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

Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

“ T hornvale,” came a familiar voice, drawing his attention.

Magnus had seen Lady Charlotte when she entered the room, the way she moved with a grace that seemed effortless, her auburn hair catching the light in a way that made it difficult to look away.

She was speaking with her friend—the new Lady Arkley—and he could see her come to the realization that she had been wrong.

His lips twitched into a smirk. He was glad she knew, at last, that she had been wrong.

Christian approached, his expression warm and relaxed in a way Magnus hadn’t seen in years.

The Viscount’s dark hair was impeccably combed, his tailored coat fitting perfectly, but it was his demeanor that had changed. There was an ease about him, a contentment that Magnus couldn’t ignore.

Married life was treating him well indeed.

“Arkley,” Magnus greeted, inclining his head slightly. “Enjoying the evening, I take it?”

“I am,” Christian said, his smile widening. “And I have you to thank for that.”

Magnus raised a brow. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” Christian said with a laugh. “If not for your insistent advice, I might have made a complete fool of myself—or worse, let her slip away.”

Magnus smirked, taking a sip of his brandy. “I merely reminded you not to be an idiot. The rest was up to you.”

Christian chuckled, clapping Magnus on the shoulder. “Well, it was sound advice, nonetheless. Lavinia is… She’s everything, Magnus. More than I deserve, I think.”

“That’s true enough,” Magnus teased and tilted his glass slightly, a gesture of acknowledgment. “It’s good to see you well, sport. And happier than I have ever seen you.”

Christian’s smile softened, and he glanced across the room to where Lavinia stood with Lady Charlotte. His eyes lingered on his wife, his admiration plain, and Magnus could not stop his own gaze landing on her friend.

“She’s remarkable,” Christian said. “They both are in their own ways. Though Lady Charlotte does seem… spirited.”

Magnus’ jaw tightened imperceptibly, but he said nothing.

Christian’s gaze flicked back to Magnus, sharp with curiosity. “You have been watching her.”

Magnus frowned, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Nonsense.”

“Come now,” Christian said, his tone teasing but perceptive. “I have known you far too long to fall for that. You have barely taken your eyes off her since we arrived.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Magnus said curtly, his voice low. “I have been watching the room. It’s a habit, nothing more.”

Christian’s brow arched, a smirk on his face. “If you say so.”

Magnus set his glass down on a nearby table, his movements measured and deliberate.

“I do. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have no desire to discuss baseless observations.”

Christian chuckled again, but there was something knowing in his expression.

“Of course, Magnus. Though you might consider that some habits are worth indulging.”

Magnus didn’t reply, his gaze drawn once again—against his will, he told himself—to the other side of the room.

Lady Charlotte was laughing now, her eyes alight with something pure and untamed, and Magnus felt the familiar stir of frustration rise within him.

Christian’s words lingered as Magnus turned his attention back to the crowd, his posture stiff but composed.

If there was a storm brewing within him, he would keep it contained.

For now.

“You must tell me everything,” Lavinia said, her voice bubbling with excitement. “It has been ages since we’ve truly talked. What’s this I hear about you and Lord Kinfield? Are you truly engaged? I cannot believe you didn’t tell me!”

Charlotte’s breath caught in her throat. Lavinia sounded so excited, as if this were a love match and not the prison sentence Charlotte thought it to be.

“Oh, that…” she said, fidgeting with the lace at her wrist. “It’s… complicated.”

“Complicated?” Lavinia tilted her head, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “Charlotte, you can’t just drop that and leave me in suspense. Tell me everything.”

Charlotte gave her an awkward smile, glancing around as if searching for an escape. “It’s a very long story, Lavinia. Too long for a ball.”

Lavinia’s brow furrowed, and her playful expression turned serious. “Charlotte, are you happy?”

The question struck like a stone, and for a moment, Charlotte didn’t know how to answer.

Happy?

The word felt foreign, almost absurd in the context of her engagement to Lord Kinfield.

She forced a smile, her lips curving as if she could hide the truth there.

“It is what’s expected,” she said, her tone carefully neutral. “You know how it is.”

Lavinia narrowed her eyes, her gaze searching Charlotte’s face.

“I know what it’s like to feel trapped,” she said softly. “But I also know there’s always a way out. Charlotte, perhaps you will come to care for him a great deal as I have with?—”

“Ah, my lovely fiancée.”

The smooth voice interrupted Lavinia’s words, and Charlotte’s entire body stiffened.

She turned to see Lord Kinfield approaching, his polished smile a mask of charm that felt entirely false. His perfectly tailored suit gleamed in the candlelight, and his every step exuded self-satisfaction.

“There you are,” he said, taking her hand in his with an air of possession. “I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”

His smile didn’t falter, but there was a flicker of something sharp in his gaze.

Charlotte’s jaw tightened, and she forced herself to return his smile though it felt like a grimace.

“Lord Kinfield,” she said, inclining her head.

He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss there that sent a shiver down her spine—not from warmth but from the coldness of the gesture.

“I apologize for repeating myself, but I must say, you look exquisite this evening,” he said, his tone dripping with artificial charm. “May I have the honor of the first dance?”

Charlotte hesitated, her gaze darting to Lavinia as if she could somehow rescue her. But her friend only offered an encouraging smile and a small nod.

“I…” Charlotte began, but her words felt like they belonged to someone else.

“It is only natural,” Kinfield continued with a small chuckle. “We are engaged after all. It would look… unusual were we not to dance together.”

“Of course,” Charlotte said, giving in more easily than she ever imagined she would.

Kinfield’s smile widened, and he offered his arm.

With a quick, apologetic glance at Lavinia, Charlotte took it, her movements stiff and mechanical.

