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

Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

“ I beg your pardon?” His voice cut through the tension, low and sharp, laden with disbelief and barely contained fury. “You did what ?”

Magnus stared at Lady Galbury, her confession reverberating through his mind with a force that left him momentarily speechless.

My aunt? Really?

The candelabra cast flickering shadows across the room, highlighting every taut line of his rigid posture, every flicker of unease in his aunt’s usually composed expression. His hands gripped the arms of his chair, his knuckles whitening with the force of his restraint.

Lady Galbury shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her confident demeanor faltering for the first time.

“Magnus, please,” she began, her tone tentative, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She knew he was angry, but even beneath her discomfort, he could see her determination to meddle. “Let me explain,” she said.

Magnus’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing into a glare that could have frozen the flames in the hearth. “Oh, by all means,” he said, his tone biting, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. “Explain how you thought it was acceptable to betray my trust and manipulate my life. I am sure it’s all a simple misunderstanding.”

“Lady Galbury?” Charlotte’s own voice was a mix of disbelief and hurt. “You’re saying it was you? You leaked the story about me? Why? Why would you do such a thing?” Her voice trembled, betraying the depth of her shock, and Magnus realized how very wrong he had been in accusing her all along.

But how could I ever have guessed it was my own aunt who would do such a thing?

Lady Galbury sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping under the weight of their accusations. “I was only trying to help,” she said softly, her gaze flickering between them. “You must understand, my intentions were never to harm either of you. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

“Help?” Charlotte repeated, incredulous. She took another step forward, her voice rising with barely suppressed frustration. “How does ruining my reputation and forcing us into this… this farce help either of us?”

Lady Galbury sighed, looking down at her place setting and fiddling with her cotton napkin.

“Your Grace, I learned about your previous engagement to Lord Kinfield,” she admitted, her voice wavering slightly. “Lady Clifton—your grandmother—told me everything, including how very worried for you she was. And when I heard what happened between you two, I thought…”

She hesitated, her fingers twisting the edge of her napkin. “I thought bringing you and Magnus together would be the best solution. For both of you. Charlotte would no longer have to marry Kinfield and Magnus… well, perhaps he would have a little company for a change.”

“Company?” Magnus barked out an unamused laugh, his entire body stiffening with every word. His grip on the chair tightened until he feared the wood might splinter beneath his hands. “This is hardly company , is it? Charlotte is now my wife, not a mere acquaintance I meet for a little distraction now and then.”

“Yes, I appreciate that,” Lady Galbury said quietly. “Perhaps company was not the right word.”

Magnus snorted, his incredulity coming off him in waves. He’d always known his aunt for her meddling ways, but this? This was a step too far, even for her. “Forcing us into a marriage neither of us asked for? Betraying our trust and manipulating events to suit your whims?” His voice rose, cold fury bleeding into his tone. “That’s what you call the best solution ?”

Charlotte stared at Lady Galbury, her expression a mix of disbelief and outrage, and Magnus was somehow relieved that she felt the same as he did about the matter.

“You thought this was the answer?” Charlotte demanded. “You didn’t think to speak to me? Or indeed to your nephew? To let us decide for ourselves?”

Lady Galbury’s lips tightened, and she shook her head.

“I thought I was saving you from further scandal,” she said earnestly, her voice cracking with emotion. “I wanted to protect your future, Charlotte, and Magnus—” She turned toward him. “You have shut yourself off from the world for so long. You need someone to challenge you, to bring you back to life. And I know with absolute certainty that both of you would have said no if I’d have suggested it.”

Magnus felt his control slipping, his carefully constructed walls cracking under the weight of her words. “You thought you could fix me?” he bit out, his voice dripping with disdain. “You thought you could manipulate my life like some kind of game and justify it as concern?”

“Magnus, please,” Lady Galbury implored, her composure crumbling further. “I did it because I love you. I wanted to ensure your happiness.”

