Page 113 of Duke of Bronze
"I must go," she said, her voice low but firm. "I cannot disappoint the charity."
The soft rustle of silks accompanied her cousins as they stepped further into the room.
"You do not look at all well," Elizabeth murmured, worry plain in her voice.
"She is a little pale," Petunia agreed, reaching out to press a cool palm against Anna's brow. "You are not running a fever, but you are certainly not yourself."
Anna gave a light, practiced laugh as she gently pushed her aunt's hand away. "Oh, you three do like to dramatize," she said, the corners of her mouth lifting into something that might have resembled a smile if not for the hollowness behind it.
Miss Watson secured the final pin in her coiffure, and Anna rose.
"We must make haste. We are already running dreadfully late."
She swept past them with a grace that belied the tremble in her knees, leaving no room for further protest.
The ballroom was a blaze of color and light, and every inch of it bore the signature of their careful planning. From the garlands of roses to the delicate crystal chandeliers reflecting the soft glow of candlelight, it was a triumph. Anna forced herself to admire it.
And yet, as her gaze traveled across the grand room, her breath caught.
There he was. Colin stood near the far end of the ballroom, deep in conversation with a white-haired lord. Even from this distance, he cut a striking figure in formal evening dress.
Something in her sank.I cannot do this.
The walls closed in slightly, the laughter and conversation around her seeming to grow louder, more dissonant.
She turned abruptly, her satin skirts whispering around her ankles, intending—perhaps—to leave. Or to find air. Or simply to escape.
But before she could make it two steps, a gentleman approached with a bow and extended his hand.
"May I claim the honor of this waltz, Miss Caldwell?"
The opening strains of the orchestra floated through the air.
Anna paused only a heartbeat. "Yes," she replied.
She could not let herself be seen fleeing. Not tonight.
She allowed herself to be led onto the dance floor, accepting the gloved hand that guided her into motion. Her partner was handsome, confident, and entirely unknown to her.
"I must be among the luckiest of men this evening," he said, his smile charming and eager as they began to turn.
Anna responded with a polite tilt of her head, though her gaze—inevitably—strayed. Across the room, Colin looked up, and their eyes met.
Only for a moment, but it was enough. His expression shifted. The easy confidence vanished, replaced by a shadowed intensity she could not name but felt acutely.
Anna tilted her head, studying her dance partner with furrowed brows. "I beg your pardon?"
"The elusive spinster finally deigns to accept an offer from me this evening," the gentleman replied.
A quiet unease began to slither through her.
"I beg your pardon, my lord," she said more firmly, "but I do not believe I know what you are referring to."
"Oh, come now. You cannot be serious," he scoffed, his laugh short and humorless.
Anna's spine straightened.
What had she done to elicit such insolence?
