Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
“ W ell, well, well,” Adam’s friend, Lord Northam, drawled, his gaze sweeping over Rosaline with an appreciative gleam as she entered the parlor. “If it isn’t the beautiful Duchess of Oldstone.”
In the parlor, Rosaline had found Adam and Lord Northam, already seated, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes as he’d glanced up at her arrival.
“Phineas, this is my wife,” Adam stood up along with Lord Northam. “Duchess, this is my friend, Phineas Wilson, the Earl of Northam.”
Rosaline inclined her head, her expression remaining poised despite the fluttering in her stomach. She executed a graceful curtsy, the motion precise, concealing the slight tremor in her hands.
“It is a pleasure, Lord Northam. I may finally put a face to the name I have so often heard spoken.”
The lord’s laugh startled her.
“Adam must have warned you about his need for decorum in public,” Phineas grinned. “I doubt he has ever mentioned me to you; I can barely drag a sentence out of him about the weather. I am sure he is not filling your head of sweet stories from our boyhood together.”
Adam, however, seemed less pleased. He narrowed his eyes, and his voice, though steady, held a sharp edge.
“Phineas,” he said, his tone clipped, “explain your presence.”
Phineas chuckled, unbothered by the curt response, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
“My dear Adam, have you forgotten your manners? You sound like a thundercloud.”
He turned his gaze back to Rosaline, his smile warm and sincere, though she knew better than to let herself be fooled by his easy charm.
“Don’t mind him, Duchess. He’s simply unaccustomed to unexpected company.”
Rosaline, ever the diplomat, stepped forward, her movements fluid and confident, a smile curling at the edges of her lips.
“I do apologize for my husband’s abruptness, Lord Northam. He can be formidable when roused.” She offered him a genuine smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
Northam, charmed, accepted her apology with a flourish. “No offense taken, Duchess.” He paused, giving her a sly smile. “Though I must confess, I find your company far more intriguing.”
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 innocent morning 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.
Instead, she turned back to Phineas with a light laugh. “It is quite all right, Lord Northam. Perhaps another time, I will share my stories—if you can manage not to interrupt.”
Phineas laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Touché, duchess. I shall endeavor to behave.”
“Tell me, my lord,” Rosaline said, her voice smooth, as she changed the subject, trying to lighten the mood. “You mentioned a…David earlier. Who is he?”
The jovial atmosphere in the room instantly shifted. Adam’s jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened.
“You do not know about David?” Phineas replied innocently.
“No, I do not.”
Phineas’ eyes flickered towards Adam, “You still haven’t told her?”
Adam’s face was made of the darkest storms.
Rosaline, sensing the sudden tension, quickly intervened. “I apologize. It was an indiscreet question.”
Phineas, however, seemed unfazed. “No harm done, Duchess. It isn’t my story to tell, either way. David may have been my friend, but Adam was the one closest to him.” He gave Adam a meaningful look.
Adam, his face a mask of controlled fury, merely grunted in response.
Rosaline, acutely aware of the undercurrents of tension, steered the conversation back to lighter topics, her mind racing.
What was that about?
Who was David? And why did Adam react like that? What did it mean?
Phineas finally departed after a round of drinks in the parlor. Rosaline was now alone with Adam, only the crackling sounds from the fireplace filling the room.
Rosaline felt an odd sense of relief, the weight of the evening slowly lifting.
“He seems interesting,” she remarked, her voice carefully neutral.
Despite her inner musings, she couldn’t help but feel a small flicker of pride. She had held her own, hadn’t she?
Adam, his eyes fixed at the parlor’s exit, said nothing.
Rosaline, feeling a surge of defiance, turned to face him. “He’s certainly more entertaining than most of the men in the ton.”
Adam finally looked at her, his gaze intense, searching. “Is that so?” he murmured, his voice a low growl.
Rosaline, her heart pounding, met his gaze, unflinching.
“Indeed,” she replied, her voice steady despite the tremor running through her. “He seems to possess a certain friendly charm. Actually friendly, not simply polite.”
Adam’s lips curved into a slow, predatory smile. “Charm, Duchess?” he repeated, his voice low and teasing. “Perhaps you find charm in every rogue you encounter.”
Rosaline bristled. “I find charm in intelligence, wit, and kindness, duke. Qualities you have not done much to display.”
Adam’s eyes narrowed, but there was something almost approving in his gaze.
“Is that so?” He took a step closer, his presence filling the room, crowding her space. “Perhaps you should spend more time observing those qualities in your husband.”
Rosaline felt a shiver running down her spine, but she refused to shrink under his gaze. His proximity was unnerving, his aura commanding. But she wasn’t intimidated.
She lifted her chin, her defiance steady despite the rapid beat of her heart.
“Are you jealous , Duke?” she asked, her voice cool and laced with challenge. “Is that why you are so keen to scrutinize me tonight?”
