Page 9 of The Duke’s Cursed Virgin (Cursed Brides #3)

Chapter Eight

“ I t seems that you must serve your purpose again,” Anna remarked sarcastically.

Wearing a mask to any ball her uncle hosted was nothing new to Sophia. The difference was that she wore a different type of mask in most instances—the one that didn’t need glitter or feathers covering her face.

She had expected to be presented at one of his gatherings. Her uncle wanted the ton to see that his niece had ‘accepted’ his position as the current Marquess—and that she supported him.

The truth was that she did not care either way. She was merely going through the motions.

“At least we get to see the Marchioness and her boys,” Sophia murmured, thinking of how she felt when she spent a day with the two.

She never thought she would like having to deal with two boisterous boys, yet here she was.

“There is that,” Anna agreed thoughtfully. “Do you think she’s happy with him?”

“Perhaps. Does it matter now? They have George and Henry. Or, well, she has,” Sophia amended, not quite believing her uncle to be an affectionate father.

“Mmmph,” was all Anna could say.

Both knew how difficult it was to be a woman, always waiting for men’s decisions. And one of those decisions was her uncle randomly introducing her to the Duke of Wolvesley.

What was he doing? Was he also planning to marry her off?

A chill ran down Sophia’s spine. It was one thing to be ostracized, but another thing to be pushed into an unwanted marriage. She enjoyed the freedom of being a spinster, unburdened by expectations.

She scoffed inwardly, reminding herself that her uncle wouldn’t dream of foisting her on the Duke—she would only smirch his otherwise spotless reputation.

“You two, stop dilly-dallying! Time to leave,” Aunt Mary said as Lady Holton helped her into the carriage.

The ride was uneventful. Any ride had become uneventful, compared to the one that took away everything from her.

This one was pleasant, with sunshine and greenery on each side. It was the type of day when you’d prefer to have the carriage windows open and let the breeze in.

Soon, they arrived at the Foxmere residence.

Home. Or her childhood home—her uncle’s residence now. The place where George and Henry would grow up, and their children after that.

Her chest ached at the thought of her happy childhood, upended by the deaths of her mother and father.

The estate was grand, but now it was merely a ghost from her past. She reminded herself that she had no hold or claim over the Marquessate of Foxmere. As a daughter, she never did have much of a chance.

If the exterior was grand, the interior was mysterious and elegant. Lanterns scattered all over, their light battling the shadows, twinkling like magical fireflies and illuminating the illustrious costumes of the guests—each of their faces were hidden under equally whimsical masks.

Music filled the air, making Sophia nostalgic. Her mind went back to the events from six years ago.

Do not dwell on it , she reminded herself—words that Aunt Mary had branded into her, aiming to shape her into a strong woman.

Sophia had been strong, but there were moments of weakness like this. At least the mask covered her expression.

Daphne quickly rushed to greet them. She wore a lovely lavender gown and a delicate silver mask. She truly looked like a fairy—though she didn’t need a costume to look like one. Her lips curled into a warm smile at everyone, but she fixed her gaze on Sophia.

“I am so pleased that you could come,” she said, reaching for her hands.

“It’s our pleasure to be invited, My Lady,” Sophia said honestly. “The decorations are beautiful. You must have worked hard to put everything together.”

“Well, with a lot of your uncle’s help, Lady Sophia. He loves a good spectacle, but I know you know that,” Daphne replied, chuckling a little.

Anthony appeared behind Daphne, a fox mask covering half of his face. He wore a luxurious orange silk suit to complete the costume.

A fox, indeed, his eyes sharp and assessing.

Cunning.

A man who would discard family for power.

The man who exiled her to Scotland, who took her whole life away from her.

“It is always a pleasure to have you with us, Sophia,” Anthony said smoothly.

His smile was perfected by years of dealing with the ton. However, his eyes were still the same icy blue.

“It is a shame your father isn’t here. He was always so fond of masquerade balls,” he added, his tone disturbingly light.

A pang of grief sliced through her, sharp and sudden. From anyone else, she might have merely inclined her head in polite acknowledgment. But her uncle’s lips curled into a sardonic smile, the gleam in his eyes making it clear that his words were not meant as a simple remembrance.

