Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
“ I s that…fire?” Adam mumbled.
He leapt from the carriage, his boots crunching on the gravel driveway. He hurried towards the manor, his heart pounding in his chest.
As he approached, a flicker of light caught his eye. It was coming from the parlor window.
Fire . The word slammed into his mind, the memory of his brother’s death a searing brand on his soul.
The image of his brother’s terrified face, contorted in agony, the brother Adam had failed to save, haunted the duke to this day.
He burst through the front doors, his breath catching in his throat. Panic clawed at him, his pulse hammering against his ribs. He stumbled towards the parlor, his vision blurring.
Through the haze-filled doorway, he saw it. The hearth. Engulfed in flames.
A low, guttural growl escaped his throat. He saw Rosaline, sitting asleep on the sofa, her head resting on a book. A wave of relief washed over him, that was quickly replaced by a surge of fury.
How could she have been so careless? he thought, his mind racing.
Rosaline, startled awake by the sound of his entrance, looked up, her eyes wide with fear. She flinched at the harshness in his voice.
“Duchess!” he exclaimed, his voice sharp.
The flames seemed to mock him, dancing in the background, a cruel reminder of all they had stolen from him.
He saw the flicker of fear in her eyes, a primal instinct, born of danger. Pride warred with concern in her expression.
“Your Grace,” she breathed, her voice barely a whisper.
The duke rushed towards her, his arms outstretched. “What were you thinking? You could have burned yourself!”
He pulled her from the sofa, his arms trembling. Even through his panic, Adam was acutely aware of her thin nightgown, the delicate fabric clinging to her curves.
A surge of desire, raw and primal, coursed through him. She was so beautiful, so delicate, so…unattainable, even as his wife.
The duke held her close, the warmth of her body radiating against his. He could smell the faint scent of lavender from her hair. A shiver, not entirely from the fear, ran down his spine. He had to pull himself back, to focus on the danger.
He released her, his gaze roving over her, taking in the curve of her neck, the delicate slope of her shoulders.
She is mine , he thought, a possessive urge gripping him. Mine. The flames will not claim her .
Feeling the wildfire of desire awaken within him, he stepped back as if burned. He cursed his weakness. He could not let himself be distracted. The flames were still licking at the hearth, a constant threat, even contained in their grate as they were.
Rosaline did not fight his release, her gaze fixed on the floor. “I was simply reading, Your Grace. I must have dozed off.”
His anger flared. “Dozed off? In front of an open fire? You could have gotten hurt.”
“I was not that close,” she protested, her voice rising. She lifted her chin, refusing to be cowed. “I have been around fires before.”
The words echoed in his mind, a chilling reminder of his own past. He knew, with a certainty that made his blood run cold, that Rosaline had no idea of the terror that had gripped him, the fear that had threatened to consume him.
He looked at her, his eyes narrowed. He had to protect her, from the flames, and from the demons of his past. But how could he protect her when the greatest danger to her might be himself?
Adam scoffed. “Yes, I have heard tales of how you danced around the fire for the devil with your friends.”
“Shall I dance around the fire for you as well? Perhaps naked, as witches are expected to do?” Rosaline snapped, and Adam blinked.
Adam was frozen in shock, not only at how his duchess defied him, but at the image she had conjured, of her bare silhouette writhing against the flames.
Cold fear shivered down Adam’s spine, but at the same moment a fire of his own brewed deep in his core, drawing him to stand at attention before his wife.
“You wouldn’t have to dance around fire to please me,” Adam barely recognized the desperate growl of his voice, truly as bestial as he had promised.
Becoming that creature felt as agonizing as not unleashing himself upon her, here and now. He clenched his jaw with a snarl, struggling to contain himself.
Rosaline gasped at first, but then quickly bent down to retrieve her shawl, her movements jerky and uncertain as she covered herself.
Adam shut his eyes, taking a deep breath to steady himself.
“Go to bed,” he ordered, his voice hard.
“But—” she began, but he cut her off.
“Now,” he insisted.
She glared at him, her eyes filled with defiance. Then, with a huff, she turned and stormed out of the room.
Adam watched her go, a strange mix of anger and tenderness filling his heart.
He had never intended to frighten her, but the sight of her so close to the fire had ignited a primal fear within him. He had lost too much to fire.
Memories of his brother David were still far too painful for him to dwell on.
He wondered what it would be like to truly know her, to see beyond the scars and the rumors.
She was more than just a cursed duchess. She was intelligent, strong-willed, and kind. And she was his.
Even so, Adam had to stay away. For both their sakes.
He turned his attention back to the fireplace, the flames still dancing merrily.
With a sigh, he extinguished the fire, the crackling sound filling the silent room. As he worked, his thoughts drifted to Rosaline.
He knew she was angry, hurt, and perhaps even a little scared.
He had overreacted, he knew, but he couldn’t help himself.
The memory of David was still raw, a wound that had yet to heal.
Adam left the parlor and made his way to his bedchamber.
The room was dark and quiet, the only sound the soft ticking of the clock.
He laid down on the bed, his mind racing.
Damn it all, he thought.
He remembered how her curves had been subtly outlined by the thin nightgown, the way the firelight danced across her skin. He should have sent her to bed sooner, but the conversation had spiraled, a dangerous game of wit and will.
The duke closed his eyes, trying to quell the storm brewing within him. He pictured her bending down to cover herself with the shawl, the delicate curve of her neck, the way her hair had fallen across her shoulder.
Innocence cloaking a sinfulness that made his blood run cold.
He clenched his fists, the sheets rustling beneath him. He couldn’t touch her. Not like this. Not when he was a beast consumed by desire, a shadow of the man he should be.
He needed to control himself, to be the husband she deserved, not the beast lurking beneath the surface.
But the image of her, vulnerable and defiant, continued to haunt him.
Rosaline walked away, her head held high. She was angry, yes, but mostly she was hurt. She had never felt so small, so insignificant. But she refused to let him see her weakness. She would not let him win.
She ran a nervous hand over the scars on her arms, the lingering ghost of pain a constant, unwelcome companion. She’d learned to conceal them, to drape herself in long sleeves like a shroud, but she knew Adam had seen them.
The memory of his gaze lingering, assessing, sent a shiver down her spine.
Does he pity me? she wondered, the thought both bitter and strangely alluring. Or does he fear what I ’ ve endured?
In the adjoining room, the sound of his deep voice, a low rumble that vibrated through the walls, sent a jolt of awareness through her.
He ’ s so close , she thought, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. Frustratingly close .
She imagined him there, in the parlor, his voice echoing, his eyes gleaming with something that made Rosaline’s core both dewy and fiery. The image of him lifting her away from the hearth, his hands strong and sure, his touch a whirlwind, ignited a spark deep within her.
Regret gnawed at her. She’d been sent to bed, banished from the scene, robbed of the chance to witness the spectacle she craved—to see her husband lose control, to see the raw, untamed beast beneath the polished veneer.
He could have taken me there , she imagined breathlessly, breasts heaving as she panted at the thought , right there on the sofa, the firelight dancing on our skin .
The thought was both thrilling and terrifying, sending shivers through her entire body.
Rosaline traced the delicate curve of her collarbone with a fingertip, the touch arousing a flutter of nerves. She’d always been a solitary bird, her soul a cage of loneliness.
But with Adam, something was different.
A flicker of hope, a dangerous, intoxicating hope, ignited within her. He was a storm, a force of nature, a man who could challenge her, who could make her think, who could shatter the carefully constructed walls she’d built around her heart.
And she, for the first time in a long time, was dangerously close to letting him.