Page 8 of Corrupting his Duchess (A Duke’s Undoing #1)

T hat afternoon, the party drifted into the gardens, trailing laughter and idle conversation like silk scarves in the breeze.

The sun was generous, spilling warmth over the lawn, and the scent of cut grass and blooming roses hung sweet and heavy in the air.

Sunlight danced on the glass cups by the balustrade, and the platters of silver hinted at refreshments being served. Henry barely registered it.

He stood just beyond the balustrade, hands in his coat pockets, chin tilted in the direction of Isaac Stenton, who was pacing beside him, hands gesturing as he spoke.

“If we delay again, Hargrave & Sons will secure the docks at Blythe. That’s the last open piece.

Your Grace, with it, we’re in control of the entire northern route. ”

Henry stood still, eyes on the lawn. “You’ve said that.”

“Because it’s true,” Isaac snapped, the edge in his voice more nervous than angry. “You know it’s true. We’re not just talking profit, we’re talking position. Permanence.”

“I’m just saying,” he realized his tone, stepping closer, his voice lowered in urgency, “if we don’t move on this by the end of the quarter, Your Grace, Hargrave and Sons will take the northern route for themselves.

That’s it. We’ll have missed our chance to control a direct link between the Durham pits and the southern docks. ”

Henry nodded once, vaguely. “I heard you the first five times.”

He heard her laugh before he saw her.

It was bright and unguarded and it caught him. It drew his gaze like a thread pulled taut.

Anna was speaking with Sophia and the rest of Anna’s friends near the rose hedges, the hem of her dress stirring lightly in the breeze. She turned slightly, her laughter faint but clear. She hadn’t seen him, but still, he felt her like a tug in his chest.

Isaac huffed, trying to keep his emotions under control. “Well, I don’t see you doing anything about it. You’re not this cautious, Your Grace. You’re deliberately not paralyzed.”

“Your Grace?” Isaac prompted. “Are you listening to me?”

“Of course.” He looked back at Isaac, voice calm. “You’re saying we need to act before Hargrave does.”

“We should’ve acted yesterday. This is the kind of move that changes everything for me, for both of us. You saw the ledger. You've read the projections. Shipping coal directly from the north via a fleet we control, that’s not just profitable, it's untouchable. In five years, we’d be…”

“Rich?” Henry interrupted. “Respected? Unbearably dull?”

Isaac narrowed his eyes, tugging at his cravat. “Established. Independent. Maybe even dangerous, in the best sense of the word. This is exactly the sort of venture you favor, it is your talent.”

Henry’s mouth twitched, but not into a smile. “I can hardly call it a talent.”

“And yet,” Isaac pressed, “you’re still the one who called it a golden door. Your words. ‘Golden door to the north.’ Have you changed your mind, Your Grace?”

Henry exhaled slowly. “It’s not that I disagree with the numbers. But I’m not convinced the route is sustainable long-term. The market’s tightening. Demand may be peaking sooner than you think.”

Isaac frowned. “My findings say northern coal’s solid for another decade.”

“If nothing shifts. But a single policy change or new transport law and we’re overextended. Tied to docks we don’t need.”

“That’s a risk we all take. If we get in before the quarter turns, we double our margin. Maybe more.”

“No, you’re willing to take it. I’m not sure I am. I just don’t know if I want to walk through it. Yet” Henry said.

Isaac stared at him like he’d spoken Greek. “You’re joking.”

Henry exhaled through his nose. He wasn’t joking. He felt splintered, like one part of him was already seeing the possibilities in chasing wealth and autonomy, while another part remained here, rooted to the earth, to the garden path, to the tinkling—and tragically rare—sound of Anna’s laughter.

Isaac studied him. “Is this about Darrell?”

Henry didn’t answer.

“Because yes, the man’s a bastard, but he’s effective. He delivers. And his name gets us into rooms we’d never enter alone.”

“That’s part of the problem.”

Isaac shook with desperation. “You’re being cautious to the point of sabotage.”

“No,” Henry said, voice quiet but firm. “I’m being strategic.”

Isaac’s face flushed. “Well, I can’t afford to wait. You know that.”

“I know,” Henry said, and meant it. Isaac’s desperation wasn’t hidden, not from him. That was part of the reason Henry hadn’t walked away completely.

“Look,” Isaac said, the calculative look in his eyes was replaced with fear. “This is the door, Your Grace. The kind that doesn’t open again. Maybe for you it will, but not me. I need you for this. Please. ”

Henry didn’t answer. His eyes had strayed once more, just for a second to where Anna now bent to inspect a bloom, her gloved fingers brushing the stem.

