Stolen by the Ruthless Duke (Stolen by the Duke #2)

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

“ D id I hear you make an offer of marriage, Your Grace?”

Ophelia turned around at the sound of Lord Montford’s voice. “My Lord, he does not?—”

“Yes,” the Duke of Stormcliff said. “That is my offer. As the lady has pointed out, I have ruined her chance to marry Lord Anworth. It is the honorable thing to do.”

“Indeed, it is.” She despised how quickly the sneer of disgust on Lord Montford’s thin face turned into a bright smile. “Your Grace, I would be honored to have a duke for a cousin.”

“What is happening?” Lady Kirkland demanded, drawing closer to them.

Some wedding guests were already filing out of the church, assuming the wedding was over. But Lady Kirkland’s glare remained fixed on Ophelia, not on the few people still watching them. The Marchioness of Kirkland loved attention—only when it was focused on her. If it concerned Ophelia, then she did not like it.

“It appears that His Grace is being very considerate. He has ruined the girl, but he is willing to marry her.” Lord Montford’s voice was a snide, pleased thing.

He looked Ophelia up and down, his lips downturned.

Ophelia wanted to escape every watchful gaze, even the Duke’s.

Willing to marry me.

As if she was so terrible a choice. One had to be willing to marry a woman like her. She resisted the urge to hang her head in shame but instead clenched her jaw, lifting her chin.

“I will not stand for this,” Ophelia said firmly. Turning back to the Duke, she pointed a finger at him. “I do not know you, and I do not know why you have barged into my wedding, spreading such scandalous lies. I have not taken you as—as a lover. You, nor any other man. I am not ruined in any way. I demand you apologize to Lord Anworth and tell the truth. Once you have done this, I wish for a full explanation.”

But the Duke only stared back at her coolly, a hint of a smile on his lips, as if she amused him. There was something else behind that polite mask—something resentful. He had a reason for showing up, and Ophelia would find out what it was.

How did he even know about her wedding? Who was she to him that he thought her in need of rescuing from Lord Anworth?

Instead of answering her, the Duke of Stormcliff regarded Lord Montford. “I shall make you a deal.”

Lord Montford’s smile grew. “I do enjoy an advantageous business transaction.”

“I shall obtain a special license to marry Lady Ophelia the day after tomorrow.” The Duke’s gaze flicked to Lady Kirkland. “I will be paying for everything regarding my wedding to your daughter.”

“Stepdaughter,” Lady Kirkland corrected delicately, sniffing. “That is a very generous offer, Your Grace.”

He did not answer her. He merely stared back, his stance powerful, indeed.

Lady Kirkland’s nose was lifted, looking down even at the Duke. She gestured to Lord Montford next to her.

Although they were the same age, they looked very different. Nastiness and greed had lined Lady Kirkland’s face, and although Lord Montford could be kind, he looked so wizened that Ophelia distrusted him.

“Lord Montford is the cousin of my late husband, the Marquess of Kirkland.”

Something flashed in the Duke’s eyes—recognition.

Ophelia thought little of it. Her father had been a well-loved man, and word had traveled about her engagement to Lord Anworth. Her stepmother had ensured it. Little had she known it had clearly reached the Duke’s ears, causing him to intervene.

Perhaps he is kind . Perhaps he truly does know of Lord Anworth’s behavior. He could even know worse and wished to be the only man to step in.

But seeing the detachment on his face—the utter lack of empathy or warmth, all the smirking confidence vanished—she doubted it highly. Her anger sizzled again.

“We have not had the pleasure of meeting before,” Lord Montford said, bowing. “Your Grace, I accept the deal. I am Lord Kirkland’s guardian. As he is not of age to take over the estate or his inheritance, I am overseeing his education and all such matters. Lady Ophelia’s dowry is under my stewardship, as is her choice of husband. I agree to your deal and shall help you obtain the special license.”

The Duke shook his head. “I have my connections to secure the special license.”

“Very well,” Lord Montford said.

Ophelia stared up between them, disgraced and disregarded. They spoke of her like she was not even present.

She stared down at the church pew, her nails curling into the wood, teeth gritted. She was due to be handed off to another man who did not care for her in the slightest.