Kinfield led her toward the dance floor, his grip firm and unyielding. Charlotte felt her pulse quicken, every step toward the center of the room like a march to a place she didn’t want to go.

The music swelled, the sound rich and lovely, but it only served to highlight the heaviness in her chest.

Magnus stood near the edge of the ballroom, his glass of brandy untouched in his hand as the swirling chaos of the dance floor played out before him.

The music was lively, the couples graceful, but his focus was singular.

His eyes locked on Lady Charlotte.

Her elegance was effortless, despite her lack of propriety, and Magnus suspected she was holding herself together with sheer will.

Her gown, a deep emerald that brought out the fiery tones in her auburn hair, fit her perfectly. Every turn and step seemed to highlight her natural beauty, and Magnus found himself seething as he watched.

Not because of her but because of him.

Kinfield.

The man’s hand rested possessively on Lady Charlotte’s waist as he guided her through the dance. His expression was smug, his every movement a reminder of the claim he thought he had on her.

Magnus’ jaw tightened, and he took a slow, deliberate sip of his drink though it did little to quell the fire burning in his chest.

Why should I care? She is nothing to me. She is engaged, and I have no part in this.

And yet, as Kinfield leaned in closer, whispering something in her ear that brought a forced smile to her lips, Magnus felt his hand clench around the glass.

He wanted to march onto the dance floor, rip her from Kinfield’s grasp, and…

“Enjoying the view, Your Grace?”

The teasing voice snapped Magnus out of his thoughts.

He turned to see Lady Galbury approaching, a sly smile tugging at her lips. She was, as always, impeccably dressed, her sharp eyes glinting with mischief as they darted between Magnus and the dance floor.

“Hardly,” Magnus replied curtly, downing the rest of his drink in one swift motion.

Lady Galbury raised an elegant brow. “Oh, come now. Don’t insult my intelligence, darling nephew. You have been staring at that poor girl as though you’re deciding whether to devour her or save her.”

Magnus set his empty glass on a nearby table, his jaw tightening. “You have an overactive imagination, Lady Galbury.”

She chuckled, clearly unfazed by his brusque tone. “And you, dear nephew, are a terrible liar.”

Magnus shot her a sharp glance, but Lady Galbury merely smiled, folding her hands before her.

“She is quite something, isn’t she? Lady Charlotte. Though I must admit, I cannot fathom what she sees in that preening peacock she’s promised to.”

“Perhaps she sees nothing at all,” Magnus said, his voice low and hard. “Perhaps she has no choice.”

Lady Galbury tilted her head, studying him with that infuriatingly knowing look of hers.

“And yet, you are standing here, doing nothing about it.”

“There is nothing to be done,” Magnus snapped. “Her engagement is her affair, not mine.”

“Is that what you’re telling yourself?” she asked softly, her tone uncharacteristically gentle. “Or is that what you think society demands of you?”

Magnus didn’t answer.

He turned his gaze back toward the dance floor, once again landing on Lady Charlotte. She laughed at something Kinfield said, but even from this distance, Magnus could see the strain in her expression.

Lady Galbury sighed, shaking her head.

“Well, if you insist on brooding like a storm cloud, I shan’t stop you. But do try not to drown in your own jealousy.”

“I am not jealous,” Magnus growled, his eyes still on Lady Charlotte.

Lady Galbury chuckled again, patting his arm.

“Of course, you’re not. You’re simply… observing. How very noble of you.”

With that, she glided away, leaving Magnus alone with his thoughts.

Look away , he told himself. Look away from her.

He had to forget the way her emerald gown shimmered under the chandeliers or the way her lips curved into that bittersweet smile.

But he couldn’t.

And it infuriated him.

The final notes of the set echoed through the ballroom, followed by polite applause.

Magnus straightened, his decision made before he could second-guess himself. He drank his whisky then set his empty glass aside and began weaving through the crowd with purpose.

Lady Charlotte stepped off the dance floor, her arm lightly looped through Kinfield’s as he prattled on about some trivial matter. Her smile was tight, her eyes darting around the room as though she were seeking an escape.

Magnus could almost feel her tension, and it spurred him forward.

As he approached, Kinfield’s voice faltered, his eyes narrowing as Magnus stopped in front of them. Lady Charlotte’s gaze snapped to him, her lips parting in surprise.

“Lady Charlotte,” Magnus said, his voice low and commanding, “may I have the next dance?”

Charlotte blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Pardon me?”

Magnus inclined his head, his eyes locking onto hers.

“The next dance. Will you honor me with it?”

Kinfield bristled, his posture stiffening. “Your Grace, I?—”

“I was speaking to the lady,” Magnus interrupted, his gaze never leaving Charlotte’s.

For a moment, she said nothing, her expression shocked and confused. Her lips parted again, but no sound came out.

Magnus could feel Kinfield’s irritation bubbling beside him, but he paid it no mind. This was about her and her alone.

“Lady Charlotte,” he prompted, his voice softening slightly. “What do you say?”

Charlotte’s eyes darted to Kinfield then back to Magnus.

Finally, she nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yes. I… I’ll dance with you, Your Grace.”

“Excellent,” he said simply.

Magnus extended his hand, palm up, waiting. After a brief hesitation, she placed her gloved fingers in his.

The touch sent a jolt through him, but he kept his expression neutral.

Without a glance at Kinfield, Magnus led her toward the center of the ballroom, the crowd parting around them. He could feel the weight of countless eyes on them, whispers beginning to ripple through the room like a gust of wind.

But Magnus didn’t care.

For once, he wasn’t thinking about appearances or reputations.

All that mattered was the captivating woman at his side.