Page 81 of Corrupting his Duchess
She hesitated. “About the girl? The one?—”
He nodded once. “They say she broke it off. That she laughed behind my back. That I disappeared to Scotland with a broken heart and a bruised ego.”
Anna said nothing.
Henry’s voice dropped, rougher now. “It’s worse than that.”
He took a moment. Then another.
“She was promised to me. Not officially, not in print—but we had an understanding. I trusted her. Defended her when others whispered. Gave her access to everything—my time, my thoughts, my home.”
A beat.
“My solicitor found the papers. Documents signed in her father’s hand—agreements to shift shares from my estate to theirs. Hidden clauses buried in harmless-looking ventures. I wasn’t just a fool in love. I was an asset. A transaction.”
Anna’s breath caught.
He gave a short, bitter laugh. “When I confronted her, she said I’d made it easy. That all men with titles did. And then she walked out. No remorse. No apology. Just a smile.”
His voice had gone quiet now. Hollow. “I lost two years cleaning up the damage. Another year learning to breathe through the rage. And the rest… trying not to feel anything at all.”
He turned to her fully now, meeting her eyes. “So yes, the gossip has some truth. But it’s neater in the telling. Less… cruel.”
Anna reached for words and couldn’t find any.
His expression didn’t soften, not quite—but something in his stance shifted, as though unburdened and exposed all at once.
And then, softly—almost an afterthought—he added, “I didn’t mean to tell you all of that.”
Anna’s voice was gentle. “But I’m glad you did.”
Then, before he could respond, she rose on tiptoe and kissed him.
There was no hesitation this time. He responded as though his body had been waiting– breath, mouth, motion. His hand cupped her cheek, warm through the leather of his glove, the other at her waist, steadying, anchoring. The kiss deepened with quiet hunger, and she leaned into him without thought, her fingers gripping the lapels of his coat as though it was the only solid thing left in the world.
He tilted his head slightly, and she answered without needing to be asked. Their bodies shifted instinctively, like they’d known all along how to fit. Her gloved hand slid up to the back of his neck, and she felt him tense under her touch, then exhale against her mouth.
When they broke apart, it was only because neither could breathe.
They stood there a moment, breath shallow, his forehead pressed lightly to hers. His heart was thudding, not with panic, but with something deeply moving.
Want.
They walked in silence again, not because there was nothing left to say, but because too much had just been said without words. The path curved gently back toward the house, and as the gravel shifted beneath their feet, the moment behind them shimmered like a fragile string not yet cut.
As they reached the doors, Henry’s hand ghosted at the small of her back.
He opened the door for her and they stepped inside. And there he was.
Matthew Grayson stood at the base of the stairs, arms folded, expression smooth as polished silver.
“Ah,” he said lightly, “I thought the house was busy with their goodbyes, but it seems some of us found time for a… farewell stroll.”
“Lord Vaun,” Anna sank into a low curtsy, her head dipping briefly.
His gaze lingered a beat too long on Anna before sliding back to Henry, too controlled to be called a glare.
“Charming,” he added. “Truly. I do love when guests make the most of a morning.”