Her fingers tightened around the stem of her glass.

“Yes,” she said evenly, forcing a calm she did not feel. “And how fortunate that we are here to enjoy it in his stead.”

His smile widened, a hint of amusement flickering across his face. “Fortunate, indeed,” he said. “I wish I could see him now. I would have told him that it is important to be careful of who holds the reins.”

This time, Sophia stiffened. There was something about his second statement. It seemed innocent enough, a comment about her father no longer being in Society. Perhaps it was also a comment on the tragedy.

But why would her uncle do that right here, in his ball, six years and a half later?

Sophia had always thought there was something strange about her uncle’s reaction to what should be their shared tragedy. Now, her suspicion deepened.

It is unfounded .

“Sophia has been looking forward to attending a proper London Season. What better way to do that than with family? Don’t you think, Lord Foxmere?” Aunt Mary interjected, her expression unreadable.

“Of course,” Anthony agreed, but his eyes remained cold.

Sophia wondered if her aunt noticed that.

There was no chance to linger, and Sophia desperately wanted out of this conversation, which seemed to mean more than simple words.

Thankfully, Lady Holton was just as keen to grab her daughter by the arm and parade her around the ballroom.

“Come, my dear. There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” she said eagerly.

“We’ve only just arrived, Mama. Who do you have in mind that’s so important?” Anna complained, looking back at Sophia with a pleading expression.

Sophia simply shook her head. She could not do anything when Lady Holton was focused on a goal.

“Lord Elmsworth’s nephew. Don’t worry. He is young, has all his teeth, and his reputation is unblemished! He may not be the best interlocutor, but not everyone needs wit and sparkle. A husband should be… dependable, like a well-made chair,” Lady Holton replied.

Sophia heard her aunt snort beside her.

“A well-made chair,” Aunt Mary muttered under her breath and rolled her eyes.

Sophia cast a glance at Lady Holton. Thankfully, the woman hadn’t heard that.

Anna didn’t look too convinced, but she had no choice but to follow her mother.

Soon enough, a group of women about her aunt’s age came flocking toward them.

“Lady Rossburn! What a pleasure to see you!” a lady dressed in a peacock costume exclaimed. “And have my ears deceived me, or is this Lady Sophia accompanying you? The daughter of the late Marquess?”

“Good evening, Lady Umberton. Yes, this is my dear niece, Sophia. She has been the most reliable companion,” Aunt Mary responded, her voice even, but her eyes carried a stern warning.

However, Lady Umberton missed it.

“How charming that tragedy hasn’t kept you away, dear.” She turned to Sophia. “One might think a family curse follows a person wherever they go, but here you are!”

Aunt Mary’s smile was tight as she mumbled a dismissive “Yes, yes,” then turned to Sophia. “Sophia, my dear, why don’t you go explore? Find something to amuse yourself with.”

Some people might mistake that for dismissal, but Sophia knew it for what it was. Her aunt was trying to steer her away from the venomous tongues of the ton; she would be forever grateful for that.

There were no pretenses there. Aunt Mary didn’t even bother recommending finding a friend. It would be unlikely. Though Sophia felt lonely sometimes, she didn’t find it an utter loss now that she knew how inconstant the ton’s affections were.

After she curtsied to the group around her aunt, she walked off.

Her mind wandered back to her uncle. He had been right. Her status had fallen hard. However, if he expected to see her wallow in despair, he would be sorely disappointed.

Now that she was back, she would not cower in front of him. And she knew he was hiding something.

She had to uncover it, whatever it was. For every part of her body told her that her uncle was far from innocent.

And the study was the only place where she could discover whatever he was hiding.

The study, which was now unguarded. And with her uncle distracted, she could venture into it.

So, she slipped away from the ballroom and wove through the familiar corridors. The music faded until it was merely a distant hum. The passages were dimly lit, but the soft light emboldened her to go deeper into parts of the house that might be forbidden to the guests.

There was a time when these halls were not forbidden to her. They were places she could explore and play in. Private spaces for the family.

At the moment, she knew that Anthony did not consider her as such.

With nimble steps and a thudding heart, she continued on her path. She would occasionally pause to listen for scuffling and other footsteps before proceeding.