And she had failed to protect Bridget.

I can’t breathe .

Turning her back on them all, she walked out of the church to get some air before she was confined in the carriage with her stepmother’s anger.

But as soon as she went outside and the cool spring air caressed her heated face, she felt the burn of tears.

She finally felt the same helplessness her lady’s maid had felt several months ago upon discovering her pregnancy. She felt trapped, unable to know where to turn. Everybody else seemed to know what she ought to do, while she herself floundered.

As she slumped against the wall of the church, two women walked by, arms linked. They were young, perhaps her age, and they glanced at her before giggling. She heard them whisper behind their fans, and she felt the shame burrow in her breastbone.

“Does she not know who her lover truly is?” one of the women whispered too loudly. “I heard the Duke of Stormcliff killed his uncle! It was right in cold blood, all so he could inherit the dukedom.”

“Oh, I read about that,” the other woman gasped.

“Perhaps Lady Ophelia would have been better off marrying Lord Anworth, after all. He, at least, has had a reputation enough to have three wives. The Duke has never married. There must be a reason.”

They left, giggling and gossiping, and fear struck Ophelia.

That is why he is familiar . I have read the name Stormcliff.

The scandal had swept through London, and the elusive new Duke of Stormcliff had disappeared ‘on business.’ Coincidentally, nobody had been able to find evidence of the murder, nor the culprit himself.

Only for the Duke to show his face now.

Boots scuffed at the entrance of the church.

Ophelia did not wait to see who it was; she merely climbed into the waiting carriage at the gate.

The carriage ride home had been spent in thick, tense silence, and Ophelia knew her stepmother was holding her tongue until she could unleash it when they returned to their townhouse.

Greatsby Hall came into view, neatly tucked in a row of townhouses, and Ophelia’s heart clenched in the way it did every time she saw it.

Lord Montford sighed. “It is a beautiful home,” he murmured. “I suppose you will miss it when you move to the Duke’s home, Ophelia. But do not fret, he has a beautiful estate, I hear.”

It is the estate of a murderer .

“That is good,” she answered distantly, barely listening. There was a painful crack within her. She missed her father’s presence in Greatsby Hall. “Sometimes, I still expect my father to be waiting inside whenever I return home.”

Lady Kirkland sighed heavily, as though her grief was an inconvenience to listen to. “Foolish girl. You spend so much time reminiscing that it is no wonder you squandered your future with Lord Anworth. I do hope you will behave yourself with the Duke.”

“I do not know who the Duke is,” Ophelia protested helplessly as the carriage pulled to a stop.

Her stepmother gave her one long, disappointed look.

Ophelia had been used to such looks ever since the woman had become the Marchioness seven years ago. Lady Kirkland had barely made an effort to raise her either. Ophelia was only fifteen when the Marchioness became her stepmother, mere months after her mother’s death. Not to mention that Lady Kirkland did little more to raise her own son, James, the current Lord Kirkland.

Lady Kirkland passed her by, disappearing from the carriage in a swish of heavy blue skirts and a huff of resentment. Lord Montford spared a withering glance at Ophelia before following the Marchioness out.

Ophelia left the carriage last, walking into the townhouse. Lord Montford disappeared into his study, only to leave her alone in the hallway with the threat of a confrontation with Lady Kirkland.

While the hallway was empty, Ophelia took the chance to rush through the corridor, her thoughts drifting to Bridget.

But as she passed the parlor, Lady Kirkland strode out, snagging her wrist. The woman dragged her inside and slammed the door shut, before shoving her across the room. Ophelia stumbled backward, her hip knocking into a table and rattling the vase atop it.

When her stepmother glared at her, it was with all the fury she had saved up, and Ophelia was truly scared.

“How dare you!” Lady Kirkland shouted, gaining on her, and Ophelia scrambled back to the window as if she might disappear into it. “You have humiliated me! You have whored yourself out—and for what? You think the Duke a dashing prince to save you? Your father would have been embarrassed to witness your spectacle today, and I thank the Heavens he is not alive to know what you have done!”

“But I have done nothing wrong!” Ophelia cried out. “It was a lie, Lady Kirkland. I beg you to believe me! I have never even met the Duke, let alone given myself to him!”

