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

Chapter 32

Chapter Thirty-Two

“ E verything is coming together very well,” Ophelia said happily over dinner a few nights later. “The invitations have been sent, the ballroom is ready, the feast has been planned, and our guest of honor has been fitted for her new gown.”

“Excellent,” Maxwell said. “I am still not entirely happy with inviting the ton into our home, but I also want to make you happy.”

“And see your cousin happily courting,” Ophelia added. “This is for her, after all.”

“I’m also sensing that you miss parties,” he suggested.

Ophelia felt a pang in her chest. There were times when she missed attending social events.

She looked away. “All that matters is Lucy’s chances of finding a good husband. Bridget has been assisting with the planning, and Mrs. Hesketh has been very steadfast in arranging the ball as per my instructions. Lucy has chosen the musicians, of course, and the color scheme. It is a silver and blue affair.”

“And your choice of gown?” Maxwell asked.

Ophelia blushed. “I have been fitted for something that I wish to surprise you with.”

“I have become rather fond of your surprises.” Her husband raised an eyebrow at her.

“I only hope there will be no unpleasant surprises at the ball.”

“With you at the helm, nothing shall go wrong.”

The encouragement warmed her thoroughly as they finished their dinner.

The day of the ball arrived with a flutter of nerves for Ophelia.

The planning had gone smoothly, and the preparations had been exacted right down to every precise instruction. She was pleased with how it had turned out.

“Shall we?” Maxwell asked her, offering her his arm as they stood before the doors to the ballroom.

After so many balls, Ophelia was finally getting to host her own, and the excitement had her grinning.

“We shall.”

As he led her inside, his mouth brushed against her cheek. “Did I mention how stunning you look tonight?”

“You did, but you may tell me again.”

She laughed softly as he gave her a thorough once-over.

“Your gown shimmers so much I think you are brighter than the chandelier,” he told her. “You have done so much for my cousin, and I was wrong to ever deny you the chance to host your own ball. My Duchess, you are exquisite.”

Ophelia kissed him right before they descended the stairs, joining Lucy and Freddie, who waited at the bottom. The musicians were already strumming a gentle tune, but the dancing had not yet started.

Lucy had requested that nobody dance until Maxwell and Ophelia did.

“I want our guests to see you both. To know that if the so-called Ruthless Duke can love and be happy in marriage, then I would not be a bad wife. That my family is capable of joy,” she’d said.

Maxwell led Ophelia to the dance floor, her hand in his, his gaze never leaving her. The music began, and Ophelia was pulled into a waltz. Together, the two of them glided across the dance floor. Surrounded by the starlit theme Lucy had chosen, Ophelia felt as though she was dancing in the night sky. A constellation of love just for her and Maxwell.

Soon, other couples began to join them, and Lucy was guided first onto the dance floor by Freddie.

“He is good to her.” Maxwell watched the two of them. “I do not know why Freddie is different around her, though. He is more… himself. And I did not think that was possible.” He laughed quietly, before pausing and narrowing his eyes at Freddie.

Ophelia said nothing, biting her lip to stifle her laughter.

As they danced, he held her intimately, his hand caressing her waist. She felt light beneath his attention, as though her feet might lift off the floor and they would spin through the air. Cocooned in her husband’s embrace, Ophelia thought that her father had been right to want her to find a love match.

Theirs may not have been a love match at first, but now… she cared deeply for Maxwell. She could only hope he felt the same, should she be courageous enough to ask.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a familiar face, and her heart grew heavier, her mood souring.

“You know, I invited Lady Kirkland and Lord Montford as a gesture of goodwill. She kept asking for an invitation, so I wished to appease her just this once and be free of her afterward. But seeing her now makes me rather regret that.”

Maxwell followed her gaze as the song came to a close. “We shall greet them politely and then excuse ourselves. Your stepmother will not dare to make a scene at your ball.”

“I hope not.”

Once their dance ended, Maxwell led Ophelia to where her stepmother and father’s cousin stood with James, who clung to his governess’s side.

He grinned at her. “Ophelia!” he cried out, rushing toward her.

“James!” Ophelia laughed upon seeing her half-brother for the first time in a long time.

She had missed him, in all truth. She did not expect to bear them, but she had always dreamed of having children. At least two, for she had not wanted her child to be alone as she had been. Siblings would keep one another company.

“How are you?” she asked her brother, who was dressed in his best tailcoat and shirt, and a little blue waistcoat.

