Stolen by the Cursed Duke (Stolen by the Duke #3)

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

“ I will report you to the authorities,” the lady said. “As soon as I am able. Duke or no duke, kidnapping is illegal.”

Magnus laughed at her again.

He had to admit it—he was having a great time.

When he’d seen her approaching the church, the constant ball of dread in his chest tightened even further. He wanted to see Christian married, and Lady Lavinia was the perfect match for him.

But the woman—Lady Charlotte as he’d discovered—turned out to be quite a match. He rather liked that she fought back at every stage.

He could still picture the way she had fallen into the carriage, legs wide apart like a slattern’s, her split skirt halfway up her leg, exposing a significant amount of flesh.

She had corrected herself quickly, of course, and it had not been his intention to see her in such a state, but… he quickly pushed the thought away, annoyed at his own lustful nature.

“Report me?” he said now, eyeing the cleavage that threatened to spill out of her dress with the way she heaved her breath.

He licked his lips and forced his gaze back up to her face. “And what exactly will you tell them, Lady Charlotte? That I saved you from humiliating yourself and your friend? That I dragged you out of the storm and prevented you from ruining lives? I assure you, no one will pity you.” His emerald eyes locked on hers, daring her to argue.

“Are you always this sarcastic, or is it only with young ladies you kidnap?”

“ Young lady might be a bit of a misnomer. Young, perhaps, but you have shown yourself to be anything but ladylike thus far.”

His eyes traveled over her face. Her hair, a rich auburn, was unruly, spilling out in a rough ponytail, the type one would see on a scullery maid, shoved under a cotton cap.

Yet there was something captivating about her, something intriguing. He’d thought it the moment he’d pushed her against that tree, and he continued to think it now. He wanted to reach out and touch her, to grab her roughly as he had earlier.

But he didn’t. Of course he didn’t. He couldn’t allow himself that pleasure, and frustration bubbled up inside him at the very fact that she could make him feel that way.

“And do you think it’s gentlemanly to manhandle a woman and then abduct her?” Lady Charlotte demanded. “It would be inappropriate if I were even a mere serving girl!”

Magnus chuckled. “For the last time, I have not abducted you. I should imagine your parents will thank me when I return you—and no doubt your father will have something to say about your state of dress and your overall behavior.”

“I shouldn’t count on it,” she muttered under her breath.

His eyes moved from her pink cheeks and plump lips to the curve of her neck. So sensuous. He imagined himself burying his face there as he took her, proving to her how very unladylike she was. He would perhaps flip her over and take her from behind?—

For God’s sake, Thornvale. Compose yourself.

He looked away, annoyed at his own incontrollable libido.

“Why do you even care so much about the wedding?” she demanded. “Why would it bother you if I stopped it?”

Magnus frowned and feigned picking bits of dust off his trousers. “The Viscount is a dear friend of mine, and I believe Lady Lavinia will be good for him.”

“If he doesn’t hurt her, that is,” Lady Charlotte snapped.

“We are not all the cruel brutes you seem to think we are,” he replied, to which she scoffed loudly.

“You are proving quite the opposite, though, are you not? You think having the physical strength to control me gives you the right to do so whenever you choose.”

“And you think having the physical ability to barge into a church and ruin a respectable ceremony gives you the right to do so,” he retorted. “Perhaps we are not so very different, you and I.”

His piercing gaze bore into her, stripping away her defenses.

“Both of us relentless, both willing to bend the rules when it suits us. But the difference is, I understand the consequences of my actions. You…” He paused, his lips curling into a cold smirk. “You only understand what you want.”

She glared at him, and Magnus held her gaze, daring her to push him further.

“I know all about you, Your Grace,” she said after a moment.

Surprised and a little concerned, Magnus sat up straighter.

“In what sense?”

“You’re no better than Arkley,” she replied. “Thornvale and Arkley… quite a pair. You have got a name for yourselves.”

He tutted and shook his head, gazing out of the window. The clouds had turned grey and pendulous, hanging low and heaving in the sky.

“I am not one to follow petty rumors and scandals,” he said.

“No, you’re one to create them.”

He let out a loud laugh and turned to face her again. “That is rich coming from one who was sent away to learn to behave. Yet it seems to me you were taught nothing at all in France. How many weddings did you ruin while you were in Paris?”

Lady Charlotte narrowed her eyes at him. “I may well have been exiled for being myself, but at least I am not blighted.”

“Blighted?” he asked though he felt that old familiar fear in his chest.

