Page 29 of Corrupting his Duchess (A Duke’s Undoing #1)

M ost of the guests had already gone, only Gretchen remained with her.

Julia had departed just after luncheon, all warmth and bright chatter, her voice lingering in the corridor long after she’d swept out in a cloud of lavender. Natalie had followed silently behind, clutching a book and offering Anna a light grin.

They’d both embraced her tightly. Julia had whispered, “You’ll write, won’t you? Especially if anything scandalous happens.” Anna had promised she would.

The Hales had left earlier still, leaving only a note and a pressed flower for Anna, charming company, do write –as if a week of shared meals could be reduced to four breezy words.

She’d thought she'd leave with them. But Isaac, of course, wanted to remain.

Something about some final “discussion” with Henry and the Duke of Frayton. But Anna knew better. He was never one to leave before securing his pieces.

Behind her, in the half-packed quiet of the morning room, Gretchen was writing a letter.

“You’ll be going tomorrow, then?” she asked.

Anna nodded. “After breakfast, I think. We’ll take the long road back through Dorset.”

Gretchen smiled. “And you’ll be glad to be home?”

Anna hesitated, then offered a small wistful smile in return. “Very. I miss Heather.”

Gretchen left a few minutes later, carrying her gloves and her letters.

Anna waited until she was alone before walking to the side table, reaching for the book she’d left behind that morning.

That was when she heard the door swing open behind her.

“You look tired,” came Matthew’s voice.

She turned, spine straightening. “Lord Vaun. I was just…”

“Of course.” He closed the door gently. “I hoped I’d find you alone.”

Her shoulders tensed.

“I’d offer to help you pack,” he said, “but I imagine you’ve had enough assistance.”

“I came to speak plainly,” he said, voice mild. “It’s the last night, after all.”

Anna watched him warily.

“I’ve been meaning to speak with you properly,” he continued. “But you’ve kept yourself busy. Always in the garden. Or the library. Or being escorted from place to place.”

She said nothing.

He smiled faintly. “You’ve had a very full visit.”

Anna gave a small, polite nod. “It has been eventful.”

“I should hope so,” he said. “You've been quite... at the center of things.”

He moved closer, enough to press the air.

“We’ve had discussions, ” he said. “More than once, before the party. You remember.”

“Yes,” she said quietly.

“You were gracious. Unassuming. Quiet. And now…” He tilted his head slightly. “You’ve become something else.”

“I’ve only ever been myself,” she said.

“Have you?” he asked, his voice still light.

“I know what’s happening between you and Yeats.

You’re not subtle, either of you. Because I’ve seen the way you look at him.

And the way he looks at you. I imagine he feels quite heroic, lifting you out of obscurity, brushing away Stenton’s shadow, claiming you before the vultures can. ”

Anna said nothing. Her fingers curled tighter around the edge of the book in her hand.

He smiled faintly. “No need to be defensive. I’m not here to argue.”

“What are you here for?”

He took a step closer. “To tell you that I understand.”

Her brow lifted.

“I understand what it is to want more than you’re allowed. To look at someone like him and imagine…just for a moment…that you might be the exception. That he’ll choose you.”

She opened her mouth, but he cut her off.

“He won’t.”

Her stomach dropped. “You don’t know him.”

“Oh,” he scoffed.

Anna’s spine stiffened. “Henry isn’t like that.”

Matthew’s smile deepened. “You say his name so easily now.”

“I don’t think this conversation is appropriate.”

“Oh, but it is.” He stepped further into the room. “You need to hear it, Anna. Because the story doesn’t end the way you think it will.”

She stood very still, her breath measured.

“I know his kind,” Matthew said calmly. “They chase the feeling until it stops being novel. Then they return to what they were born for. And you, Anna… you are not what he was born for.”

She turned away, but he stepped further in.

He studied her. “Let me remind you that it won’t last. That men like him don’t marry women like you, not when the party ends. And when it does, when the carriages are gone and his attention drift elsewhere... you’ll be left with little but the memory and the ruin.”

Her eyes prickled.

“Yes, he’ll leave,” Matthew said. “Whether in three days or three weeks, he’ll go. He’s a duke, after all. He’ll return to his estate, to Parliament, to every woman of status waiting in line. And when he does, you’ll be the sorry one.”

