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

Chapter 1

Chapter One

“ L avinia, you can’t?—”

Charlotte felt herself being yanked backward, and no matter how hard she pulled, she stumbled out of the church, the door closing in front of her.

“No!” she cried, not even bothering to look at what—or who—was stopping her. She had to stop the wedding, no matter what it took.

“Lavinia!” she called at the top of her voice.

She felt the pull again, this time rougher, more forceful, and she spun around to glare.

“Get off me,” she snarled.

Charlotte let out a scream as she was driven toward a tree and pushed up against it, the bark rough on her back.

The man—for it was surely a man—pressed his hand hard against her mouth.

“What sort of animal are you?” he sneered, his face close to hers.

Charlotte blinked, her body frozen in shock. She would have thought she would have acted entirely differently, that she would have forced this stranger away from her. That she would have been scared.

But it wasn’t fear that coursed through Charlotte’s veins. It was exhilaration. Fascination.

Attraction?

She growled at him, and he repeated his question, pushing her further into the tree.

“Quiet,” he commanded, his tone low and dangerous, more warning than question.

She stared back at him, his emerald green eyes sparkling, daring her, coaxing her. And for a long moment, she could do nothing but stare at him, her curiosity piqued.

His hard body was pressed against hers, his breath hot against her face, and she squirmed beneath him—not because she wanted rid of him but because, to her horror, she enjoyed the sensation of him being there.

The church bells sounded once.

The wedding!

She nodded. Her auburn hair, roughly pulled back into a ponytail, caught in the bark of the tree.

“Then I’ll remove my hand, and we can talk—but you must be quiet.”

But before he could, Charlotte opened her mouth as wide as she could against his hand then bit down on his flesh.

The man—a gentleman, certainly, from the way he was dressed—growled in frustration but didn’t remove his hand. He shoved her harder against the tree, and again, a shock of excitement ran through her.

It felt more like a game than a threat, and something inside her, some inexplicable part of her that she never knew existed, pushed her to antagonize him further. To see just how far he would go in his punishment.

“Silence, you wretched little whore,” he hissed. “You are making a spectacle of yourself. Keep fighting, and you’ll regret it. Is that clear?”

She tried to struggle away from him—to no avail. She gave up, her body slumping, and she huffed through his fingers. If she had any hope of stopping the wedding, she needed to do as she was told—at least for the time being.

She nodded again, the strands of her hair pulling painfully against the tree.

“Good girl,” he muttered, his voice devoid of praise. “You’re not completely without reason.”

The man released the pressure slowly, then pulled away.

Charlotte opened her mouth.

“Lavin—”

Her scream was cut off by his rapid movements, on her again, pushing against her. His chest pushed against her breasts, his strong arms holding her in place, and Charlotte took in a deep breath, wanting more of it.

What is wrong with me?

He growled at her, “I told you to stop.”

She said nothing—could say nothing—as she examined his face.

He was a tall, broad man who could easily hold her in place. Dark brown hair, unruly despite the attempt to tame it. His eyes spoke of a long life, despite his age—early thirties if Charlotte had to guess.

His chin and cheeks were covered by a thick beard, similar in color to his hair though there were specks of lightness to it, as if the quill had needed dipping in the ink again.

Her eyes flicked back up to meet his.

“Now,” he said, “we can’t keep playing this game. You know I am strong enough to stand here all day without letting you go.”

The notion suddenly sent a thrill of excitement through her, but she tempered it. She had to remember her purpose. She had to get into that church before it was too late.

She nodded again, and this time, when he lowered his hand, she kept her mouth firmly closed.

He watched her carefully, his hawk-like eyes not moving from her, his body ready to pounce as if he were hunting his prey.

Charlotte watched him, luring him into security.

And when she saw his shoulders finally relax?—

This is my chance.

She darted away from him, side-stepping him and lunging toward the church.

It was no good. He was far too fast for her. Far too powerful.

He lunged forward and grabbed hold of her arm, yanking her back to him. She ignored the tingling sensation it sent through her entire body as he spun her into his arms.

“You are either very foolish or very determined,” he said.

His entire demeanor was calm, as if this were just another task on another day. As if he weren’t holding another human hostage against their will.

The man huffed. “Look, I’m not going to let you stop this wedding, so there is no point in you continuing to try.”

Charlotte blinked again, trying to think whether she had said those words. How did he know of her intentions? No, she was certain she had not said it out loud, only called for Lavinia.

She tried for an incredulous laugh, shaking her head in the most innocent way she could muster.

“Stop the wedding? Why on earth would I want to do that? You misunderstand, sir. That is not why I am here at all. I am merely a guest though circumstance has caused me to arrive late.”

The man scoffed, quite rightly not believing her, and he stood back, openly looking her up and down.

