Page 26 of Corrupting his Duchess (A Duke’s Undoing #1)

T he morning had been full of half-finished goodbyes and the sound of trunks being dragged across polished floors. Servants moved with brisk purpose, the house pulsing with quiet farewells and the rustle of change.

Anna had watched it all unfold from the window of her chamber, unmoving. It was her last day at Yeats. And though she’d told herself she was ready, had even rehearsed the dignified smile, the words of gratitude, something inside her remained suspended, unwilling to unfasten.

The hedges rustled softly in the breeze as Anna walked beneath the long arch of ivy, gloved hands clasped before her.

Her shoes crunched against the gravel path in an unhurried rhythm, and the hem of her walking dress caught faintly on a patch of dry rosemary.

The garden looked golden in the light, but it did nothing to calm her thoughts.

She’d slipped out between the last of the murmured farewells, grateful for the excuse to step into sunlight. Her bonnet was secured with a bow, her shawl lightly draped around her shoulders.

She told herself she was seeking air. Maybe even the quiet.

But in truth, she had come hoping, expecting even, that he would follow.

Her fingers grazed the tops of the hedges as she passed. She remembered, quite vividly, how reluctant she’d been to come here at all. A house party full of strangers, obligation, and finely veiled expectations had felt like a punishment at the time.

Now it felt like something else entirely and the thought of leaving it, of leaving him, unsettled her in ways she hadn’t prepared for.

She hated what Isaac had said. Detested it. The smugness, the implication that she was a pawn who’d finally learned to play the game. That her value rested in being noticed, or worse, defended by a man of title.

But still.

She turned her face slightly toward the house, remembering the flash of Henry’s expression. The arch of his brow. That ridiculously perfect gesture of fingers miming Isaac’s endless prattle.

He had made her laugh. Even then. Even with Isaac standing too close and speaking too low, his words like thorns.

And worse…worse than all of it, was the part of her that couldn’t forget what Isaac said. Not the insinuations. But the fact.

Henry had defended her.

Fiercely, by the sound of it. With heat, and conviction, and not the bare civility required of a host. He had stood between her and insult, and she hadn’t even asked him to.

She didn’t know what words he’d used. Only that they’d been strong enough to shake Isaac, who was rarely shaken by anything except the state of his accounts.

Anna wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders, her fingers cold despite the warmth in the air.

Her steps slowed as she reached a bend in the path, a gentle curve beneath a rose-covered trellis, where the late sunlight filtered gold through the leaves.

Faint breeze stirred the lavender near the hedge, releasing its scent. Somewhere behind her, a bee droned lazily in a blossom. The hush of the garden made everything feel louder, her thoughts, her heartbeat, the ache hammering away in her chest.

And there, without intending to, she stopped.

She wasn’t sure what she expected to find in that particular patch of garden because nothing had changed. The hedges were just hedges. The light was just light. But her body remembered it, that strange, charged pause where she’d nearly leaned forward too.

This was where it had happened. Or almost happened.

Where Henry had looked at her with that impossible softness, so unlike the man Society whispered about, and had leaned in, not with hunger, but with something that felt strangely like reverence.

It wasn’t just that he had nearly kissed her, it was how he’d stopped. How he hadn’t pressed or demanded, hadn’t turned the moment into something boastful. He’d only looked at her, as if he saw all of her, and still chose to be gentle. That, she hadn’t quite recovered from.

Now, standing in that same spot, the memory returned with startling clarity. The smell of the hedges. The scrape of gravel. The way her pulse had thudded so hard she thought he might hear it.

She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing it in. The memories of his mouth hot against hers the night before caused her to pull her shawl tighter, her cheeks stinging with heat.

And then came Isaac’s voice again, lingering like smoke in her thoughts. You’ve made yourself valuable, Anna… He’s watching you. Protecting you.

She had never been a girl who waited for someone to arrive.

She had been the one who stayed when others faltered.

The one who calculated quietly, made the necessary arrangements, bore the unspoken weight.

To wait for someone now—to want someone to come and not because they were expected but because they chose to, it felt like a luxury she didn’t dare call her own.

She opened her eyes again, slowly.

No one had followed.

Part of her was grateful. The rest… wasn’t.

She could have returned inside, rejoined her friends, her trunks, the final farewells. But she had come here instead, walking the garden path she now knew by heart, her shawl drawn close and her breath caught between memory and uncertainty.