“Fine,” he mumbled, looking up at the bright lights. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” she said, smiling as she hugged him. He clung to her, burying his face in her shoulder for a brief moment. “You must come visit me properly soon. I shall show you all the horses that we have in the stables.”

James’s eyes lit up. “Yes, please!”

She set him down before looking at her stepmother. “Lady Kirkland.”

“Ophelia.” The woman’s mouth was tight. “It is lovely of you to invite us.”

“Of course,” Ophelia said mildly. “How could I not?”

Lord Montford bowed to her and the Duke. “Your Graces.”

“Lord Montford.” Maxwell inclined his head. “I trust your journey to Stormcliff was pleasant.”

“Most,” Lord Montford answered.

Ophelia watched Lady Kirkland and the cruel gleam in her eyes that had never subsided. The woman had the Duke in her sights, and Ophelia did not like what brewed below the surface. Her stepmother was planning something, and she did not trust the woman.

“I must take my leave,” Ophelia said. “I am to make my toast soon. Maxwell?”

Her husband nodded. “Enjoy the ball, Lady Kirkland, Lord Montford.”

They retreated, and Ophelia went to find Lucy, the guest of honor. “It is time for the toast,” she told her, smiling.

Lucy nodded at her nervously, her eyes sweeping over the guests.

The music drew to a halt, and Ophelia clinked her glass, calling the attention of their guests. All eyes turned to her, and she found that she had missed this more than she realized. The connections, the socializing, feeling part of something so bright and happy.

“I would like to make a toast,” she announced, “to Lady Lucy Harding. This ball has been thrown in her honor, and I wish to encourage you all to greet her, speak with her, and listen. We can often judge one another too harshly without knowing the full truth. Lady Lucy is a woman who has made the most of a bad situation, but she is here today, dancing and laughing, and I have found a friend in her. I am honored to call her my friend.

“I would like to thank you all for attending and for visiting Stormcliff. It is a place that inspired many rumors, but as the Duchess of Stormcliff, I can assure you that this castle has become a home for me. Love has blossomed, friendships formed, and happiness has been found in unexpected places.”

Her gaze found her husband’s. “Please, enjoy the music, and the food, and your night.”

Murmurs rang out in response to her toast, and she smiled brightly, drinking her wine, before the others followed suit. Everybody cheered for Lucy and dispersed.

“Well then,” she said brightly, “I shall greet our guests. Lucy, would you like to take a turn around the room with me?”

Maxwell could not ignore how his wife spoke and connected with their guests. Her smile was easy and effortless, her conversation flowing with anybody that she spoke to. Even Lucy, encouraged by her bubbling energy, spoke more as Ophelia included her in their conversations.

Men were greeting her, smiling at his cousin, thanking Ophelia for hosting a wonderful ball, and Maxwell could not ignore the dark thoughts creeping in. He was incredibly proud of how well she had arranged everything, but he couldn’t push away his doubts.

She misses this . She shines in these places.

He tried to remind himself how she had shined at the village festival, and the fair upon her arrival all those weeks ago. But here, she glimmered, came alive beneath the lights, at home in the ball even if she did not notice it herself.

His wife, the charming Duchess. Everybody had been speaking about her grace and charm at previous balls, and he could not stand how they speculated on their marriage.

How has this woman found such happiness with the silent, reclusive Duke ?

He knew they wondered, and he despised it.

“You are not good enough for this estate, Maxwell . ” His father’s voice echoed in his head. “Will you always disappoint those who rely on you? Who depend on you?”

“Stop it,” Maxwell muttered to himself, shaking his head. “You do not need to listen to him.”

But the voice grew louder.

“Do you think you can truly make a woman happy ? You are foul-tempered and insist on isolating yourself. You cannot impress me—how do you expect to impress your future wife? Anthony, do you believe he can impress a woman ? ”

The phantom laughter of his father and uncle rang in his ears, louder than the hum of conversation in the ballroom. For several dizzying moments, Maxwell was lost to that laughter—laughter he had not heard in more than a decade.

He swayed, feeling himself slipping into that silent, furious place he had struggled to find his way out of. Ophelia had pulled him out of it—she had assured him that she felt safe with him, and that was all he had ever wanted. To ensure others’ safety, even with violence in his blood.

But now…

Had her safety been gained in exchange for her happiness? How happy could she truly be with someone like him?

He had refused to let her host the ball at first—had denied her something that brought her this much happiness.

He was a coward. Deep down, he knew it, and Ophelia would come to know it soon enough if she did not already.

“Maxwell.” Freddie’s voice cut through the din, just barely. “ Maxwell .”