She froze.

“I’m not here to shame you,” he went on, “when he leaves– and he will– you’ll see the truth. It won’t be all at once. It’ll be quiet. A letter unanswered. A conversation that never finds its time. One day you’ll realize he’s already gone.”

Her jaw tightened, “That’s not your concern.”

“It is,” he said. “Because I’ll be the one left behind to clean up the scandal. To offer you what comfort remains after your reputation has frayed.”

Her lips parted, but no words came.

“You don’t have to love me,” he added. “You only have to understand that, in the end, I’m the only one who will stay.”

She turned sharply. “You think I need saving?”

“I think you’ve mistaken indulgence for protection,” he said, voice low. “You’ve mistaken a look for a promise.”

Her stomach turned, but she kept her expression flat.

“I’ve watched you,” Matthew said. “Not just this week. From the beginning. And what I see is a woman who’s trying very hard not to fall apart.”

Anna felt her fingers go numb around the edge of the book. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t show it. But inside, something twisted, rage or shame, she wasn’t sure.

“You’re afraid,” he said. “Not of me. Of what happens when it ends. When you’re no longer useful. When he doesn’t look at you like that anymore.”

“Stop.”

“I will,” he said. “Soon. But I want you to understand something before I do.”

He stepped close enough that she could smell the starch on his cravat.

“I will wait.”

She blinked.

“And when you’re ready,” Matthew said, softer now, “when you’ve worn out the fantasy, I’ll still be here.

You’ll need someone to clean up the pieces.

And when you do, you'll find me. You’ll have no one else, Anna.

Not with Stenton waiting to barter you off like livestock.

Not with your mother wringing her hands and your sister asking why the pantry’s empty again. ”

Her chest was tight now. Too tight.

“I’ll wait,” he said again. “And you’ll come to me. Not because you want to. But because you’ll have to.”

She stared at him, her face expressionless, because if she let it crack, she might not be able to put it back together.

“I’m the only one who sees clearly,” he said. “The only one who doesn’t lie to you with pretty words and promises he can’t keep.”

“You’re wrong,” she said finally.

“I’m patient,” he murmured. “And that’s more dangerous than being right.”

He stepped back, as if nothing had happened at all. As if the air weren’t thick with something unspoken and cruel.

“I hope you’ve enjoyed your stay,” he said, smiling as though it were a joke between old friends. “I suspect your next house party will feel rather different.”

She didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Only watched him go, her fingers still pressed white against the edge of the book.

She stood motionless for a moment, fingers curled so tightly around the edge of the book they ached, then she slammed the book on the table with a snap that echoed in the silence.

The house had settled into silence. Only the occasional creak of a cooling floorboard or the groan of a closing door broke the stillness.

Anna had slipped out of her room, her hand trembling slightly as she held the candle aloft.

Anna moved carefully, her shawl wrapped tight across her shoulders.

Somewhere downstairs, the last of the staff had finished locking up.

A door creaked. A gust of wind slipped through the cracks of the old walls.

She should have gone to bed.

Instead, she found herself padding softly through the side corridor, barefoot, her heart doing something panicked and uneven in her chest.

She wasn’t sure what she would say to him. And worse– Henry didn’t know. She needed to tell him. She needed... something.

She found him in the library.

She only knew that after Matthew’s words…after that conversation that still echoed in the corners of her mind…she needed to see Henry. Just once. Just long enough to breathe.

Matthew’s words were still crawling across her skin like something she couldn’t scrub off.

She found him in the library. Alone. The fire had been left to burn low, casting long shadows across the shelves. The door was already ajar. He was standing near the window, coat still on, one hand braced against the glass. She paused at the threshold, watching him for a moment.

He was standing at the window, coat still on, his shoulders hunched slightly as if bracing for something.

She cleared her throat gently. “Henry? Your Grace.”

He turned. For a moment, just a moment, his face softened.

But then it hardened again.

His eyes met hers again, and something unreadable flickered there. Not surprise. Not welcome. Something taut.

Still, she stepped inside. Closed the door behind her. Her hands trembled slightly as she lowered the candle to the side table.

“I…” She swallowed. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“No,” he said. His voice was calm, too calm. “Of course not.”

