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

Chapter 32

Chapter Thirty-Two

“ S he’s right, and as Duchess, perhaps you ought to listen to her, Shelton.”

Charlotte’s head shot up at the sound of Magnus’ smooth voice, deep and intimidating. How had she not heard him come in? What was he even doing there?

The butler’s voice came next as he hurried in behind Magnus.

“Your Grace! Please, if you could…” He turned his attention to her father. “Lord Shelton, I am sorry but?—”

“Enough,” Magnus snapped without even looking at him.

The butler trailed behind, his face pale, but Magnus didn’t spare him—or anyone else—a glance.

Charlotte’s breath caught, the emotion rising within her at the sight of him.

Relief surged first, unbidden, at his presence. Relief that someone might stand up for her, that someone cared enough to come. But just as quickly, anger bubbled up, twisting her insides. How dare he appear now! After all he’d said, all he’d done. After sending her away, casting her aside like some discarded object.

Her heart was in turmoil. She wanted to rush to him and push him away all at once, to demand why he had come and yet silently beg him to stay.

“Your Grace,” her mother said with a poor attempt at brightness.

Magnus’ attention, however, was solely on her father. His voice, low and laced with menace, broke the strained silence.

“Lord Shelton,” he said, the warning clear in his tone, “I suggest you lower your voice when speaking to my wife.”

Lord Shelton, usually so assured and commanding, blinked in surprise. His jaw worked soundlessly for a moment before he found his voice.

“Your Grace! I—there’s been some misunderstanding. Charlotte and I were merely discussing?—”

“Is that what you call it?” Magnus’ voice was cold, his tall frame imposing as he took a deliberate step forward. “Because from where I stood, it sounded like intimidation at best.”

Lady Shelton rose from her seat, her hand trembling as she fanned herself rapidly. “Your Grace, I assure you, we would never?—”

Magnus’s sharp glare silenced her instantly. He turned back to Lord Shelton, his tone deadly calm.

“You forget yourself, sir. Charlotte is not your pawn to manipulate. She is not your tool for ambition or your scapegoat for every perceived slight. She is my wife and a duchess, and as such, she commands a respect that you, as her father, seem incapable of giving.”

Charlotte’s breath hitched. His words landed like a blow—not because they hurt but because they felt so fiercely protective, so unyielding in their defense of her.

She wanted to believe them, wanted to feel the strength in his conviction, but doubt lingered like a shadow in her chest. Why now? Why was he defending her now?

Lord Shelton, meanwhile, bristled visibly though his bluster faltered under Magnus’ unrelenting glare. “Your Grace, with all due respect?—”

“With all due respect,” Magnus cut in, his voice rising just enough to command silence, “if you ever speak to her like that again, you will answer to me. And trust me when I say, you do not want to know what that entails.”

The room went deathly quiet, the tension so thick Charlotte felt she might choke on it. Her father, who had never backed down from anyone, appeared unsure, his gaze darting to Lady Shelton for support. She only looked away, wringing her hands and avoiding her husband’s eyes.

Magnus straightened, his towering frame casting a long shadow over the room.

“You owe her an apology,” he said, his voice firm. “Both of you. And not just for today but for every slight, every dismissal, every time you have made her feel less than she is.”

Lord Shelton’s face reddened, his pride clearly warring with his fear of the Duke.

“Of course,” he managed though his voice lacked its usual commanding tone. He turned to Charlotte, his expression stiff and unnatural. “Charlotte, I… I may have been overly harsh. I apologize.”

Lady Shelton quickly chimed in, her tone thin and insincere. “Yes, my dear. We’ve only ever wanted the best for you. I hope you can forgive us.”

Charlotte stared at them, her emotions swirling too wildly to settle. She couldn’t quite believe any of it. She had wanted this—demanded this—but hearing their forced apologies now felt hollow.

It was Magnus, not her, who had forced them into submission, and she couldn’t decide whether to be grateful or furious about it.