He knew what she was talking about, and no amount of trying to forget it would clear his thoughts of it.

“Duke of Thornvale? Ha!” She threw her head back, exposing the fine curve of her neck. “We all know what you are. The Cursed Duke.”

As she said the words, the skies opened. Thunder rumbled through London, and the grey clouds burst, sending heavy rain across the streets. Magnus stiffened, his jaw tightening as he turned to face her. The storm outside echoed the fury in his eyes.

He leaned forward, his voice cutting like a blade.

“Say that again, and you’ll find out just how cursed I can be. Superstition is for fools. I deal in reality, and in reality, you are testing my patience.”

“Perhaps people should say it more. Only yesterday, I heard the farmers complaining about how dry the fields have been of late,” she mocked.

His gaze hardened. “If they have complaints, they can take them to Parliament or the heavens, not me. It was a mere coincidence. It does not rain every time someone calls me that ridiculous moniker.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t, Your Grace,” she replied with mock innocence.

Magnus glanced out of the window as the carriage slowed on account of the weather. The rain had intensified rapidly, sending misty spatters up from the dark grey cobbles. The people in the streets ran for cover, newspapers overhead in a vain attempt to keep themselves dry.

The carriage slowed further, eventually coming to a complete stop.

“What’s the matter?” Magnus called through to the front of the carriage though he already suspected it was the weather.

“The horses are spooked, Your Grace,” the coachman called, shouting over the cacophony of rain. “London’s quite a way yet, and there’s a big storm on the horizon. I can see it with my own eyes.”

Magnus sighed. “So, what do you say?”

The coachman paused, as if assessing the situation, then called back. “Too risky by half, Your Grace. We need to find somewhere closer for shelter.”

Magnus groaned, glancing at the woman he had indeed now inadvertently kidnapped. There was no fear on her face, only amusement, and he wondered at how spirited she was.

It was no wonder he was intrigued by her. He’d never before met anyone like her. So bright, so forceful. There was intelligence there, he could see that. There was beauty, too, though it seemed she did everything she could to hide it. He could even detect, beneath it all, a hint of grace and elegance.

“Very well. Head to Thornvale,” Magnus called to the coachman, his gaze steady on his prey. “It may be in the other direction, but it’s only an hour away, and we’ll be safe from the storm there.”

“What?” Lady Charlotte cried, her eyes widening. “No! Absolutely not! I refuse!”

As the carriage turned down a side street, Magnus said, “Of course, you are welcome to get out here, but I cannot make any guarantees as to your safety, and, well…” He looked out of the window and up at the heavy clouds. “… I’d wager you’re going to get quite wet.”

Lady Charlotte huffed and once again crossed her arms over herself, throwing her back against the bench.

“It truly is kidnapping now,” she muttered. “And you have quite ruined my honor and the reputation of my entire family by thrusting me into this carriage alone with you. Not to mention taking me to your house!”

“I’d say you’re already doing a pretty good job of ruining your honor. My help was not needed,” Magnus said.

“How dare?—”

“You think your protests matter to me?” he said, his tone sharp and dismissive. “The storm will kill us both if we continue to London. My estate is close, and that is where we are going. You don’t have to like it, Lady Charlotte. You just have to endure it.”

Lady Charlotte narrowed her eyes at him. “You have ruined me,” she said again, “Taking me to your estate! We shall be the talk of London! The scandal will keep the gossipmongers in currency for weeks. God knows where my parents will have to send me to recover from this.”

Rolling his eyes at her, Magnus said, “Don’t be so dramatic, Lady Charlotte. No one will ever find out about your stay at Thornvale. There will be maids and footmen present the entire time. And the moment the skies clear, you shall return to London. I’ll even be good enough to send you in a carriage, unless you think that would be too scandalous too.”

Magnus leaned back in his seat, his fingers laced together as his gaze bore into hers.

“If it eases your mind, My Lady, I promise to treat you as an honored guest while you are under my roof.”

She sat upright, glaring at him with all the fire and defiance he found so fascinating. “I don’t want to be under your roof at all!”

“And I am not exactly thrilled to have a stranger in my home, but here we are.”

The carriage rattled as it turned another corner, the rain hammering harder against the windows.

Charlotte huffed, her lips pursed in frustration. “If I were a man, I’d challenge you to a duel.”

Magnus’ lip curled in disdain.

“Then it’s fortunate you are not,” he replied coldly. “Dueling is not the romantic fantasy you seem to believe. Trust me, Lady Charlotte—you wouldn’t survive it.”