Page 28 of Corrupting his Duchess (A Duke’s Undoing #1)

H er words lingered in his heart as they walked. Henry kept his gaze forward, but his thoughts moved in circles, each step retracing her words, the look in her eyes, the way her voice had caught on the edge of truth.

They reached a narrow bend in the path, where the hedges thinned and the pale winter sun stretched like spilled gold through the branches.

Henry slowed.

“I suppose I should be honest with you,” he said after a moment, voice low. “If you’re to think well or poorly of me, it may as well be based on truth.”

Anna tilted her head slightly but said nothing. Her breath misted faintly in the cool morning air.

“I’ve grown accustomed to waiting for people to fail me,” he said quietly. “To betray me. It’s exhausting, always watching for the moment when loyalty gives way to opportunity. Or affection turns false.”

Anna’s gaze softened, but she didn’t interrupt.

“I built walls,” he continued. “Not out of pride, as many think. But necessity. Every kindness I’ve shown has been calculated. Every friendship vetted, weighed. Every compliment... deflected.”

He exhaled sharply, almost laughing at himself. “And yet with you, I keep forgetting to be guarded.”

Anna’s chest tightened. “Why do you think that is?”

He looked at her like he couldn't quite figure her out. “Because you don’t want anything from me.”

Her brow lifted. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because you would’ve asked by now,” he said with a faint smile. “Instead, you give me the truth, even when it’s sharp. And I find I don’t mind the sting.”

He stopped walking. She did, too.

“I’ve told myself for years that caring is a liability,” he went on. “That need is a kind of weakness. And yet…” He paused, brow creasing slightly as though searching for the shape of the admission. “You make me feel…God help me…safe. And I haven’t felt safe in years.”

The words seemed to surprise even him, spoken aloud. He turned, suddenly restless. “Forget I said that. It’s absurd.”

But Anna stepped forward, catching his arm before he could move away.

“I won’t forget,” she said softly. “Because I feel it, too.”

Anna didn’t move. Didn’t breathe, almost.

He ran a hand through his hair, then looked at her again, jaw tight. “You’ve heard the rumors, haven’t you?”

She hesitated. “About the girl? The one?—”

He nodded once. “They say she broke it off. That she laughed behind my back. That I disappeared to Scotland with a broken heart and a bruised ego.”

Anna said nothing.

Henry’s voice dropped, rougher now. “It’s worse than that.”

He took a moment. Then another.

“She was promised to me. Not officially, not in print—but we had an understanding. I trusted her. Defended her when others whispered. Gave her access to everything—my time, my thoughts, my home.”

A beat.

“My solicitor found the papers. Documents signed in her father’s hand—agreements to shift shares from my estate to theirs. Hidden clauses buried in harmless-looking ventures. I wasn’t just a fool in love. I was an asset. A transaction.”

Anna’s breath caught.

He gave a short, bitter laugh. “When I confronted her, she said I’d made it easy. That all men with titles did. And then she walked out. No remorse. No apology. Just a smile.”

His voice had gone quiet now. Hollow. “I lost two years cleaning up the damage. Another year learning to breathe through the rage. And the rest… trying not to feel anything at all.”

He turned to her fully now, meeting her eyes. “So yes, the gossip has some truth. But it’s neater in the telling. Less… cruel.”

Anna reached for words and couldn’t find any.

His expression didn’t soften, not quite—but something in his stance shifted, as though unburdened and exposed all at once.

And then, softly—almost an afterthought—he added, “I didn’t mean to tell you all of that.”

Anna’s voice was gentle. “But I’m glad you did.”

Then, before he could respond, she rose on tiptoe and kissed him.

There was no hesitation this time. He responded as though his body had been waiting– breath, mouth, motion.

His hand cupped her cheek, warm through the leather of his glove, the other at her waist, steadying, anchoring.

The kiss deepened with quiet hunger, and she leaned into him without thought, her fingers gripping the lapels of his coat as though it was the only solid thing left in the world.

He tilted his head slightly, and she answered without needing to be asked. Their bodies shifted instinctively, like they’d known all along how to fit. Her gloved hand slid up to the back of his neck, and she felt him tense under her touch, then exhale against her mouth.

When they broke apart, it was only because neither could breathe.

They stood there a moment, breath shallow, his forehead pressed lightly to hers. His heart was thudding, not with panic, but with something deeply moving.

Want.

