Page 48 of Claiming his Cursed Duchess

Rosaline looked up, surprised by his words. She had expected him to remain aloof, indifferent to her grief. But there was a genuine concern in his eyes, a flicker of something akin to empathy.

It was a fleeting moment, quickly masked by his usual stoicism, but it was there, undeniable.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.

Elias, noticing the exchange between them, quickly changed the subject, his voice regaining its jovial tone.

“But enough of the past!” he boomed, clapping his hands together. “Let me show you what I’ve been working on.”

Rosaline, grateful for the distraction, focused her attention on the tools Elias proudly displayed.

As she examined them, she couldn’t help but notice Adam watching her, his gaze intense, his expression unreadable.

She felt a strange flutter in her chest, enjoying the attention.

She only hoped it would last longer than this trip of theirs.

Adam watched Rosaline as they stepped out of the forge.

The cool evening air wrapped around them, a welcome contrast to the heat they’d just left behind.

For a moment, he was struck by how natural she seemed here—away from the ballrooms, stripped of the masks society demanded. She was raw, unguarded, and entirely captivating.

The quiet strength beneath her weariness made him pause, something about her pulling at the parts of him he preferred to keep locked away.

“I am sure this wasn’t quite the day you envisioned,” he said finally, breaking the silence.

Rosaline tilted her head toward him, a teasing lilt to her tone. “You think I envisioned anything about this day involving soot, heat, and an anvil?”

Adam’s lips twitched, almost a smile. “Forgive me for assuming the company might make up for it.”

Her step faltered slightly, but she recovered quickly, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “You are rather certain of your charms, aren’t you?”

He stopped walking, and when she noticed, she turned to face him, her brows lifting in question. Adam stepped closer, just enough to draw her attention to the space—or lack of it—between them.

“Am I wrong?” he asked.

For a moment, the teasing light in her eyes dimmed, replaced by something she couldn’t quite hide—vulnerability. But just as quickly, her walls snapped back into place.

“That remains to be seen,” she replied, her voice steady, though her hands betrayed her by twisting the folds of her dress.

Adam’s gaze lingered on her hands, then returned to her face. “You’re not used to letting anyone in.”

The statement struck a nerve, and she stiffened. “And why would I be? Most people prefer to see what they want and ignore the rest. You seem rather practiced at it yourself.”

He chuckled softly, but there was no humor in the sound. “Perhaps. But you are not so easy to ignore.”

She stepped back, clearly trying to regain control. “You speak as though you know me, Your Grace.”

“I know enough of you,” Adam murmured, his voice dropping low.

“Enough of me?” she repeated, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Enough to know that you are captivating,” he replied, the words slipping out his mouth far too quickly for his liking.

Before she could respond, a faint gust of wind carried the scent of her lavender perfume, and the intensity in his eyes shifted. The teasing edge was gone, replaced by something darker, more primal.

Her lips parted to speak, but the words caught in her throat when he reached for her, brushing a loose curl away from her cheek. His fingers lingered just long enough for her to feel the warmth of his touch.