Page 25 of Corrupting his Duchess (A Duke’s Undoing #1)

Henry’s mouth curved slightly. Not a smile. Something colder.

“It’s a guarantee.”

Isaac didn’t speak.

Not immediately.

But Henry saw it, flickering behind the man’s eyes. Not just shock. Not just the sting of having been put in his place, and publicly at that. No, there was something worse beneath it. Hope.

Because Henry had betrayed himself.

The moment he’d risen. The moment his voice had cut like tempered steel. The moment he’d spoken of Anna not with distance, but with heat.

Isaac had heard it.

And Henry could see the calculation forming already behind the man’s mask of civility. The shift of posture. The faint tick at the edge of his jaw as he weighed it all like a gambler eyeing new odds.

He was offended, yes, but not deterred.

That was the danger.

He might now believe Henry’s affection could be used. That Anna could be used, again. With subtler means. Through a new strategy.

Henry felt his stomach twist.

He had defended her, yes, but in doing so, he may have armed the very man who’d spent years diminishing her.

He hated himself for it. And he hated Isaac more than he had ten minutes ago, which he hadn’t thought possible.

Nathaniel’s chair creaked as he stood, brushing his coat sleeve. “I do love a productive morning,” he murmured.

Henry didn’t move.

He kept his eyes on Isaac, watching the flicker die, watching him mask it, watching the whole bloody act reset itself like a merchant smoothing his ledgers.

The door shut behind Isaac with a click too soft to satisfy.

Henry remained standing, his hands flexing once at his sides. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe properly for a long moment.

Nathaniel said nothing.

Henry’s jaw locked, and he turned back toward the fire, though he felt no warmth from it.

God, he hated that man.

He hated the oily calm in his voice, the way he wrapped cruelty in silk and called it care. He hated the way he watched Anna, not with concern, not even with resentment, but with ownership. As if she were a resource. Something inherited.

But more than all of that, he hated knowing, truly knowing, how long she had borne it.

How long she had smiled, bowed, stepped aside, swallowed the words that would have kept other men up at night? How long she had protected her sister? Her tenants? Her household? All while that parasite twisted her loyalty into something useful.

Henry’s hands curled into fists.

He should have seen it sooner.

He’d suspected, yes. Hinted at it in his mind. But he had not felt it, not like this. Not like watching the man speak of her as if her affection were some strategic asset.

Not like seeing her name in Isaac’s mouth and feeling his blood rise for it.

Nathaniel exhaled nearby, as if letting out something he’d been holding. “That was not subtle,” he said lightly, though his eyes were sharp.

Henry didn’t answer.

“You know,” Nathaniel added, “you’ve made it very clear you’d go to war over her.”

Henry turned, his voice low. “I am at war.”

Nathaniel studied him. “With Lord Stenton?”

Henry looked toward the empty doorway. “With anyone who believes she is theirs to manage.”

He turned away, jaw set. “And with myself. For not seeing it earlier.”

The gravel path along the terrace was lined with orderly yews and the benches carved from pale stone were still damp from the morning dew. Anna had come this way seeking quiet. The drawing room had grown too stifling, and her trunk had already been closed. There was nothing left to rearrange.

She walked slowly, her gloves tucked in one hand, her shawl gathered close despite the soft sun.

Anna had hoped to slip away unnoticed.

The house was busy again with servants bustling with travel trunks, final farewells echoing down corridors, a few guests already bidding one another adieu. She had stepped out to the terrace to breathe, hoping the garden air might settle the weight that had lodged in her chest since morning.

It was her last day at Yeats.

And it still didn’t feel real.

She had only just begun to calm herself when the scrape of a boot behind her made her stiffen.

Isaac’s voice followed.

You are difficult to find this morning.”

“I wasn’t hiding,” she replied evenly.

“Of course not,” he said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Merely wandering like Diana through the hedgerows.”

She didn’t answer.

He fell into step beside her uninvited. She didn’t stop walking.

“It’s a fine day for farewells,” he went on. “A bit of sun, a touch of breeze. Just enough softness to sweeten the inevitable parting.”

“I wasn’t aware you were a poet, Lord Stenton.”

He chuckled, low and practiced. “I surprise even myself. Though I imagine I’m not the one full of surprises today.”

Anna said nothing. The garden wall curved ahead, sheltering them momentarily from the view of the house, though she could feel its presence behind her, the long windows open, laughter drifting faintly from within.

“But you just couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

“We’ve spoken already,” she said tightly. “There’s nothing more to say.”

“Mm,” he said, feigning thoughtfulness. “And yet, it seems there was more to you than even I suspected.”

She folded her arms. “Whatever you’re implying, stop.”

Isaac took a step closer, lowering his voice. “You’ve done well. Far better than expected. The Duke not only defends you now, he bristles at your name like you’re some sacred thing.”

She stiffened, but he went on, voice mild.

“Really, Anna. You ought to be proud. The man nearly throttled me this morning, all in defense of your virtue. That kind of display doesn’t go unnoticed.”

She turned to face him fully. “You provoked him.”

He smiled. “Perhaps. But not without cause. You’re close, cousin. Very close. He defends you now. That means something.”

“It means he has character,” she snapped. “Not that I’m being,” she stopped, the word choking on her tongue.

Anna’s mouth thinned.

She took a measured breath. “You’re revolting.”

Isaac only smiled, slow and smug. “Call it what you like. I call it progress. You’ve done what was asked—more, even. He’s watching you. Protecting you. You’ve made yourself valuable, Anna.”

The word made her flinch.

“Come now,” he said softly, almost conspiratorially. “You know how this world works. A lady of limited means, no dowry, no name of current consequence, yet somehow, here you are. At the center of it. Do you truly think it wise to waste the advantage?”

Her stomach curled. “I am not a ploy.”

He gave a small, knowing smile. “Everything is a ploy, Anna. Whether you admit it or not. But if it helps, think of it as providence. You’ve captured something rare. And you’d be a fool not to use it.”

Her voice turned to iron. “If I ever marry, it will not be for leverage.”

“Of course,” he murmured. “Whatever helps you sleep.”

She opened her mouth, but then caught movement just over Isaac’s shoulder.

Henry.

He was standing near the corner window that overlooked the terrace, one hand resting casually on the ledge. His gaze caught hers.

He glanced at Isaac, still talking.

From his spot near the window, Henry lifted one brow ever so slightly…and he raised his fingers. His thumb and four fingers opened and closed in a silent, unimpressed imitation of endless speech.

Anna blinked.

Was he…? He was. He was miming a talking mouth. Mocking Isaac in the middle of one of his self-important monologues.

Then, before she could stop it, she laughed. Just once, a short, startled sound that broke the tension like a dropped glass.

Isaac paused, confused. “What?”

Anna covered her mouth with her gloved hand, trying to recover. She looked past Isaac, directly at Henry and saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

Then he turned away, already disappearing into the house.

Isaac scowled. “What’s so amusing?”

“Nothing of consequence,” she said smoothly.