Page 45 of Corrupting his Duchess

She tilted her head. “And now?”

He looked away, toward the sunlit slope where Julia’s laughter still echoed. “Now I find myself wondering what you’d do if I did.”

She didn’t answer at first. Instead, she leaned back on her elbows, her gaze fixed on the drifting clouds. “Depends. If it were a real drawbridge, I’d probably walk across and loot the place.”

He chuckled. “I suppose I deserve that.”

A gust of wind lifted a strand of her hair, and without thinking, Henry reached to tuck it behind her ear. His fingers brushed her cheek, and she stiffened, not out of fear, but something far more dangerous. She turned toward him slowly.

“I should say something witty now,” she murmured, “but I can’t think of anything.”

“You don't have to.” His voice had grown husky, the words softer than before.

She studied him, her eyes full of questions. “You confuse me,” she said. “One moment, you’re a stone wall. The next, I see something behind it.”

His gaze didn’t flinch this time. “Maybe I’ve grown tired of pretending nothing touches me.”

Her voice softened. “Then stop pretending.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “It’s not that simple.”

“Few things worth doing are.”

He gave a quiet huff, almost a laugh but too dry to carry. His eyes dropped to the lawn, distant. “I’ve learned the cost of saying too much. Some doors, once opened, don’t close again.”

Anna’s brow furrowed, but she didn’t press.

Then, almost like an afterthought, he added, “I had a trusted friend once. Trusted him with something important. He used it against me.”

She stilled.

He looked up, and met her gaze. “So no, it’s not simple. But I’m not unaware of what’s in front of me.”

A beat passed. His shoulders squared, not in defiance, but in decision. “I’ve spent years fortifying myself. It’s how I survived. But lately…” He exhaled, steady now. “Lately, I’ve wondered if strength might look a little different than silence.”

She didn’t speak, only watched him. Something had shifted. He saw it in her eyes, the flicker of belief.

They sat in silence, the warmth between them turning heavy. Then she looked away, smiled faintly, and stood. “I should check on the ladies before they imagine me a tragic heroine.”

He stood as well.

“Lady Anna,” he said, his voice quieter now but sure.

She paused.

“If I choose to lower the drawbridge,” he said, holding her gaze, “I won’t hesitate about who should cross it.”

She blinked once, caught off guard. Then nodded, slow and certain.

Then she turned, walking slowly toward the shade, her fingers brushing her skirts like she needed the contact to stay grounded.

He exhaled, long and slow.

As the sun hovered at its peak, casting long golden streaks across the grass, Henry watched her rise from the bench several feet away. She dusted the dirt from her skirts and began to stroll past the garden path, bonnet dangling from one hand.

His attention snapped away as footsteps approached briskly, a footman approached with measured steps, lowering his gaze respectfully.

“Your Grace, Lord Stenton requests the honor of a word when it is convenient.”