Page 104 of Duke of Bronze
Only when she was within her bedchamber did she let the tears fall.
CHAPTER 37
"Miss Watson, I told you to leave me be," she called out when the sixth knock came, her voice muffled by the pillows. "I am not hungry."
Anna was uninterested in breakfast the following morning. She lay curled on her side, her gaze fixed on the window where the curtains fluttered with the softest morning breeze.
The door opened. "Well,Iam," came a voice that was decidedly not Miss Watson's.
Anna blinked and sat up, just in time to see her father stride into the room bearing a large breakfast tray.
He looked entirely unbothered, which made her scowl deepen.
"I thought I was being perfectly clear," she said.
Sebastian said nothing. He simply carried the tray over to the ottoman, set it down, and perched on the edge of her bed like he had every right to do so.
The scent of warm bread, eggs, and coffee wafted up at once, and despite herself, Anna's stomach gave a most inconvenient growl.
"Icansee that," her father said mildly, reaching for a slice of toast. "Or rather… hear."
Her cheeks flushed.
He offered her a plate with a flourish. "Would you like to join me, darling?"
"I said I'm not hungry," Anna muttered, though the edge of her resolve had begun to crumble.
"Mmm." Sebastian selected a scone and spread a bit of marmalade over it. "You are terrible at lying, dearest. You always have been."
Anna crossed her arms, sulking now. "Well, if I say it enough, perhaps I'll start to believe it."
"You do realize that makes no sense at all."
"Neither does my life at the moment," she snapped, and then promptly bit her lip.
Sebastian looked at her for a moment, then wordlessly placed a filled plate in her lap and handed her a glass of juice.
"Eat," he said simply.
Anna eyed the plate, sniffed slightly, and snatched up a sandwich with a huff. "You are an insufferable man, you know."
"Flattery will get you nowhere."
She took a bite—and immediately regretted it.
Olives.
Her mind betrayed her at once, conjuring a vivid memory of their first date. Of Colin making her a sandwich, smug as could be, and grinning when she discovered the olives.
The bite lodged halfway down her throat.
She reached for the orange juice and took a gulp, hoping to banish the lump forming there. But her throat was too tight, and her eyes—blast them—they prickled.
"Easy now," Sebastian murmured, concern knitting his brow.
She didn't mean to cry.
Shehadn't cried, not all night, not even when she lay awake thinking of his kiss, of how gently his hand had cradled her cheek, of how quietly he had stepped away.
