Page 4 of Corrupting his Duchess (A Duke’s Undoing #1)

T he morning air seeped cold through the stone of Yeats Estate, the kind of chill that crept into one’s bones no matter how many fires burned through the night.

Henry stood at the tall window of his bedchamber, nursing a lukewarm cup of coffee he had no interest in finishing.

Below, the lawns stretched pale and frost-tipped, still shadowed in places where the sun hadn’t quite reached.

He hadn’t slept well.

Not because of the usual restlessness or the weight of letters waiting on his desk, but because of her.

Lady Anna Hessey.

It had started the moment she entered the house, chin high, eyes observant, dressed in a green traveling cloak like she wasn’t here to impress anyone, least of all him.

She had said little upon arrival, but her silence hadn’t been shy.

It had been calculating. Measured. She watched people the way he did.

And then there was last night.

The drawing room. The firelight. The way she’d spoken to him, sharp enough to earn a pause, but never vulgar. Confident enough to look unafraid.

She hadn’t laughed at his barbs, hadn’t flushed and looked away. No. She’d matched him beat for beat. Six opinions, she had said. All unfavorable.

He should have been annoyed. Irritated, even. Instead, he’d found himself intrigued, maybe even attracted.

He hated that word. Attraction.

It was messy. Dangerous. A gateway drug to expectation and obligation and all the false intimacy people wrapped around a title like his.

He’d seen it too many times—women drawn not to him but to the glitter of his name, the promise of ducal power.

He’d sworn never to be fooled by it again.

And yet…The way she’d held his gaze after that final remark. The way her voice had dipped with mock sweetness. The slight tilt of her head, like she was daring him to respond.

No woman had ever made him feel as though he were being studied, as though she were evaluating him rather than the other way around. She’d rattled him. Just a little but it made a mark.

Enough that, after everyone had gone to bed, he’d remained by the fire a full hour longer than necessary, one hand still on the single glass he was nursing.

Now, standing alone in the quiet morning, he tapped a finger against the windowsill.

He wasn’t the type to chase. He’d never needed to be.

But Lady Anna Hessey wasn’t the type to come willingly.

He downed the remaining content of his morning cup and set the empty cup aside, pulled on his gloves, and reached for his coat. His valet offered to fetch his walking cane, but he waved the man off.

This wasn’t a stroll for the sake of propriety. Or routine. This was something else.

He descended the stairs with quiet, purposeful steps, his mind already composing the invitation before he even saw her.

He felt her before he saw her.

Not her voice, she wasn’t speaking, but the unmistakable rustle of skirts, the soft rhythm of footsteps across stone.

She was coming from the breakfast room, the hallway light slanting in behind her like a spotlight.

She walked without hesitation, head held high, entirely unaware of his existence at the corner.

Henry watched her approach with something uncomfortably close to anticipation.

She wasn’t alone—Sophia, Gretchen and Julia flanked her, their conversation hushed and musical. Gretchen wore a blush-pink morning dress, Julia and Sophia in varying shades of lavender, their coiffures artfully arranged with jeweled pins that sparkled under the shifting light.

But it was Anna who drew his gaze.

She was not dressed to dazzle. A walking gown of deep blue, sensible boots, gloves already on.

Practical. Her brown hair was swept into a modest chignon, no adornments save for the quiet gleam of a hairpin near her nape.

And yet, her presence held a kind of gravity.

While the others leaned toward one another, giggling softly, Anna walked with her spine straight, chin lifted, gaze unhurried and alert.

She wasn’t trying to be noticed. Which, of course, made it impossible not to notice her.

She’s not like them.

And that, it seemed, was precisely his problem.

He stepped forward, quiet but deliberate. The other ladies faltered politely, but Anna did not. She slowed and curtsied, brow lifting slightly in surprise.

“Lady Anna,” he said, offering a faint nod. “May I tempt you with a walk?”

Anna groaned inwardly, doing her best to school her expressions.

Anna walked just ahead of Sophia and Gretchen, the polite murmur of their conversation drifting behind her like the trailing end of a ribbon.

She wasn’t trying to escape them, not exactly—just the inevitable descent into embroidery, cards, or whatever afternoon occupation awaited them.

A quiet stroll alone had seemed like a worthwhile gamble.

Until she nearly collided with the Duke of Yeats.

Yet, there he was standing tall, without a care in the world and, evidently, in her way. He was dressed for the outdoors- a deep charcoal coat, leather gloves in hand and walking boots. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes, those ever-watchful green eyes, landed squarely on her.