“Happiness?” Magnus’s laugh was again bitter, devoid of any amusement. He straightened, pushing his chair back so that his towering frame was imposing as he glared down at her. “You think this charade has brought me happiness? You think I needed saving ?” His voice rose, his anger finally boiling over. “I don’t need saving, Lady Galbury. Not by you, not by anyone.”

Charlotte’s gaze darted between them, her own emotions flickering across her face—hurt, anger, confusion. She leaned across the table, a hand out to her husband, her voice soft but firm. “Magnus, perhaps we should?—”

“Should what?” he snapped, his fury redirecting toward her. “Thank her for her interference? For forcing us into this sham of a marriage?”

Charlotte flinched at his tone, but she held her ground. “No,” she said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. “But I think we deserve an explanation—a proper one.”

Lady Galbury’s expression softened, her gaze darting to Charlotte with something almost like guilt. “I thought I was doing what was best for both of you,” she said quietly. “You needed protection, Charlotte, and Magnus—” She turned back to him, her eyes pleading.

Magnus’ hands tightened into fists at his sides, his control slipping further with every word. “You overstepped the mark,” he said, his voice a low growl. “And in doing so, you have done nothing but create chaos. I didn’t ask for your interference, and I certainly didn’t need it.”

Lady Galbury flinched, her confidence visibly shaken. “Yes, I see that now. I only wanted the best for?—”

“Well, congratulations,” Magnus said, his voice cold and unyielding. “You have done the opposite.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of his anger pressing down on them all. Magnus’ chest heaved, his breaths shallow and uneven as he struggled to rein in the storm raging within him. Finally, he drew himself to his full height, his voice steady but unyielding. “I think you should leave.”

“Magnus, please—” Lady Galbury began, her voice trembling, but he silenced her with a sharp look.

“Leave,” he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I won’t ask again.”

Lady Galbury hesitated, her eyes darting to Charlotte as though seeking solace or forgiveness. “I am sorry,” she said softly, her voice thick with regret. “For everything.”

Charlotte said nothing, her lips forced together as she avoided her gaze. Lady Galbury lingered for a moment longer, as if hoping for some form of absolution, but none came. With a resigned sigh, she turned and left the room, the sound of her footsteps fading into the heavy silence.

As the door clicked shut behind her, Magnus remained motionless, his chest rising and falling heavily as he stared at the empty doorway. His mind churned, a chaotic tangle of anger, betrayal, and a bone-deep weariness that threatened to consume him.

The silence stretched on, oppressive and suffocating, until Charlotte’s voice broke through, hesitant and trembling. “Magnus…”

But he couldn’t face her. Not yet. The walls he had so carefully constructed around himself felt dangerously close to crumbling, and he couldn’t risk letting her see the vulnerability beneath.

Without a word, he turned on his heel and strode out of the room, leaving Charlotte standing alone amidst the ruins of the evening.

Charlotte found Magnus on the terrace, his tall frame silhouetted against the fading light of the evening. The cool breeze stirred the edges of his coat, and his hands gripped the stone railing with such force that she worried he might break it. He stood rigid, unmoving, as if the world around him had ceased to exist.

She hesitated in the doorway, her heart aching at the sight of him. She had seen his anger before, felt its sharp edge, but this was different. This was a man grappling with wounds that had been reopened, bleeding emotions he worked so hard to hide.

“Magnus,” she called softly, her voice gentle but resolute. When he didn’t respond, she stepped forward, her slippers whispering against the stone floor.

Finally, as she neared him, he turned his head, his profile illuminated by the glow of the gas lamps from the house. His jaw was clenched, his lips pressed into a thin line, but it was his eyes that caught her attention—stormy, conflicted, and deeply guarded.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said gruffly, his voice low and strained. “Go back inside.”

Charlotte ignored his words and moved closer, placing a tentative hand on his arm. She should be angry that he had thought it was her when it was in fact his own aunt. She should feel validated. But all she felt was the need to make him better. He flinched at the contact, his muscles tensing beneath her touch, but he didn’t pull away.

“I am not leaving,” she said softly. “You don’t have to face this alone.”