Familiarity led her feet to the room with the heavy mahogany doors—Anthony’s study. She glanced left and right before slipping inside.

Only dying embers glowed faintly in the study. The moonlight brought the eerie shadows dancing on walls and bookshelves. The desk could be found in the center, as expected. It was organized, with papers stacked neatly on one side.

Sophia shivered when a familiar scent invaded her nostrils—leather, parchment, and a bit of tobacco.

It was the scent of late nights spent curled up in a wingback chair while her father pored over ledgers, the crackle of the fire and the scratch of his quill the only sounds. She hadn’t stepped into a room that smelled like him in six years, and the familiarity struck her like a blow to the ribs.

Nothing had changed since the days when her father still used it.

She couldn’t stay in there for long. So, she moved to the desk quickly and sifted through the papers. The contents meant nothing to her—names, numbers, and correspondence. Then again, they were out there. Anthony wouldn’t leave anything suspicious on his desk.

So, she tried the drawers. She tried the handles, one after the other, but each was locked.

But living with Aunt Mary—who had locked her in her room as punishment, on occasion—had taught her many things. Lockpicking was one of them.

Sophia pulled a hairpin from her hair, and a curl fell loose. With a shuddering breath, she inserted the hairpin into the lock and turned it.

Click .

“Yes,” she breathed as the drawer slid open, revealing more sheets of paper.

She sifted through them, her heart pounding all the while. Some were the usual stacks expected in a marquess’s drawer: contracts, letters, and ledgers.

With each paper, her throat became tighter. Sweat beaded on her temples even though it was a chilly night and the hearth was barely producing any heat.

Nothing.

Her frustration flared. The urge to investigate her uncle had become stronger. Pressing. What felt like baseless suspicion had become more believable with each minute, especially when she spotted one last drawer yet to be unlocked.

“Well, well, well.”

Sophia was about to insert her hairpin into the lock when the door creaked open. She almost fell backward, but she hastily rose to her feet just as the figure entered the study.

It was the Wolf Duke.

Although he was wearing a mask, she’d recognize that voice anywhere.

His mask was sleek and striking—black leather molded into the shape of a wolf’s face, with angular cheekbones and subtly pointed ears that swept back toward his temples. It covered only the upper half of his face, framing his sharp eyes and giving him a feral, scrutinizing look. Silver accents lined the edges, catching the candlelight like moonlight on fangs. The nose was sculpted just enough to hint at a snout without looking absurd, more predator than man.

The rest of his attire was as understated as it was dangerous. A tailored black coat hugged his frame, elegant but unadorned, with dark satin lapels and a high collar turned just slightly up. No embroidery, no family crest—just clean, unforgiving lines. Beneath it were a dark waistcoat and a crisp white shirt, open at the collar. No cravat. No frills. Just a man dressed like a shadow, all power and precision.

He looked like he could slip through the night without a sound. And that was exactly what he intended to do.

Her breath caught. It was the second time she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t, and it had to be by the same man. And the same man had that same amused but intrigued expression.

The Duke’s eyebrow rose above his mask as he leaned against the doorframe as if he had no issues with the Marquess catching him there.

“Are you searching for something, My Lady?” he drawled. “It seems like you have a talent for mischief. But don’t fret, My Lady. I somehow like it.”

Sophia was grateful for the dim light in the study, for she felt her cheeks burn. She remembered that her mask covered her face.

“I am merely looking for a document my husband needs,” she replied, raising her chin.

She didn’t sound like Daphne, but wouldn’t the Marchioness be angry when questioned in her own home?

The Duke chuckled, closing the door behind him—something of a blossoming habit between the two of them, apparently.

The quiet click , so swift and silent, sent a shiver down Sophia’s spine.

“I’d know your voice anywhere, Lady Sophia,” he murmured, his deep voice making goosebumps rise on her arms.

With only very little light flickering over his sharp features, the Duke looked even more dangerous. More thrilling.

“And what does Lady Sophia’s voice sound like, Your Grace?” she asked, still determined to keep the role she was playing. This time, she affected a more arrogant tone. “Should I tell my husband that you claim to know his niece’s voice well?”

“So, is there a reason you are hiding in the study while your husband is entertaining outside, My Lady?”

“The documents are much needed,” Sophia replied, knowing full well that she was digging her grave.

