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

Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

W hen Maxwell came home, Ophelia was perched on the armchair near the window.

“Ophelia.” The way he said her name now—not with contempt but with pleasant surprise—it was as though he enjoyed her being there but was unsure why. “You waited for me.”

“I did.” She turned to him, finding him without bloodied knuckles. “You did not?—”

“Fight the Earl? No. I did not need to. However, had the need arisen, I would have.”

“You are always ready to use your fists?” She could not help her jab, but she regretted it immediately.

“No.” Maxwell shut the door behind him.

The candles were already lit around Ophelia, the light dancing across the planes of his face.

“That was my uncle. I, at least, give an opportunity to speak unless I am in the ring. Then, there is no use for words.”

“How honorable of you.”

“Do I detect sarcasm in my wife’s voice?”

“Not at all.”

Yet, Ophelia could not help but smirk as he walked towards her, taking off his jacket. He loosened his cravat, pausing as he folded it on the end of his bed.

“You have finally used the connecting door,” he said. “Although it is not for the reason I had hoped.”

“What did you hope?”

“I believe I mentioned that in my study several days ago.” He raised an eyebrow at her.

“You did, but I wish to hear it again.”

“Fine,” he said simply. “I wished you had used it for purposes that would lead me to hear your pleasure. For purposes that would lead me to put my hands on you in a way that makes you crave more. Do you crave it, Ophelia? Do you crave me ?”

“You must know that I do,” she murmured, feeling flushed beneath his gaze, blanketed by his teasing words. “But you are right. I did not enter your rooms for… for that.”

Maxwell sat at the desk that he used for personal correspondence. “You spoke with Lucy,” he guessed.

“I did. And she… hinted at something that I realize I have been mistaken about.”

He sighed. “You and the entire ton, I believe.”

She met his gaze. “You did not kill the late Duke.”

Maxwell took several moments to answer. “I did not.”

“Yet, you protected Lucy, who did it, so she was not persecuted. So she could save herself as well as be protected.”

“Yes.” He rubbed his temples. “What did she tell you?”

“She did not admit anything outright. I saw how her hands twitched, as if she was recalling the shape of her weapon. The candelabra.”

“Yes,” Maxwell confirmed once again. “After Lucy struck my uncle, she began to scream. Only for mere seconds. But after that, she settled into a deathly silence. She simply stared and stared at him. Blood poured from his head. I recall her trying to stanch the wound while speaking to herself. She told herself she had done right, that she could not endure him any longer. Yet, he was still her father, and she still tried to stop the bleeding. Her hands were coated with his blood. She did not stop trembling for a very long time.”

He swallowed, toying with the hem of his waistcoat. It was the most ruffled Ophelia had seen him.

“When she realized what she had done, she sat back and simply stared. I do not even recall her blinking. I knew then. While I had not protected her enough against her father’s cruelty, I needed to at that moment. She could not be persecuted for something she did purely out of survival.”

“I agree,” Ophelia murmured.

“What could I do but accept that? If I got us both out of the country, then people would assume I had murdered the late Duke. I knew I could carry that burden for her. I would carry every burden she had if it meant keeping her safe.”

“You have protected her for years,” Ophelia told him. “She knows this.”

“I feel responsible for not doing more sooner,” he admitted, looking down at his hands. “I feel responsible for being a man, just like them. For being angry, just like them. My father and my uncle. I feel responsible for causing Lucy pain.”

“When?”

“Every day. I have seen my father’s and my uncle’s portraits. I have the Harding features, and they haunt me . Of course, they would also haunt her.”

Ophelia gazed back at him. “All I see is a handsome man who is my husband.”

Maxwell shook his head. “I can feel their rage in me, Ophelia. It is why I channel it into the boxing matches. It is why I ride so often. Why I swim in the early morning. Because… the current is like an opponent I will not risk hurting.”

“But do you not see?” Ophelia asked. “That is a sign of you being better than them, Maxwell. You are finding other ways. I do not think either your uncle or father cared about any of that. They simply tormented their children without a care for the damage they inflicted. I do not know the full extent of the abuse you suffered, Maxwell, and I will not press you for it. I only wish to make you see that you are better than them.”

Maxwell gazed at her, his face a mask of devastation. “You truly believe that? They call me the Ruthless Duke. Does that not make you think?”

“And they call me ruined,” she reminded him. “We are not what others say we are. All we have to be is what we know.”

