Claiming his Cursed Duchess (Cursed Brides #2)

Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

“ Y ou seem pensive,” Adam remarked, his voice deep and rich, a perfect blend of concern and curiosity.

The carriage rattled along the cobblestone streets, the sounds of London life a distant hum.

Rosaline sat on the velvet seat opposite Adam, her back ramrod straight, adjusting the folds of her ruby red gown. The silk whispered gently against her skin, a sharp contrast to the swirling thoughts in her mind. She exhaled slowly, her gaze turning to the window beside her.

Adam, sitting across from her, must have sensed her unease. His keen, dark eyes met hers, and for a moment, she felt as if he could see into her soul.

Her hands, elegantly folded in her lap, tightened slightly at the thought of them—the scars that marked her arms, a history of battles fought in silence, and the one on her cheek that seemed to define her.

She could feel her fingers flex, almost as if she could shake off the memories and the whispers that clung to her skin.

If only they knew the truth, not the twisted stories they made up…

“Merely contemplating the perils of attending a London ball,” she replied, trying to keep her tone light, though she could feel the weight of her own words, the bitterness almost unnoticeable.

A flash of pride surged through her as she glanced at him, wondering if he could sense the slight tremor beneath her confident mask.

Adam raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Perils?” He leaned forward slightly, his gaze lingering on her.

“The perils of navigating a room full of gossiping matrons and leering lords,” she said with a teasing smile, feigning a dramatic shudder. “The potential for scandal is simply…overwhelming.”

He chuckled, his deep laughter ringing through the carriage, and for a moment, Rosaline allowed herself to forget the incessant weight of the rumors.

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze unwavering. “You are the Duchess of Oldstone now, Rosaline. No one will dare spread rumors or try to place you in a scandal. I am here to protect you.”

His words, so firm and unapologetically protective, caused her chest to tighten, but she quickly masked it with a wry smile.

“You seem to forget, Duke, that titles alone don’t shield one from the ton. Scandal goes beyond titles,” she said. “Take Lady Worthington, for example. She was the perfect lady by all accounts, and yet, the whispers never stopped.”

Adam’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening.

“The ton,” he muttered, his voice laced with disdain, “is a fickle thing, but none of them will dare challenge you. Not while I’m by your side.” He paused, his eyes softening with an intensity that made her heart race. “And I will not let anyone harm you—not now, not ever.”

The carriage soon drew to a halt before the grand townhouse.

Rosaline felt a familiar wave of apprehension wash over her. The stares. The whispers.

“You will have some time to calm down at the townhouse before we head to the ball,” Adam added, his tone almost gentle. “A brief respite before the evening begins.”

Upon hearing these words, she straightened her back, squaring her shoulders, and raised her chin high, her gaze steady.

He was right; she was Duchess of Oldstone. She had nothing to fear.

As she stepped out of the carriage and they entered the townhouse, they were met with utter chaos at the parlor.

Adam’s younger brother, Henry, was sprawled on a velvet sofa, half-naked, with an empty glass beside him.

A disheveled woman was hurriedly trying to exit through the back door, and the butler was hovering awkwardly, trying to maintain an air of composure.

“Henry!” Adam roared, his voice booming through the townhouse. “What in heaven’s name is the meaning of this?”

Henry blinked, groggy, clearly still caught in the haze of whatever debauchery had been going on.

“Adam! You…you’re back! And…and the duchess!”

He scrambled to his feet, looking utterly terrified.

The woman in the corner gasped, her eyes wide with panic, and without a second glance at either of them, she turned and bolted through the door, disappearing into the hall beyond, and out of the townhouse.

“And who,” Adam continued, his voice dripping with disdain, “was that?”

Henry, his face flushing a deep crimson, stammered, “That was… uh…a-a…a friend.”

“A half-naked ‘friend’ who prefers to make a hasty exit upon my arrival?” Adam’s voice grew colder, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “You will explain yourself, Henry. And you will do so now, before I send you packing to the country where you can sort yourself out once and for all.”

Henry’s nervousness only intensified under Adam’s unwavering gaze. He glanced at the door where the woman had disappeared and then back at Adam, visibly shrinking under the force of his brother’s anger.

Rosaline stood to the side. There was no doubt that Adam commanded attention. Despite herself, Rosaline couldn’t help but admire the sheer power he wielded with so little effort.

Adam’s eyes flicked back to Henry, his tone sharp and unforgiving. “I expect you to make amends for this, brother. And you will accompany us to Lord Harrington’s ball tonight, whether you like it or not.”

Henry swallowed hard, visibly trying to gather himself. “Of course, Adam. Yes, I’ll…I’ll get it sorted. I’ll come.”

Adam’s expression remained thunderous as he turned on his heel and stalked toward the door.

“See that you do. I will not tolerate further disgrace from you tonight.”

With that, Adam stormed off, leaving Rosaline and Henry alone in the parlor.

Henry, still reeling, gave Rosaline a sheepish glance, who had been an observant bystander to the whole exchange.

He sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Well, that went as well as I expected.”

Rosaline smiled dryly, leaning against the back of a chair, her arms crossed.

“I take it this is not a regular occurrence?” she asked.

Henry gave a small, nervous chuckle, though the flush on his face remained.