They walked in silence again, not because there was nothing left to say, but because too much had just been said without words. The path curved gently back toward the house, and as the gravel shifted beneath their feet, the moment behind them shimmered like a fragile string not yet cut.

As they reached the doors, Henry’s hand ghosted at the small of her back.

He opened the door for her and they stepped inside. And there he was.

Matthew Grayson stood at the base of the stairs, arms folded, expression smooth as polished silver.

“Ah,” he said lightly, “I thought the house was busy with their goodbyes, but it seems some of us found time for a… farewell stroll.”

“Lord Vaun,” Anna sank into a low curtsy, her head dipping briefly.

His gaze lingered a beat too long on Anna before sliding back to Henry, too controlled to be called a glare.

“Charming,” he added. “Truly. I do love when guests make the most of a morning.”

“Well,” he said, his smile barely touching his mouth, “I wondered what might be keeping Yeats from the farewells. I see now he’s been otherwise occupied.”

Anna smiled pleasantly, voice light. “A brief walk seemed preferable to lingering over drawn-out goodbyes, my lord. But you’re quite right, we’ve taken up enough of the morning.”

His eyes flicked to Anna, then narrowed as he marked the short distance between them. They weren't touching but were close enough to be noticed by someone who was looking for it.

“How touching. A quiet moment before we all return to the regular world.”

Henry didn’t blink. “Some of us never left it.”

Matthew’s smile sharpened, but he said nothing.

Henry inclined his head. “If you’ll excuse us, Vaun.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. He simply placed a light guiding hand at Anna’s back and started toward the corridor.

Anna followed, spine straight, chin high. She didn’t glance back, but she felt Matthew’s gaze like a thread pulling tight between her shoulder blades.

He said nothing else.

Henry hadn’t meant to ride far, only out across the eastern field and back. But the air was sharp and clean, and the quiet, blessedly empty of voices and decisions, had stretched longer than he intended.

By the time he returned, the sun had shifted. The household was already soft with the rhythms of departure, trunks dragged across tile, voices calling for misplaced gloves, the clatter of carriages being readied outside.

Inside, the house had taken on that odd, liminal hush that came when people were almost gone but not quite.

He handed off the reins to a waiting groom and walked slowly back through the side corridor, tugging off his gloves as he went.

His boots echoed softly against the stone.

He passed two footmen carrying a bonnet box and one of Lady Albury’s impossibly pink cloaks.

Neither acknowledged him. He preferred it that way.

He wasn’t sure where Anna was. And it was probably better that he didn’t ask.

He didn’t trust himself to speak to her, not just yet. Not with the feel of her mouth still burned into him, the memory of her voice, her hand at his lapel.

He stepped into the drawing room, expecting to be alone. But he wasn’t.

Henry was ungloved, coat still open, when Matthew found him standing in the drawing room. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, pooling in gold across the parquet floor. A fresh breeze stirred the edge of his cravat. He’d been quiet, unreadable, but the stillness in his stance said enough.

Matthew entered, his eyes scanning the entire room.

“Looking for someone?” Henry cleared his throat.

“Yeats,” Mathew said smoothly. “A word?’

Henry didn’t turn. “Is that what you’re offering, or what you’re asking for?”

Matthew smiled faintly. “Don’t be like that. We’re family.”

Henry’s brow arched as he turned. “Exactly why I’m cautious.”

Matthew chuckled. “Fair. But this is just a cousin speaking. One man to another.”

Henry waited.

Matthew crossed to the sideboard, idly picking up a crystal stopper, examining it. “You’ve always been clever. Precise. Not prone to sentimental entanglements. It’s one of the things I’ve admired about you.”

“I’d prefer you speak plainly.”

“Oh, but where’s the fun in that?”

He set the stopper down with a soft click. “You’ve been circling Stenton’s cousin.”

Henry’s expression cooled. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

Matthew raised a brow. “What would you call it?”

Henry shrugged. “None of your business, for a start.”

“I’m just observing.” Matthew lifted his shoulders. “It’s not a crime, of course. She’s lovely. Earnest. That rare combination of clever and helpless that makes a man feel important.”

Matthew poured himself a drink without invitation.

He paused, as if remembering something. “You know, I was speaking with her not too long ago. You walked in on us, just as we were finishing. She looked rather pleased to see you, if I recall.”

He smiled faintly, swirling the liquid in the glass. “I mentioned at the time that I’d been calling. I thought it only fair you be aware of her… connections.”

Henry said nothing, but the memory surfaced. Matthew’s overly casual smile, the way he’d lingered, then made a point of saying how well he already knew Lady Anna.

