Page 104 of Corrupting his Duchess
Pain lanced through her wrist where he held it pinned.
She tasted blood.
Her own.
The panic came fast– faster than she could reason through. Her limbs flailed, not with grace but desperation. She got a knee up, pushed her hand between them–
“Get off– !”
He pulled back just long enough to hiss, “Stop fighting.”
And then–
“Get your hands off her.”
The voice snapped through the garden like a gunshot.
Everything stopped.
Matthew’s grip loosened.
Anna twisted, just in time to see Henry striding toward them from the path, murder in his eyes.
Henry hadn’t seen Anna in ten minutes since he stepped out.
And Matthew was gone, too.
He scanned the ballroom again– no flash of silver, no Anna. Just champagne, perfume, laughter, and none of what he needed. Trying not to seem obvious, he stepped near the entrance to the corridor and caught the attention of a footman adjusting a tray.
“Lady Anna,” he said quietly. “Did you happen to see where she went?”
The footman straightened. “She stepped out a few minutes ago, Your Grace.”
Henry paused. “Alone?”
The man hesitated. “With Lord Vaun, I believe.”
Henry’s pulse surged.
“Do you know where?”
“Yes, sir. Through the garden doors.” The footman hesitated. “I believe the veranda.”
Henry nodded once. “Thank you.”
He stepped through the open French doors into the crisp night air.
Empty.
Two other guests lingered near the far edge, but not Anna. Not Matthew.
He moved to the balustrade. Still nothing.
A sick tightness began winding through his chest.
Then he heard something.
Muffled. Sharp. A voice, it wasn't laughter. Not playful. A sound too strained to be casual.
