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

Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

“ I ’d say you were uncharacteristically quiet tonight, but it seems you get quieter every time I see you,” Christian remarked, swirling the liquid in his glass.

The amber glow of the fire cast flickering shadows across the study, its warmth a stark contrast to the chill in Magnus’ demeanor. He sat in a high-backed leather chair, a tumbler of brandy in his hand, his expression unreadable as Christian lounged opposite him, a wry smile playing on his lips.

“The brooding suits you, but I can’t help but feel it’s not entirely necessary. Troubles with the wife is it?”

Magnus shot him a sidelong glance, his emerald eyes sharp. “Life at Thornvale has been unusually eventful as of late. I am entitled to brood.”

Christian chuckled. “Eventful? Is that what we’re calling it? I’d wager your new duchess has something to do with that. As I said, troubles with the wife.”

Magnus’s jaw tightened. “I’d rather not think of her like that,” he muttered then raised the tumbler to his lips.

“As your wife?” Christian snorted with amusement. “But like it or not, Magnus, that is what she is.”

Magnus took another sip of his brandy but said nothing. She had maddingly, infuriatingly wormed her way into his thoughts as succinctly as she had managed to find her way into his home. He had thought himself doing a good deed by taking her in, but in his mind, the act of their marriage would end at their wedding. As ridiculous as he now knew it to be, he hadn’t truly expected to see much of her afterward.

The quiet was interrupted by the soft knock of the butler, who stepped into the room with a letter in hand. “Your Grace, this arrived moments ago.”

Magnus waved him forward, setting his glass down as the butler placed the folded parchment on the side table and departed. The seal was unmistakable—Lady Galbury.

He groaned, leaning back in his chair. “I should have expected this.”

Christian arched a brow. “What is it?”

Magnus broke the seal and scanned the contents, his lips pressing into a thin line. “An invitation to a ball. Lady Galbury insists on hosting these insufferable affairs under the guise of tradition, and as her nephew, I am expected to attend.”

Christian’s grin widened. “So you’re going, I assume?”

“I’d rather spend the evening with the accounts ledger,” Magnus replied dryly, tossing the letter onto the table. “But I know her well enough to understand I’ll never hear the end of it if I decline. She’ll probably storm Thornvale herself and drag me there.”

Christian laughed, leaning forward. “She might. And she’d have good reason. You could stand to be seen in society once in a while, you know. And you are family—that makes you duty-bound.”

“Spare me the lecture,” Magnus muttered. He picked up his glass again, staring into the glittering liquid. “The thought of enduring an evening of false smiles and shallow conversations doesn’t exactly thrill me. I have never been the greatest fan of society, but now that I have a… wife in tow,” he said, reluctant to use that word, “it’ll be all the worse. Think of all the eyes on us. Worse, all the questions that will be asked of us!”

Christian tilted his head, studying his friend. “Perhaps it’s not society you’re dreading. Perhaps it’s her company. I doubt you have been forced to spend more than a few hours together until now, have you?”

Magnus’s gaze snapped to him, his expression hardening. “What are you implying?”

“Only that avoiding her entirely might not be the best strategy,” Christian said, his tone light but pointed. “Take her to the ball. Do something… I don’t know, nice for her.”

Magnus blinked, stunned by the suggestion. “Why, in God’s name, would I do such a thing?”

Christian smirked. “So that, at the very least, she’s not glaring at you the entire evening. It might make the night more bearable for you both. Consider it a tactical move. If I have learned anything in my short marriage to Lavinia, it is that offering the wife a little treat now and then does wonders in keeping life on an even keel.”

Magnus leaned back, scoffing. “I married her to save her reputation. Surely that’s enough.”

Christian chuckled, shaking his head. “Not nearly. A marriage of convenience doesn’t excuse you from basic decency, my friend. Besides, it wouldn’t kill you to soften a bit. I have seen the way you look at her.”

“You’re mistaken,” Magnus said curtly though the tightening of his grip on the glass betrayed him.

Christian’s grin didn’t waver. “Am I? She infuriates you, unsettles you, and yet you can’t seem to stop thinking about her. That’s not nothing, Magnus.”

Magnus’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing. “This conversation is over.”

Christian raised his hands in mock surrender. “As you wish. But consider my advice. Perhaps there’s wisdom in trying to bridge the gap. If not for her sake, then for your own sanity.”

