Page 15 of Corrupting his Duchess (A Duke’s Undoing #1)

T he library was mostly quiet, save for the soft rustle of pages and the occasional distant footfall in the corridor. Anna sat near the window, the light glinting off the book in her lap though she hadn’t turned a page in some time.

Henry entered quietly, noting her stillness before speaking. “If that book is as riveting as your expression, I daresay the author should be hanged.”

Anna blinked up at him. “You startled me.”

He offered a faint smile. “Apologies. I was only passing through, didn’t mean to interrupt a staring contest with the margins.”

She closed the book, setting it aside. “It’s just a dull treatise on estate management. Very enlightening, if one wishes to lose the will to live.”

Henry chuckled and wandered closer. “You read things like that for pleasure?”

“No,” she replied. “It’s the sort of thing one reads when one has a cousin threatening to mismanage everything. I read them because I might one day need to explain to my cousin why we can’t sell the tenants’ winter fuel stores to settle a gambling debt.”

There was a pause. He studied her more carefully now. “That’s… oddly specific.”

Anna shrugged, eyes fixed on the garden beyond the glass. “He’s done worse.”

Henry lowered himself into the seat across from her, no longer feigning casualness. “You manage the estate yourself?”

“I used to,” she said. “Before Isaac came. My father was…” Her voice caught. “Not reliable. I learned quickly. I made sure the tenants had food and fuel so that the house didn’t fall into complete ruin.”

“And now?”

“Lord Stenton thinks I ought to marry someone useful and disappear into a drawing room.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “And what do you think?”

“I think I’ve held things together for too long to vanish now.”

For once, Henry didn’t have a clever retort. Instead, he said, very simply, “I see.”

She looked at him then, properly, for the first time that day. The memory of last night flickered in the air between them, unspoken, but present. The moment in his room, the kiss, the heat of it still clinging to her skin like a secret.

His voice was quieter now. “Last night…”

She didn’t flinch. “I haven’t forgotten.”

“Neither have I.”

He didn’t reach for her, nor did he press. He just sat there, looking down like he was relieving the moment in his head.

She broke the silence first. “I’m not sorry it happened.”

That caught him. He turned to her, with intensity. “You’re not?”

Anna shook her head, still not meeting his eyes. “I’m sorry for the consequences. For how it complicates things. But the kiss itself… no.”

He let out a slow breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “Neither am I.”

Now she looked at him. Her gaze wasn’t flirtatious or coy…it was steady, unflinching.

“It wasn’t planned,” she said. “I didn’t come to seduce you.”

“I know.”

“I just… wanted to be seen. For once. For myself. I thought I could say all I needed to say without…”

“Losing yourself?” he said quietly.

Anna could only nod, a dull ache hammered in her ribs. Anna nodded, slowly. “Yes.”

A moment passed.

Then, she added, almost to herself, “But I suppose I did lose something.”

Henry’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I let you see a piece of me I don’t usually show. And I didn’t know if I regretted it. Until now.”

He leaned forward slightly. “And now?”

She glanced at him, then away again. “Now I’m wondering what you saw. Whether you think I’m foolish.”

“I think,” he said, voice low, “you’re more than you let most people guess. And I don’t think I’ve earned the right to see that part of you. Not yet.”

Anna tilted her head, watching him carefully. “That sounds remarkably like humility.”

He smiled faintly. “Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my reputation.”

She huffed a soft laugh, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You don’t need to lie to charm me, Your Grace. I’ve heard what you do to women. I know how easy it is for you to… play the part.”

“I’m not playing.”

That gave her pause.

He continued, more gently, “You think I don't know what it’s like to wear a mask? To give people what they expect and hide what you’d rather not name?”

Anna’s expression softened, something caught in her throat.

“I came here,” she admitted, “because I wanted to pretend, for a little while, that I could be something other than someone’s solution to a debt or alliance.”

Henry didn’t move. “And did it help?”

“A little,” she said. Then, after a beat, “Until the world reminded me otherwise.”

He looked at her for a long time. “Let it remind you all it wants. I won’t.”

That drew her eyes back to his. This time, she didn’t look away.

A knock sounded faintly at the far door, distant voices trailing down the corridor.

Anna stood. “I should go.”

He didn’t stop her. But as she reached the threshold, he spoke again.

“Anna.”

She paused.

“I’m not sorry either.”

She looked at him one last time, her gaze unreadable.

Then she nodded and left.

The croquet mallet was far too refined an object to be wielded so aggressively, and yet Nathaniel managed it with reckless flourish.

