Page 7 of Corrupting his Duchess
The words hit sharper than they should have.
She drew in a breath, chest rising. “And you’re not nearly as unreadable as you pretend to be.”
That stopped him—just a flicker, a hesitation so brief she might have imagined it.
But then his jaw tightened. A muscle moved in his cheek.
“You mistake deflection for depth, Lady Anna.”
And with that, he turned and left, his footsteps silent against the stone.
Anna remained where she was, pulse still quick, her thoughts louder than the silence around her.
Her breath fogged the glass faintly as she stared out, unsure if she was more irritated with him—or herself.
By the time it was dinner and they had reached the third course, Anna’s patience had worn thinner than the soup. Her fingers toyed with the stem of her glass, half-listening to Isaac’s droning voice across the table.
“So much wasted opportunity in northern ports,” he was saying. “Too many investors chasing fashion instead of fundamentals.”
“Perhaps they find silks more palatable than shipping ledgers,” Anna murmured, mostly to herself.
She caught movement across the table.
The Duke was watching her.
“Some would argue,” he said, voice calm but firm, “that fashion is just another kind of currency.”
Their eyes held for a breath longer than was strictly proper. His gaze didn’t flicker.
He frowned as though measuring her, testing the shape of her thoughts.
“You speak like someone with knowledge of trade,” he said slowly. “Unusual.”
Anna tilted her head, just slightly, her voice low enough not to carry. “And you speak like a man unused to being challenged.”
The frown deepened.
She’d pegged him as distant. Exacting. Possibly allergic to laughter. And yet… he kept looking at her like he was waiting for her to do something unexpected.
The voice of Miss Clarissa Lonsdale drifted in from farther down the table.
“I think the Duke is quite right,” she said brightly. “There’s an elegance in commerce, after all. And it’s terribly impressive how well Your Grace understands such things.”
Her lashes fluttered. Her fan snapped open with a crisp flick.
A few of the other ladies nodded at once—some smiling with painted lips, some murmuring agreement with little understanding in their eyes. One dropped her spoon and blushed furiously when Henry glanced her way. Another rested her chin on her hand, gaze fixed on him as though he was a poem she didn’t quite understand but very much liked the look of.
Henry barely turned his head. “My understanding of trade is a matter of necessity, not elegance,” he said, voice dry.
Lucinda blinked once, then tittered politely, her smile wavering.
Anna watched the exchange, her expression unreadable. She didn’t flutter or smile or reach for her fan. Her hands remained perfectly still in her lap.
When Henry looked back at her, it wasn’t idle.
She said, almost idly, “It’s not so hard to understand trade. You only have to ask who profits—and who pays.”
Before he could reply, Isaac gave a short, breathy laugh.