Magnus drained his glass, his thoughts churning. As Christian prattled on about some trivial gossip, his mind wandered back to Charlotte. Her sharp wit, her defiance, the fire in her amber eyes. He hated how she unsettled him, but he couldn’t deny the pull she had over him.

When Christian finally excused himself for the evening, Magnus remained in his study, staring at the now-empty glass.

“Wisdom, indeed,” he muttered under his breath though the thought left him more unsettled than before.

A week later, Charlotte sat at her dressing table, staring at her reflection in the polished glass. The soft glow of the lamps cast a warm light over her features though her mood was anything but serene. Jane, her lady’s maid, was fussing with her hair, sweeping it into an elegant style while murmuring reassurances that the look would suit her perfectly.

“You’ll be the most radiant lady at the ball, Your Grace,” Jane said with a smile, pinning a loose curl in place. “The Duke won’t be able to look away. He’ll be proud to have you on his arm, make no mistake.”

Charlotte gave a half-hearted laugh. “That would require him to look at me in the first place.”

Jane’s expression faltered, but she said nothing, focusing instead on adjusting the delicate tortoise-shell combs in Charlotte’s hair. The silence was broken by a knock at the door, and a footman entered, carrying a large box tied with an elegant ribbon.

“This just arrived for you, Your Grace,” he said, placing the box on the bed with great care. “His Grace requested it be delivered directly to you.”

Charlotte turned, her brow furrowing as she looked at the bow, so perfectly bound and so pretty. “His Grace?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” The footman bowed and left the room, leaving Charlotte staring at the unexpected gift.

“Shall I open it for you?” Jane asked, her curiosity evident as she crept toward it.

“No, I’d like to do it.” Charlotte rose from her seat and approached the bed, her fingers trembling slightly as she untied the ribbon. Lifting the lid, she gasped softly.

Inside was a gown unlike any she had ever owned. The fabric shimmered in the light, a deep, rich green that reminded her of a forest after the rain. The design was exquisite with intricate embroidery along the bodice and delicate lace adorning the sleeves.

“It’s beautiful,” Jane breathed, stepping closer to admire it. “And green—it’s perfect for you, Your Grace.”

Charlotte ran her fingers over the fabric, her chest tightening. She had mentioned her fondness for green to Magnus once in passing, during one of their rare conversations. The fact that he had remembered left her both touched and bewildered.

“His Grace chose this?” she asked softly, more to herself than to Jane.

“It seems he did,” Jane said with a smile. “He must have wanted you to feel your best tonight.”

Charlotte’s gaze lingered on the gown. Until now, she had dreaded the thought of attending the ball. It had felt like just another charade, another reminder of the distance between her and Magnus, despite their marriage. But this gesture, small as it was, ignited a flicker of hope within her.

“Help me get ready,” Charlotte said, her voice steadier now. “I suppose I ought to do the gown justice.”

Jane beamed and set to work, helping Charlotte into the dress and adding the final touches to her appearance. As Charlotte looked at herself in the mirror, she barely recognized the woman staring back. The green of the gown brought out the gold flecks in her amber eyes, and the elegant silhouette accentuated her figure with a subtle grace.

“You look stunning, Your Grace,” Jane said, stepping back to admire her handiwork.

Charlotte nodded slowly, unable to stop the smile from growing. For the first time in days, she felt a glimmer of anticipation. Perhaps the ball wouldn’t be so dreadful after all. Perhaps Magnus’ gesture was a sign of something more—a step toward bridging the chasm that divided them.

Or perhaps it was nothing at all. But for tonight, Charlotte chose to hold onto the hope.

Magnus stood at the base of the grand staircase, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. He wasn’t sure what had compelled him to remain there, waiting. The carriage was ready, and his intention had been to meet Charlotte in the hall, but now, he found himself rooted to the spot, his pulse inexplicably quickening as he heard the soft rustle of fabric above.

Yet one more reason why she is infuriating.

When she appeared at the top of the stairs, Magnus’ breath caught in his throat. The gown—his selection—fit her perfectly, the deep green accentuating her fiery amber eyes and lending her an elegance that made the world seem to pause. Her hair was swept up in an intricate style, a few loose curls framing her face in a way that was both regal and alluring.