“You cheat,” Julia declared, planting her ball firmly on the grass and folding her arms.

“I’m inventive,” he countered, grinning shamelessly.

A few guests chuckled. From his seat beside Anna and Gretchen, Henry observed the exchange with mild detachment. His thoughts had been elsewhere, drifting inconveniently toward the young woman beside him, and how often she surprised him.

Her bonnet, a delicate confection of straw and silk ribbons, had been discarded earlier due to the warmth.

The sun had teased a few strands of chestnut hair loose from her chignon, softening the stern lines of her face.

She wore a gown of pale lavender muslin, simple in cut but impeccably tailored, its high waistline gathered with a satin ribbon that matched her gloves now folded in her lap.

A faint sheen clung to her skin, and though she would never voice discomfort, the light flush on her cheeks betrayed the summer’s intensity.

Gretchen selected a tart, watching Nathaniel with a neutral expression. “He’s very... spirited,” she remarked. “But I suppose that’s fashionable.”

Anna glanced sideways, and Henry felt her gaze briefly touch him.

He didn’t meet it. Instead, he kept one ankle crossed over the other, fingers steepled under his chin, brow faintly furrowed.

It wasn’t the game that held his attention, it was her silence, the kind that crackled with suppressed thoughts.

“Not fond of croquet, Your Grace?” Anna asked lightly.

He turned his head just enough to catch her expression, teasing, but watchful. “Only when the stakes are high,” he replied, lips curving. “At present, they appear to be a single lemon tart and bragging rights. Hardly worth the injury.”

She laughed, soft, genuine. He liked the sound of it more than he ought to.

Then she gave a mock frown. “You’re supposed to be setting an example, impressing the ton and not hiding behind that smug little smile. If every man took your lead, the ladies would be left to compete among themselves.”

His smile deepened. “And would that be such a tragedy?”

“Yes,” she said firmly, then added with a grin, “especially if they lose.”

After a few more games, the others began to scatter, Sophia and Gretchen retreated toward the shade with her sketchbook, Julia dragging two girls toward the orchard with a laugh that carried on the breeze. The noise dimmed, leaving only the low rustle of leaves and the hum of bees.

Anna remained where she was, twirling a flower in her hands. Henry lingered too, standing like he couldn't decide whether to join the men or stay. She glanced up at him, shielding her eyes from the sun. “You’ll get sunburnt standing like that. No hat, no shade, and all that brooding.”

“I’m not brooding,” he said, stepping closer. “I was admiring the view.”

She smirked. “The fields?”

“Okay, no. The way you just scolded me.” His voice was quiet, but the smile behind it was unmistakable. “You sounded just like my mother. Alarming.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You shouldn’t.” He sat beside her on the blanket, careful not to crowd her. “Though I suspect you enjoy being alarming.”

She shrugged, plucking at the grass. “I enjoy being honest. Most men find that terrifying.”

He watched her. “Not terrifying. Disarming, perhaps.”

She turned to face him. “What would disarm you, Your Grace? Or are you already a fortress with no gates?”

“I never said I was impervious.” He hesitated, the weight of the moment pressing into the silence between them. “But I don’t often find reason to lower the drawbridge.”

She tilted her head. “And now?”

He looked away, toward the sunlit slope where Julia’s laughter still echoed. “Now I find myself wondering what you’d do if I did.”

She didn’t answer at first. Instead, she leaned back on her elbows, her gaze fixed on the drifting clouds. “Depends. If it were a real drawbridge, I’d probably walk across and loot the place.”

He chuckled. “I suppose I deserve that.”

A gust of wind lifted a strand of her hair, and without thinking, Henry reached to tuck it behind her ear. His fingers brushed her cheek, and she stiffened, not out of fear, but something far more dangerous. She turned toward him slowly.

“I should say something witty now,” she murmured, “but I can’t think of anything.”

“You don't have to.” His voice had grown husky, the words softer than before.

She studied him, her eyes full of questions. “You confuse me,” she said. “One moment, you’re a stone wall. The next, I see something behind it.”

His gaze didn’t flinch this time. “Maybe I’ve grown tired of pretending nothing touches me.”

Her voice softened. “Then stop pretending.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “It’s not that simple.”

“Few things worth doing are.”

He gave a quiet huff, almost a laugh but too dry to carry. His eyes dropped to the lawn, distant. “I’ve learned the cost of saying too much. Some doors, once opened, don’t close again.”

Anna’s brow furrowed, but she didn’t press.