She merely hoped to offer her greetings, step around him and make her escape to wherever offered better chances.

Then he stepped forward and asked in that low voice that did things she couldn't begin to analyze, “Lady Anna, may I tempt you with a walk?”

Anna blinked. “A walk.”

“Yes,” he said simply, as though he made a habit of inviting women for strolls after breakfast, which, she was quite certain, he did not.

Before she could respond, he inclined his head politely toward the ladies beside her. “Lady Gretchen. Lady Julia. Sophia.”

Julia gave a curtsy that bordered on irreverent. “Your Grace.”

Gretchen’s was more precise, if wary. Sophia, for her part, gave her brother a small smile, but said nothing.

She hesitated. “Alone?”

He looked at the ladies beside her pointedly and raised a brow, just slightly. The corner of his mouth tilting in something close to a smirk.

“If you're worried about propriety, I imagine your current company more than sufficient,” he said, voice bone-dry. “But if you’d prefer a chaperone, I could summon your cousin, though I warn you, his commentary on maritime investments might ruin the view.”

“I'd rather not,” she said.

Behind her, Gretchen gave a soft breath—almost a sigh—and linked her arm lightly through Anna’s.

“We shall accompany you, of course,” she said coolly, glancing at the Duke with a composed smile.

Julia leaned toward Sophia with a whisper that carried just enough. “Do you suppose we’ll need smelling salts?”

Sophia murmured something in return—dry, amused—but remained a step behind.

Anna returned her gaze to Henry. She arched her brow.

Henry’s jaw ticked. Whether from irritation or amusement, Anna couldn’t quite tell.

He offered her his arm again. “Shall we?”

Anna sighed—whether at herself or at all of them, she didn’t know—and took it.

The others followed at a discreet distance, skirts rustling faintly in the corridor, their presence both chaperoning and conspiring.

They walked the garden path in silence at first, boots crunching softly over gravel, the wind lifting the edge of Anna’s cloak. The path curved along the edge of a trimmed lawn, bordered by bare rose bushes and almost frostbitten hedges. The estate loomed behind them, still imposing.

Sophia, Julia, and Gretchen had begun the stroll with them, but had gradually slowed their pace, pausing now and then to admire ivy-covered trellises and remark on long-forgotten statuary.

The path was winding enough—and the hedges high enough—that they were no longer in sight, though their soft voices still drifted faintly on the breeze.

They passed the sundial, its stone face crusted with frost.

She cleared her throat. “You’ve not offered pleasantries. No polite comments on the weather. Not even a compliment about…my hat.”

“It’s a very respectable hat,” he said blandly.

She gave him a look and shook her head. “You’re terrible at this.”

“At what?”

“Conversation.”

“I know.”

He didn’t say anything anymore and she let the silence linger a little longer before speaking again, more quietly this time.

“I’ve learned not to speak too freely in mixed company. My… ruminations have a way of unsettling people.”

He didn’t respond right away, but she felt his gaze sharpen, not with judgment—but curiosity.

“Isaac doesn’t seem fond of them,” he said, voice low. “Your thoughts.”

She blinked. That wasn’t a question—it was an observation. A correct one.

“Ideas,” she continued, more cautiously now “have a way of making me inconvenient. And it becomes tedious, always having to soften the edges of my thoughts to make them digestible.”

She looked ahead again, voice cool but distant. “It’s easier not to bother. I’ve no desire to explain myself every time I open my mouth.”

“Is that what you think you’d have to do with me?” he asked.

Anna didn’t look at him.

“No,” she said after a pause, her voice low but clear. “I think you already expect people to be difficult.”

They walked a few more paces in silence. A bird flitted across the path ahead of them, the only sound for a moment was the crunch of their boots on gravel and the soft rustle of her skirts in the breeze.

“You don’t seem the sort who enjoys long conversations,” Anna said after a moment, casting him a sidelong glance.

“I don’t,” he replied.

“Then why invite me on a walk?”

He didn’t look at her. “I suspect you do not offer mundane conversation.”

Anna smiled despite herself. “That sounds suspiciously like a compliment.”

“It’s meant to be,” he said, and now he did look at her. “You should try accepting one.”

“I will, if you ever give me a proper one.”

He chuckled, low and unexpected. “There it is.”

“There what is?”

“That look,” he said. “That tone. You rise so easily to a challenge; it’s like watching lightning try to behave itself.”