Page 10 of Corrupting his Duchess
And yet…The way she’d held his gaze after that final remark. The way her voice had dipped with mock sweetness. The slight tilt of her head, like she was daring him to respond.
No woman had ever made him feel as though he were being studied, as though she were evaluating him rather than the other way around. She’d rattled him. Just a little but it made a mark.
Enough that, after everyone had gone to bed, he’d remained by the fire a full hour longer than necessary, one hand still on the single glass he was nursing.
Now, standing alone in the quiet morning, he tapped a finger against the windowsill.
He wasn’t the type to chase. He’d never needed to be.
But Lady Anna Hessey wasn’t the type to come willingly.
He downed the remaining content of his morning cup and set the empty cup aside, pulled on his gloves, and reached for his coat. His valet offered to fetch his walking cane, but he waved the man off.
This wasn’t a stroll for the sake of propriety. Or routine. This was something else.
He descended the stairs with quiet, purposeful steps, his mind already composing the invitation before he even saw her.
He felt her before he saw her.
Not her voice, she wasn’t speaking, but the unmistakable rustle of skirts, the soft rhythm of footsteps across stone. She was coming from the breakfast room, the hallway light slanting in behind her like a spotlight. She walked without hesitation, head held high, entirely unaware of his existence at the corner.
Henry watched her approach with something uncomfortably close to anticipation.
She wasn’t alone—Sophia, Gretchen and Julia flanked her, their conversation hushed and musical. Gretchen wore a blush-pink morning dress, Julia and Sophia in varying shades of lavender, their coiffures artfully arranged with jeweled pins that sparkled under the shifting light.
But it was Anna who drew his gaze.
She was not dressed to dazzle. A walking gown of deep blue, sensible boots, gloves already on. Practical. Her brown hair was swept into a modest chignon, no adornments save for the quiet gleam of a hairpin near her nape. And yet, her presence held a kind of gravity. While the others leaned toward one another, giggling softly, Anna walked with her spine straight, chin lifted, gaze unhurried and alert.
She wasn’t trying to be noticed. Which, of course, made it impossible not to notice her.
She’s not like them.
And that, it seemed, was precisely his problem.
He stepped forward, quiet but deliberate. The other ladies faltered politely, but Anna did not. She slowed and curtsied, brow lifting slightly in surprise.
“Lady Anna,” he said, offering a faint nod. “May I tempt you with a walk?”
Anna groaned inwardly, doing her best to school her expressions.
Anna walked just ahead of Sophia and Gretchen, the polite murmur of their conversation drifting behind her like the trailing end of a ribbon. She wasn’t trying to escape them, not exactly—just the inevitable descent into embroidery, cards, or whatever afternoon occupation awaited them. A quiet stroll alone had seemed like a worthwhile gamble.
Until she nearly collided with the Duke of Yeats.
Yet, there he was standing tall, without a care in the world and, evidently, in her way. He was dressed for the outdoors- a deep charcoal coat, leather gloves in hand and walking boots. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes, those ever-watchful green eyes, landed squarely on her.
She merely hoped to offer her greetings, step around him and make her escape to wherever offered better chances.
Then he stepped forward and asked in that low voice that did things she couldn't begin to analyze, “Lady Anna, may I tempt you with a walk?”
Anna blinked. “A walk.”
“Yes,” he said simply, as though he made a habit of inviting women for strolls after breakfast, which, she was quite certain, he did not.
Before she could respond, he inclined his head politely toward the ladies beside her. “Lady Gretchen. Lady Julia. Sophia.”
Julia gave a curtsy that bordered on irreverent. “Your Grace.”