“The better question, I believe, My Lady, is why do you smell so much like Sophia Balfour?”

Sophia’s back straightened.

“Oh, yes.” The Duke smirked. “I’d know your scent everywhere. It’s embedded in my nostrils. It haunts my dreams. It’s a sweetness I can almost taste.”

His words made desire pool in her belly. She realized she was breathing hard. It was getting too stuffy in her uncle’s study.

“You caught me, Your Grace. Again,” she said, sounding a little resigned, but pride still dripped from her voice. “What will you do about it?”

“Oh, you wish to know the things I would do to punish a young woman who prefers private rooms to bustling ballrooms?”

Sophia did not let her gaze waver. She didn’t want him to think that she was afraid, and she wasn’t. Not really. Yet her cheeks felt hot, her hands were cold, and her heart was racing.

“Most gentlemen do not concern themselves with business that does not involve them.”

“Oh, but your business now involves me.”

“How?” Sophia asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I know we are now connected in more intimate ways. What were you doing here? Looking for a book? I would be dismayed to discover that the Marquess has the sort of books you so thoroughly enjoy,” the Duke said in mock innocence.

There was something about him that made Sophia stay. She wanted to know what he thought, which was dangerous. She believed it was the constant boredom in her life that made her crave the thrill she was currently feeling.

“I—” She was about to respond, but the sound of footsteps made her close her mouth instantly.

Their gazes met. Before she could react, Theo rushed to her side and pulled her behind a bookcase. His body pressed against hers as he pushed her away from the line of sight of anyone who would enter.

She could hear the voices of a man and two women behind the door.

“Have you seen the Cursed Lady today?” asked the first woman, not even bothering to lower her voice.

“Yes, I did. She seems to be showing up at more balls and parties these days,” the second woman commented. “Why anyone would want to be near her, I cannot understand.”

“Be careful, you two. She’s our host’s niece. Of course, she will be here,” the man admonished, although his tone was light enough that Sophia could almost see him smile.

She clenched her fists. People would continue talking about her behind her back no matter what. Even if she was in the company of the Prince Regent himself, the ton would still whisper about her, her tragedy a mere fodder for gossip.

Suddenly, she was pulled closer to something hard. She remembered where she was, and how the Duke was holding her so close that she could barely breathe.

No, he wasn’t suffocating her. He was simply there, and it made her breathless.

She looked up at him and saw the same intensity on his face that she felt in her whole body. His brow was furrowed, his jaw clenched.

The footsteps soon faded away, but Sophia could not allow herself to make any sort of noise. She let a breath out slowly, shuddering. Her palms gently pushed at Theo’s chest.

“Pay no attention to them. They’re fools,” he told her.

She nodded gratefully. “You can let me go now, Your Grace,” she said through gritted teeth.

He stepped back slowly, his eyes locked onto hers. Everything felt intimate, and Sophia heard alarm bells in her head.

“What were you doing here?” he asked, back to his mission of badgering her. It was easier that way. She could get annoyed with him again.

“That is none of your business,” she replied.

“Are you always on the hunt for places to pleasure yourself?” he asked with a smirk.

Sophia’s cheeks burned. He would never let her forget it. Her hand itched to slap him, but she reminded herself of who he was and who she was to the ton. She trembled with anger and embarrassment.

“What I do in my free time is none of your concern, Your Grace,” she said instead.

“That is far from the truth, My Lady,” he said, his voice becoming husky. His eyes had dropped to her lips, making her wonder what was going on. “I am deeply interested in what you do in your free time.”

“I suppose wealthy dukes have too much time on their hands,” she retorted, her eyes drawn to his lips—so full and inviting for a man so large and strong.

“And I suppose a lady’s companion like you has a lot of time on her hands, as well. It is certainly a shame to have your hands idle,” the Duke said suggestively.

They were so close again that she could feel his breath, smell his scent—sandalwood and leather and something like fresh linen. The man was a bundle of contradictions, reminding her of a vigorous day on horseback but with the fastidiousness of someone who wanted everything clean. She wondered if he could hear her heartbeat.

“I would appreciate it if this meeting stayed between us, Your Grace,” she said, changing the subject.

“And what do I get in return for my silence?” he teased.