The sun caught her face in profile. She was not close enough to speak to, but close enough that he could see the sun moving through the lighter strands of her hair.

She wasn't looking at him at all but he felt a tug towards her.

Isaac tried to follow his gaze, then frowned. “Is something else going on?”

Henry blinked, dragging his attention back. “Nothing that concerns the business.”

That was a lie, or something like one. But Isaac didn’t press.

Instead, he said, “You’re the clearest head I know. Just… don’t let ghosts talk you out of something real.”

Henry gave a short nod, but said nothing.

He was thinking of risk, of cost, of the weight of choices. Of what mattered, and what would last. And in the middle of it all, Anna.

She still stood in profile, her head tilted slightly, listening to someone speak. Her posture was too still. Her smile, that soft, unguarded one she gave to Sophia, was gone. And the man beside her, his hand resting too familiarly on the edge of the bench…

Matthew.

Henry’s stomach twisted, sharp and sudden.

The cousin he hadn’t seen in nearly a year, now lounging beside Anna like he belonged there.

He couldn’t hear what was being said, but he didn’t need to. He could see it in the set of Anna’s shoulders. The tightness in her hands. Her eyes flicked away mid-sentence, and though she wore the expression of someone attempting civility, Henry saw the strain underneath.

She looked like she wanted to leave. Like she didn’t know how.

And Matthew, damn him, had that same snake-oil smile he wore when he’d talked their uncle into selling land too cheap five years ago. Henry had learned to read that dead smile. It was a charm layered over conquest.

But the pulse at the base of his throat beat faster.

Because Anna had just looked up.

Not at him, not yet, but her eyes were searching the lawn, as though some part of her hoped to be interrupted. Rescued. And for a brief, raw second, he wanted to be that.

He didn’t move. Isaac was still muttering something about Henry being distracted.

She didn’t belong beside Matthew. Not like that. Not as some pawn in one of his calculated alliances. She deserved more than whatever he offered.

She deserved someone who saw her.

Henry dragged his gaze away and forced his voice even. “I’ll consider it. But I’m not giving you an answer today.”

The sun was warm on her shoulders, filtered through the soft lace of her parasol, but Anna barely felt it. Plates of berries and slices of cake circled between hands, and conversation buzzed around Anna like bees to jam.

Anna sat cross-legged on a soft tartan blanket by the rose hedges, biting into a sugared strawberry and trying not to stare at Henry.

She was laughing—at least, she thought she was. Natalie had said something about Nathaniel’s dreadful poetry recital that morning, and everyone had burst into giggles. But Anna’s laugh was distracted, a beat too late.

She felt it again. That gaze. Her skin prickled, though there was no breeze. She didn’t have to look to know it was Henry.

She kept her eyes on Julia, who was now impersonating a fussy matron with dramatic flair, waving her teacup like a battle flag. Gretchen rolled her eyes fondly and muttered something about “devolving,” and even Sophia chuckled.

But Anna’s mind wandered. Her heart wouldn’t behave.

“Do you think we’ve lost her?” Julia asked, teasingly nudging Anna’s arm.

Anna blinked. “What?”

“Gone off into one of your daydreams,” Natalie chimed in, grinning. “If a poet wrote you a sonnet right now, I swear you wouldn’t hear it.”

Anna forced a smile. “I’m sorry. I was… thinking.”

“Of Lord Vaun?” Julia asked, waggling her brows. “He’s looking particularly eligible today.”

Anna opened her mouth, closed it. “No. I…”

She felt the gaze again. Daring herself, she glanced across the lawn.

There he was-Standing with Isaac, politely nodding to her cousin whose gesturing hands and persistent tone suggested yet another attempt to corner him on business.

His hair was tousled by the wind, the sun glinting off his cufflink.

But Henry wasn’t listening. Not really. His eyes were on her. A heat climbed up her neck. Oh no.

She reached for her lemonade, pretending to be terribly interested in its contents. If anyone noticed, they didn’t say.

But Anna felt it, the tension blooming in her chest, the echo of his voice in her memory. She turned, fast, willing the heat in her cheeks to cool. Matthew would not approve. Not that she cared.

She glanced across the lawn. Matthew was a few feet away, under the trees with Lord Templeton, perfectly at ease, perfectly unbothered.

Anna’s stomach twisted. For all his arrogance, Matthew was her only serious suitor.

Her only proper chance at security. This was her season.

She didn’t have time to entertain... this , whatever this was.

“Did you see Mrs. Bradleigh’s new fashion bonnet?” Julia said suddenly, her tone scandalized. “It looked like a cornered peacock.”