His friend clapped him on the shoulder, startling him. He knew—of course, he knew. Freddie had weathered the worst of Maxwell’s angry storms, the worst of his moments, where his doubt and fear overwhelmed him to the point where he could not even stand to be looked at.

“Are you all right?”

Maxwell, unable to find his voice, merely nodded.

“You do not look like it.”

He scowled at Freddie.

“You… have not had such an episode in a while, Max,” Freddie said quietly. “Tell me what I can do.”

“Nothing.” Maxwell finally found his voice. “Absolutely nothing. Excuse me, I must get some air. Tell Ophelia I am fine if she asks.”

A dark voice in his head tried to add that she would not, that she should not care about him, that her life could be much brighter without him in it. But he ignored it desperately and walked through the terraced doors, inhaling the cool evening air.

Collapsing against the wall outside, he closed his eyes, pushing his fingers through his hair, trying to quell the despair. It climbed up his throat, choking him.

“Breathe,” he muttered to himself.

At his sides, his hands clenched and unclenched. Was this how his uncle felt when he gave in to the need to land a blow to something or someone? Did the shame that burned through Maxwell now mirror the shame his father had once felt because of him?

He turned his head towards the ballroom, keeping to the shadows. His chest ached. Ophelia stood, laughter on her face as she talked with three other ladies and two men in their fine clothes. Her hand gestured excitedly, her face flushed.

Maxwell looked away.

Before he could fully compose himself, footsteps sounded in the darkness of the gardens.

“Your Grace,” she greeted him with a soft smile.

“Lady Kirkland.” His voice was cold.

“I needed a moment away,” she sighed. “It is rather… intense in there, wouldn’t you agree?”

“What a strange word to use,” Maxwell muttered, stepping away. He didn’t want her company—not tonight, not ever.

Lady Kirkland stepped forward, blocking his path. “You must be pleased with how well your wife has hosted tonight,” she said. “She has always thrived in these settings.”

Maxwell narrowed his eyes at her. He knew where this was going. He’d had this conversation with Ophelia before—he knew Lady Kirkland’s nature, the way she twisted words to suit her purposes. He wouldn’t fall for it.

“Yes,” he said curtly. “I am proud of her. Now, if you’ll excuse me?—”

“My late husband adored these parties,” Lady Kirkland continued as though he hadn’t spoken. “Ophelia used to light up during them. I often thought they were the only things that made her truly happy.”

Maxwell’s jaw clenched. He knew this wasn’t true. He had seen Ophelia come alive in simpler settings—in the village, surrounded by people she genuinely cared about. Her joy wasn’t confined to grand events like this one.

“She is a charismatic woman,” he replied coolly. “I’ve been fortunate to see her thrive in many settings.”

Lady Kirkland’s smile faltered, just for a moment. “It must be difficult for her now,” she mused. “The life Lord Kirkland gave her was filled with such joy. He had hoped to see her marry well and host parties of her own. He wanted her to be happy.”

The subtle barb wasn’t lost on Maxwell, but he refused to rise to the bait. “Ophelia’s happiness is my highest priority,” he said stiffly.

“Is it?” Lady Kirkland tilted her head. “She was once expected to marry Lord Garrett Torvall, you know. They were quite close. A fine match—everyone thought so.”

Lord Garrett Torvall . The man Ophelia had danced with at the ball—the man who had, at first, made her laugh.

Maxwell’s chest tightened. He remembered that night, how Lord Garrett’s presence had made her laugh at first, but then quickly upset her. He had been there; he had seen her discomfort.

“And yet she did not marry him, nor the murderer you tried to force upon her,” he said. “She married me .”

“Murderer? What do you speak of?” the lady asked, feigning ignorance.

Maxwell chuckled. “Please, Lady Kirkland. Do not pretend that you have not heard the rumors about Anworth killing his wives.”

Lady Kirkland gasped. “I would have never insisted on their marriage if I had known such… such terrible things,” Her gaze was calculating, and Maxwell knew she was still lying. “But I wonder if she ever regrets that choice, trading a bright future for… this.”

Maxwell squared his shoulders. “You seem very concerned with my wife’s happiness, Lady Kirkland. Yet, from what Ophelia has shared with me, your concern is often less than genuine.”

Lady Kirkland’s smile turned brittle. “I only wish to see her content.”

“And she is,” he bit out. “Far more so than you think.”

He stepped around her, giving her no chance to respond, and disappeared into the shadows of the garden, his fists trembling. He knew what she was trying to do, but he wouldn’t let her words plant seeds of doubt in his mind.

