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

Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

“ Y our Grace,” she began cautiously after clearing her throat, “I wanted to thank you—for what you did. For saving me from… well, from ruin.”

Charlotte shifted uncomfortably, her heart still pounding from the events of the day.

She had glanced at the Duke, his profile cast in sharp relief by the dim light filtering through the carriage window. He looked as unshakable as ever, his expression unreadable.

Magnus turned his head to her, his emerald-green eyes fixing her with a piercing gaze. A faint smile curled at the corners of his lips, but there was no warmth in it.

“How gracious of you,” he said, his tone laced with biting sarcasm. “But really, there’s no need. Your plan worked perfectly after all.”

Charlotte’s brow furrowed, her lips parting in confusion. “My plan?” she echoed, her voice laced with disbelief.

He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees and staring at her with a cold intensity.

“Oh, come now, Madam. Must we pretend? The scandal sheet? The timing? You couldn’t have orchestrated it more effectively if you’d tried.”

Her eyes widened, indignation flashing across her face. “You think I leaked that story?” she asked, her voice trembling with outrage. “I would never?—”

“Wouldn’t you?” he interrupted, his voice sharp and cutting. “You were willing to storm into a church to stop a wedding. You seem rather fond of dramatic gestures when they suit your purpose.”

Charlotte’s cheeks burned with anger as she sat up straighter, glaring at him.

“That was for Lavinia! To protect her! Not for my own gain. And I would never—never—stoop so low as to spread rumors for personal benefit. Especially not when it involves so many others.”

He arched a brow, his skepticism plain as he leaned back, his arms crossing over his chest, and Charlotte wanted to scream at him.

“Even so, this is the outcome,” he said coldly, his words like a dagger. “Married. How very convenient for you.”

Her breath caught, fury and hurt warring within her. “Convenient?” she repeated, her voice rising. “Do you honestly think I wanted this? That I wanted to be forced into a marriage I never asked for, my name dragged through the mud while my family berated me? Do you think I enjoy being trapped by circumstances beyond my control? And with you of all people!”

Magnus leaned forward again, his expression hard as granite. “If not you, then who? Who else would stand to gain from such a carefully timed scandal?”

“Miss Frances Evans!” Charlotte exclaimed, the name bursting from her lips before she could stop herself. “She glared at me the entire night, and she’s the one who has her sights set on Kinfield. This works perfectly in her favor.”

He tilted his head slightly, considering her words though the doubt in his gaze lingered.

“A convenient scapegoat,” he said at last, his tone skeptical. “Though it doesn’t absolve you entirely.”

Charlotte surged forward, her defiance pushing her face inches from his. Her eyes blazed with fury as she met his unyielding stare.

“You may have dragged me into your home, Your Grace,” she said through gritted teeth, “but you will not drag me through the mud.”

Magnus leaned in fractionally, his body taut, his expression cold but his eyes smoldering with a heat that belied his restraint.

“Drag you? I’ll only drag you if the words please cross those lips of yours, wife,” he whispered, and Charlotte had to employ every ounce of will in her not to gasp audibly.

The air between them seemed to shift, growing heavier with each charged breath. The confined space of the carriage made the tension almost unbearable, every flicker of movement amplified in the silence.

The tree. His body pressed against mine.

The thoughts swirled in Charlotte’s head as they had so often since that day. His gaze flicked downward, lingering on her lips for the briefest of moments, and Charlotte felt her breath hitch.

The world outside seemed to dissolve, leaving only the two of them suspended in this maddeningly close space, so close she could smell him. Despite the anger roaring through her veins, an undeniable pull hummed in the air, like the ominous calm before a storm.

His rough touch as he grabbed me, the force of his lips upon mine.

Her breath became shallow, rasping, and she parted her lips, staring at him. Silently pleading.

Magnus’s hand twitched at his side as though some instinct within him begged to close the distance.

Charlotte’s lips parted again, a sharp inhale mingling with his exhale. She could feel his breath against her skin, warm and tempting, each fleeting sensation unraveling her resolve.

Her gaze dropped to his mouth, her defiance faltering as something softer, more dangerous, swelled in her chest.

For one more reckless moment, she remembered what it felt like—his mouth on hers, stealing her breath, silencing the sharp retort poised on her tongue.

Magnus’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening as though he were wrestling with his own demons. The intensity of his gaze pinned her in place, daring her to push him further, to close the scant space between them.

His lips parted slightly, the faintest movement drawing her attention like a magnet.

“Your Grace, I…”

“Enough talking,” he said coldly.

He was so close now that their breaths intermingled, hot and shallow. Charlotte’s pulse thundered in her ears as her own anger and confusion tangled with an ache she wanted only to ease.

And then, as quickly as the moment arose, Magnus pulled back sharply, retreating into the shadows of his corner. His expression hardened once more, his walls slamming back into place. The cool distance between them returned like a slap, leaving Charlotte breathless and reeling from the sudden void.

“Your Grace?”

His expression was as impassive as ever though his jaw tightened as though suppressing something far more volatile.

“We shouldn’t waste time arguing,” he said coldly, his voice like a splash of icy water. “We are bound now, whether you like it or not.”

Charlotte blinked, the spell broken, and leaned back as well, her heart still racing. She turned her head toward the window, determined not to look at him again. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she stared out at the passing landscape, her mind a whirl of anger, confusion, and something far more dangerous.

They continued their journey in tense silence, the distance between them feeling both endless and unbearably close.