He didn’t move toward her.

She stood there, feeling small in the stillness.

But there was something off in his voice. Cold. Controlled.

She came closer, but not too close. “I couldn’t sleep,” she said. “I didn’t want the night to end without…”

She faltered. “I didn’t want to go without speaking to you.”

His jaw shifted. “You leave tomorrow morning.”

“Yes,” Her voice dipped. “But I couldn’t leave without seeing you.”

A long pause.

When he finally spoke, it was quieter. “Anna, perhaps this isn’t the best time.”

He looked away. “I think… it would be better if we ended things. This… whatever this is… it needs to end here.”

The words hit her with a strange kind of silence.

“What?”

He straightened, still not looking at her. “Whatever’s been between us, it can’t continue.”

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

He looked away.

Her throat closed. “What? Say it.”

“I shouldn’t have let it begin,” he said. “It was reckless. It wasn’t fair. To you. To your family. I should have known better.”

She took a step toward him, slowly. “Henry… no.”

I mean it,” he said, his voice tight. “I’ve been selfish. I see that now. You have responsibilities. A family. A future that can’t include someone like me complicating it."

“You’re not complicating it,” she said, and hated how small her voice sounded.

He met her eyes, finally. “A man like me? With my name? My title? I can ruin you without ever meaning to.”

“You’re doing this now?” she asked, her voice suddenly brittle. “After everything?”

“I’m doing this because I care about you,” he said. “Because I won’t be the reason you’re ruined.”

She let out a small, stunned laugh. “Too late.”

His eyes snapped to hers.

“You think this ends cleanly?” she asked. “That you get to kiss me, look at me like I’m something you’ve waited your whole life to find, and then walk away nobly?”

“I’m trying to protect you.”

She nodded, slowly. “How noble.”

His jaw tightened. “It isn’t nobility. It’s reality.”

“No,” she said, voice shaking now. “Reality is what I’ve lived every day since my father died.

“Anna, believe me,” his voice broke.

“No,” she said, closing her eyes slowly. “You’re trying to relieve yourself. Of guilt. Of feeling too much.”

His voice cracked just slightly. “Anna–”

She shook her head. “You don’t get to decide for me.”

“You’ll be expected to marry,” he said tightly. “To settle.”

“You were the one part of this I didn’t have to survive,” she said. “The one thing I wasn’t enduring. And now you want to take that from me too?”

“I want to spare you worse.”

“No,” she snapped. “You want to leave before you get too close.”

His eyes flashed. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t what?” she demanded. “Tell the truth?”

He stepped back as if burned. “You came here tonight for what, Anna? For comfort? To tell me you love me? What would you have me do with that?”

“I came here,” she said, “because of Matthew. I saw Matthew.”

He didn’t speak.

She went on. “Earlier. He spoke to me. He said…”

He inhaled. “Anna…”

“What?” Anns snapped.

“Don’t tell me,” he said, turning away. “It doesn’t matter.”

She ignored him. “He told me he would wait until you were gone. That I’d have no one else. That I’d come to him because I’d have no choice. He said– he thinks I– he said he would wait, as if I’d fall into his lap once–”

“Stop.”

She froze.

Henry turned to her, and something in his expression stopped her breath. Not anger. Not cruelty. But something worse.

Distance.

“Anna,” Henry said, too sharply. Then, more gently, “I can’t hear this. I won’t.”

She kept going. “I came here because I’m terrified. Because I trust you. Because I thought…” Her voice caught. “I thought you were safe.”

He shook his head. “I’m not.”

“No,” she said. “You’re a coward.”

The silence that followed wasn’t sharp. It was hollow.

She stared at him.

He didn’t answer. Didn’t defend himself.

She stared at him, this man she’d let inside her guard, who had kissed her like he needed her, who now stood like he barely knew what she meant.

Tears pricked her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. She would not let him see her cry.

“I hope you remember this,” she said quietly. “Every time you think of me, I hope you remember what you didn’t do."

He didn’t stop her as she turned for the door.

Didn’t follow when she left.

She stepped into the hallway, cold air brushing her skin like a slap. Her candle flickered. Her throat burned. Her feet moved quickly, almost too quickly, as if she could outrun the ache taking root in her chest. Then the tears came in full force.