Magnus looked to her, his eyes searching hers, and all she could do was look back.

“Now,” he said, turning back to her parents, “give us the room.”

Lady Shelton hesitated, her eyes jumping between them. “But Your Grace, surely we can?—”

“Now,” Magnus repeated, his tone brooking no argument. He kept his gaze steady on Charlotte, and Charlotte held her breath.

Her parents exchanged a glance before shuffling out of the room, their retreat hasty but dignified. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving Charlotte and Magnus alone in the charged silence.

Finally, she spoke. “What are you doing here, Magnus?”

He stepped closer, his expression softening as he studied her face. “I came to bring you home,” he said simply.

Charlotte stood motionless, her breath catching in her throat. The room felt smaller somehow, Magnus’s presence bearing down on her, stirring emotions she couldn’t untangle. Relief that he was here warred with the sharp sting of anger still simmering from the last time she’d seen him. And the hurt from his words.

She didn’t know whether to collapse into his arms or demand that he leave. Her heart beat a frantic rhythm in her chest, her confusion gnawing at her composure.

Magnus, however, seemed to take her hesitation as permission to stay. His broad shoulders were tense, his eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made her feel both exposed and tethered. He took a step closer, his voice low and firm.

“We need to talk.”

Charlotte crossed her arms tightly over her chest, a barrier she hoped would keep her emotions at bay. “Talk?” she repeated, her tone sharper than she intended. “After everything, you think words can fix this? Haven’t we said enough already?”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, she saw the battle waging in his eyes. A flash of fury mixed with a true desire to fix this. “Yes,” he said simply, his voice steady. “Because they’re words I should’ve said a long time ago.”

Her fingers gripped the fabric of her gown, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “You think you can just march in here, say a few things, and make it all better? That I’ll forget how you pushed me away? How you made me feel like I was nothing?”

Magnus flinched, the accusation landing like the blow she intended it to be. “I don’t expect you to forget,” he admitted, his voice thick with regret. “But I am asking you to listen.”

“Why should I?” Charlotte shot back, her voice trembling with the effort to keep her tears at bay. “You’ve made it perfectly clear how you see me. A contract, remember? Nothing more.”

He sighed. “You’re more than that, Charlotte,” he said, his tone raw. “So much more. Please, let’s sit down?”

She stared at him, her resolve faltering as the vulnerability in his voice reached her. She took a moment then finally nodded, moving to take a seat on the sofa. He joined her, though at a respectable distance, and for a long moment, the silence hung between them.

“Why do you keep pushing me away?” she quietly when she couldn’t take the silence any longer. “Why can’t you just let me in?”

Magnus hesitated, his shoulders sagging under the weight of her questions. “Because I don’t know how,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I want to try. You deserve to know why I have been the way I am.”

Charlotte’s heart clenched at the raw honesty in his tone, a knot tightening within her. She searched his face, the flicker of something unguarded in his expression enough to keep her from telling him to leave. “Then say it,” she said softly, feeling her body relax into the cushions. “Tell me the truth.”

Magnus took a deep breath, his eyes fixed to the floor. “It’s about Uncle Edwin,” he began, his voice laden both bitterness and pain. “The man in the portrait you uncovered. He wasn’t just a member of my family. He was my uncle—my father’s younger brother—though he was more like a brother to me.”

Charlotte tilted her head, the mention of Edwin sparking her curiosity even as her anger simmered beneath the surface. “And?”

Magnus’ lips pressed into a thin line, his expression hardening as if he were steeling himself for what was to come.

“He had an affair with my mother,” he said flatly, causing Charlotte to gasp. “And when I discovered them kissing one day, they did everything they could to stop me revealing their secret, from manipulation to bribery.”

Charlotte gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh, Magnus…”

“When my father eventually found out, everything fell apart. It destroyed our family,” he continued. “My father challenged Edwin to a duel. I was there that night, watching like a child too foolish to understand the consequences. It killed them both.”

His voice cracked, and he shook his head as if trying to banish the memory.

