Page 67 of Claiming his Cursed Duchess

He knew Claridge would never stop. He had to do something about it.

“You underestimate my reach, Lord Claridge,” Adam replied, his voice a smooth, dangerous purr that promised repercussions.

Claridge’s lips curled into a twisted smile. “Oh, I know about your reach, Duke. Must I remind you of your past indiscretions? Of a certain…letter? One concerning your brother?”

“You will stop using Henry against me.”

Claridge smirked, his bravado faltering for a moment. “Desperate times call for desperate measures. And you, my dear duke, are desperate.” His eyes gleamed with a triumphant cruelty. “But I’m certain you’ll find that your desperation will not save you.”

“You will regret this, Claridge,” Adam growled and turned to leave, but Claridge suddenly grabbed his arm.

“Wise words, Duke. But I suggest you tread carefully,” Claridge said and squeezed Adam’s arm.

The muscle in Adam’s neck tightened as he yanked his arm free from Claridge. Then, he took a deliberate step toward the old lord.

“Never,” he said softly, his words like a blade poised to strike, “touch me again.”

Claridge’s eyes widened in fear, and with a hasty bow, he turned and scurried away, his steps quick and uncertain, as if he had been burned.

As Claridge disappeared into the crowd, Adam turned, his face still a mask of controlled fury, and walked toward the dance floor.

His gaze swept the room, and for a brief, heart-stopping moment, Rosaline’s eyes met his. She was dancing with his brother.

Something dark hummed in his chest. He didn’t like Henry touching her. Not one bit.

“Enjoying the view, Duke?” Phineas’ teasing voice snapped him out of his head.

Adam turned to Phineas with a sharp glance. “What view?” he retorted, his tone defensive.

Phineas raised an eyebrow. “Come now, Oldstone. You don’t fool me. Your eyes are practically glued to your wife.”

Adam bristled, and though he tried to hide it, he knew what Phineas was talking about. Rosaline provoked something raw and untamed, like a whirlwind.

“She is my wife,” Adam said firmly, as if trying to convince both Phineas and himself. “It is my duty to ensure her safety.”

The words felt flat, hollow in her ears. But when Adam looked at her, she could feel the flicker of something beneath the surface—something more than duty. Something that made his pulse quicken.

Phineas smirked. “Are you merely observing? Or…admiring?”

Adam’s chest tightened at the suggestion, his jaw grinding. But his gaze flickered to her again. Rosaline was laughing, her smile lighting up the room. She had no idea what was happening around her—no idea how she was changing everything just by existing.

“She’s…enchanting,” Adam muttered under his breath. His voice was rough, as though he hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but it lingered in the air, undeniable.

There was something between them—something that had only just begun to burn.

And fires, in Adam’s experience, were catastrophic.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Along night,” Rosaline sighed, stepping onto the cobblestones, feeling her heels click against them with the rhythmic pulse of her unease. “I believe I shall retire.”

Adam, his gaze lingering on her face with something unreadable, nodded stiffly.

“Goodnight, Rosaline.” His voice was curt, almost dismissive, as if the conversation had already ended in his mind.

She felt her chest tighten, the familiar pang of hurt pricking at her insides.

Coldness again. Why does he always seem to withdraw?