For a moment, he forgot himself entirely, his gaze fixed on her with a mix of awe and something far more dangerous. He wanted her, perhaps more than he had ever wanted anyone. But he knew the dangers of taking her as his own in more than just name. His father had warned him often enough, and hadn’t he made that promise as his father lay dying on the grass that cold morning?

And still, I cannot look away.

Charlotte descended gracefully, her hand skimming the banister. When she reached him, her lips curled into a knowing smile. “Your Grace,” she said softly, her voice lilting in a way that sent a shiver down his spine.

What has got into me?

He inclined his head stiffly, his mask of composure firmly in place. “Duchess, the carriage awaits. You are late, but I suppose that is no great surprise.”

She blinked at the clipped tone but said nothing, merely following him as he led her outside, almost obedient in her manner. Something within him stirred at even that. He liked nothing more than when a woman followed his lead.

The ride to Lady Galbury’s estate was cloaked in silence, Magnus staring resolutely out the window, his jaw clenched as he tried to push her presence from his mind, the desire from his body.

The scent of her perfume—something subtle and floral—lingered in the confined space, weaving its way into his thoughts. The tension between them was palpable, but Magnus refused to meet her gaze. If he did, he feared his carefully maintained control might fracture entirely.

And I might take her here and now, consequences be damned.

By the time the carriage arrived at Lady Galbury’s estate, the faint sounds of music and laughter reached them through the crisp night air. Magnus stepped out first, turning to offer Charlotte his hand. She hesitated briefly before accepting it, her gloved fingers resting lightly against his palm.

As they ascended the steps, Magnus leaned closer, his voice low and firm. “Keep your head high. Let them see the Duchess of Thornvale for who she truly is.”

Charlotte glanced at him, clearly surprised by the sentiment. He did like to be surprising. A flicker of warmth crossed her features, but she quickly masked it, nodding once. “Of course, Your Grace.”

The grand ballroom was already bustling with guests, the sound of conversation and the delicate strains of the string quartet blending into a symphony of opulence. As Magnus and Charlotte entered, all eyes turned to them, just as he suspected they would. The hum of whispers spread through the crowd, but Magnus held his head high, his expression unyielding. He had no reason to feel anything but pride, especially not with such a beautiful woman at his side, moving in perfect synchronicity.

Lady Galbury swept toward them, her bejeweled gown shimmering in the light. “Your Graces! How splendid of you to join us. And may I say, Duchess, you are simply radiant tonight.”

Charlotte smiled graciously, murmuring her thanks.

Lady Galbury’s gaze flicked between them, her own smile widening mischievously. “I do hope we’ll have cause to celebrate soon. A great nephew or niece would be?—”

“That is enough, Lady Galbury,” Magnus interrupted, his tone polite but cutting. “Perhaps another time.”

Lady Galbury raised a brow but relented with a knowing chuckle, excusing herself to attend to other guests.

Charlotte turned her head, her lips twitching with amusement as she scanned the crowd. “I see Lavinia,” she said softly. “May I be excused?”

Magnus’s eyes followed her line of sight to Lavinia and another young lady, engaged in animated conversation near the refreshment table. He turned back to Charlotte, amused and aroused that she had asked his permission. “You are free to do as you please.”

Her brows lifted, a teasing light in her eyes. “I’ll remember that,” she said with a small smile, gliding away before he could respond.

“But beware. Doing what you please might lead to punishment,” he muttered as he watched her leave.

Magnus’ gaze lingered on her retreating figure longer than he intended. The green gown moved with her, catching the light and making her appear almost ethereal, light bouncing from the curves of her body. His jaw tightened, and he forced himself to look away.

“Good job, Magnus,” came Christian’s voice from behind him, laced with amusement. “She looks cheerful—quite the feat, considering your usual charm.”

Magnus turned, glaring at his friend. “I don’t recall asking for your opinion.”

Christian grinned, unbothered. “You rarely do, but that doesn’t stop me from offering it. Admit it—you’re warming up to her.”

Magnus’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t push your luck, Christian.”

With a laugh, Christian clapped him on the shoulder before wandering off, leaving Magnus alone with his thoughts. His gaze flicked back to where Charlotte stood with Lavinia, her laughter carrying faintly across the room.

His chest tightened, a storm of emotions roiling beneath his cold exterior. For all his attempts to remain distant, Charlotte’s presence was becoming harder to ignore.

And that terrified him.