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

Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

“ T here you are,” Lord Kinfield said sharply, his cold gaze locking onto her. His voice carried a biting edge, cutting through the tense silence. “Lady Charlotte, I have been looking for you.”

Charlotte barely had time to process her parents’ words before the sharp, deliberate click of approaching footsteps had echoed down the corridor.

She had turned her head just as Lord Kinfield appeared, his face contorted in fury.

His normally polished demeanor was marred by the tension in his jaw and the way his hands clenched at his sides. Even his perfectly coiffed hair looked out of place, as if his anger had spilled over into every detail of his appearance.

Her parents moved aside as he approached, their unease evident in the stiff set of their shoulders.

“Lord Kinfield,” Lady Shelton began, her tone frantic and conciliatory, her smile falsely bright, “I assure you, this is all a misunderstanding?—”

“Misunderstanding?” Kinfield snapped, his voice dripping with venom, his eyes never leaving Charlotte’s face. “Is that what we’re calling it now? Because I assure you, there is no misunderstanding here.”

“What are you talking about?” Charlotte asked, her voice trembling.

She felt the weight of his fury, and the way her parents shrank back did nothing to calm her racing thoughts.

She only hoped that playing innocent would save her—and them.

“Do you take me for a fool, Lady Charlotte? Do you truly think I would willingly marry a woman who has been so thoroughly compromised?” he spat, his voice low and seething.

Charlotte swallowed. “W-What are you talking about?” she repeated, her tone sharper now though fear underlined her defiance.

Kinfield reached into his coat and withdrew a folded sheet of paper, thrusting it toward her with shaking hands.

“This,” he hissed, his voice dripping with derision. “Read it for yourself.”

Her fingers trembled as she took the paper.

The paper’s weight seemed heavier than it should have been, as if it carried the judgment of the entire ballroom.

Unfolding it with painstaking slowness, Charlotte scanned the text, her eyes widening with each word.

Lady Charlotte Shelton, daughter of Lord and Lady Shelton, caused quite the stir two weeks ago when she left her family home unchaperoned. Eyewitnesses claim she traveled alone to the countryside to attend the wedding of a close friend, arriving in secret and leaving in scandal. Rumors suggest that her journey ended not at the church but at the estate of the Duke of Thornvale where she remained for two nights. It seems that perhaps her trip to France wasn’t as successful as her parents hoped it would be. The question now is how will her fiancé respond?

It was just as her father had said. Everybody knew.

The blood drained from her face. Her eyes darted back and forth across the page, as if rereading the words might change their meaning.

Her hands shook, the paper crumpling slightly at the edges.

Who could possibly have seen them? The Duke had assured her; he had promised.

And yet, even as the fear and dread rolled around in her mind, there was a spark of hope.

Kinfield was furious.

Perhaps this was her chance. She had to continue the act.

“This is absurd,” she whispered, shaking her head. “It is not true.”

“Oh, isn’t it?” Kinfield snarled, his voice rising. “So, you didn’t sneak away to the Duke’s house? You didn’t spend two nights under his roof? Tell me, Lady Charlotte, how am I supposed to believe that you emerged from that arrangement unscathed?”

Her stomach twisted violently, and the air seemed to grow heavier around her.

“When did this supposedly happen?” she asked, raising her chin in his direction. “For I’d have surely liked to be there if such a thing took place.”

Her mother stepped forward, her face pale. “Lord Kinfield, please,” Lady Shelton said, her voice wavering. “This isn’t what it seems. Charlotte’s actions were taken out of context?—”

“Context?” Kinfield interrupted, barking out a harsh, bitter laugh. “You mean to tell me there is a context in which a young lady spending two nights in the house of a notorious rake—quite alone—is appropriate? Please, do enlighten me.”

Lady Shelton flinched, her hands wringing the handkerchief she clutched. “You do not understand?—”

“No, I understand perfectly,” Kinfield sneered, his anger now directed at both Charlotte and her parents. “You tried to pawn off your ruined daughter on me, hoping my reputation might somehow redeem her.”

“Enough,” Lord Shelton said sharply, stepping forward to place himself between Kinfield and his daughter. His tone was firm, but his discomfort was evident in the tightness of his jaw. “This conversation has gone far enough. You will watch your tone, Kinfield.”

Kinfield turned to face him, his expression icy. “Watch my tone? I believe I am owed a certain amount of candor, given the circumstances. You assured me that Lady Charlotte was a suitable match. And now? Now, I discover this scandalous affair has been the talk of the ton!”

Charlotte’s throat tightened, and her hands balled into fists.

“You are wrong,” she said, finding her voice again. “It is not true. This… this article twists everything.”

“Oh?” Kinfield snapped, rounding on her. “Then tell me, Lady Charlotte, where were you for those two nights? What possible explanation could there be that doesn’t leave your reputation in tatters?”

Charlotte’s lips parted, but no sound came out. The truth would only add fuel to the fire, and anything less would be a lie.

She looked up at her mother, thinking she would defend her, lie for her, promise Kinfield she was at home, but her mother said nothing.

Kinfield’s lip curled in disgust.

“Exactly as I thought,” he said coldly. “You have been ruined, and you have ruined me by association. This engagement is over.”