Silence fell between them for a moment before Maxwell laughed quietly. “I see why Lucy tells me how comforted she feels after speaking with you.”

“She does?”

Maxwell nodded. But then another emotion marred his handsome face. “Ophelia, there is something I wish to tell you. I did not want to—not yet. But after what you told me tonight, I feel as though I must. It is about the true nature of our marriage.”

Ophelia’s heart soared. “I will listen.”

“I knew the Marquess of Kirkland.”

Maxwell’s confession should not have surprised her, for many gentlemen knew one another, but it did nonetheless.

“When I was eighteen, I joined the army. I served in many places, under many generals, but in all my years in the army, there was a particular man who stood by me, who guided me, even as I gained more experience. My memories of the army make me feel guilty, for I know it prevented me from protecting Lucy much of the time. But my comrade—your father—comforted me. He told me that we all left lives back home that we wished we could return to. He reminded me of why we fought, though.”

“Ophelia, he saved my life,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “I was in the line of fire during a skirmish, and he pulled me to the ground, shielding me from the blast. The shot rang out, and I was left vulnerable, but he threw himself over me, taking the brunt of it. When the smoke cleared, we both made it back to camp—though he was gravely wounded.” Maxwell paused, his eyes hardening.

“A wound to the chest,” Ophelia whispered, that crack in her heart deepening.

Maxwell nodded. “I sat with him and held his hand. He told me to tell his daughter that he loved her. He told me to tell her that he was joining his true love and that all would be well once again. He told me he was sorry he could not come back home to you and your brother James. He hoped that his son would forgive him for leaving him fatherless so young.”

Ophelia clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob.

“The Marquess told me to remind his daughter that love existed and to never give up on it, as he had taught her. And then he made me promise him something. He made me promise to protect his daughter. As I had not protected Lucy when she needed me most, I agreed. If I could save one woman at least, then I could live with myself. As he lay dying before me, I swore I would do whatever it took to protect his daughter. Lady Ophelia Russell.”

The sound of her maiden name on his tongue made her gasp. To know her father had made him promise such a thing sent a shiver through her.

Her heart broke into thousands of pieces as she listened to Maxwell.

“When I heard of your marriage to Lord Anworth, knowing what I did about him, I knew it was time to fulfill my promise. I was not protecting you in the way I had thought I would have to. I thought I would need to rough up a few lords, ward off some bad suitors. I did not realize the scope of protection in your situation. I honored your father’s wish—I could not let you marry Lord Anworth. Your father would have wanted much more for you.”

“He would have been ashamed of Lady Kirkland for arranging such a thing.”

“Indeed. I came back to England?—”

“You risked being caught for your uncle’s death for me?” she whispered.

Maxwell nodded. “I rode straight to the church and said the first thing I could to prevent you from marrying that man. I do not know, to this day, why you said I had ruined everything for you when I offered you marriage to save your reputation, but I had done my duty to your father.”

“Why did you not tell me?”

He gulped, hesitant to speak. He closed his eyes once and opened them when he answered.

“Protecting you wasn’t the only thing he asked of me. He asked me to show you that love still exists. I’d meant to protect you until you could find the love match you desired, but I had to act fast after you were betrothed to Lord Anworth. But… I hadn’t thought, until recently, that I would be able to give you that.”

Ophelia gaped at him, astounded.

But Maxwell pressed on. “Now, you know the truth. I did not wish to be a hero, Ophelia. I did not know how to show you love.”

“But you are a hero.”

“I cannot control how I am perceived.”

Ophelia’s mind raced as she processed Maxwell’s words, each revelation striking her like a buffet from the ocean currents he so loved.

She could hardly wrap her head around it all. Her father had entrusted his life’s work to Maxwell, a man she hardly knew but was now bound to by this incredible promise.

“You were there, with him, when he—” She swallowed hard, forcing the words past the lump in her throat. “When he… passed?”

Maxwell nodded, his face drawn, regret etched into every line. “I was. And I’m sorry, Ophelia. I couldn’t protect him from the war, couldn’t bring him back. He didn’t deserve that death, and now… That promise I made, to watch over you… I was too late to properly stop your wedding to Anworth, and then I?—”

“No,” Ophelia interrupted, shaking her head, her voice trembling with the weight of her thoughts. “What my father did, Maxwell, he did for others. For love, for duty—he was a man of honor. He chose to sacrifice himself, and in doing so, he left us all a legacy to follow. He would never have blamed you. He chose the cause, not the outcome.”

