Page 19 of Corrupting his Duchess (A Duke’s Undoing #1)
“Your Grace,” he said with a bow and an irrepressible smile. “Might I have the honor?”
She gave him a bemused glance over the rim of her teacup. “I’ve not danced in longer than you’ve been charming, Frayton.”
“Then it’s long overdue.”
That earned a ripple of warm laughter from the nearby guests, those close enough to hear.
The Dowager set down her cup with exaggerated care. “If I fall, I expect you to catch me.”
“With every ounce of dignity I can summon,” he replied, offering his arm with a flourish.
Soft laughter followed as he helped her rise. She rose with queenly grace, laying her hand lightly on his sleeve. “Heaven help me.”
Guests shifted, more for amusement than participation.
Together they stepped onto the floor, to a murmur of quiet amusement and the gentle swell of the waltz.
She sensed him before she saw him.
Anna had just turned her attention back to the pianoforte when she heard her name.
“Lady Anna.”
Her eyes lifted, and there he was.
“Your Grace,” she replied, offering the faintest curtsy.
“You look…” He hesitated, choosing his words with more care than usual. “Exceptionally well this evening.”
She arched a brow, amused. “Was I unexceptional before?”
He allowed a small smile. “You were exceptional then, too. But I may not have said it aloud.”
“That sounds like something of an oversight.”
“Unintentional,” he said. “Though I am attempting to rectify it.”
A pause settled between them, warm and taut.
She glanced toward the pianoforte, where Sophia was now arranging her sheet music. “Lady Sophia plays beautifully,” she murmured. “She always seems so certain at the keys.”
Henry nodded. “She’s very precise. A trait that seems to run in the family.”
Anna tilted her head. “Is that what they call it, precision?”
He looked at her closely. “What would you call it?”
She gave a soft laugh. “Guarded, perhaps. Measured. Careful.”
“And you dislike being careful?”
“I think taking care can be admirable,” she said. “But it can also mean fear.”
Her words hung there, delicate but firm. She didn’t flinch.
Neither did he.
“May I ask you to dance?” he said then, quietly. “Before I think too hard and forget how.”
She wasn’t sure what startled her more, that he had asked, or that she had wanted him to.
Henry stood before her, tall and composed, one gloved hand extended in silent invitation.
His gaze held hers. Not commanding. Not pleading. Just… waiting.
Anna’s eyes searched his for a moment. She gave a small, graceful nod.
“You may.”
Anna had hesitated for only a second but just long enough to register the attention their exchange was drawing. Several heads turned, Lady Gretchen watching discreetly, Julia grinning outright, and Isaac… watching with a calculative gleam in his eyes.
He bowed, she curtsied, and then his hand was at her back, light through the fabric, barely touching. But enough to send shivers down her spine..
The first few bars of the waltz carried them into motion.
They weren’t alone on the floor, several other couples had joined them, gliding through the candlelit room in elegant turns. Silk rustled, shoes brushed polished wood, and the pianoforte filled the space with warmth. But Anna barely registered the others. And Henry, it seemed, didn’t either.
Anna followed his lead easily, her hand resting lightly in his. His grip was secure but not too tight, as if he knew precisely how much pressure to apply.
He led with practiced ease, but not the showy sort. His movements were precise, steady, purposeful. She felt guided. Held. And touched—in a way that made her pulse quicken. His palm was warm against hers, steady, familiar.
She remembered those hands, how they’d slid around her waist, how they’d gripped her hips through the layers of her gown like he wanted to tear them away. How his touch had burned through the fabric, lingering at the small of her back.
It was dizzying, being this close again, her arm resting lightly against his, the scent of him stirring something low and insistent inside her. She wondered if he felt it too, that tension just beneath the surface of her skin.
She dared glance up.
His eyes were on hers, they were dark, unblinking, and full of heat. It was the kind of look that undressed her without laying a finger on her, deliberate and slow, like he was stripping her bare in his mind, savoring every imagined inch.
She felt it everywhere. The brush of heat across her chest, the tightening low in her belly, the way her breath caught without permission. His gaze dragged over her like a possession not yet claimed but already promised.
He looked at her as though she was the only thing in the room worth looking at. As though the rest of the room had been dismissed.
“Do you often dance, Your Grace?” she asked.
“I don’t often find it worth the effort.”
“And tonight?” she asked.
His gaze didn’t shift. “Tonight is different.”
“Then why?”
A pause. Just long enough to be felt.
“Because you’re here.”
She looked down briefly, but not long enough to break the rhythm.
“Was that a compliment, Your Grace?” she murmured.
“Only if you require one.”
She lifted a brow. “I don’t.”
He smiled then, just slightly. “I didn’t think so.”
Around them, the drawing room moved on, guests watching without watching. Conversations dulled to murmurs. Julia whispered something to Lady Gretchen, who didn’t answer right away. Lord Barrow narrowed his eyes, then looked away with a huff into his wine.
But Henry didn’t notice. Neither did Anna.
“You’re staring,” she said quietly, eyes still on his collar, not his face.
“Yes.”
“Aren’t you concerned someone might notice?”
“They already have.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?”
He leaned in a fraction, just enough for her to hear him without the rest of the room catching it. “What would be the point of pretending I don’t want to?”
She looked up, meeting his eyes.
Her steps faltered, just slightly, but he adjusted without missing a beat.
“I think,” she said slowly, “you might be dangerous.”
“To whom?” he asked.
“Me.”
He didn’t laugh. He didn’t look away.
“Then tell me to stop.”
Anna didn’t speak.
She couldn’t. Not just then.
The music continued, slow and steady, like the beating of a clock they no longer heard.
He didn’t look away. Not once.
“You don’t make it easy to think,” she murmured.
“I’m not trying to,” he said.
“Then what are you doing?”
His hand adjusted slightly at her waist, not improper, but firm, as they turned again.
“Wondering how long I’ll be allowed to stand this close to you.”
For a moment, she forgot the steps. Forgot the room. Forgot the dull ache of always holding herself together.
He steadied her without pause.
“Does this work on every woman?” she asked.
“Do you think I’ve used it on anyone else?”
“You must have.”
“I haven’t wanted to.”
Her eyes met his, sharp and startled.
He looked calm, too calm, but his voice was lower now, just for her. “Don’t pretend I’m the only one losing count of the turns.”
She wanted to argue. To laugh. To change the subject. But the words didn’t come.
Around them, the drawing room had grown quieter. The pianoforte continued, but softly. Somewhere across the room, a fan snapped shut.
The final turn slowed, their hands still joined. The room faded, but neither of them moved.
Henry leaned in, not improper, but close enough that his breath stirred the wisps of hair near her temple.
“I never quite recovered,” he said quietly, “from the last time you caught me off guard.”
He didn’t elaborate because he didn’t need to.
Anna’s lips parted, but no reply came. The memory rose fast and sharp, memories of the firelight in his room, the rush of daring, the press of her lips to his before she could talk herself out of it, the heat that flooded her completely.
Her gaze met his.
“Nor did I,” she murmured, before stepping back.