Page 79 of Corrupting his Duchess

“I didn’t defend you to make a statement,” he added. “I did it because I cannot abide the way he speaks to you. Or about you. And if that puts me in someone’s debt, so be it.”

She swallowed, then nodded once. “Thank you.”

Henry’s tone gentled. “You don’t have to thank me for doing what’s right.”

“It mattered to me,” she said, “So… thank you.”

Henry inclined his head slightly, not dismissing her thanks, but receiving it in full.

“I meant it,” he said. “Every word.”

She nodded once, almost to herself.

“It was never just about Isaac,” she said.

Henry turned slightly, his expression open.

She went on. “Even before he returned, I knew what I was meant to do. I’ve spent years holding things together, quietly, without much remark. For my mother. For Heather. For the tenants who needed someone to notice when the winter coal was late or the roof beams sagged.”

Henry didn’t interrupt. He only listened.

“And now,” she continued, “marriage is part of that duty too. Not because Isaac pushes. But because… it might be the last way I can protect them.”

“You’re speaking of Heather?” he asked gently.

She nodded. “He has plans for her. As though she’s livestock to be bargained. And my mother, she’s still grieving. If I could settle things, secure things, by making a match, I might do it.”

Henry’s brows knit slightly, but he waited.

“But not like this,” she said, quieter now. “Not because someone like Isaac thinks I’ve caught a duke. Not because I’m being… managed.”

Henry’s voice was low like a caress, “And if there were no pressure?”

Anna met his gaze, and for one breathless second, it felt like being kissed without his lips touching hers. “Then I’d want to choose. For myself. Freely.”

“I don’t speak of this often,” she said after a moment.

“I’m honored you would trust me with it.”

They walked a few paces more. Anna’s fingers brushed the edge of a rose bloom as they passed.

She glanced sideways. “You still make that face at Isaac when he talks too long?”

He gave her a sidelong smile. “On principle.”

She laughed quietly and he looked at her like it was the most natural sound in the world.

The garden path curved gently beneath their steps, bordered by low hedges and late-blooming roses.

“You must be weary of all this,” he said gently, “the endless farewells.”

She looked over, amused. “Is that your way of asking if I’ll miss you, Your Grace?”

His eyes glinted, but his voice remained soft. “I was hoping you’d tell me without needing to be asked.”

“I shall miss Yeats,” she said after a pause. “I shall miss you, that is, I have not known quite what to make of you, Your Grace. But I will miss you.”

He stepped just slightly closer, just enough to shield her from the sun that peeked through the trellis. She felt it, that subtle change in the air, the warmth of his nearness more tangible than touch. Her chest tightened within her, a kind of ache that settled between her ribs and all she wanted was for him to touch her. She stepped closer.