Page 97 of Corrupting his Duchess

Henry pressed a hand over his mouth, then dragged it slowly down his face.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, staring at the scorched hearth and the shattered glass at its base. The brandy still clung to the stone.

Eventually, he moved slowly, retrieving his coat from the stand, fastening each button with mechanical precision. The anger had drained, but it left something heavier in its place.

By the time his valet returned to announce the carriage, Henry was once again immaculate. The man said nothing about the faint scent of scorched liquor or the tension in his master’s jaw. Only handed him his gloves and stepped aside.

Henry didn’t speak. He walked down the stairs, out into the fog, and into the waiting carriage without hesitation.

The ride was short, just ten minutes from his townhouse, but it stretched long inside his head. Every clipped hoofbeat on the street seemed to echo his own thoughts.

She’ll be there. Or she won’t.

She’ll look at you. Or she won’t.

She’ll be spoken for.

Or she won’t.

He gripped the edge of his glove tighter.

He hadn’t meant to let it get this far. Hadn’t meant to feel it. But he did. He missed her. Desperately.

He missed her like a rhythm thrown off-beat.

He had been bracing himself for this all week, ever since the morning paper casually mentioned that Lady Anna had returned to Town, and had been seen in the company of Lord Vaun.

That had landed like a punch he hadn’t prepared for.

Henry closed his eyes.Let her be happy, he told himself.Even if it’s not with you.

But beneath it, the selfish part of him…the part he hated…whispered,Let her look at you one more time the way she used to.

The carriage turned the final corner. Lights from the Vexley townhouse glittered in the fog.

Henry exhaled once, quietly.

Then he stepped out into the night.

The ballroom at Lady Vexley’s townhouse glittered like something out of a fable, mirrors everywhere, chandeliers dripping in candlelight, making the room feel like it glittered even when no one moved. Unseen strings played something delicate but insistent.

He handed off his gloves and coat, murmured something to the butler he didn’t remember, and made his way up the stairs.

Lady Vexley met him halfway through the crowd.

“Yeats!” she said, fanning herself. “Good heavens, I was beginning to think we’d lost you to the country.”

“Just delayed,” Henry replied smoothly. “Nothing exciting.”

“Pity,” she said, eyes twinkling. “The gossip’s better when you’re in it.”

He gave her a brief smile and moved on, avoiding the dancers without weaving. His height and build helped. So did the way people stepped aside for him, even when pretending not to notice.

Voices rose and fell around him, laughter punctuating the flow of conversation like cymbals. Perfume and sweat hung together in the warm, crowded air.

Henry stood just inside the threshold, jaw set, scanning the room with precision.

He wouldn't look for her.