His doubts were his own. He would battle them himself, but he would not allow Lady Kirkland to use them against him.

And yet, the deeper into the garden he went, the louder his father’s voice became.

“You do not make her happy. You could not make anybody happy. You’re just like me, boy.”

By the time the ball ended and Ophelia sought him out, Maxwell was drained. His mind was numb, and his heart felt as though it had been hollowed out. He sat in his study, staring blankly at the business contract he had just reviewed—the first one he had ever written.

“What an incredible night!” Ophelia gushed as soon as she entered, her voice full of excitement.

Her hair was disheveled, her face glistening with a sheen of perspiration. She radiated happiness—from dancing, from hosting, from living the life she had longed for. A life denied to her until now.

“You know, Lucy had several offers. I do think you’ll approve of at least three of them,” she added with a playful glint in her eyes.

Maxwell gave a tired smile, though it felt distant. “Good,” he replied, his voice flat and detached.

“And I heard many positive things about the dukedom. It appears Stormcliff’s reputation is improving. But I didn’t see you much after we spoke with Lady Kirkland. Have you been in here the whole time?”

“For a while,” he answered, his mind drifting.

“Is… is everything all right?” Her voice softened, concern creeping in.

“Yes,” he answered automatically, though the word felt empty, just another lie to mask the truth. He sighed and began gathering his papers, his movements mechanical. “I’m retiring to bed, Ophelia.”

Her eyes lit up, and she stepped closer, hope filling her expression. “Perhaps I can retire with you,” she whispered, her hand trailing over his chest. “For such a wonderful evening deserves to be celebrated, don’t you think? I can think of many ways.”

Her fingers slipped lower, but before they could reach the waistband of his trousers, he grabbed her wrist and gently pulled it away. Her touch felt like a weight he could barely bear. He closed his eyes, longing to feel something else, but the weight of his guilt held him back.

“I am tired,” he said, his voice quieter, colder. “I need to sleep.”

Ophelia paused, searching his face. “Maxwell… what is wrong? You’re not yourself tonight.”

He winced at the accusation in her eyes. He had tried so hard to pretend—pretend that he could be what she wanted, what she deserved. But now, the mask felt unbearable. His mind raced, the thoughts he could no longer push aside crashing over him.

I don’t deserve her . I’m no better than my father or my uncle. I’ll only hurt her like they hurt everyone they loved.

She stepped closer again, her voice trembling. “Maxwell, you’re scaring me. What’s going on? Please, tell me.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering the strength to say what he had been dreading. “Ophelia… I don’t deserve you.”

She froze, as though his words had struck her like a blow. “What do you mean?”

“I am not the man you think I am,” he said, his voice rough with the weight of truth. “I’m like them. I am like my father… my uncle. I don’t know how to make you happy. I will only fail you, just like they failed the people who loved them. You deserve someone better than me.”

Her expression faltered, hurt flashing in her eyes. She reached for him, but he stepped back, unable to bear her closeness, the weight of her gaze.

“Maxwell, no,” she whispered, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe what he was saying. “You’re not like them. I don’t believe that.”

“You should,” he said, his voice low and thick. “I tried, Ophelia. I tried to be something I’m not. I thought I could make this work, but I can’t. I will always fall short. I… I don’t deserve you.”

Her lips trembled, and a single tear slid down her cheek. “You hurt me, Maxwell. You don’t even see it, do you? I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. But you push me away like I’m nothing.”

“I’m not pushing you away,” he said, his voice breaking. “But I’m hurting you, Ophelia. You just don’t know it yet. I’m just like them. And one day, you’ll see that.”

She took a step back, fresh tears welling up in her eyes. “You don’t get to decide that for me. You don’t get to push me away and tell me what I deserve. I will decide that, Maxwell. Not you.”

He looked at her, pain and guilt warring within him. “You deserve someone who can give you everything you want. Someone who can make you happy. I can’t do that.”

Ophelia shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re wrong. I wanted you. I still want you, Maxwell. But you have to want this too. You have to want me.”

He swallowed, the lump in his throat too large to ignore. “I do… but I can’t. Not when I know the truth. Not when I know that I am just as broken as they were.”

Ophelia stared at him for a moment longer, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. Then, without another word, she turned on her heel and left the room. The sound of the door slamming shut echoed in the silence.

Maxwell remained where he was, his heart heavy with the words he had spoken, the truth that he couldn’t escape. The darkness of the room seemed to close in on him, and yet the emptiness inside him felt even greater.

I don’t deserve her, he thought once more, the ache in his chest unbearable.