Page 9 of Corrupting his Duchess (A Duke’s Undoing #1)

“I thought it was a peacock,” Natalie murmured, half-buried in her copy of Persuasion. “Maybe it wandered in and got stuck.”

“I think it tried to escape,” Gretchen added, lifting her cup with a smirk. “And failed.”

The group burst into giggles.

Nathaniel, within hearing distance, walked over and took a seat beside Julia. “Ladies, what did that poor bird ever do to you?”

“Exist,” Gretchen said sweetly. “Intrusively and obnoxiously.” She fixed Nathaniel with a pointed glance.

Sophia stood up to greet one of the house guests, a sharp-faced woman in lavender muslin, and Anna scrambled up after her, murmuring that she’d be back soon. She needed a moment to herself.

The lawn sloped gently toward the hedges, and Anna wandered in their direction, gliding her fingers along the soft petals of the nearest blooms. The scent of crushed roses clung to the air, heavy and sweet, and for a moment she let herself disappear into the quiet rustle of leaves and the warmth of the sun on her skin. It filled her with peace.

The moment from her nearness with Henry still clung to her. The closeness. Henry’s gaze. That breathless pause between them, where everything felt suspended.

She pressed her hand to her middle, willing her heart to still. She couldn’t afford to linger in such foolishness.

“Admiring the flowers, Lady Anna?”

She turned quickly.

Matthew Grayson approached at a leisurely pace, his stride confident, his tone smooth as always. “Or were you hoping to disappear from the group altogether?”

“I was only walking,” she said evenly, folding her hands before her. “It’s quite peaceful here.”

“I don’t blame you,” he replied, stopping beside her. “Whatever was being discussed back there seemed needlessly frivolous. Some people forget how little time there is for real substance.”

She gave a polite smile, but didn’t respond.

Matthew gestured toward a nearby bench tucked beneath a climbing rose arch. “Shall we sit for a moment? I’ve something I wished to discuss with you.”

Reluctantly, Anna moved to sit. It would’ve been rude to refuse. And besides, this was exactly what she should be doing, allowing a respectable, titled man to make his intentions known.

She sat very still, her gloved hands folded tightly in her lap as he settled beside her. His voice slid around her like a practiced dance.

“… and of course, Lord Delaney was only too eager to secure my partnership. These ventures always need a guiding hand, someone with a touch of foresight. You understand, don’t you, Lady Anna?”

Anna nodded, polite but distant. “Of course.”

Matthew studied her, his tone warming slightly. “You’ve always had a fine sense of practicality. It’s one of the things I admire most about you.”

The compliment settled awkwardly between them.

“I believe in balance,” she said quietly. “Practicality and happiness don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”

“Perhaps. But not everyone has the chance to chase happiness.”

He continued to speak about some estate in Sussex he’d recently ridden through, waxing poetic about hedgerows and profit margins in the same breath.

She nodded politely, trying to seem attentive. But her attention kept slipping, her mind wandering in spite of itself.

She was too aware of how close he sat.

Too aware of the way his hand lingered, resting against the edge of the bench, just shy of brushing her skirt. It wasn’t improper, not exactly, but it felt intentional, just enough to remind her of his presence, just enough to make her pulse rise for all the wrong reasons.

She smiled when she was meant to, made a soft sound of interest when he mentioned his uncle’s summer holdings, but inside she was calculating how quickly she could excuse herself.

And then, she felt it. That pull.

She didn’t look up right away. She didn’t have to. Her skin had already prickled with the awareness of him. Henry was somewhere nearby. Watching.

It was ridiculous, really, that her body could react before her thoughts had caught up, that the memory of his eyes, his voice, the attention of this morning, could stir something low and unsteady inside her. But it was there.

And when she glanced up just for a moment, her eyes caught his across the lawn.

He stood beside Isaac, perfectly composed, hands in his pockets, that same cool elegance he wore like a second skin. But he wasn’t listening to her cousin.

He was watching her.

And not the way Matthew watched her, not with calculation, or polite appraisal, or smug anticipation.

