Page 6 of Corrupting his Duchess
“Or lower them,” she replied crisply.
Anna raised a brow in quiet amusement. Nathaniel’s grin widened, but his eyes lingered on Gretchen with something between curiosity and caution.
“I was told this house party would be lively,” he said, “but I wasn’t prepared for someone to draw steel upon my arrival.”
“Consider it a polite warning,” Gretchen said smoothly. “Not all ladies are content to be charmed, Your Grace.”
“Ah,” he murmured, placing a hand to his chest. “A challenge. How refreshing.”
“An example,” she corrected.
The house had quieted. Footsteps had faded upstairs, murmurs trailing into the hush as the guests retired to their rooms to prepare for dinner. Even the drawing room, moments ago bustling with laughter and silk swishing, now sat empty, save for the glow of the fire.
Anna lingered.
Now, Anna stepped back down the side stairs, quiet as breath. Her boots barely touched the stone. The corridor beyond the main hall stretched wide and empty, its tall windows catching the last spill of golden daylight.
She didn’t go far—just to the tall west-facing window at the end of the corridor, where the sun painted the walls in amber and slate. A long velvet curtain stirred gently in the breeze from an unseen draught.
She stood still and breathed it in. Lavender and woodsmoke. The faintest trace of dust.
“Tell me, Lady Anna… do you make a habit of insulting your hosts behind their backs, or am I merely fortunate?”
She turned, heart jumping. So he had heard.
The Duke of Yeats stood a few paces behind her, arms crossed over his chest, eyes unreadable.
Anna composed her expression quickly. “I wasn’t aware you were listening.”
“I’m not often afforded the luxury of being unseen,” he said coolly. “But it seems you’re used to speaking as though your audience doesn’t matter.”
She straightened a little. “If I’d meant to offend, Your Grace, I’d have done so directly.”
“No,” he said. “You’d have done it cleverly. With a smile. Just enough bite to pass for charm.”
Anna let out a soft breath. “So the offense isn’t what I said—just that I didn’t say it sweetly enough?”
“You deliver them as if you expect them to be heeded.” He took a step closer, eyes narrowed. “You speak to me as if I were a footman who’s misplaced your gloves.”
Anna gave a short laugh, too sharp to be polite. “And how would Your Grace prefer I speak? With reverent awe? Shall I curtsy more deeply next time I insult the drapes?”
He didn’t smile. “You’ve been here less than a day, and already you’ve evaluated my estate, my household, my temper?—”
“And you’ve confirmed every suspicion I had,” she cut in.
There. The edge. She hadn’t meant to let it show, but his tone—so clipped, so calculating—had gotten under her skin.
The pause stretched out between them. Something taut and brittle.
Henry’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes cooled.
“You enjoy conflict, Lady Anna,” he said, voice quieter now. “You provoke it like a child prodding a caged animal. Careful you don’t get bitten.”
Anna’s pulse flickered. “Are you always this gracious to your guests, or am I just special?”
He stared at her for a beat longer. His gaze didn’t flinch. Then his mouth twisted.
“You’re not special,” he said. “Just obvious.”