“No!” Lady Shelton cried, reaching out to him. “Lord Kinfield, please, there must be a way to?—”

“There is no way,” Kinfield spat, his voice shaking with fury. “You should count yourselves fortunate I do not take this to the papers myself.”

With that, he turned sharply on his heel and strode away, his shoulders stiff with indignation.

The scandal sheet fell from Charlotte’s hands, fluttering to the ground like an omen.

She stared after him, her chest tight with anger, shame, and disbelief.

And just a tiny bit of relief.

Magnus leaned against the refreshment table, swirling his untouched glass of brandy as the murmurs around him grew louder.

He thought of the dance, of how he hadn’t wanted it to end. He thought of her body against his, the curve of her back beneath his hand.

He wanted more of it, but he knew he couldn’t allow himself, his father’s final words ringing in his mind.

Promise me you’ll never let a woman destroy you.

It didn’t matter how much he wanted her. He couldn’t allow the family curse to continue.

The steady hum of idle conversation had turned into something sharper, more urgent, like the rustle of dry leaves before a storm.

Magnus looked up, curious about what was going on.

Something had shifted in the room, and it set his teeth on edge.

Across the ballroom, he spotted Lady Galbury, her hawk-like eyes scanning the crowd.

He set the glass down with deliberate precision and strode across the room.

His presence cut through the sea of whispers as he approached her though he felt their eyes on him keenly.

“Aunt,” he said, his voice low but sharp, “what is going on?”

Lady Galbury turned, her expression poised but tinged with something darker—a hint of worry he rarely saw in her.

“Magnus,” she said, her tone brisk, “it seems there has been some… incident involving Lady Charlotte.”

Magnus stiffened, his muscles coiling like a predator about to strike.

“Incident?” he asked, his voice dropping further, laced with danger. “What kind of incident?”

Lady Galbury hesitated for a fraction of a second—a rare moment of uncertainty.

“I was just about to find out,” she said. “But there’s talk of a scandal sheet. Something about her time at Thornvale.”

Magnus’ jaw clenched. He opened his mouth to press her further, but then the murmurs reached his ears.

“Two nights unchaperoned…”

“The Duke of Thornvale’s estate, of all places…”

“And now, she’s ruined…”

The words hit him like a blow to the chest. He was certain they had not been seen. Certain he had protected her honor as much as he had protected her safety from the storm.

Heat surged through his veins, his vision narrowing as anger and protectiveness warred within him.

The sheer audacity of it—the gall of whoever had dared to spread such filth about her —made his fists curl at his sides.

He turned away from his aunt without a word, scanning the room with a predator’s intensity.

Where is she?

His eyes landed on Christian and Lavinia, standing near the edge of the dance floor.

Without hesitation, Magnus crossed the ballroom, his long strides moving through the crowd like a grand sea wave.

The whispers trailed behind him, growing louder as he passed.

“Christian,” he said, his tone curt as he reached them, “where’s Lady Charlotte?”

Christian turned, surprised by Magnus’ abrupt approach.

“She left with her family,” he said after a moment, glancing at Lavinia for confirmation. “It was only a few minutes ago. Is something the matter?”

Magnus didn’t bother to answer. He spun on his heel, his mind racing.

Charlotte had left. She had been forced to leave.

His chest tightened with fury at the thought of her being humiliated in front of this room full of vultures.

He would find her—and whoever was responsible for this disgrace would answer for it.

It didn’t matter that it was true—or at least, some of it was. All that mattered to Magnus now was that someone had intentionally gone out of their way to ruin Lady Charlotte after all his promises. He would find the culprit.

He strode into the hallway, his steps echoing sharply against the marble floors.

The sound of hurried footsteps ahead drew his attention, and his jaw tightened further when he saw who it was.

Kinfield .

The man’s gait was uneven, his face flushed with either rage or humiliation—it didn’t matter to Magnus. He had no time for the man’s theatrics.

Yet Kinfield stopped in his tracks, squaring his shoulders as though preparing for a confrontation.

“So,” Kinfield sneered, his voice thick with venom, “the Cursed Duke strikes again. I hope you are pleased with yourself. You have thoroughly ruined her.”

Magnus froze mid-stride, his dark eyes locking onto Kinfield with such ferocity that the smaller man faltered.

Slowly, Magnus straightened, turning to face him fully. He took a single, deliberate step forward, closing the space between them like a stalking predator.

Kinfield’s bravado flickered, his smirk wavered as a bead of sweat formed on his brow.

He opened his mouth, but his words came out uneven. “I—I mean… of course, she was already?—”

“Enough,” Magnus growled, his voice low and cutting. “You’re a coward, Kinfield. Don’t mistake my silence for tolerance.”

Kinfield blinked, retreating half a step. “I-I am no coward,” he said weakly though his trembling hands betrayed him.

Magnus leaned forward, his gaze never wavering. “Then prove it by walking away now. Before I lose my patience.”

Kinfield hesitated for a moment before taking a stumbling step back.

With a final glare, Magnus turned sharply, dismissing the man entirely. Kinfield was beneath his notice—a pathetic excuse for a man, too weak to handle even a shadow of adversity.

Magnus’ focus shifted back to what mattered. Charlotte.

He quickened his pace, his mind racing with plans.

Whatever it took, he would find her. And when he did, he would make this right.

Somehow.