Henry looked at her like she was a question he hadn’t yet found the answer to. And that terrified her because part of her wanted to give him one.

She turned back to Matthew too quickly. He didn’t seem to notice. He was still talking, still gesturing lightly with one hand but her heart was beating faster now, and not from anything Matthew had said.

“Lady Anna?” he prompted, and she realized she’d missed something.

“I…yes,” she said, forcing another smile. “Of course.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, but he let it go.

She kept her face neutral. Pleasant. Exactly what a young woman ought to be. But her thoughts were already unraveling.

Thank you for inviting me to listen to your plans,” she said abruptly “But I really should return. Sophia will think I’ve wandered off and joined a convent.”

Before he could protest, she dipped her head with practiced grace and turned back toward the others, her steps light but swift. She didn’t look over her shoulder, not at him.

When Anna returned to the group, the warm hush of the afternoon picnic stretched over the lawn like a silk sheet.

Bees drowsed in the blooms. Gentle laughter rippled from a small group lounging near the orchard, where blankets were spread in varying shades of pastel.

The servants had long since retreated to a discreet distance, and someone had produced a parasol for Gretchen, who sat composed and elegant beside a plate of strawberries.

Anna was half-listening to Natalie read aloud from The Castle of Otranto, her fingers idly twisting a blade of grass when Matthew sat opposite her, beside Sophia.

“Then, then I see it! A gigantic helmet,” Natalie read, and Julia groaned.

“Please,” she said, “no more haunted furniture. If a ghost doesn’t throw a ball or kiss a maid, I lose interest.”

“Julia,” Sophia scolded lightly, “you said the same about The Monk. You’re impossible.”

“I’m honest.”

“More like deranged,” muttered Gretchen, but she didn’t sound unkind. She passed Julia a sugared violet.

Henry’s voice floated in from nearby, a low, polite murmur, clearly aimed at Miss Clarissa Lonsdale, who had latched onto him with determined interest. Julia glanced over, just in time to see him dip his head in a courteous bow and extract himself from her orbit with the sort of polished ease that suggested long practice despite the glare she aimed at him.

“I daresay, if the duke glowers at the sun any harder, it may apologize. Still, he’s terribly good at brooding and being mysteriously late to breakfast."

Anna rolled her eyes, but too late.

He had rejoined the group, having successfully deflected Miss Lonsdale and was standing just behind Anna, looking down at the picnic spread like it was a chessboard and he wasn’t sure he wanted to play.

“Lady Anna,” Henry said smoothly, offering a slight bow. “Ladies.”

“Duke of Yeats,” Anna replied, proud that her voice didn’t catch.

He nodded at her, then looked to the others. “If we’re discussing hauntings,” Henry resumed, looking at the book in Natalie’s hands, “you’ll have to forgive me, I’m not sure gothic ghosts hold a candle to the stares some of you ladies deliver when displeased.”

Anna tilted her head without looking up. “You’ve never struck me as someone so easily unsettled, Your Grace.”

“No,” he said, stepping forward and sat with measured ease, “but I do admire self-preservation.”

“Oh?” She finally turned her face to him, a slight smile playing at her lips. “Is that what you were doing earlier, preserving yourself? When you fled Miss Lonsdale

He raised a brow. “That wasn’t flight. That was a tactical retreat.”

Anna tilted her head slightly, considering his words. “And yet, here you are, standing in the middle of a group of lively, animated individuals, probably desperate to break free of the tedium of it all.”

Henry’s smile widened. “And what if I were? You wouldn’t be so keen to see me escape, would you?”

Anna’s laughter was light, though it had an edge. “Oh, I wouldn’t say ‘keen’, Your Grace. Just not particularly disappointed.”

He only gave her a little assessing smile.

“Hmm.” She tilted her head. “And here I thought you were running from something.”

“Or someone?” Nathaniel added lazily, tossing a grape in the air and catching it with the ease of a man with no real problems.