Matthew went on, “I thought I’d made it clear then. Not that I had any claim on her…no, of course not, but I assumed a man like you would take the hint.” He shrugged. “But perhaps I misjudged your interest. Or hers.”

“You misjudge a great many things,” Henry said evenly. “I’ve learned not to take your assumptions seriously.”

“Mm. Careful, cousin,” Matthew said, swirling his drink. “Your temper’s starting to show. I’d hate for Lady Anna to think you have a bloody temper.”

He continued. “But I thought it worth reminding you, Isaac Stenton is many things, and patient is not one of them. He has plans, and I assure you, Lady Anna features in all of them. He won’t like you rearranging the pieces.”

Henry’s tone stayed level. “If he wants to discuss them, he knows where to find me.”

“Oh, I’m sure he does. But that’s not really the point, is it?” Matthew turned, folding his arms. “She’s made an impression. I see it. Anyone would.”

“The question is whether she knows it,” Matthew added. “Though I imagine she does. She’s not stupid.”

Henry’s jaw flexed. “No. She isn’t.”

“That wide-eyed honesty,” Matthew went on, “that sense of moral duty, always at the edge of exhaustion. It’s a particular kind of charm. The sort that convinces even sharp men they’re the only ones seeing clearly.”

Henry’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And you imagine I’ve fallen for it.”

Matthew leaned against the mantel, watching Henry over the rim of his glass.

“What I mean is, I think she’s done exactly what she meant to.” Matthew’s voice softened. “The question is whether you see it, or whether you don’t want to.”

Then Henry said, “You think she’s a liar.”

“I think she’s practical. And desperate. Which, frankly, makes her dangerous.”

He paused, then added—quieter, with something darker behind the words.

“And let’s not pretend this is new for you. You haven’t had a heart since—well. Since her. We all know what she did. But let’s not rewrite history. You learned your lesson, didn’t you? Play the game, discard the piece. One girl or another—it’s all the same now.”

Henry’s mouth twitched—not in amusement, but restraint.

“Careful, Matthew,” he said softly. “You’re confusing cynicism with insight.”

“Oh, I don’t need insight,” Matthew replied. “I’ve watched you for years. Women orbit, you smile, they burn. And you move on, untouched. Don’t tell me Anna is different.”

“She is,” Henry said, so simply and so coldly it made Matthew pause.

Another beat of silence passed, and when Henry didn’t rise to the bait, Matthew pivoted lightly.

“But who am I to warn you?” he said. “You’re the Duke of Yeats. If anyone can afford a little ruin, it’s you.”

Henry’s jaw shifted.

“Of course,” Matthew continued, tone like silk drawn over glass, “you won’t marry her.

That would be absurd. But if you’ve decided to enjoy her while she’s here…

well. It’s not your future on the line, is it?

Let her suffer the gossip. Let her carry the consequence.

She’s the one reaching. You're just indulging a distraction.”

“Or don’t,” Matthew said, lifting a shoulder. “Walk away tomorrow. Let her settle for herself and convince herself it was love. But you? You’ll be fine either way. You always are.”

Henry’s silence stretched out, his expression hard.

Matthew smiled faintly. “Who cares about the little Jezebel trying to seduce a duke?”

That struck.

Henry’s voice, when it came, was very quiet. “Say that again.”

Matthew paused. “Come now, cousin. Let’s not be dramatic.”

Henry took a slow step forward. “You came here pretending concern. But this isn’t about me. It never was. You’re covering for something.”

“I’m offering perspective.”

“No,” Henry said, his voice clipped. “You’re insulting a woman who has done more with less than any man in this house. Including you.”

Matthew’s smile twitched. “You don’t plan to marry her. Everyone knows that.”

Henry’s eyes didn’t move. “And if I did?”

Matthew faltered, not visibly, not quite. But something in his expression pulled taut.

“Well,” he said with a hollow laugh, “then she’s done better than we all thought.”

Henry didn’t smile.

“Get out,” he said.

“Of course,” Matthew said, straightening his coat. “I see I’ve offended your… noble intentions.”

“You're not clever enough to offend me,” Henry replied coldly. “Just tedious enough to waste my time.”

“Very well.” Matthew nodded. “But if you find yourself in need of a less… compromised perspective, you know where to find me.”

He left without waiting for a reply.

Henry didn’t move until the door closed behind him.

Then he reached for the decanter, poured himself a drink…

…stared at it…

…and poured it back.