Page 26 of Claiming his Cursed Duchess

Mysterious though he may be, he is quite handsome, isn’t he?she thought, her mind drifting to his chiseled features and piercing gaze.

Chapter Nine

“Is 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.