Page 108 of Duke of Bronze
"I beg your pardon?"
"You needn't call upon me out of obligation, Your Grace," she said, her eyes keen. "Follow your heart instead. Because it is plain it lies elsewhere."
Colin's lips parted, but no words came out.
She had struck the truth with the elegance of a rapier, and it left him momentarily disarmed. He knew, without needing to ask, what she meant. His heart had left him the moment Anna did. It resided with her still, even if she would never return the sentiment. He had fallen. Deeply. Irrevocably.
And now he knew what it was. Love.
He loved Anna.
And the knowledge of it—sharp and sudden as a blade—brought with it no triumph, only ache. Because she had made her wishes clear. She did not want marriage. She did not wanthim.
Fiona watched him quietly, then offered a small, cryptic smile, as though she could see the storm now gathering behind his carefully arranged mask.
"Do not make hasty judgments," she said. "Not before you've truly listened to your heart and understood what it is trying to say."
He could not summon a reply.
She rose then and gave a graceful nod. "Thank you for calling, Your Grace. And good luck."
He bowed. But he did not feel very fortunate.
By the time he returned home, his spirits had sunk deeper than when he had left. The house felt too still, too hollow. He did not pause to remove his gloves or coat but went straight to the study, where he poured himself a generous measure of whiskey.
The decanter was still in his hand when footsteps sounded, and a voice announced:
"Mr. Morgan, Your Grace."
A familiar, irreverent voice followed the introduction.
"Oh, splendid. A party. I've arrived just in time, I see."
Colin looked up to find Morgan entering the room, grinning at the sight of the decanter in one hand and the tumbler in the other.
Without a word, Colin placed the decanter on the desk and retrieved another glass, sliding it across to him.
"Help yourself," he grumbled.
"Why does it appear as though you are not enjoying your own party?" Morgan asked, eyeing him with mild exasperation as he lifted his glass.
Colin did not respond at once. He stared into his own drink, the amber liquid catching the light like a storm held in crystal.
"Perhaps it's my intrusion upon your preferred solitude?" Morgan offered with a smirk.
"Perhaps not," Colin muttered into his glass.
Morgan studied him over the rim of his tumbler before helping himself to another generous pour.
"What did you do to Annathistime?" he asked, as casually as one might ask about the weather.
Colin's brow arched. "I beg your pardon?"
"Oh come now," Morgan scoffed. "Don't look so affronted. Only two things reduce a man to the sulking heap you currently resemble: financial ruin, or a woman. And since I've seen your ledgers, I am quite certain you haven't gambled away the estate."
Colin offered no retort.
"So that leaves a woman," Morgan went on. "And not just any woman. Why else would I mention Anna?"
