Page 91 of Claiming his Cursed Duchess

“Youbastard,” Adam snarled as he took one step forward.

And drove his fist with a satisfying crack into Claridge’s eye.

The man roared in shock, the coffee spilling all over the patterned carpet beneath their feet as he fell to the floor, moaning, clutching his face with his hand.

Adam flexed his fingers; the pain felt justified by the sight of the man groveling at his feet.

He stepped over Claridge’s prone form and walked to the desk as swiftly as he could.

The key glimmered in the lock as he turned it and lifted the curved panel up.

It was identical to his father’s, and Adam saw the hidden lever instantly, pulling it out and watching as the entire top half of the desk lowered to reveal hidden drawers behind.

Adam glanced back at Claridge, but he was still groaning and rolling on the floor in a considerable amount of pain, a swollen lump forming above his eyebrow.

Adam reached for the first drawer he came across, and a jolt of excitement shot through his chest as he saw exactly what he had wanted to find inside.

Henry’s slanting hand was clearly visible on the front of a pure white envelope, lying diagonally in a vertical drawer of the desk.

At bloody last.

Adam immediately seized it and ripped it open, scanning the letter eagerly, his chest tightening at his brother’s words of regret and sorrow at what he had done.

Without any hesitation, he walked to the fire and threw the thing into the flames, watching it burn to ash.

It was the first time a weight was lifted from his shoulders in the presence of flames.

Fire had been David’s demise, but now, it was Henry’s salvation.

“Good day, Claridge,” Adam said as he turned, looking down at the man with all the contempt he could muster. “A pleasure doing business with you.”

Chapter Thirty

Rosaline sat in the window of Genevieve’s home in Ravenshire.

Her eyes followed Wilhelm and Genevieve as they walked with their newborn baby on the grass below them.

She felt envious of their soft touches and easy mannerisms, her mind filled with thoughts of Adam.

She had hardly slept since she had arrived, and was now intimately familiar with the petals of the ceiling rose above her bed.

Despite arriving unannounced, she had been welcomed with open arms.

Genevieve had taken one look at her and ushered her inside, handing the baby to Wilhelm and putting a reassuring arm around Rosaline’s shoulders.

The days in between had been gentle but filled with questions. Rosaline had told Genevieve only a small amount of what had taken place, but her cousin had still assumed it was something Adam had done.

She had offered to return to London and knock the duke’s head from his shoulders if Rosaline wished her to. Rosaline was grateful for her cousin’s anger on her behalf, but it did little to dispel the sadness she carried.

Rosaline traced patterns on the glass, watching a blackbird wheel past her window.

When she had left London, it had been an impulsive decision, but she had at least expected to feel happier to be away from Adam for a time.

She had not expected the yawning unhappiness that filled her every waking moment.

In such a short time, Adam’s arrogant, volatile world had become interlinked with her own and it seemed she could not do without him—even if she was furious with him.

She glanced down at the gardens once more, having been lost in thought, and noticed that Wilhelm was now standing with the baby alone on the lawns.