Page 17 of Corrupting his Duchess (A Duke’s Undoing #1)

T he sun began dipping low, casting a honeyed glow over the grounds. The air was thick with the scent of blooming roses and the murmur of evening guests. For a moment, all seemed still, just the two of them.

Anna’s fingers traced the carved wood absently, eyes distant yet somehow inviting, fixed on the shimmering surface of the lake beyond the garden.

“I could sit here forever,” she murmured.

Henry glanced at her, heart tightening. He wanted to say something, to hold the moment, but he didn't.

She bent discreetly to unbutton her shoes, slipping them off gently before setting them neatly beside her. The toes of her stockings skimmed the cool surface of the lake, a quiet rebellion wrapped in elegance.

Henry studied her for a moment, his gaze flicking to her bare feet. “You shouldn’t dip your feet in the lake,” he said, voice low. “If someone saw you… it could start talk. Or worse, you’ll catch your death.”

Anna shrugged, her eyes on the water. “I used to do this as a child. It felt like a luxury then.”

Henry shifted closer, the scent of her lavender perfume mingling with the fresh air. “You mentioned before, you managed things yourself. That couldn’t have been easy.”

Anna's lips lifted faintly, though the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “It wasn’t. But someone had to do it.”

She let her gaze drift across the lake, voice quieter now. “When Father left, there was no one else. I kept the books. I made the calls. I kept the fire going. And when he died, I thought, naively, I suppose, that it would get easier.”

Henry was silent for a moment. “And instead, you got Isaac.”

She let out a soft breath. “And all his plans for how I might be useful.”

He looked at her, truly looked. “You're more than useful, Lady Anna.”

Her eyes moistened, “I used to watch other girls play in the garden. I was learning to calculate grain yields. No one noticed the house didn’t fall apart, that was me.”

Henry’s eyes softened. “You had to grow up quickly.”

She shrugged, voice low. “I didn’t have a choice. When he died, we thought maybe things would settle. But then Isaac came into the picture. Suddenly, I am my family’s future.”

Henry frowned. “Is that why you tolerate my cousin?”

A bitter smile flickered. “He’s respectable. Predictable. And Isaac approves of him. Apparently, that’s all that matters.”

Henry felt a surge of protectiveness swell inside him. “You don’t have to endure it alone.”

Anna met his gaze, the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “I’m starting to believe that.”

Something in her voice, unsteady but honest, made him hold her gaze a little longer.

The wind stirred across the lake, gentle and cool, tugging at the loose strands of her hair. She didn’t speak again, and neither did he.

Still, they remained there, side by side, as the silence between them settled into something quieter, no longer heavy.

The silence stretched between them, not awkward but thick.

It thrummed beneath the quiet like a taut wire, charged with the pull of two people who were aware of how close they sat.

Anna’s hand inched close and his hand twitched.

He was painfully aware of her, he could feel the heat of her beside him.

Every shift of her body, every breath she took pulled his focus.

She glanced at him once and quickly looked away.

He cleared his mind, still, it buzzed under his skin, an impulse, a growing awareness he was trying, and failing, to suppress.

It wasn’t until Julia’s laughter rang across to where they were that the moment gently unraveled.

The next morning, the morning sun filtered through the tall windows of Henry's study, casting soft, golden light across the dark wood paneling and rows of meticulously ordered books. Henry’s study was quiet and cool, the morning light spilling across tall shelves lined with books and ledgers.

At the center stood a broad mahogany desk, its green leather inlay worn smooth by use.

A silver inkstand sat neatly beside a stack of correspondence, every paper aligned with precise intent.

The high-backed chair behind it bore the marks of long hours, creased leather, darkened at the arms. There was nothing idle in the room.

No clutter, no softness. Just order, and the weight of decisions.

A gentle breeze stirred the heavy drapes, and the scent of parchment and leather lingered in the stillness.

Henry had just settled into the high-backed chair behind his desk, a letter from his steward in hand, when a knock came at the door.

A footman entered with a crisp bow. “Lord Stenton to see you, Your Grace.”

Henry’s mouth twitched. Of course.

“Show him in,” he said, setting the letter aside with a quiet sigh.

Isaac entered with a polished smile, offering a shallow bow, just enough to be courteous, not quite enough to be respectful.

“Your Grace,” he said smoothly, as though their last conversation had ended on friendly terms.

Henry inclined his head, remaining seated. “Back so soon?”

Isaac let out a short laugh. “You did say you’d think it over. I assumed a night was enough time for a man of action.”

Henry folded the letter he dropped on the desk and set it aside. “It’s still early. Most men haven’t even had their tea yet.”

Isaac didn’t take the hint. He moved closer. “It’s a strong proposal, Your Grace. With Lord Fenwick showing interest, we could establish a firm foothold before anyone else even notices.”

Henry met his gaze. “You mentioned that yesterday. Repeatedly.”

Isaac hesitated. “And today, I hoped you might be more inclined to listen.”

Henry exhaled slowly, irritation prickling, but beneath it, something else stirred.