“I watched them both fall into pools of their own blood, and my father…”

Charlotte’s heart twisted at the anguish in his tone, her earlier anger melting into a wave of empathy.

“Magnus,” she whispered, reaching a hand across the divide between them, as if it were a gulf and not merely a seat. “I’m so sorry.”

He let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Sorry doesn’t change what happened. And it doesn’t change what my father said to me before he died. He made me promise—swore me to it—that I would never trust a woman. That I would never let anyone hurt me the way my mother hurt him.”

Charlotte’s breath hitched, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. “And you believed him?”

“For a long time,” Magnus admitted, his gaze dropping to the floor. “My mother died a couple of years later—I know it was from her guilt. After that, I was certain that keeping everyone at a distance was the only way to survive. That trust was a weakness I couldn’t afford.”

Her chest tightened at the rawness of his confession. She wished she could make it all better, make it all go away. Perhaps, in time, he would allow her that privilege.

“And what changed?”

“You did,” he said simply. He finally raised his head and looked at her, and sparks flew as their gazes met. “You challenged everything I thought I knew. You made me feel things I wasn’t ready to feel, and I didn’t know how to handle it. So, I pushed you away—again and again—because I was terrified of what loving you would mean.”

Charlotte’s breath caught, her heart hammering against her ribs. “Loving me?”

“Yes,” Magnus said firmly, stepping closer. “I was afraid of what we could do to each other. Afraid of becoming like my parents—broken, bitter, and consumed by regret. But pushing you away didn’t protect me from anything. It just made things worse. It made me realize how much I need you.”

Charlotte stared at him, her emotions a whirlwind of anger, relief, and something far more dangerous: hope. Could this really be the chance she had been hoping for?

“You hurt me, Magnus,” she said finally, her voice trembling. “You made me believe I wasn’t enough.”

“I know,” he said, his voice thick with regret. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you’ll let me.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” she whispered, staring at him intently.

Magnus took her hand in his, and his grip tightened around hers, his expression fierce. “This is one promise I intend to keep.”

Charlotte’s hand lingered in his, the warmth of his touch grounding her even as her emotions surged. She searched his face, her heart warring with the ache of the past and the fragile hope of the present. His eyes, so often guarded and unreadable, now shone with an honesty she’d never seen before.

“You mean it?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “All of it?”

“Yes,” Magnus replied without hesitation, his voice firm but tender. “Every word. I love you, Charlotte. I was too much of a coward to admit it before, but it’s the truth. I love you.”

Finally, she let her tears go as his words washed over her. She had wanted to hear those words, dreamed of hearing them, but now that they were spoken aloud, they felt even more powerful than she’d imagined. A warmth bloomed in her chest, chasing away the cold tendrils of doubt and hurt that had clung to her for so long.

“I love you too,” she whispered. “Even when you’ve made it so hard, I couldn’t stop loving you. I don’t think I ever will.”

Magnus’s eyes softened, and he closed the distance between them, his free hand rising to cup her cheek. His touch was gentle, reverent, as though he were afraid she might vanish if he held her too tightly. “You don’t know how much it means to hear you say that,” he murmured, his thumb brushing away a stray tear.

“Then stop talking,” Charlotte replied, a shaky smile breaking through her tears. “And kiss me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Magnus leaned down, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was both fervent and tender, a silent promise of the love they had finally confessed.

Charlotte melted into him, her arms wrapping around his neck as she poured all her feelings into that moment. The world around them faded, leaving only the warmth of his embrace and the taste of his lips against hers.

When they finally broke apart, Magnus rested his forehead against hers, his breath mingling with hers in the quiet of the room.

“I’m never letting you go,” he vowed softly, his voice rough with emotion. “You’re mine, Charlotte. And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that I deserve you.”

Charlotte smiled through her tears, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Then we’ll do it together,” she said, her voice steady despite the flood of emotions. “No more walls. No more running. Just us.”

“Just us,” he echoed, sealing the promise with another kiss.