Adam’s eyes flashed, his lips curving into that slow, predatory smile.
For a moment, he said nothing, his silence stretching between them, thick with unspoken meaning.
Then, without warning, he stepped even closer, his breath warm against her skin, his scent enveloping her.
“Jealous?” He repeated the word softly, almost tasting it. “Perhaps,” he murmured, his fingers now trailing lightly down the side of her neck.
His touch was light, but the weight of his gaze was heavier than she expected. “All right then, Duchess.”
Rosaline’s breath caught in her throat as his words seeped into her, his proximity now a living, breathing thing. His finger brushed the soft curve of her neck, and she shivered, the cool air of the room suddenly too warm.
“What?” she managed, her pulse quickening.
Adam’s lips hovered just above her ear, his voice dropping to a husky murmur that set her body on edge.
“I find it difficult to share what is mine,” he whispered, his breath grazing the sensitive skin of her neck.
She stiffened, her mind spinning, but her lips parted in a sharp intake of breath as his hand moved, ever so slightly, to rest against the small of her back.
“And you think I belong to you?” Her voice was an edge of disbelief, mixed with something else, something deeper—an instinct she couldn’t ignore.
“Don’t you?” Adam’s voice was a dark caress as his thumb brushed over the fabric of her gown.
He held her there, against his chest, the tension crackling in the air between them.
“Don’t you want to belong to me, wife?”
The words hung heavy between them. Rosaline’s mind was a whirl of contradictions, but she couldn’t deny the pull, the undeniable chemistry that hummed beneath her skin.
She met his eyes, her own filled with a defiant fire. “What do you expect of me?” she challenged, her breath shallow. “For me to accept this claim as if it’s natural?”
Adam’s lips parted in a grin, full of teeth and something more dangerous. He slid his hand down her back, pressing her closer, his body now flush against hers.
“I expect you want more, Rosaline. And you want me to show you.”
His words were a spark in the dry tinder of the room, the atmosphere thick with a sense of inevitable collision.
Rosaline’s mind screamed to pull away, to retreat to safety, but her body betrayed her.
She didn’t step back. Instead, her lips parted, the tension thickening as she held her breath, awaiting the inevitable.
Before she could think better of it, Adam’s lips brushed against hers, soft but demanding, his kiss a silent challenge.
For the briefest of moments, she hesitated, caught between defiance and desire, but then she responded—slowly at first, then more urgently, her hands grasping the front of his coat as she pulled him closer.
His lips, tender yet insistent, moved over hers with a fervor that made her knees weak. His hands, warm and possessive, roamed over her body, igniting a trail of fire wherever they touched.
“You are so beautiful, my sweet,” Adam whispered against her mouth, his breath hot and tantalizing. “Every time you are near me, Rosaline, my body betrays me—aching and throbbing with desire, as if it’s made to crave you. I cannot stop wanting you, no matter how I try.”
The words sent a shiver down her spine, making her feel cherished and desired in a way she had never known before. With a deftness that spoke of experience, he began to peel her dress from her body, the fabric slipping away to reveal her bare skin.
Guiding her to the sofa, Adam gently spread her legs, and her initial shyness made her cheeks burn with a blush.
Sensing her hesitation, Adam paused, his hands soothing and reassuring.
“Don’t worry, darling. I promise you will enjoy this,” he murmured softly as he hovered over her.
His words helped to ease her nerves. She nodded, giving him a small, tentative smile.
With a soft smirk, Adam parted her legs once more, his head lowering to the apex of her thighs.
“W–what?” she asked, trembling.
Adam placed soft kisses over her scars, “I promise, Duchess, tonight is all about you. If you want me to stop, I shall.”
Rosaline bit her lip. The sizzling sensations between her thighs were becoming unbearable, and seeing Adam hover over that spot did nothing to quench it.
Surely, he would know how to.
“All–all right,” she breathed, and Adam smirked as he lowered his head between her legs.
The first touch of his mouth against her sex sent a jolt of pleasure through her, and she gasped, her hands clutching at the cushions.
The sensation was unlike anything she had ever experienced. Adam’s tongue moved with expert precision, exploring her with a hunger that left her breathless.
“Heavens, I have hungered for you for so long, wife,” Adam whispered and continued lapping at her.
Her moans filled the room, growing louder as the pleasure built within her. She writhed beneath him, lost in the overwhelming sensations, until finally, with a cry, she found her release.
It was a burst of the warmest, most delicious shivers she’d ever experienced in her life. The sensation pulsed, spreading all over her body, turning her limbs into water.
Adam rose up and planted a kiss on her forehead. “That’s my good girl.”
As Rosaline’s breathing came to a steadier pace, so did a soothing sleepiness. Not the one after an exhausting day—one after a wondrous, sunny, glorious one.
And right before sleep overtook her, she felt Adam’s strong arms wrapping around her and lifting her up.
Falling asleep had never felt so sweet.