Maxwell’s dark eyes softened, and for a moment, Ophelia saw a flicker of the boy he might have been—young, hopeful, longing to do right in the eyes of the world.

“I should have done more. Both for you and Lucy,” he muttered, looking away. “I should have protected you, kept you from?—”

“No.” Ophelia placed a hand on his arm, stopping him. “You did protect me. You kept your word, even when it seemed impossible.” She took a deep breath, her voice steady now. “You honored my father enough to keep that promise. I am honored by that.”

Maxwell let out a long breath, the tension in his body easing just a little.

“You already have done more than enough,” she reassured him, as though she could feel the doubts haunting his mind, “and… about the second part of your promise…”

Maxwell gulped.

“You said that until recently, you hadn’t thought…” she trailed off.

After a long pause, Maxwell sighed. “I will try. For us.”

Ophelia smiled. Perhaps… Perhaps she and the Duke could have something real.

Then, a pang of guilt rose in her chest, tightening her throat once again.

Ophelia swallowed. “You have shared your secrets with me. So I must share mine in return.” She took a deep breath. “The reason I accused you of ruining everything was because I agreed to the marriage to Lord Anworth. I had a lady’s maid, Bridget, who found out she was carrying the child of a lord who seduced her. I tried to secure a marriage before my stepmother found out and dismissed her, but Lady Kirkland found out far too soon. She saw an opportunity to get rid of me. She told me she would not sack Bridget if I agreed to marry Lord Anworth.”

Maxwell’s face dropped in understanding. “So when I stopped that wedding…”

“Bridget was fired,” Ophelia finished, sighing. “The deal I had with my stepmother ceased to matter.”

“I know you have searched for her,” Maxwell said. “I know everything that goes in and out of this castle, including servants sent to London on a mission. But I had assumed it was because you needed your former lady’s maid. That your current one was not good enough.”

“It is because I swore to protect her. Surely you know what that is like.”

“I do. And I understand your need to find her. I cannot apologize for saving you from Lord Anworth, but I apologize for not being able to save Bridget. However, I do wish to help you in your efforts to find her.”

“I would like that.”

In the candlelight, with their secrets laid bare, Ophelia only craved his closeness.

Suddenly, the space between them was too vast. She had spent too long with him avoiding her. Now, she craved him. She craved those touches, his fingertips trailing over her skin, tugging gently at her clothes.

He had explored her so carefully several nights ago. What more could he do to her? What further pleasures awaited in his bed?

“Ophelia,” he said, his voice rougher, lower. “I am not a man who shares my heart or my mind very easily. Yet, now that I have, I find that the vulnerability does not feel quite as heavy a burden as I thought it would be.”

He stood up, moving closer to her. His eyes roved over her, taking in every see-through inch of her nightgown beneath her robe, the way her breasts strained against the fabric.

He loomed over her, and Ophelia, even when she stood up, was still so small in comparison.

“Kiss me,” she whispered. “Kiss me and make me feel closer to you again in the way I have craved for so long. I asked you to make me forget everything, and I still wish for that.”

And he did. He cupped her face in his hands, those hands that had been taught violence yet learned gentleness.

His mouth slotted over hers, a bite to it, a demand and intensity, and Ophelia helplessly gave in. His tongue slid against hers, making her moan quietly into his mouth.

Maxwell pulled back. “Know that I am not a distraction,” he told her, his voice almost a growl. He reached out, gripping her arm. “I am your husband, and when I take you to my bed, Ophelia, it will not be to make you forget. It will be to make you think only of me. I will not be your distraction, but I will be your husband, and I will pleasure you as a husband should.”

Ophelia could only nod, her throat going dry.

Maxwell picked up the cravat that he had folded on the edge of his bed, cocking his head at her.

“Dear wife,” he purred, “get on the bed and raise your arms above your head for me.”

Ophelia did, her knees trembling.

Maxwell stalked towards the bed. “Now, I will ask you a question only once.”

“Anything,” she murmured.

“Will you be good for me?”

Ophelia felt the breath leave her lungs as she nodded.

“As I told you last time, I require words. Use them.”

“Yes,” she breathed. “I will. I will be good for you.”

The smile he gave her as he closed the distance between them was positively wicked.