Page 15 of Claiming his Cursed Duchess

Lord Claridge cleared his throat.

“Your Grace,” he began, his voice low and serious. “Remember, my niece is a delicate flower. She requires gentle care and understanding.”

Adam’s blue eyes flickered with annoyance. “I do not need lecturing on my wife’s needs, Lord Claridge,” he replied, his voice sharp. “I shall discover them for myself.”

The tension in the chapel was palpable. Rosaline felt a surge of anger, but she quickly suppressed it. This was not the time to cause a scene. She had to play the part—the dutiful wife, the perfect duchess.

He wouldn’t even look at her, let alone speak to her.

What had transpired to bring about this union? Was he shown an old portrait of her—one without her scars—and duped into this? Was she to suffer his wrath for her uncle’s lies?

She straightened her spine, her chin lifting in silent rebellion. She would not be cowed by his indifference. She would show him that she was more than just a noble title. She was a woman of wit, intelligence, and resilience.

“Of course, Your Grace,” Lord Claridge said smoothly, sweeping a bow that failed to hide his smug smile. “My apologies.”

What does my uncle know about my marriage that I do not?Rosaline mused, her brow furrowing as she stared at her uncle, her gaze sharp and unwavering.

He was hiding something, she could feel it.

She turned her attention to her new husband, her lips curving into a subtle smile.

The duke had dark hair that made his blue eyes appear electric. They were framed by a proud nose and a sharp jaw.

She narrowed her eyes as she continued trying to deduce what had led to this moment, only for him to glance over and catch her staring at him appraisingly.

His eyebrows rose in amusement.

A feisty one, isn’t she?Rosaline could almost hear the thought, and she couldn’t suppress a blush.

Perhaps he’s not as stoic as he appears.

His jaw was set, his expression both proud and guarded. A man of mystery, and one who clearly didn’t appreciate being studied.

Rosaline’s thoughts were interrupted by a young man approaching the couple, his face a blend of curiosity and unease.

“Congratulations, Adam, and Your Grace,” he said, his voice unsteady. “I wish you both all the happiness in the world.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Rosaline smiled graciously, curtseying slightly. “I am so sorry, I believe that we have yet to be introduced?” She glanced at Adam, prompting him, but he only deepened his frown as he glared at his brother.

“My apologies.” The duke’s brother gave her a snake-charmer smile and swept a bow. “I am Henry Fitzwilliam, your husband’s younger—and better-looking—brother.”

Rosaline extended her gloved hand, fingers delicately poised, expecting Henry to bow over it.

She was surprised when her new brother-in-law went stiff, eyes widening.

Henry glanced from her hand to her face, and she saw the fear in his eyes.

Rosaline’s smile dimmed and she dropped her hand with a soft sigh, disappointment filling her chest.

“Do not upset my wife with your baseless belief in superstition, Henry,” Adam snarled at his brother.

Rosaline glanced at the duke in surprise, interested by the way his blue eyes shone.

Henry blinked, mouth slightly agape, glancing between his brother and Rosaline with clear confusion. He took a half step back, readjusting his grip on his champagne.

“I’m sorry, Adam, I?—”

“It isn’t me who deserves your apology.” Adam growled in a low voice, and Rosaline looked at him with nearly as much surprise as Henry.