“Liar!”

“I am not, I swear.” Her voice cracked. “I am just as humiliated as you are! My own wedding was interrupted by a false claim. In two days, I am to marry a man I have never met. Do you care how I feel about the shame he brought upon me?”

“No, I do not,” Lady Kirkland spat. “You have brought it upon yourself.”

“I have brought nothing .”

Ophelia tried not to cry, but she was desperate, unsure. Her entire world had been turned upside down by a false accusation.

“Why would the Duke of Stormcliff ruin you so publicly if it was a lie? The fool clearly has it in his head that he could save you. If you wished to run off together quickly to cover up your scandal, then he has orchestrated it well. Perhaps you were in talks with one another, arranging it all.”

“Stepmother—”

“Why would he lie , Ophelia?” Lady Kirkland shouted.

“Because he is a monster who murdered his uncle!” Ophelia snapped. She’d had enough of her stepmother thinking the Duke was honorable, not doubting his motives while believing Ophelia to be a trollop. “Because he does not care about the consequences of his actions! He doesn’t care whether he ruins the lives of others.”

Lady Kirkland shook her head. “I do not care about the rumors about the Stormcliffs,” she seethed.

“But you care when they involve me,” Ophelia retorted. “You do not care when they are true and care when they are false. It is more shame on you that you believe his claims.”

“I defended you at the church to save face. But do not think for a second that I believe you are innocent in all of this,” Lady Kirkland came closer, her anger tangible, filling the room and crowding around Ophelia stiflingly.

“But I am . And I know the truth even if you refuse to believe it.”

“We had a deal.”

Oh, how that had not left Ophelia’s mind for one moment.

“No,” she whispered, hoping that her stepmother would not make good on her threats.

Lady Kirkland had discovered Bridget’s pregnancy two weeks ago, when Ophelia had refused to marry Lord Anworth.

Marry Anworth and I will keep your wretch of a maid in my employ.

“The deal is off.”

Her stepmother’s words echoed through the parlor, sinking into the rugs, the curtains, until all Ophelia could think of was what had happened. What Lady Kirkland had done…

“You did not,” she breathed.

“I did. Your lady’s maid has found herself on the streets, and if she is lucky, a poor spinster might have need of a pregnant maid. If she has no other option.”

“No!” Ophelia cried. “No, I would have gone through with it! My Lady, please . Bring her back. Bridget is innocent in all of this. She did not have a choice.”

“Every woman has a choice,” Lady Kirkland snapped, but Ophelia did not believe it. “And the two of you are quite the same. No wonder you defend one another—you let yourself be seduced by the Duke. Did you think he would love you if you spread your legs for him?”

Ophelia’s face burned with shame. “I have done no such thing .”

“Do not play ignorant with me. You have been ungrateful for all the blessings you have been showered with since I married your father.”

“Do not bring my father into this!” Ophelia shouted. “He was a kind, good man. The same cannot be said for you.”

Her stepmother’s hand shot out, but Ophelia dodged it, taking the chance to put space between them.

Her thoughts drifted back to her promise to Bridget that night many months ago, when Bridget had confessed her secret to her. Ophelia had promised her that she would not lose her job. Bridget was even supposed to move with her to her new home after marrying Lord Anworth. Ophelia was protecting her. And now… Now Bridget was on the streets, and she would be helpless, the birth of her baby nearing every day.

I will find her, Ophelia swore silently. I will find a way to bring her back.

“If you think you and the Duke will get away with this plan of yours, then you may think again.”

Ophelia blanched, offended at the implication. “There was no such plan,” she hissed. “The only person here making deals and plans is you, Lady Kirkland.”

“You thought he could save you from marrying Anworth?” her stepmother scoffed. “You are foolish and naive. Love does not exist, Ophelia. Do not think that what the Duke feels for you is that.”

“Do trust that I am under no such illusion, as I do not know him !”

“In two days, you shall not be my problem anymore. But do not think this is your escape. You cannot escape your responsibility to this family so easily.”

The warning sank into Ophelia’s heart like a stone. Her stepmother turned on her heel and stalked out.