“Not…exactly.”

“I’ll handle it,” Rosaline said after a pause, her tone firm but composed. She stepped forward, placing a hand lightly on his arm. “Go change and compose yourself. I will speak to Adam.”

Henry’s eyes widened slightly, as if he hadn’t expected her to take charge of the situation, but he quickly nodded.

“Thank you, Duchess. And…I’m sorry you had to witness… that .”

She gave him a reassuring smile. “It’s all right, Henry. Just…try to keep out of trouble for the rest of the evening.”

With a hesitant glance toward the door, Henry rushed upstairs.

Adam sat at his desk, his hands clenched into fists as he stared into the fire.

Rosaline entered the room, closing the door quietly behind her. “Adam?”

He didn’t turn to look at her, but his voice was a low growl, still laced with frustration. “He’s a fool. I cannot believe the disrespect—God knows who that woman was.”

She approached slowly, careful to keep her voice calm. “I know you are angry, Adam, but perhaps you should reconsider how harshly you deal with him. He is your brother, after all.”

Adam’s gaze flickered toward her, his expression unreadable. “No. I won’t stand for this kind of outright debauchery in my house.”

Rosaline took a step closer, her eyes softening.

“I understand. But I also know that if you push him too far, it could make things worse. He looks up to you more than you realize, even if he acts, well?—”

“Foolishly? Recklessly? Like a complete buffoon with no sense of self-preservation?”

Rosaline placed a hand gently on his shoulder, the touch surprisingly soothing. “Perhaps we can make a compromise. Let him come with us to Harrington’s ball. It will give him a chance to redeem himself, and it might just put him on a better path.”

Adam looked at her for a long moment, the storm in his eyes slowly beginning to dissipate.

“You think this will work?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Rosaline said softly, “but I do know that sometimes, the hardest lessons are learned through forgiveness. And right now, Henry needs to feel like he still has a place in your life.”

Adam’s gaze softened, just for a moment, before he stood. “Very well.”

“I will leave you to handle the details, but you should know…I have every confidence that Henry can change. And you don’t have to do it alone.”

Adam exhaled, “Perhaps. But he should be thankful to you for this.”

Rosaline chuckled, “I will be sure to let him know.”

Later that evening, as they arrived at the grand ballroom, Rosaline’s heart began to race.

She had braced herself for the inevitable scrutiny—after all, it wasn’t the first time she’d walked into a room full of prying eyes. But tonight, it felt different. The whispers seemed louder, sharper, the stares more intense. Heads turned in their direction as they entered, a ripple of conversation following them like a tidal wave.

Rosaline swallowed hard, a familiar sense of insecurity creeping up her spine. The weight of their gaze felt heavier than usual, like invisible hands pushing her further into the corner of the room.

Adam, ever perceptive, must have noticed her shift in posture. He stepped closer, his hand subtly brushing against hers, and squeezed it reassuringly.

“Hold your head high, Rosaline,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “Let them stare. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

Her heart eased by the sincerity in his voice. His words struck a chord deep within her, and for a moment, she forgot about it all.

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.

Adam’s gaze locked onto hers, and his words were a low whisper against her ear. “You dance beautifully.”

She swallowed, her heart hammering against her ribs. “As do you, Duke,” she managed, her voice steadier than she felt.

For a moment, they danced in silence, the music filling the space between them. But Adam’s presence was magnetic, and soon his lips brushed her ear as he leaned closer.

“Tell me, Duchess,” he murmured, his voice husky, “what are you afraid of?”

Rosaline froze, caught off guard by the question. She tried to maintain her composure, though she could feel the warmth in her cheeks.

Afraid?

The word sent a jolt of unease through her, and she pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze.

“I am not afraid,” she stammered, though she couldn’t quite hide the tremor in her voice.

Adam’s lips curled into a smile, a slow, dangerous smile. “You tremble, duchess. And your eyes…well, they betray emotion that runs much deeper than mere social anxiety.”

“It isn’t fear, my lord,” she said firmly, her voice a whisper of challenge.

“What is it then?” Adam asked, his eyes darkening, “Did anyone upset you tonight? Tell me and I shall deal with them promptly.”

“No, no. Nobody upset me,” she said hurriedly, wary of how protective the duke could be.

“What is the matter, then?”

The air between them crackled with an electric tension, and Rosaline, her breath catching, met his gaze.

“I…I am merely wary of how close you are, my lord,” she admitted.

“Wary? Do I make you uncomfortable?”

“Not in the way you think, Your Grace.”

Adam tilted his head to the side and a sly smirk formed on his lips.

“It would benefit both of us if you spoke plainly, wife,” he said.

“I am speaking plainly,” Rosaline retorted.

Adam’s smirk widened. Next, he leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered. “Show me the storm within you, Duchess. Let me see the woman beneath the mask.”

She felt a shiver run down her spine, both from fear and exhilaration.

Rosaline steadied herself.

“Very well, Duke,” she whispered, her voice husky, laden with suppressed emotions. “I shall do as you wish.”

The intensity between them grew, and Adam, his eyes dark with desire, pulled her closer still. His lips hovered inches from hers. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, wild and frantic.

This is dangerous, she thought, her mind racing.

But oh, so intoxicating.