Instinctively, Charlotte wanted to curl in on herself, to hide herself from his gaze, but there was something pervading about it, something alluring. She remained perfectly still, allowing him to examine her as he wished, her breath coming in short, rapid bursts.

“A late guest?” His laughter burst from his lips as his eyes met hers again. “You take me for a fool.”

Charlotte straightened, her shoulders squared, and she pursed her lips at him. “And you, sir, take me for a liar. I tell you, I am a guest, and I am late. Now, if you don’t mind, I would rather like to watch my friend get married.”

She moved to turn around, hoping to walk easily away, but she had no such luck.

“Not so fast,” he said, grabbing her and pining her to the tree again.

He leaned in, heavy against her, looking at her again, and smirked.

“You’re trying to tell me that a plainly dressed lady with no chaperone, one who looks like she’s been running for her life and is trying to barge into a church, shouting at the top of her voice, is merely a guest? That is not how guests behave—and certainly not when they are late. Whatever happened to slipping quietly into the back pew and hoping no one notices?”

Charlotte clenched her jaw, taken aback somewhat by his cleverness. It seemed to her that few people would notice the details, even if she had been shouting.

She considered, for a moment, lying to him, continuing the ruse, but seeing the glint of amusement in his eyes told her that she had already lost.

“I do not have to answer to you, sir,” she replied and turned quickly, dashing toward the church.

The man’s arms wrapped quickly around her waist, pulling her easily back. Charlotte thrust her body around in a desperate attempt to get free.

“Let me go, you brute,” she growled. “You absolute bell swagger! You blustering bully!”

The man laughed in her ear, the sensation sending a shiver through her despite her anger.

“My, we do have a rather large vocabulary, don’t we?”

“Let me go!” she cried again, writhing ineffectually in his arms. “You hell-born doddering rake of a scapegrace! I have never before met such a sorry rascal before.”

He laughed again. “If anyone were hell-born, I’d say it was you, what with the way you’re behaving. Stop wriggling. I can stand here all day if necessary.”

With a heavy sigh, Charlotte let all the tension go from her body, letting it sag heavily.

“Better,” he murmured into her ear.

For some godforsaken reason, she wanted more of it, more of his breath upon her skin, more of her his words in her ears. More of his body against hers.

But she had a purpose, and she had to fulfill it or she would never forgive herself.

“You don’t understand,” she snarled. “I have to stop this wedding, and you, sir, are making it remarkably difficult.”

“Whatever is the matter with you?” he asked, shaking his head as he looked down at her. “You are acting insane!”

“Is friendship insane?” she demanded from her place on the floor. “Are love and kindness insane?”

He raised his eyebrows. “It seems they can certainly make you act insane. Who are you?”

Charlotte glared at him, sticking her chin out defiantly.

“That is none of your business,” she snapped. “I am here for a very good reason, thank you very much. I can’t very well sit back and watch my best friend marry a cad like Viscount Arkley.”

“Ah!” The man nodded his sudden understanding, a smirk twitching on his face. “You must be Lady Charlotte, then, recently back from France.”

Charlotte gasped, horrified that he had discovered who she was so easily. She had certainly garnered a name for herself in the ton , especially after her parents sent her away to her Parisian aunt in the hopes of her becoming a ‘proper young lady.’

The man got his pocket watch out and flicked it open, examining the time. Charlotte narrowed her eyes at him as she clambered to her feet.

“Tell me, Lady Charlotte,” he said, still looking at the watch and not her, exuding an air of confidence and power, “how did a lady such as yourself get here all by yourself?”

“Sheer will,” she spat back.

He looked up at her, and again, his eyes roved over her body as if he owned it—or as if he soon would. “You’re wearing riding clothes.”

“Goodness, aren’t you the observant one,” Charlotte said with a bitter laugh.

The man pushed himself off the tree he had been leaning against and approached her, examining her face.

“There is no way that any respectable parent of a young lady would allow her to ride out alone which means only one thing. You snuck out on your own and ran off with the horse.”

Charlotte’s cheeks burned with fury that he had worked it out. It seemed he only had to look at her, and he knew everything. Was she really so obvious?

“That is patently ridiculous,” she lied, but she quickly sighed, giving in to him.

He smirked. “The soon-to-be Lady Arkley mentioned you at her engagement party. Don’t worry—she only spoke positively of you. You have a good friend there.”

Filled with rage anew, Charlotte marched up to him and smacked him hard on the chest. “Don’t you say that. My friend will never be Lady Arkley. I will see to that.”

“For goodness’ sake,” he muttered under his breath. “Do you plan to see reason at all today? If you storm that church, you will humiliate and ruin both her and yourself. It’s a fool’s game if ever there was one!”

