Page 50 of Corrupting his Duchess
Henry folded the letter he dropped on the desk and set it aside. “It’s still early. Most men haven’t even had their tea yet.”
Isaac didn’t take the hint. He moved closer. “It’s a strong proposal, Your Grace. With Lord Fenwick showing interest, we could establish a firm foothold before anyone else even notices.”
Henry met his gaze. “You mentioned that yesterday. Repeatedly.”
Isaac hesitated. “And today, I hoped you might be more inclined to listen.”
Henry exhaled slowly, irritation prickling, but beneath it, something else stirred. He thought of Anna, the way she’d spoken of her family, her responsibilities, the quiet pride in her voice when she talked about holding things together. He thought of her future, how limited it must feel under her cousin’s thumb.
“Your Grace,” Isaac began, noticing Henry's hesitation, “As I said, I worked hard to find out our upper hand, apart from your influence Your Grace, I’ve gleaned some further information since yesterday, and I thought it best to share it directly. Lord Fenwick, well, you know his reputation, he’s expressed serious interest. Momentum is picking up, truly. He said as much himself at White’s. Mentioned the potential for expansion north before winter if we act quickly. He's expectant to join us instead.”
He gave a little chuckle, as though they were already partners. “And I’ve spoken to Hargrave’s man, briefly, of course. They’re sniffing around the same contracts, but they don’t have the flexibility we do. They’ve got investors to answer to, shareholders... you know how that ties hands.”
Henry leaned back slightly in his chair, expression unreadable. “And yet they’ve held a part of those northern routes for nearly a decade. That sort of longevity doesn't suggest poor management. It suggests stability.”
Isaac blinked, caught off guard. “Well, yes, I suppose. But that sort of caution only works until someone hungrier comes along. We can be quicker, leaner. Less... encumbered by committee.”
He gave a grin meant to be charming, but it came off a touch too eager. “Besides, no one’s looking to turn this into a dynasty overnight. Just enough gain to make the risk worth taking.”
Isaac adjusted his waistcoat with a flick, trying to look composed. “Now, if we secure the northern routes before they do, we’ll be in position to cut them off entirely by next quarter. Fenwick agrees. Said it could be a matter of weeks before word spreads.”
Henry raised an eyebrow. “Did he? Curious. I spoke with Fenwick last week. He didn’t seem nearly so excitable.”
Isaac blinked but recovered quickly. “Well, perhaps he’s come around. Timing changes everything, doesn’t it?”
He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice as though imparting a great secret. “This is the kind of opportunity that doesn’t come twice. And with your name behind it, the rest of the board will fall into place easily. I dare say it could be the most lucrative move either of us has made.”
Isaac’s voice droned on, blustering about routes, northern expansion, and Lord Fenwick's supposed enthusiasm, as he gestured with far too much confidence for a man who understood so little. Henry barely listened to the specifics; he’d heard enough and read enough reports to know the bones of the proposal.
And despite Isaac’s overreach, his smugness, his painfully obvious need to impress, the venture itself… wasn’t entirely without merit.
Henry’s gaze drifted to the window, to the sun-dappled gardens beyond. Memories of the day before filtered into his mind. He pictured Anna there, chin lifted, eyes defiant, every inch of her trying to hold herself together while the weight of her family rested on her shoulders. She hadn’t asked him for anything, and that made it all the harder to ignore the impulse.
If the venture succeeded, it would turn a profit, real profit. Enough, perhaps, to give her some breathing room. To give her choices.
And yet, the very thought made his chest tighten.
He hadn’t agreed to anything, not yet. But even considering a deal for someone else’s benefit stirred something uncomfortably familiar…vulnerability. The kind he’d spent years locking behind cold calculation. It wasn’t business anymore. It was personal.
That, he knew, was dangerous.
“So, shall we draft terms?” Isaac asked brightly, clearly mistaking Henry’s silence for agreement.
Henry’s jaw tensed. A pause.
“I haven’t dismissed it,” he said at last, his tone clipped. “I’ll speak with Lord Fenwick before I give you my answer.”
Isaac blinked. The smile faltered for half a second before returning, weaker than before. “Of course. Yes, naturally.”
Henry didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to.
Lord Fenwick was no fool. A marquess with holdings in three counties and a reputation for caution over flash, he didn’t lend his name to anything without precise calculations and ironclad terms. If there was rot beneath the proposal, Fenwick would sniff it out before a drop of ink touched the page.
That was precisely why Henry trusted him.
Unlike Isaac, who had a talent for speaking in circles and dressing guesswork as strategy, Fenwick dealt in facts. Numbers. Stability. And in a matter like this, Henry needed exactly that. Something real. Something safe.
Because the moment his reasons stopped being about profit and started becoming about Anna, her comfort, her future, that was when things became dangerous.
