed. “A hasty affair that has the entire ton abuzz with gossip. First, Miss Genevieve Sowden—formerly Mirfield—wed far better than expected, and now you have married a second one of the cursed ladies? It seems they are blessed with far more fortune than the ton credits them.”
Phineas’ tone was joking, but his laughter did not reach his eyes. Adam could tell his old friend did not want to believe the superstitions, but evidence of the supernatural was mounting.
Rosaline… Adam thought, a flicker of something akin to warmth passing through him.
She was unlike any woman he had ever met. Her wit, her kindness, her intelligence…it was all so unexpected. Still, he couldn’t allow himself to get too close. He had been burned before.
He leaned back in his chair, his gaze distant.
Adam’s eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching.
“Do not speak of that,” Adam commanded, his voice low and dangerous.
“But I must,” Phineas pressed, his voice laced with concern. “The ton is aghast. They are whispering about your bride, her scars, the tragedy that befell your family. Do you not care for their judgment?”
Adam leaned back, his gaze distant, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features.
“I care not for their judgment, nor their pity,” he replied coldly, his voice low and authoritative. “I married the duchess for reasons of my own.”
Phineas, intrigued, leaned forward. “And what might those reasons be?” he inquired, his curiosity piqued. “Love? Lust? Do you wish her to teach you how to treat with the devil, like she and the others did?”
Adam’s jaw clenched, his eyes darkening with a primal fury. He yearned to lash out, to silence Phineas’ prying questions.
He forced himself to remain calm, his voice steady as he responded, “It is none of your business, Phineas.”
Phineas’ eyebrows rose, his eyes narrowing.
“Clearly, as my dearest friend didn’t see fit to even announce his engagement to me, let alone invite me to his wedding,” he snapped, his voice sharp.
Adam could see the hurt in Phineas’ eyes, a pang of guilt shooting through him.
Swallowing his pride, Adam averted his gaze, his expression softening.
“I told you, it was a hasty event,” he admitted grudgingly, his voice barely a whisper. “Some important details escaped me.”
“Ah, I am an important detail then?” Phineas teased.
Adam rolled his eyes, “Do not test me, Northam.”
“Come now, Adam. You can confide in me. I have known you since we were boys. You truly haven’t given this ‘curse’ a thought? Don’t you believe it still holds power over her?”
Adam’s expression hardened, a flicker of anger flashing in his eyes.
“What does it matter?” He leaned forward, his intense gaze boring into Phineas. “I was cursed long before I married the duchess. The moment I was born into this family, I was doomed.”
Phineas hesitated. He knew of the tragedies that had plagued the Duke of Oldstone’s family, the secrets that had been buried for generations. Secrets that Adam guarded with a fierce intensity, that had shaped the man he was today.
“Perhaps,” Phineas ventured, his voice cautious. “Perhaps Her Grace is the key to breaking your curse. Perhaps two curses will cancel each other out.”
Adam’s eyes flickered with a desperate hope that warred with the chilling dread that coiled in his gut.
Cancel each other out? The idea was preposterous, bordering on the insane. He’d seen the devastation his curse wrought, the lives it had consumed. Could another curse, even one of such magnitude as Rosaline’s rumored affliction, truly counteract such darkness?
A morbid game of cosmic roulette , he thought, a bitter taste lingering in his mouth.
“The key?” he scoffed, the sound bitter in his own ears. “Or a catalyst for my ruin?”
He ran a hand through his thick, dark hair, the gesture a desperate attempt to quell the turmoil within him. His fingers tangled in the strands, a stark contrast to the pristine beauty of Rosaline’s.
Why must you torment me with your beauty, Rosaline?
The memory of her rare laugh, like the chime of silver bells, echoed in his mind.
He clenched his jaw, trying to suppress the groan that threatened to escape his lips.
He could picture her eyes, the color of a summer sky, sparkling with intelligence and wit. He craved the warmth of her gaze, the gentle touch of her hand.
“Don’t be such a pessimist, my friend,” Phineas said softly.
To feel the warmth of her skin against his, to lose himself in the intoxicating scent of her hair…He quickly suppressed the thought, his body trembling with a mixture of desire and revulsion.
He was a shadow, a phantom, a creature of the night and hellish fire, forever bound to the darkness, while she was bathed in sunlight, a beacon of hope in a world shrouded in despair.
“I am not a pessimist, Phineas. Simply a realist,” Adam responded and turned away, his shoulders slumping.
He couldn’t risk her. Though she might already be his wife, it was in name alone. He couldn’t truly condemn her to a life of misery and fear, bound to a monster like him. He had to resist the siren song of her beauty, the intoxicating allure of her presence. He had to bury his desires deep within, where they could do no harm.
Damn you, Rosaline , he thought desperately, his heart pounding against his ribs like a trapped bird.
Rosaline tossed and turned in her bed, sleep evading her grasp.
With a sigh, she swung her legs over the side and padded silently down the hallway.
The library, she decided, would be the perfect place to lose herself for a while in a book.
As she entered the parlor, a startled footman jumped, his eyes widening at the sight of her.
Oh dear, she thought, I must have shocked him.
She smiled warmly at him, her kindness genuine, despite the fear that often lurked beneath the surface.
“Your Grace! I am so, so—” he began frantically but Rosaline put her hand up, stopping him.
“You startled me as well,” she said, her voice soft. “Is everything all right?”
The footman recovered quickly, his initial fear replaced by respect. “Yes, Your Grace. I was just passing by. Is there anything you require?”
“A fire, please,” she replied, her gaze drifting to the cold hearth.
She ran a hand over the scars on her arm under her shawl, a flicker of self-consciousness passing through her.
As the flames danced and crackled, Rosaline settled into a comfortable armchair, a book open in her lap.
Her husband was out again on one of his mysterious errands.
A strange man, she mused, her heart pounding a little faster. She wondered what secrets he hid, what desires burned beneath his composed exterior.
A soft smile played on her lips.
Mysterious though he may be, he is quite handsome, isn ’ t he? she thought, her mind drifting to his chiseled features and piercing gaze.