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

Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

“ Y ou have certainly made an impression tonight,” the Duke said, his voice low, rough like gravel against stone. “I imagine every eye in the room is watching us.”

The music began, a sweeping set that seemed to mirror the fire inside Charlotte’s chest.

The Duke’s hand settled firmly against her waist, the strength in his grip undeniable. His other hand captured hers, his fingers curling around hers with a dominance that demanded compliance.

He didn’t ask her to follow—he commanded it.

And Charlotte hated how easily her body obeyed.

She had danced with countless men before, but none had ever moved like this. His steps were deliberate, precise, and his gaze—cold and unyielding—held hers captive.

The tension simmering between them was almost unbearable, an undercurrent of unspoken words and tightly wound emotions threatening to snap.

Charlotte’s chin lifted, defiance flashing in her eyes. “Perhaps they’re watching you, Your Grace. After all, everyone loves to whisper about the Cursed Duke.”

His lips twitched in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Oh, I have no doubt they’re whispering. But tell me, Lady Charlotte—does their gossip bother you? Or are you merely deflecting?”

“I am doing neither,” she shot back, her voice tight. “If anything, I imagine they are discussing Lavinia. She and her husband seem quite happy, don’t they?”

The Duke’s grip on her waist tightened slightly, his gaze sharpening.

“Ah, yes. The happy couple. You must feel so vindicated, considering how determined you were to stop their union.”

Her steps faltered, but he adjusted without pause, keeping her moving even as her breath caught in her chest.

“I was trying to protect her,” she said, the words clipped.

“Protect her?” The Duke’s tone was sardonic, his smirk almost foxlike. “Tell me, does she look like someone who needed protecting? Or is this your way of absolving yourself?”

Her cheeks burned, but she refused to look away.

He was right, of course, but she had no desire to admit such.

“What do you know about it? You would not understand.”

“What I understand,” he said, his voice dropping, “is that you are no different from the rest of us. You act on impulse, believing you know what is best, and damn the consequences. But let me tell you this, Lady Charlotte. There are always consequences.”

Charlotte’s nails bit into his shoulder as she stiffened. “How dare you?—”

“I dare because it’s true,” he interrupted, his tone biting. “Your intentions may have been noble, but they were misplaced. Lady Arkley needed you to support her, not ruin her.”

The words stung, cutting deeper than she cared to admit. But she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her wounded.

“And you, of course, know all about supporting others, don’t you? A man as cold and callous as you?”

The Duke’s gaze darkened, the muscles in his jaw flexing.

“Careful, Lady Charlotte. You tread dangerously close to territory you don’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly,” she retorted, her tone sharp as a dagger. “You are arrogant, overbearing, and you think your title gives you the right to judge everyone else.”

He pulled her closer, the motion almost predatory, and her breath hitched again as her chest brushed against his.

She had a flash of memory of the way he pressed her against that tree, restricting her movement. She thought again of the taste of his lips when he had kissed her and how much she craved to taste them again.

“And you, My Lady,” he continued, “are spoiled, reckless, and far too used to getting your way. It’s a wonder Lord Kinfield tolerates you at all.”

The mention of Kinfield made her stomach twist, and the Duke saw the flicker of emotion in her eyes.

His smirk deepened, icy and cruel.

“Ah, yes. The perfect fiancé. I still can’t fathom how someone as fiery as you settled for a man like him.”

“My fiancé is none of your concern,” she said tightly, her voice trembling with anger.

“But you are, it seems,” he murmured, his voice laced with something darker, something possessive.

She glared up at him, the intensity of his gaze making her pulse race. Her body burned where he touched her.

“Am I? You have no right to speak about my choices.”

“And yet,” he said, leaning in just enough that she could feel the heat of his breath against her ear, “here I am.”

Charlotte’s retort was swallowed by the music’s crescendo as he guided her into a flawless turn, their bodies moving in perfect synchronicity despite the fire between them.

The final notes of the waltz lingered in the air, and the Duke pulled her upright, holding her a moment longer than propriety allowed. His hand pressed firmly against her waist, anchoring her even as the rest of the room faded away.

“Thank you for the dance, Lady Charlotte,” he said, his voice a cold drawl that sent shivers down her spine.

She opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat. He released her hand and stepped back with a curt bow before turning and walking away, his movements purposeful and unapologetic.

As if it never happened.

Charlotte remained frozen, her breath uneven, her chest tight with unspoken words as she watched him leave.

The intensity of the moment left her both shaken and infuriated, a knot of emotions twisting in her chest.

And yet, as she watched him disappear into the crowd, she couldn’t help but feel the pull of something she couldn’t name—something dark and dangerously magnetic.

Something she wanted more of.

Charlotte stood motionless in the center of the ballroom, trying to collect herself after the dance.

Her thoughts raged with confusion and frustration.

She wanted more.

She wanted to never see him again.

She silently pleaded for him to return.

Her mouth fell open as she lost sight of him. He seemed as if he didn’t care, as if he hadn’t felt it, but she was certain he had. It would be impossible not to.

It—whatever it was—swirled around them, threads tightening and binding them. And even though she could no longer see him, she still felt the thread that connected them, as if he had her on a leash.

Before she could steady her breathing, Lavinia appeared at her side, gently taking her arm and steering her toward a quieter corner.