Her eyes flitted up to study his face. He had to be about a decade older, but he still had that boyish grin.

“You’re incorrigible! Let me out of here,” she demanded, pushing him back to no avail. He was made of solid rock, trapping her in the shadows of the bookcase.

Instead of letting her out, he leaned in further. She couldn’t breathe, but for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why she was not afraid. He was looking at her lips blatantly.

“If you want me to leave, you should ask nicely,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. “I might even listen if you do me a little favor.”

“What?” she asked, her throat feeling raw.

“Admit you don’t really want me to go,” he replied.

She ought to be offended by his audacity, but she wasn’t.

It was as fast as lightning. He cupped her face in his big hands and kissed her.

There were so many reasons to fight against him—it was so improper to allow a man to kiss her so clandestinely—but she melted into him instead.

Her arms wrapped around his neck to pull him closer as she felt his tongue slipping into her mouth to deepen the kiss, and she moaned.

The Duke lifted her easily and backed her up against the desk, where he continued devouring her mouth.

This kiss felt better than her fingers between her legs. He wasn’t even touching her there, but she could feel the heat pool and the tension coil.

Then, he let go of her lips, only to kiss down her neck. Nothing about this was familiar, yet it still surprised her that she felt both helpless and unafraid. Giving herself to him… it was exhilarating.

The Duke placed open-mouthed kisses down her collarbone, rendering her boneless, his hands roaming over her body, softly caressing her skin.

“Your Grace,” Sophia whimpered.

“Call me Theo,” he whispered in her ear, his hand stroking up and down her back.

“Theo…” She tasted his name on her tongue, and it was so, so delicious.

Theo , she repeated to herself, as though she wanted to carve his name into every corner of her mind.

“Do you like me touching you, pet?” he murmured against her skin.

Absolutely. Please do not stop , she wanted to exclaim.

“Yes,” was the only thing she could muster.

His hands slid down to her waist and then slowly up her arms.

“Do you want more?” he asked.

She could hear the smirk in his voice—arrogant, as if he didn’t know the answer already.

“Yes,” she said breathlessly.

“Say please, pet.”

“Please.”

He growled and looked up at her, his eyes dark as the midnight sky. “Say it with my name.”

Sophia bit her lip. Somehow, the words slipped out of her mouth without her even realizing it. Her body ached to obey him.

“P-Please, Theo,” she obliged.

The Duke let out a low, even darker growl that sent hundreds of little shivers everywhere.

“Like this?” he purred as he cupped her breasts, squeezing them until she moaned even louder.

“I-I…” she stammered.

She had never been like this—speechless, under someone’s control.

“What about here?” Theo’s hand slipped under the hem of her dress, finding the place where she ached the most.

How could he have done it so quickly?

“Do you want me to touch you here?” he asked, his smile wide and wicked.

Slowly, she nodded. “Yes. P-Please. Th-Theo.”

“That’s a good girl. You learn quite quickly, pet,” he whispered, and his fingers easily found her nub, rubbing it gently at first.

She gasped, the sensation surging through her. Soon, he became more insistent, the rough pads of his fingers adding more friction.

“That’s it, darling. Take your pleasure,” he murmured in her ear.

His voice made her realize that she was almost lying on her uncle’s desk while Theo stood between her legs, thrusting his hips against the hand under her dress.

Suddenly, a thud broke her out of her trance.

Something had fallen on the floor from Theo’s thrusting. It was a letter opener. The sound wasn’t loud, but it felt like glass splintered on the floor, with the way she reacted.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispered, but her hands still clutched at his shirt.

Though her body was still quivering, she managed to push Theo away and straighten her dress. She turned to the desk, focusing her attention on organizing the papers and the other objects she had moved.

Theo remained behind her, nuzzling her neck. Smelling her. Breathing her in.

“This? The way you’re trembling beneath my touch is precisely why we should be doing this,” he murmured in her ear as he pulled her toward him.

She felt a hardness press against her lower back. She knew what it was, and it took all of her self-restraint not to grind her buttocks against him.

“I must leave,” she said, her voice barely audible. “My aunt will be looking for me.”

With all the strength she could muster, she freed herself from his embrace and fled the scene of her many crimes.