Magnus let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow and full of self-loathing. “You must think me a fool,” he muttered, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “To have been manipulated so easily, by my own family no less.”

Charlotte shook her head, her hand remaining steady on his arm. “I don’t think you’re a fool, Magnus. I think you’re hurt, and you have every right to be. But it’s clear to me that your aunt truly believed she was helping you.”

“Helping?” He turned to face her then, his eyes narrowing. “By meddling in my life? By forcing us into a marriage neither of us asked for? That’s her idea of helping ?”

“She thought she was saving us,” Charlotte said, her voice calm but firm. “Misguided though she was, her intentions weren’t malicious.”

Magnus scoffed, shaking his head. “Intentions,” he repeated bitterly. “Everyone has good intentions, don’t they? And yet, somehow, I am always the one left to pick up the pieces.”

Charlotte tilted her head, her gaze steady as she searched his face. “Why are you so convinced that everyone is out to betray you?”

His expression tightened, his eyes darting away from hers as if the question had struck a nerve. He let out a heavy sigh, his grip on the railing loosening a little.

“Because I have been betrayed before,” he admitted after a long pause, his voice barely above a whisper. “And it’s not something I can easily let go of.”

The vulnerability in his tone caught her off guard, and her heart ached for him. “Magnus…”

He held up a hand, silencing her. “You asked, and now, you know. Trusting people—it’s dangerous. Trusting you …” He trailed off, his jaw clenching as he struggled to find the words. “It feels dangerous. I promised my father, I would never trust a woman.”

Charlotte’s chest tightened at the raw honesty in his voice. She stepped closer, her hand sliding down to his, her fingers curling around his. “You can trust me,” she said softly, her gaze unwavering. “I know we started off on the wrong foot, but I’d like to make this marriage work. I’d like to make us work.”

Magnus turned to her fully then, his eyes searching hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. For a long moment, he said nothing, as if trying to discern whether her words were genuine or another cruel trick of fate.

Slowly, he exhaled, his shoulders relaxing as he allowed the walls he had built so carefully to crack, just a little. “I don’t know how,” he confessed, his voice laced with both fear and hope.

Charlotte’s lips curved into a small, reassuring smile. “Then we’ll learn together,” she whispered.

Something shifted in his gaze, a flicker of something warm and unguarded that she hadn’t seen before. He reached for her, his hands settling on her waist as he pulled her closer. She could feel the heat of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing as he lowered his head to hers.

Their lips met in a kiss that was both tender and desperate, a silent plea for connection, for understanding. His hands tightened on her waist, drawing her flush against him, and Charlotte felt herself melting into him, her fingers threading through his hair as the kiss deepened.

“Charlotte,” he murmured against her lips, his voice rough with longing.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, her breath hitching as his hands roamed lower, his touch igniting a fire that consumed them both.

Magnus pulled back just enough to look at her, his gaze dark and filled with unspoken need. He took her hand, leading her inside with a purpose that made her heart race. The tension between them crackled like a live wire, each step toward the privacy of his chambers a promise of what was to come.

The bedroom was dimly lit, the soft glow of the fire casting flickering shadows across the walls. The air was thick with unspoken words, a charged stillness that seemed to hum with anticipation. Magnus led Charlotte inside, his grip on her hand firm but not harsh, as though he feared she might slip away if he let go.

As the door clicked shut behind them, he turned to her, full of desire, vulnerability, need. His hand reached up to cradle her face, his thumb brushing gently against her cheek, and she felt her breath catch at the tenderness in his touch.

“Charlotte,” he murmured, her name a rough whisper on his lips. “You undo me.”

She barely had time to process his words before his lips claimed hers in a kiss that was anything but tender. It was fierce, demanding, as if he were pouring all his frustrations, his fears, his longing into that single connection. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her flush against him, and Charlotte could feel the heat of his body seeping into hers, igniting a fire that threatened to consume them both.

Please.

Already her body had begun to react, to expect, to want. She followed him blindly, allowing whatever he wanted, because seeing the pleasure and satisfaction on his face was worth the world. She would have given him anything at that moment. Anything at all.

