Page 65 of Corrupting his Duchess
“And your future biographers,” Julia said solemnly. “The world must know the tale of Anna Hessey and the Duke she kicked in the heart.”
Anna covered her face with her hands, still laughing. “Heavens.”
“If nothing else,” Julia said, rising with a grin, “you have the best gossip of the evening. And that, my dear, is worth its weight in diamonds.”
Gretchen rose next and smoothed Anna’s hair gently, like a sister might. “Get some rest. Don’t think beyond tonight.”
The corridor was silent, save for the soft creak of floorboards beneath his boots. Henry’s jaw was clenched tight, his breath short with restrained irritation as he stopped outside her door.
She hadn’t come.
He had waited in the garden, like a damned lovesick boy. The garden had smelled of wet soil and dying roses, the chill of the night had long since sunk through his coat, and still, he had lingered, half-expecting to hear her step around the hedge or her voice in the dark.
He’d paced the gravel path like a man waiting for a verdict. First patient. Then uncertain. Then angry at himself for hoping. But still, he’d waited, because a part of him, foolish or not, believed she would come.
But nothing.
And now here he stood, his raised hand curling into a fist before he knocked once. Firm. Too firm, perhaps. He didn’t care.
After a pause, the door creaked open.
Anna stood there, the lamplight behind her softening the edges of her profile. Her wrap loose over her shoulders and clutched at the collar. Her face was pale but not startled. Not quite guilty either. Just... guarded.
She looked as though she hadn’t slept, hair slightly looser than usual. There was a steel to her spine, but a tremble at her fingertips. Henry noticed both and in a way, that twisted something inside him.
“Your Grace,” she said, her lashes sweeping down to brush her cheeks.
“Don’t do that,” he said, stepping inside before she could close the door.
“Don't do what?”
“Don’t pretend we are strangers.”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“And yet,” he said, closing the door behind him with a soft click, “here I am.”
She turned from him, walking deeper into the room. “You shouldn’t have come.”
She turned from him, arms folding across her chest as she crossed the room. “This is highly improper.”
“So was asking you to meet me in the garden.”
“You’ve had your answer,” she said without turning.
“I’d like to hear it from you. You said nothing in the drawing room. Not a glance. Then you didn’t appear. I think I deserve to know why.”
Anna was still for a moment, then turned slowly. Her voice was careful, flat, almost. “I didn’t come because I was told I ought to. That I must.”
His brows drew together. “Who told you?”
She hesitated.
“Anna,” he said quietly, “if something is wrong…”
Anna turned slowly. Her voice was calm but taut. “I was told to make use of you.”
He blinked.
