Page 55 of Corrupting his Duchess

She remembered those hands, how they’d slid around her waist, how they’d gripped her hips through the layers of her gown like he wanted to tear them away. How his touch had burned through the fabric, lingering at the small of her back.

It was dizzying, being this close again, her arm resting lightly against his, the scent of him stirring something low and insistent inside her. She wondered if he felt it too, that tension just beneath the surface of her skin.

She dared glance up.

His eyes were on hers, they were dark, unblinking, and full of heat. It was the kind of look that undressed her without laying a finger on her, deliberate and slow, like he was stripping her bare in his mind, savoring every imagined inch.

She felt it everywhere. The brush of heat across her chest, the tightening low in her belly, the way her breath caught without permission. His gaze dragged over her like a possession not yet claimed but already promised.

He looked at her as though she was the only thing in the room worth looking at. As though the rest of the room had been dismissed.

“Do you often dance, Your Grace?” she asked.

“I don’t often find it worth the effort.”

“And tonight?” she asked.

His gaze didn’t shift. “Tonight is different.”

“Then why?”

A pause. Just long enough to be felt.

“Because you’re here.”

She looked down briefly, but not long enough to break the rhythm.

“Was that a compliment, Your Grace?” she murmured.

“Only if you require one.”

She lifted a brow. “I don’t.”

He smiled then, just slightly. “I didn’t think so.”

Around them, the drawing room moved on, guests watching without watching. Conversations dulled to murmurs. Julia whispered something to Lady Gretchen, who didn’t answer right away. Lord Barrow narrowed his eyes, then looked away with a huff into his wine.

But Henry didn’t notice. Neither did Anna.

“You’re staring,” she said quietly, eyes still on his collar, not his face.

“Yes.”

“Aren’t you concerned someone might notice?”

“They already have.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

He leaned in a fraction, just enough for her to hear him without the rest of the room catching it. “What would be the point of pretending I don’t want to?”

She looked up, meeting his eyes.

Her steps faltered, just slightly, but he adjusted without missing a beat.

“I think,” she said slowly, “you might be dangerous.”

“To whom?” he asked.