Page 4 of Corrupting his Duchess
He nodded once. “Then I hope mine keeps its mouth shut.”
She gave a soft huff of amusement but didn’t answer.
As he passed her, her gaze drifted upward again, to the arching ceiling and cold stone. “Rather cold for a house that seems to welcome.”
She hadn’t meant to speak aloud. At least, not fully. But the words were out.
To her horror, he stopped.
Then—“We don’t tend to heat rooms no one uses.”
She turned to find him watching her, his frown had deepened.
“Didn’t mean for you to hear that.”
He raised a brow. “No?”
“Not quite,” she allowed.
There was a pause. His gaze flicked back toward the drawing room.
“You’ll find the fire warmer in there,” he said finally. “The company too, if you can bear it.”
“And if I can’t?” she asked before she could stop herself.
His jaw tightened. “Then you’ll be colder.”
There was no smile. No tilt of his head. Only that steady, furrowed look.
Without another word, he turned and disappeared down the adjacent corridor, boots echoing against the stone floor.
Anna remained where she stood, the chill of the stone floor creeping through the soles of her boots.
She wasn’t sure what had just passed between them, but it wasn’t nothing.
Later in the day, as the sun began to dip just enough to stretch golden light across the estate’s windows, the first guest arrived.
Anna stood near the tall window in the morning room, watching the breeze toy with the long drapes as a coach rolled to a halt outside. She didn’t have to wait for the butler to announce the name; only one person she knew could arrive so precisely on time.
“Gretchen,” Anna murmured with a smile, already moving toward the door.
Moments later, Lady Gretchen Houston stepped inside. She entered as if gliding on polished air, composed, cool, and so thoroughly proper that Anna felt herself stand just a bit straighter.
“I should have known you’d be first,” Anna said with a soft grin as Gretchen approached.
“Being first spares one the awkwardness of entrances,” Gretchen replied. “And affords time to assess the room.”
She wore a gown of soft lavender silk with a high neckline trimmed in pearl, her dark hair twisted into a perfect chignon beneath a bonnet of dove grey. There wasn’t a wrinkle in her gloves nor a single strand out of place; only the faintest flush on her cheeks betrayed that she’d traveled more than a dozen miles.
“Your bonnet is tilted,” Gretchen murmured, just loud enough.
Anna didn’t blink. “It’s a strategic angle. Disorients the judgmental.”
Gretchen laughed. “Still fighting Lady Penfield?”
“She’ll die angry that I never curtsied deep enough.” Anna scoffed and they both laughed.
Gretchen pursed her lips, concern creasing her face, “You surely are thinner than when I saw you last. Is your cousin wearing you to the bone already?”