Her fingers found their way into his hair, tangling in the dark strands as she matched his intensity, her body arching against his as though seeking more of his touch. The kiss deepened, became almost frantic, and she felt herself melting under the weight of his passion, her heart pounding wildly in her chest.

Magnus broke the kiss only to trail his lips along her jawline, his breath hot against her skin. “You drive me to distraction,” he muttered, his voice thick with desire. “I have never wanted anything—anyone—as much as I want you.”

Charlotte’s breath hitched at his confession, her hands sliding to his shoulders as she clung to him, her own need mirrored in his every movement. “Then take me,” she whispered, her voice trembling with both anticipation and desperation. “Don’t hold back.”

His gaze locked onto hers, and for a moment, the world seemed to fall away. There was something raw and unguarded in his expression, a vulnerability that made her chest tighten. Slowly, deliberately, he bent to kiss her again, this time with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the intensity of their earlier embrace.

“I won’t stop,” he murmured against her lips, his voice a promise that sent shivers racing down her spine. “Not tonight.”

Magnus’ hands roamed lower, his touch both reverent and possessive, as though he were mapping every inch of her, committing her to memory. He guided her backward, his steps steady and deliberate until the back of her legs met the edge of the bed. She sank onto the mattress, her gaze never leaving his as he followed her down, his weight pressing her into the soft sheets.

The firelight danced across his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the hunger in his eyes. He reached for her, his fingers trailing along the neckline of her gown before slipping lower, the heat of his touch leaving a path of sensation in its wake. Charlotte gasped, her hands clutching at his shirt as he leaned closer, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of her collarbone.

“You’re mine,” he said, his voice a low growl that sent a thrill through her. “Do you understand that, Charlotte? Mine.”

Her response was a breathless whisper, her body arching beneath his as she surrendered to the moment. “Yes, Your Grace. I am yours.”

He pushed a knee between her legs, driving them apart, and Charlotte felt a cool rush of air against her. She mewled in anticipation. Magnus kissed her briefly then stood up and watched her. She lay perfectly still, knowing that every part of her was in display—for him and only him. She opened her legs wider, allowing him a better view, and he raised an eyebrow in amusement.

“Good girl,” he muttered as his hand reached down and tugged at his belt, sending his britches to the floor.

Naked, she saw him—all of him—and she gasped at the size of him, ready and glistening with need. She froze, not daring to move, and he stepped closer too slowly. Too quickly.

And then he was on top of her, his hot breath on her neck, his burning lips on hers, his body weighing so heavily upon her that she couldn’t move even if she wanted to. She didn’t want to.

She opened her legs further, bending her knees and pushing her hips up at him, pleading for the blind probing of his manhood to stop, for him to direct his pleasure.

He understood without being asked, and he guided himself into her. He was neither gentle nor soft. He didn’t take it slowly. Instead, he plunged into her with hunger and need, leaving her gasping at the spike of pain, quickly followed by a flood of pleasure. He filled her so completely, more than she ever imagined she could be filled.

Magnus groaned, his eyes closed for a moment as he remained still, relishing the tightness of her around him. Charlotte’s breath came in ragged pants, and she squirmed beneath him, the sensation of him still inside her almost too much to bear.

He moved, pulling back then driving into her again and again, each stab deliciously pleasurable, so much so that it almost tipped over into pain. She grasped hold of the bed sheets, scrunching them in her hands as the knot of tension in her stomach tightened and tightened, pulling taut with every thrust Magnus made.

Eventually, the tension between them snapped, giving way to a flood of passion that neither could control. Their movements were a blur of heat and desperation, each touch, each kiss a silent declaration of all the emotions they couldn’t put into words.

Until finally, he fell onto the bed next to her, exhausted and spent, and he nuzzled into her neck. She turned and kissed his forehead tenderly, tasting the salty sweat of his efforts.

“That was…” she began, the words lost on her breathlessness.

“Yes,” he murmured. “Yes it was.”