He thought of Anna, the way she’d spoken of her family, her responsibilities, the quiet pride in her voice when she talked about holding things together.

He thought of her future, how limited it must feel under her cousin’s thumb.

“Your Grace,” Isaac began, noticing Henry's hesitation, “As I said, I worked hard to find out our upper hand, apart from your influence Your Grace, I’ve gleaned some further information since yesterday, and I thought it best to share it directly. Lord Fenwick, well, you know his reputation, he’s expressed serious interest. Momentum is picking up, truly.

He said as much himself at White’s. Mentioned the potential for expansion north before winter if we act quickly. He's expectant to join us instead.”

He gave a little chuckle, as though they were already partners. “And I’ve spoken to Hargrave’s man, briefly, of course. They’re sniffing around the same contracts, but they don’t have the flexibility we do. They’ve got investors to answer to, shareholders... you know how that ties hands.”

Henry leaned back slightly in his chair, expression unreadable. “And yet they’ve held a part of those northern routes for nearly a decade. That sort of longevity doesn't suggest poor management. It suggests stability.”

Isaac blinked, caught off guard. “Well, yes, I suppose. But that sort of caution only works until someone hungrier comes along. We can be quicker, leaner. Less... encumbered by committee.”

He gave a grin meant to be charming, but it came off a touch too eager. “Besides, no one’s looking to turn this into a dynasty overnight. Just enough gain to make the risk worth taking.”

Isaac adjusted his waistcoat with a flick, trying to look composed. “Now, if we secure the northern routes before they do, we’ll be in position to cut them off entirely by next quarter. Fenwick agrees. Said it could be a matter of weeks before word spreads.”

Henry raised an eyebrow. “Did he? Curious. I spoke with Fenwick last week. He didn’t seem nearly so excitable.”

Isaac blinked but recovered quickly. “Well, perhaps he’s come around. Timing changes everything, doesn’t it?”

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice as though imparting a great secret. “This is the kind of opportunity that doesn’t come twice. And with your name behind it, the rest of the board will fall into place easily. I dare say it could be the most lucrative move either of us has made.”

Isaac’s voice droned on, blustering about routes, northern expansion, and Lord Fenwick's supposed enthusiasm, as he gestured with far too much confidence for a man who understood so little. Henry barely listened to the specifics; he’d heard enough and read enough reports to know the bones of the proposal.

And despite Isaac’s overreach, his smugness, his painfully obvious need to impress, the venture itself… wasn’t entirely without merit.

Henry’s gaze drifted to the window, to the sun-dappled gardens beyond.

Memories of the day before filtered into his mind.

He pictured Anna there, chin lifted, eyes defiant, every inch of her trying to hold herself together while the weight of her family rested on her shoulders.

She hadn’t asked him for anything, and that made it all the harder to ignore the impulse.

If the venture succeeded, it would turn a profit, real profit. Enough, perhaps, to give her some breathing room. To give her choices.

And yet, the very thought made his chest tighten.

He hadn’t agreed to anything, not yet. But even considering a deal for someone else’s benefit stirred something uncomfortably familiar…vulnerability. The kind he’d spent years locking behind cold calculation. It wasn’t business anymore. It was personal.

That, he knew, was dangerous.

“So, shall we draft terms?” Isaac asked brightly, clearly mistaking Henry’s silence for agreement.

Henry’s jaw tensed. A pause.

“I haven’t dismissed it,” he said at last, his tone clipped. “I’ll speak with Lord Fenwick before I give you my answer.”

Isaac blinked. The smile faltered for half a second before returning, weaker than before. “Of course. Yes, naturally.”

Henry didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to.

Lord Fenwick was no fool. A marquess with holdings in three counties and a reputation for caution over flash, he didn’t lend his name to anything without precise calculations and ironclad terms. If there was rot beneath the proposal, Fenwick would sniff it out before a drop of ink touched the page.

That was precisely why Henry trusted him.

Unlike Isaac, who had a talent for speaking in circles and dressing guesswork as strategy, Fenwick dealt in facts. Numbers. Stability. And in a matter like this, Henry needed exactly that. Something real. Something safe.

Because the moment his reasons stopped being about profit and started becoming about Anna, her comfort, her future, that was when things became dangerous.

And Henry, the Duke of Yeats didn’t make emotional investments. Not anymore.

Henry moved toward the window, done with the conversation. Isaac lingered, clearly still hoping to press the matter, when a quiet knock interrupted the tension.

A footman stepped into the library, bowing with practiced ease.

“Pardon me, Your Grace,” he said respectfully. “Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess, requests a moment of your time. She’s in the west garden.”

Isaac straightened, clearly caught off guard.

Henry didn’t miss the way the man’s brow twitched at his mother's title. He turned to the footman. “Tell her I’ll be along shortly.”

“Very good, Your Grace.” The footman bowed again and withdrew.

Henry didn’t bother to look at Isaac as he crossed the room. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said curtly. “Some matters are more pressing than business.”