Page 16 of Corrupting his Duchess (A Duke’s Undoing #1)

Then, almost like an afterthought, he added, “I had a trusted friend once. Trusted him with something important. He used it against me.”

She stilled.

He looked up, and met her gaze. “So no, it’s not simple. But I’m not unaware of what’s in front of me.”

A beat passed. His shoulders squared, not in defiance, but in decision. “I’ve spent years fortifying myself. It’s how I survived. But lately…” He exhaled, steady now. “Lately, I’ve wondered if strength might look a little different than silence.”

She didn’t speak, only watched him. Something had shifted. He saw it in her eyes, the flicker of belief.

They sat in silence, the warmth between them turning heavy. Then she looked away, smiled faintly, and stood. “I should check on the ladies before they imagine me a tragic heroine.”

He stood as well.

“Lady Anna,” he said, his voice quieter now but sure.

She paused.

“If I choose to lower the drawbridge,” he said, holding her gaze, “I won’t hesitate about who should cross it.”

She blinked once, caught off guard. Then nodded, slow and certain.

Then she turned, walking slowly toward the shade, her fingers brushing her skirts like she needed the contact to stay grounded.

He exhaled, long and slow.

As the sun hovered at its peak, casting long golden streaks across the grass, Henry watched her rise from the bench several feet away. She dusted the dirt from her skirts and began to stroll past the garden path, bonnet dangling from one hand.

His attention snapped away as footsteps approached briskly, a footman approached with measured steps, lowering his gaze respectfully.

“Your Grace, Lord Stenton requests the honor of a word when it is convenient.”

Henry gave a curt nod, masking the flicker of irritation beneath a composed exterior. “Very well. I’ll attend to him shortly.”

The footman hesitated.

Henry’s eyes narrowed. “What is it?”

The servant bowed slightly. “Forgive me, Your Grace. Lord Stenton insists it is urgent and asks to speak with you at once.”

Henry’s jaw tightened. He glanced at Anna who was walking towards the small lake beyond the garden.

The footman bowed and withdrew, leaving Henry’s attention to return swiftly to Anna, who was now sitting on a bench at the edge of the water.

Henry turned from Anna with reluctant steps, casting one last glance over his shoulder.

She sat quietly, her figure touched by sunlight and shadow, a calm in the growing storm around them.

He tucked the image away like a secret, then strode toward the gravel path leading toward the manor's west wing.

The air shifted as he walked, it was warmer, heavier.

His boots crunched rhythmically against the path, the muted sounds of distant laughter from the drawing room floating through the open windows.

The estate buzzed with activity, but Henry’s mind was elsewhere.

Anna’s eyes had held something he couldn’t name.

Something fragile and precious. And he couldn’t wait to return to it.

He turned the corner past the hedgerows, attention narrowing as he saw a figure waiting by the steps.

Isaac Hessey leaned casually against the column as one hand tucked into his coat, the other absently turning a signet ring.

When he caught sight of Henry, he straightened, offering a smile that had too much calculation behind it.

“Your Grace,” Isaac said smoothly, inclining his head.

Henry didn’t stop until they were just a few feet apart. The cordial distance between them thinned, and whatever warmth Henry had carried from Anna’s presence faded in the lengthening shadow.

“Lord Stenton,” Henry replied coolly. “I take it you’ve been looking for me.”

“Indeed, Your Grace,” Isaac said, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. “I’d hoped to catch you. And perhaps Anna as well. I believe she was with you earlier?”

Henry’s gaze sharpened. “She’s not at your disposal.”

Isaac gave a soft chuckle, as if Henry’s reaction amused him. “I merely wondered where she’d gone off to. She has a talent for disappearing. I do worry sometimes.”

“She’s hardly in danger,” Henry said, voice flat.

Isaac held his hands up in a mock gesture of surrender. “Of course Your Grace. Just a moment of concern for my cousin. But since I have your attention…”

His tone shifted.

“Your Grace,” he began smoothly, “I’ve gleaned further information on our discussion. Lord Fenwick is interested in buying. With Lord Fenwick's interest gaining momentum, we’d be wise to move quickly. If we-”

Henry raised a hand, his tone firm. “Not here. Not now.”

Isaac hesitated, brows drawing together ever so slightly. “I only meant to keep you informed.”

“I said I’d consider it,” Henry said, his voice low but unyielding. “You pressing the matter will not hasten my decision. If you have something new to add, write to me or request a proper meeting.”

A beat passed.

“As you wish, Your Grace” Isaac replied, bowing his head a fraction, though his jaw twitched with restrained irritation. “I’ll reach out again.”

Henry gave a curt nod, already turning away. “Do.”

And with that, he strode off, the matter shelved.

She was still seated on the stone bench near the lake’s edge, partially screened by the low branches.

He approached her quietly, careful not to startle her.

“I’m wondering if I chased you off or you're still escaping dry conversation and aggressive games?” he asked, hands clasped behind his back.

She glanced at him, amused. “Always. I was told this house party would be a pleasant distraction. Instead, it feels like a parade of expectations.”

The corners of his mouth twitched. He understood that feeling all too well. “You dislike parties?”