“But my friend deserves better than a debauched scoundrel who will break his vows at every turn,” she retorted, infuriated at her own inability to simply turn and run, to push past him.

She was certain she was powerful enough—could be powerful enough—except there was something so incredibly magnetic about this man, and she found herself drawn to him, her mind lost in a sea of confusion.

She hated him for making her feel like that. And she hated him for stopping her from going into that church.

“You are going to make a huge mistake,” he said. “And Lord Arkley is not the rake you seem to think he is.”

“So, all these rumors materialized out of thin air? I think not,” Charlotte said simply and turned again.

This time, she made it four steps closer to the church before he stopped her.

She made to wriggle her way out of his arms when he picked her clean off her feet and threw her over his shoulder as if she were nothing more than a sack of coal.

He marched away from the church toward the carriage while she hammered on his back, screaming and shouting for him to put her down.

“Unhand me this instant!” she demanded, her voice sharp and breathless as the wind was ripped from her.

“Not a chance,” he replied curtly, but his tone was calm, almost amused, yet as unyielding as steel.

“I mean it!” she cried, squirming even harder. “You cannot do this! Do you hear me? I will scream the entire way?—”

“You’re already screaming,” he interrupted dryly. “And I don’t seem to be the one trembling.”

“Why, you insufferable—” she gasped, her fists pounding on his back, her head hanging down.

“You brute!” she shouted, hammering against him with all the strength she could muster. “Put me down at once!”

He didn’t even flinch as he began marching purposefully toward the carriage. “If you think for one moment that I’ll let you ruin this wedding, you’re even more delusional than you look.”

“Delusional?” she repeated, her indignation mounting. “You’re the one behaving like a barbarian! Do you even know what century this is?”

“Quite well,” he said evenly, adjusting his hold to keep her steady. “It’s the one where spoiled, reckless young ladies think they can do whatever they please without consequence.”

“I am neither spoiled nor reckless!” she spat, twisting violently though it was no use. He had the advantage in both size and strength, and she cursed the ease with which he carried her. “I’m doing what is right! If you had even an ounce of decency, you’d listen to me!”

He paused mid-stride, his grip on her tightening just enough to remind her that resistance was futile. “If you had even an ounce of sense, you’d know when you’re beaten.”

She froze for a moment, stunned by the audacity of his words, before resuming her struggle with renewed fervor. “This is kidnapping! You’ll hang for this, I swear it!”

“Enough,” he said coldly. “You have already been bested.”

“I am not bested!” she shrieked, her fists thudding against his back. “And if you think you can carry me off like some barbarian prince and no one will notice, you are sorely mistaken!”

“On the contrary,” he replied, the faintest edge of amusement creeping into his voice. “I think I’m doing a rather fine job of it.”

Her retort was lost in an outraged cry as she realized the carriage was only a few steps away. “I’ll never forgive you for this!” she seethed, her voice trembling with fury. “Do you hear me? Never!”

“I think I’ll survive,” he said coolly, reaching the carriage and signaling the driver with a sharp nod.

A footman opened the carriage door, and the man positively threw her onto the bench seat. She landed with her legs wide apart, the handsome stranger standing over her and peering down.

“How very ladylike,” he muttered.

Charlotte’s cheeks burned with the humiliation, but she struggled into a sitting position all the same.

“How dare you!”

She lunged for the door handle, but before she could reach it, he tapped his cane on the roof.

“To London,” he called to the coachman. “And be quick about it.”

He sat down opposite her, pulling the cane between his legs, and he smirked, looking rather pleased with himself.

“You’re only going to make things worse, Lady Charlotte,” he said. “It’s best you just do as you are told.”

Charlotte clenched her jaw. She’d never been one to do what she was told, and she wasn’t going to start now with this stranger, no matter how handsome he was.

No matter how much my body calls me to obey him.

The wheels began to move, crunching over the gravel, and Charlotte lunged one more time for the handle. The man’s cane flew out, slamming against the door and making her jump.

“Try it,” he said harshly, his eyes fixed on her with cold disdain. “You’ll only make a fool of yourself.”

“You… you… rotter!” she cried, the emotion of it all starting to overwhelm her. “How could you?”

His gaze was icy as it met hers. “Because it needed to be done.”

He looked behind her out of the window and smirked. She followed his gaze just in time to see the newlywed Viscount and Viscountess Arkley coming out of the church in a flurry of petals.

Her entire body sagged. She had failed—and it was all thanks to this awful, handsome, intriguing stranger.

She flopped back in her seat and crossed her arms like a petulant child.

“If you’re going to kidnap me,” she said, “you could at least tell me who you are.”

“Me?” he said, “I am the Duke of Thornvale.”