The Duke broke the tense silence first, his tone clipped and matter-of-fact.

“You should understand one thing clearly, Duchess. This marriage is one of convenience. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Duchess.

Charlotte still couldn’t quite believe all that had occurred. That day. In the previous two days. Every day since Lavinia’s wedding. It all felt too much, and she needed time to sit and think, to process it.

I am a married woman.

And to the cursed duke, of all people. Part of her didn’t believe it. It felt too dream-like, too unreal.

Her stomach twisted, though she kept her expression carefully neutral as she considered his words.

“Convenience?” she echoed, her voice taut with disbelief.

“Yes.” He shifted slightly, his gaze fixed out the window as if he couldn’t bear to look at her, and something more broke within her. She desperately wanted him to look at her. To kiss her.

“I did what was necessary to salvage our reputations—yours and mine,” he continued as he stared out of the carriage window. “That is all. We will reside in the same castle, but our lives will remain entirely separate.”

“Separate?” Charlotte repeated, her tone growing sharper. “You mean to punish me for a crime I didn’t commit?”

The Duke scoffed, the sound low and humorless. “Punish you? Hardly. I am doing you a favor.”

Her hands clenched tightly in her lap, her nails pressing into her palms.

“A favor?” she demanded, her voice rising. “You think marrying me and then tossing me like a used handkerchief is a favor?”

His gaze snapped to hers, dark and unyielding. “Do you really think I wanted to be in this position either? If you do, Charlotte, you are sorely wrong—as usual.”

Charlotte’s fury simmered beneath the surface, her pulse pounding in her ears.

“Would you have done the same if you married someone else?” she asked sharply.

The Duke didn’t respond immediately, his jaw tightening as he turned his gaze back to the rain-soaked window. The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

“What?” she pressed, her voice cutting through the stillness. “Weren’t you going to marry at some point?”

He turned back to her, his emerald eyes cold and guarded. “My previous intentions are none of your concern, Duchess.”

The finality in his tone left no room for argument, but Charlotte refused to look away, her breath quickening. Charlotte glared at him, her chest rising and falling with the effort to contain her fury. The Duke’s expression remained impenetrable, a wall she knew she couldn’t breach. The tension in the carriage swirled like the very storm that had put them in this position, charged and suffocating. “You are impossible,” she snapped. “You make decisions that affect my life as though I am a chess piece to be moved at your whim. You are no better than my parents!”

The Duke’s eyes narrowed, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “And you, Duchess, are infuriatingly reckless. Had you exercised even the slightest caution, none of this would have been necessary.”

“I did nothing wrong!” she fired back, her voice rising. “You have condemned me for simply trying to help a friend, and now, you’re punishing me because you cannot?—”

“Enough!” the Duke barked, leaning forward, his presence dominating the small space. “Do you ever stop? Must every word out of your mouth be a challenge?”

“Only when I am faced with a tyrant,” she shot back, her eyes blazing. “You think yourself so above reproach, so untouchable, yet here you are, shackled to me just the same.”

His gaze darkened, the line of his mouth tightening.

“Be careful, Madam,” he warned, his voice low and dangerous. “You know nothing about what shackles me.”

“Then enlighten me, Your Grace,” she retorted, leaning forward until mere inches separated them. “Or is it easier for you to hide behind your scowls and cold indifference?”

The words hung between them, heavy and charged. The Duke’s breath came harder now, his shoulders heaving as he glared at her.

“Be careful, Duchess,” he growled. “I do not take kindly to being challenged.”

“Then prove it, Your Grace,” Charlotte taunted, her eyes locking onto his. “Or are you too afraid to make good on your threat?”

Then, as if some invisible dam inside him broke, he surged forward, crossing the carriage in one swift, predatory motion.

The force of his lips crashing against hers left no room for thought or protest. It was a kiss born of fury, frustration, and a desire too long suppressed. His hands tangled in her hair, pulling her closer as though he could consume her entirely.

Charlotte gasped against his mouth, the sound melting into a moan as her body betrayed her, arching into him with a hunger that matched his. Her hands found his shoulders, grasping at the firm muscles beneath his coat.

The kiss deepened, wild and untamed, and she felt the scrape of his teeth against her lower lip, sending a shiver of exhilaration down her spine.

His scent—woodsmoke, leather, so distinctly masculine—flooded her senses, leaving her dizzy.

She pressed into him, matching his fervor, her fingers slipping into his hair.

The world outside the carriage ceased to exist; there was only the heat of his mouth, the strength of his hands, the intoxicating pull of him.

And then, the carriage lurched to a halt.

Reality slammed back into Charlotte like a cold wind. The Duke tore himself away from her, his breathing ragged as he pressed himself against the opposite seat, his hand running through his disheveled hair.

“We have reached Thornvale, Your Graces,” the coachman called from outside, his voice muffled by the rain.

For a long moment, neither of them moved, the air between them heavy with what had just transpired.

Charlotte’s chest heaved, her fingers still trembling as they clutched her skirts. The Duke’s eyes found hers, their usual hardness now tinged with something raw and vulnerable.

“Stay away from me, Charlotte,” he said, his voice rough and laced with warning. “Whatever this is… whatever you think you want… I cannot lose control.”

She blinked, stunned into silence as his words cut through her. He tore his gaze away, his hand gripping the door handle tightly.

Without another word, he stepped out into the rain, leaving her alone in the carriage with her lips still tingling and her heart pounding in her chest.