Page 78 of Corrupting his Duchess
Henry said nothing, though his hand hovered near hers, close, respectful, present.
“I kept the books. I soothed the tenants. I rationed coal. I stitched accounts back together with nothing but bluff and scraped coins,” she said. “And then Lord Stenton returned and declared it all his. As though I had merely been playing at stewardship.”
She gave a humorless laugh. “Now he looks at me as if I have finally proven useful. Because you noticed me. Because you defended me. As if all I did before counted for nothing.”
Henry halted.
She did not realize it until she took another step forward and sensed the absence of him beside her. She turned back.
His expression held quiet fury, carefully reined. His jaw had tightened, and the muscle there flickered once before going still.
“He made you feel that?”
She nodded once. “He said I’d done well. That I’d made myself… valuable.”
For a long moment, Henry said nothing. A breeze stirred through the bare trees, catching at the hem of her cloak. He looked away briefly, toward the path they’d walked, then back at her with a steadiness that settled over her skin like heat.
Henry exhaled, slowly. “I ought to have done more than speak this morning.”
“No,” she said softly. “What you did was more than enough. More than anyone ever has.”
She stepped toward him, slowly, her skirts brushing over the gravel. The distance between them narrowed until she could feel the warmth of him, sense the way his breath shifted at her approach. “I only wished you to know I never intended for any of this to unfold as it has.”
“You mean you did not set out to drive me to distraction each time you enter a room?” he asked, his voice rougher now.
She blinked, surprised, then laughed, a short, breathless sound.
“I meant,” she said, smiling faintly, “that I did not wish to become anyone’s burden. Least of all yours.”
“You are not a burden,” he said at once, with more force than he perhaps intended. “Not to me. Not now. Not ever.”
She met his gaze fully then, a breath catching at the certainty in his voice.
“I came here today,” she said slowly, “not to escape the house, or Isaac, or the farewells. I came because I hoped you would find me.”
Henry’s breath left him in a slow, careful exhale. He did not reach for her. He did not speak at once. But his eyes moved overher face as though committing each detail to memory, and his hand, still at his side, curled just slightly.
And when he did speak, it was barely more than a murmur. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
The words lingered in the quiet, suspended between them like breath on cold air.
Anna lowered her gaze for a moment, then looked back up, something in her eyes shifting, not softer, but more exposed.
“He said I was close to… securing you. That I’d done well. That you bristled at my name like I was some… ”
She broke off, shaking her head.
“He made me feel like I’d manipulated you,” she said. “Like somehow I’d set a trap I didn’t know I was laying. And worse… like I was finally worth something because of it.”
Henry stopped walking. She turned to face him.
“I hated what he said,” she went on, her throat tight. “Truly. I’ve worked for everything I have. Everything I’ve kept together. And yet it only seems to matter now that someone like you notices.”
He looked at her for a long moment.
“You’re not worth more because I see it,” he said quietly. “You’re worth more because you’ve done what others wouldn’t even dare.”
Her breath caught.