She patted the space beside her on the low stone bench, and he joined her after a pause. Anna looked up as he sat, a small smile curving her lips. Their shoulders did not touch, but the air between them felt charged.

“No. I dislike being watched at them. Judged. Measured.”

There was no self-pity in her voice, just truth, clean and weary. He looked at her then, really looked. The loose tendrils of her hair stirred in the breeze, framing a face that had begun to undo him.

“You prefer quieter things, then?”

“I like to watch people,” she said. “Not in a strange way. But people are so much more honest when they think no one is paying attention.”

Henry chuckled. “That’s almost sinister.”

She tilted her head, feigning innocence. “Only almost?”

“Well,” he said, eyes narrowing slightly with mock suspicion, “sitting quietly in corners, taking mental notes... sounds a great deal like espionage. Or gossip. Possibly both.”

“Gossip is lazy,” she said with a prim sniff. “Spies at least have to work for their secrets.”

“And what are you, then?” he asked, leaning just slightly closer. “A noble observer of human nature? Or something more... clandestine?”

“I’m a lady,” she said sweetly. “And we’re never quite what we appear.”

Henry raised an eyebrow. “That sounds exactly like something a spy would say.”

“Or a woman who’s been underestimated far too many times.”

He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “Remind me never to cross you.”

“Oh, I expect you already have,” she said, arching a brow. “Several times.”

“And yet here you are. Still speaking to me.”

“Only because you’re slightly less insufferable than you were when we were introduced,” she said, lifting her chin in mock assessment. “You’re improving.”

He gave her a look of exaggerated gratitude. “How generous.”

She smiled and let the silence stretch for a moment.

“Then what about you, Your Grace? What do you like?”

He tilted his head. “Well, I’ve recently discovered I enjoy chats by the lake with observant young women who disapprove of most things.”

That earned a laugh. He’d meant it as jest, but it rang oddly true in his chest.

“That’s not an answer.”

“Very well.” He drew in a breath, choosing honesty. “I like horses. Old books. Boxing matches. Rainstorms. And terribly sweet biscuits, though I deny it in public.”

She smiled. “That is very specific.”

He glanced sideways at her. “Your turn.”

Anna hesitated, but then, “I like... quiet mornings. Letters that take their time. The way bread smells fresh from the oven. Dancing, but only when no one is watching. And, ”

She stopped herself.

“And?” he prompted, gentler now.

“I like when people see past the performance. And stay anyway.”

Henry paused, her words settling over him like a hush. He hadn’t expected that, hadn’t expected her. He glanced at her, careful to keep his expression neutral, though something in his chest twisted.

“You have a habit,” he said lightly, “of saying rather disarming things when a gentleman is least prepared for them.”

She turned toward him, her eyes bright with mischief. “I should hate to be predictable.”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “That, Lady Anna,” he murmured, “is the one thing you have never been.”

He glanced sideways at her, studying her profile. “And what have you observed about me, Lady Anna? When I thought no one was paying attention?”

Anna didn’t answer right away. She plucked a sprig of lavender from the hedge, rolling it between her fingers. “You carry your charm like armor,” she said quietly. “Polished and perfectly fitted. But I’ve seen the cracks in it.”

Henry raised a brow. “Cracks?”

She looked up at him. “You ask questions you already know the answers to, just to see if people will lie to you. You disappear when things grow too quiet, like you’re afraid of what silence might reveal.”

The words landed softly, but they lingered like smoke. He didn’t deny them.

Instead, he asked, “And do you make a habit of watching men that closely?”

“Only the ones who confuse me,” she replied, gaze unwavering.

A beat passed between them, too loaded to be innocent, too new to be entirely safe.

Henry swallowed. “You’re braver than I gave you credit for.”

Anna gave a half-smile. “Not brave. Just tired of pretending, like you.”

“Your cousin was looking for you earlier,” he said, hoping his voice sounded steady.

She gave a small nod. “I imagine he has something important to insist upon.”

Henry glanced at her. The fatigue in her posture hadn’t escaped him. “I was going to mention earlier, you seemed... out of sorts this morning, after our meeting in the library.”

She turned, her expression composed but her eyes sharp with quiet exhaustion. “It is exhausting to listen to men who speak of marriage as if it were a contract for acquiring horses.”

He huffed a humorless laugh. “In fairness, some horses are more agreeable than most of the people I know.”

That drew a faint smile. “Then you move in dreadful company.”

He toyed with the edge of his glove. The question pressed at him, one he’d kept to himself for days. “Why do you let him speak to you like that? Your cousin.”

Her gaze met his, steady and unflinching. “Because he has the power to make things worse. For my sister. For my mother.” She lifted her chin. “I do not say nothing because I am weak, Your Grace. I say nothing because I am cornered.”

Something shifted in him then, it was quiet and uninvited.

He’d always noticed she was lovely, of course.

But now, in the golden hush of the afternoon, with her chin lifted in defiance and her eyes clear with quiet resolve, she was something more.

Strong. Unyielding, even when cornered. And it struck him, not all at once, but like the slow bloom of warmth through cold fingers, that he didn’t just admire her.

He was beginning to care. And that, somehow, felt far more dangerous.