Page 54 of Corrupting his Duchess
“Lady Anna.”
Her eyes lifted, and there he was.
“Your Grace,” she replied, offering the faintest curtsy.
“You look…” He hesitated, choosing his words with more care than usual. “Exceptionally well this evening.”
She arched a brow, amused. “Was I unexceptional before?”
He allowed a small smile. “You were exceptional then, too. But I may not have said it aloud.”
“That sounds like something of an oversight.”
“Unintentional,” he said. “Though I am attempting to rectify it.”
A pause settled between them, warm and taut.
She glanced toward the pianoforte, where Sophia was now arranging her sheet music. “Lady Sophia plays beautifully,” she murmured. “She always seems so certain at the keys.”
Henry nodded. “She’s very precise. A trait that seems to run in the family.”
Anna tilted her head. “Is that what they call it, precision?”
He looked at her closely. “What would you call it?”
She gave a soft laugh. “Guarded, perhaps. Measured. Careful.”
“And you dislike being careful?”
“I think taking care can be admirable,” she said. “But it can also mean fear.”
Her words hung there, delicate but firm. She didn’t flinch.
Neither did he.
“May I ask you to dance?” he said then, quietly. “Before I think too hard and forget how.”
She wasn’t sure what startled her more, that he had asked, or that she had wanted him to.
Henry stood before her, tall and composed, one gloved hand extended in silent invitation.
His gaze held hers. Not commanding. Not pleading. Just… waiting.
Anna’s eyes searched his for a moment. She gave a small, graceful nod.
“You may.”
Anna had hesitated for only a second but just long enough to register the attention their exchange was drawing. Several heads turned, Lady Gretchen watching discreetly, Julia grinning outright, and Isaac… watching with a calculative gleam in his eyes.
He bowed, she curtsied, and then his hand was at her back, light through the fabric, barely touching. But enough to send shivers down her spine..
The first few bars of the waltz carried them into motion.
They weren’t alone on the floor, several other couples had joined them, gliding through the candlelit room in elegant turns. Silk rustled, shoes brushed polished wood, and the pianoforte filled the space with warmth. But Anna barely registered the others. And Henry, it seemed, didn’t either.
Anna followed his lead easily, her hand resting lightly in his. His grip was secure but not too tight, as if he knew precisely how much pressure to apply.
He led with practiced ease, but not the showy sort. His movements were precise, steady, purposeful. She felt guided. Held. And touched—in a way that made her pulse quicken. His palm was warm against hers, steady, familiar.