“What in the world were you thinking?” Lavinia whispered urgently, her tone hovering between disbelief and concern. “Dancing with the Duke of Thornvale? I didn’t even realize you knew the man!”

Charlotte blinked, caught off guard by the sudden interrogation.

“I already told you—it’s a long story,” she muttered, avoiding her friend’s piercing gaze.

Lavinia frowned, her fan snapping shut in her hand. “So you already said, and yet you have not begun to tell it. Please, Charlotte, tell me what’s going on. I crave the distraction. With the honeymoon over, I find myself at a loss.”

Charlotte smiled at her. “You are not at a loss, Lavinia. You are quite clearly basking in the joys of marriage—as you should be, even if it seemed like you never would. But you deserve it, my darling friend.”

“You sweetling,” Lavinia began, but then waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Enough about that. Tell me the story. I am dying to?—”

Before she could finish, a ripple of whispers began spreading through the ballroom like wildfire.

Heads turned in Charlotte’s direction, and she felt the weight of a hundred stares pressing down on her.

Her stomach churned as her eyes darted around, searching for the cause of the commotion.

“Goodness,” Lavinia muttered. “It was only a dance.”

“What’s happening?” Charlotte asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Her eyes were wide as she looked around. She felt as though she had been stripped naked in the middle of the ballroom, as if everyone could see every part of her, and she had nowhere to hide.

Lavinia followed her gaze, the light quips gone from her lips as her expression darkened.

“Something’s wrong,” she said, her tone tight. “Stay calm.”

That’s when Charlotte saw Miss Frances Evans.

The lady was standing with a cluster of ladies near the refreshment table, her expression one of smug satisfaction. Charlotte knew in that instant that something terrible had happened.

And it was most likely Miss Evans’ fault.

The whispers grew louder, the murmurs a cacophony of scandalized speculation.

Charlotte’s pulse quickened as her heart thudded against her ribs.

She didn’t know what was being said, but whatever it was, it had thrown the entire room into an uproar. And it had something to do with her.

“Charlotte!” came her mother’s voice, high-pitched and trembling.

Lady Shelton pushed through the crowd, her face pale and streaked with tears. Behind her, Lord Shelton followed, his jaw clenched and his eyes blazing with barely contained fury.

Charlotte swallowed back her fear.

Her parents reached her at the same time, their presence drawing even more attention from the onlookers.

Lady Shelton grabbed her daughter’s arm, her fingers trembling. “What have you done, you disobedient child?” she hissed, her voice cracking.

“Mother—what—?” Charlotte began, but her father cut her off.

“Not here,” Lord Shelton growled in a low, menacing tone. “Come with us. Now.”

Confused and overwhelmed, Charlotte allowed herself to be pulled from the ballroom and into the corridor.

The lavishly decorated walls and crystal chandeliers seemed to close in on her, the whispers from the ballroom following like ghosts.

As they moved further from the crowd, Charlotte caught sight of a few lingering guests watching their departure with wide eyes and murmured speculations.

Her mother cast a glare over her shoulder as though daring them to speak louder.

Once they were out of sight, her father rounded on her, his voice sharp but hushed.

“What on earth were you thinking? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about!” Charlotte snapped, her frustration boiling over. “Why are you both cornering me like this? What happened?”

Her mother’s tears spilled over, and she dabbed at her cheeks with a lace handkerchief.

“How could you embarrass us like this?” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Dancing with him? And now this ?”

Charlotte’s heart sank, her confusion mounting. “With him? You mean the Duke?” she asked, incredulous. “Are we not meant to dance at balls? I do not see how?—”

“It’s not just the dance!” her father cut in, his voice harsh. “Word is spreading like wildfire, Charlotte. You have become the center of scandal in the space of an hour .”

“What scandal?” Charlotte demanded, her voice rising despite her attempts to keep it steady. “I danced with a man—what could possibly be so scandalous about that?”

Her mother’s sobs grew louder, and her father rubbed a hand over his face, looking more exhausted than furious now. He turned his back briefly, pacing the corridor as though trying to compose himself.

“Oh!” Lady Shelton cried. “France clearly did you no good, for you have returned just as bad as you were when you left!”

“Mother, will you please tell me what is?—”

“The whispers have already started,” her father said, his voice low but tight with anger. “They’re saying you have been seen.”

“Seen?” Charlotte’s confusion deepened. “Seen where? Doing what?”

Her mother let out a soft wail and turned to face her fully, gripping her shoulders.

“Compromised, Charlotte! They’re saying you have been compromised!”

Thornvale.

It hit her hard, the realization that everybody knew.

The words echoed in Charlotte’s mind like a thunderclap.

She stared at her mother in disbelief, her pulse roaring in her ears, and she did the only thing she could think off—defend herself.

“That’s absurd!” she said, her voice trembling. “Who would say such a thing?”

Her father stopped pacing and fixed her with a stern glare. “Miss Frances Evans, for one. She’s been telling anyone who will listen that you were seen leaving the Duke’s estate two weeks ago. Alone. And now, after tonight, dancing with him so openly…”

“It’s lies!” Charlotte said, her voice breaking. “I wasn’t seen by anyone! How could?—”

Her mother shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“It doesn’t matter if it’s true, Charlotte. In our world, perception is reality. You know this well enough. And the perception is damning.”