Gretchen shot him a warning glance. “Don’t stir the pot, Your Grace.”

“Just trying to follow the plot, my lady.”

“There is no plot,” Anna said swiftly, cheeks coloring. “We’re simply talking.”

“Lively sort of talk,” Sophia said under her breath, failing to hide her smile.

Henry shifted a little closer, the angle of his body directed just slightly toward Anna now. “And here I thought I was being charming.”

“Oh, no,” Anna replied, finally glancing up at him. “That’s what Miss Lonsdale was for. You were perfectly charming a moment ago, didn’t you hear her giggle like a teapot?”

Nathaniel, reclined with his boots crossed, tossed a grape lazily into the air. “He gets that a lot. Girls love a man who looks like he’s hiding a tragic history and a gambling habit.”

“Neither of which apply,” Henry said dryly.

“You’re not tragic?” Anna asked, eyes narrowing with false innocence.

“Not in the least.”

“Pity.”

He laughed, genuinely, and Anna felt it thrum through her chest in a way she did not like. She turned slightly, pretending to brush a nonexistent crumb from her skirt.

It was Matthew who broke the quiet. “You seem to enjoy challenging one another.”

Anna glanced at Henry, the corner of her mouth lifted, “Only because His Grace insists on being…inscrutable.”

Henry’s lips twitched, though he said nothing. He simply watched her, his brow slightly furrowed but an amused gleam in his eyes. He was watching her now, studying her with that calculating look he often had when something intrigued him.

"Well, I suppose I’ll have to improve my emotional expression," Henry said, finally speaking up, the air of command he always carried even in moments of casual conversation. "Inscrutable, you say?" His voice was light but carried an undercurrent of something more.

Anna raised an eyebrow, her mouth curving into a half-smile. "Only in the most charitable sense, Your Grace"

"You wound me, Lady Anna," he said with exaggerated indignation. "And here I thought we were getting along splendidly."

Anna folded her hands in her lap, her tone still light but a little too pointed. “Well, if you’re collecting admirers, perhaps you ought not distract the rest of us in the process.”

There was a pause, just a breath too long.

Sophia blinked. Natalie glanced up from her book, curious.

Henry’s smile didn’t falter, but his gaze narrowed, intrigued.

Anna reached for her cordial, but her fingers slipped slightly—too quick. The glass wobbled in her hand. She steadied it, but not before Henry noticed.

Before she could answer, Gretchen sat up. “Enough of this gothic business. Let’s have a game.”

Nathaniel grinned. “Cards or scandal?”

“Is there a difference?” Julia asked sweetly, passing Anna a knowing look.

She leaned into Sophia, whispering far too loudly, “Is it just me, or do His Grace and Anna argue like a pair of fishwives?”

“No, they argue like a pair of courting birds.”

Anna choked on her lemonade.

The group fell into stunned silence before bursting out in muffled laughter except Anna, who was too mortified to breathe, and Henry, who tilted his head in what looked suspiciously like amusement.

“I… I don’t, That wasn’t,” Anna stammered.

Henry, ever composed, only said, “You have an unusual definition of arguing, Miss Julia.”

“But you’re always making those little remarks,” Julia protested, fanning herself. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking.”

“I wasn’t thinking it,” Natalie whispered helpfully.

Anna’s face burned.

Most of the party had drifted towards the edge of the meadows, watching the flight of a shuttlecock. A few chaperones remained within earshot, dozing under parasols. Anna stayed under a tree, twirling a flower in her hand.

She could feel him watching her. Not with amusement, not even with curiosity—but with focus. That unwavering, measured attention he always gave when something truly interested him. It made her feel caught.

“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” he murmured, walking closer to her.

“I’m thinking,” she said, glancing at the horizon.

“Dangerous habit.”

“Someone must.”

“Is it me you’re thinking about?” His voice dropped further, silken and coaxing.

She arched a brow. “I was considering whether you’d be more effective haunting a moor or a governess.”

“That depends,” he murmured, “is the governess you?”

Her breath caught. She hated that it did.