Page 66 of Corrupting his Duchess
“I beg your pardon?”
She looked away, mouth parting, then closing again. Her fingers twisted in the edge of her sleeve. “It’s complicated,” she began.
Then she shook her head fiercely. “It was my cousin,” she said tightly. “Lord Stenton. He told me I ought to encourage you. That it would secure everything. The estate. My sister’s future. His own schemes.”
His jaw ticked. “And what did you tell him?”
“That I am not for sale,” she snapped.
Silence stretched between them.
Henry’s expression eased slightly. “That’s why you didn’t come.”
She nodded. “I didn’t want to come to you… only to find I no longer knew whether I was acting of my own will.”
She could have lied.
She could have come to him smiling, pretended nothing had shifted, played the part Isaac wanted and he might never have known the difference. Most would have. Many had.
But she didn’t.
She told him the truth, even when it cost her something. Even when it made her look guarded, uncertain, proud. She’d walkedaway from an opportunity most would have clung to. Not because she didn’t want him, but because she didn’t want to lose herself.
And that, more than any flattery or vow, made him trust her.
She hadn’t played a role. She hadn’t charmed him to gain favor.
She had pulled away to protect her dignity and in doing so, proved she had more honor than anyone currently whispering her name in drawing rooms.
He trusted her. He didn’t say it aloud. Not yet. But it settled in his chest like something earned.
And he would not forget it.
Henry studied her a moment. Then, slowly, “Thank you.”
She frowned. “For what?”
“For telling me.” He took a step forward. “For not pretending.”
She hesitated. “You deserve the truth.”
“I’m not used to it,” he said wryly. “Especially not when it’s inconvenient.”
A flicker of something softened in her eyes. “It was never about you.”
“I know,” he said. “But it becomes about me when it hurts you.”
He didn’t know whether to be maddened by her sense of honor or fall at her feet for it. She’d chosen solitude over compromise. Chosen principle over promise. Damn it, she’d pulled away from him with more honesty than most people approached him with at all.
His eyes searched her face, and then, softer, “You’re braver than most men I know.”
“I didn’t feel brave,” she murmured.
“I don’t care how you felt. You were.”
Her lips parted, but the words failed her.
He stepped forward again. “I won’t ask if you regret pulling away. I only care that you told me why.”
