Page 69 of Corrupting his Duchess
She gasped as his fingers brushed her corset laces, the whisper of touch sending a shiver down her spine.
“You should go,” she breathed, though her hands clutched the lapels of his coat, not pushing him away but anchoring him closer.
“I should go,” he said, voice low and rough, “but I won’t.”
His mouth found the soft skin beneath her ear, warm breath ghosting over her neck as his lips grazed her pulse. She tilted her head before she realized what she was doing, baring herself to him.
“You drive me mad, Anna.”
He caught her mouth in his, slow at first, thorough, unhurried, until her lips parted under his and he deepened the kiss. His hands moved to her waist, drawing her flush against him. She felt the press of his desire, unhidden, unashamed, and it made her shiver.
Her fingers fumbled at his cravat, loosening it just enough to slip her hand beneath the collar. Skin to skin. He was warm, solid, and trembling slightly.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered as he kissed down the line of her jaw.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against her throat, his hands skimming the curve of her hip, then lower. “Say the word, and I will.”
But she didn’t.
Instead, she let her head fall back, fingers tangling in his hair as his lips traveled lower. His hand cupped her breast through the fabric of her gown, thumb brushing over the taut peak until she gasped.
“Henry…” Her voice was barely a whisper, caught between restraint and need.
He looked up at her then, eyes dark with hunger. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
She dragged him down and he met her, mouth firm and urgent.
When they broke apart, breathless, her hand tangled in the fabric of his cravat.
“You're right,” he said, brushing his mouth along the line of her jaw. “I should go.”
He touched her cheek, just once, and she leaned into it like a woman starved.
“You should get some rest,” he said quietly, dropping a kiss on her forehead.
Then he left.
CHAPTER 13
Henry had never liked tea taken in the morning room. The light came in at sharp angles, revealing too much, flaws in the plaster, tension in the eyes. This morning, it revealed Isaac. He'd rather spend his morning thinking about Anna and the way she whimpered beneath his touch.
The Earl of Stenton lounged beside the fireplace like he owned it, one leg crossed over the other, fingers draped around his teacup with all the languid grace of a man playing host. Henry, standing near the window, hands clasped behind his back, resisted the urge to tell him to get out of his chair, and out of the room.
Nathaniel, seated to Henry’s right, balanced civility and mockery with the ease of a man born to needle. His posture was uncharacteristically straight, his expression composed save for the faintest curl of his mouth. Henry had asked him to be here, insisted, in fact.
Isaac set his cup down with a soft clink. “Your Grace,” he said smoothly, directing the title toward Henry as if hoping to reset the balance, “I had thought we might speak privately this morning. There were particulars I’d intended to present, delicate matters, not quite suited for… humdrum ears.”
Nathaniel arched a brow. “How odd. I was told I had particularly fine ears.”
“Your Grace,” Isaac said, gesturing to Nathaniel with his cup, “I must admit, I didn’t anticipate your participation in this arrangement.”
“That was rather the point,” Henry said coolly, before Nathaniel could answer. “I’ve made it plain, I will not enter into any undertaking that does not include a partner I trust.”
Isaac’s smile didn’t falter, but the amusement in his eyes dimmed just a little. “Of course. Trust is paramount. Though I admit, I had hoped to avoid… duplication of roles.”
“On the contrary,” Nathaniel said lightly, swirling his tea, “I’ve found things move more efficiently when someone
Henry didn’t look away from the window. “Nathaniel is here at my invitation.”