This was where it had nearly happened, where he had nearly kissed her. And now, without quite admitting it, she had returned.

Because if he were going to find her, if he was going to choose to then this is where he would come.

And despite everything, Isaac’s venom, her own doubts, the ache of leaving, she wanted him to come.

She was still facing the roses when she heard it, the quiet crunch of footsteps on gravel.

Not hurried. Not hesitant.

Her breath caught, but she didn’t turn right away.

“I was hoping I might find you.”

His voice, when it came, was low and unmistakably his.

Anna turned slowly.

A tremor passed through her, so small it might have gone unnoticed, but she felt it all the way to her fingertips. Her spine straightened instinctively, and her hand lifted as if to adjust her shawl, only to falter halfway.

Henry stood just beyond the trellis, one hand resting lightly against the edge of the hedge as though it were a threshold.

She took him in silently, the slight sheen of sunlight on his coat, the way he always seemed to carry stillness like a command, as if the world tilted slightly to meet his pace.

The breeze lifted a lock of hair from his brow, already mussed in a way that suggested he’d raked a hand through it more than once, impatient or distracted and that made her want to run her hands through it like she did the night before.

His jaw was set, clean-shaven but with the barest shadow threatening its edge, lending him the kind of refinement that never asked for attention, only assumed it would be given.

There was a faint crease between his brows, not from frowning, but thought. And his eyes, steady and cool in that impossible shade of green, found hers with the quiet certainty of someone used to being looked at.

“Your Grace,” she said at last, because she couldn’t seem to say anything else.

He inclined his head. “Forgive the intrusion.”

She offered the smallest smile, her heart aching within her. “I hoped you’d come. It was either this or the corridor with my trunk. I thought this a more graceful farewell.”

He stepped forward. “I was hoping you’d still be here,” he replied. “I wasn’t entirely sure you’d stay long enough for goodbyes.”

“I wasn’t sure either.”

Something softened in his expression. “And now?”

“I suppose I’m not ready to say goodbye.”

“Neither am I,” he said quietly.

The breeze stirred around them, catching the edge of her shawl.

She looked at him, lips curving faintly. “You made a face.”

His brow lifted. “Did I?”

“In the window,” she said. “You looked directly at me and mimed my cousin’s entire monologue.”

Recognition dawned, and a half-smile smile tugged at his mouth. “Ah, yes. An uncharacteristically theatrical moment. It was a moment of regrettable honesty.”

“No,” she said, her voice warming. “It was perfect.”

“You laughed.”

“I couldn’t help it.”

“I was rather proud,” he admitted. “He does go on.”

She tilted her head. “You do know he was still speaking to me?”

“Yes,” Henry said, tone dry. “I considered it a public service.”

Her laugh came easily this time, light and real.

When she glanced up, he was watching her.

His gaze lingered. Enough that she felt it. Enough that warmth rose up the back of her neck. Her heart beating rapidly.

Her smile faded into something quieter. “What?”

Henry blinked, then gave a small, deliberate shrug. “I was simply wondering whether I ought to pursue a career on the stage. Clearly, I’ve missed my calling.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re deflecting.”

“Shamelessly.”

A moment passed.

She turned toward him, adjusting her gloves with care. “Lord Stenton said something earlier. About you. About this morning.”

Henry’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

She studied his face. “I wasn’t there. I don’t know what was said, and I doubt I want the full version… but he looked unsettled.”

He gave a dry breath of agreement.

“I’ve seen Isaac smug, furious, and calculating,” she added. “But never rattled.” A faint line appeared between her brows. “He said you defended me.”

Henry met her gaze without hesitation. “I did.”

Anna looked down at her hands for a moment, then back up.

“I’m used to being the one who does the defending. Heather. The tenants. Myself. Even my father, at times.” Her voice didn’t falter, but it quieted. “It’s unfamiliar. Having someone step forward on my behalf.”

“I meant every word,” he said.

“I know,” she murmured. “That’s why I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

Henry’s brow lifted faintly, but he said nothing.

They walked again in silence, the rustling hedges tall on either side, the gravel crunching soft beneath their steps.

“I have been angry with him for some time,” Anna said, her tone steady though her hands were tightly clasped before her. “Lord Stenton.”