Page 116 of Duke of Bronze
"I was living my life in peace, quite content in my spinsterhood," she said, voice tight with emotion. "Howdareyou waltz in and unravel everything?"
"Anna, please?—"
"No," she cut in sharply, her voice trembling with pain. "The very least you could do is keep your distance. Spare me your kindness, your gestures. Do not be near me, do notlookat me with that same warmth I have come to crave. I need space, Colin. Space to forget you. Space to bury the hope you've so cruelly revived only to abandon."
The words spilled from her lips in a rush, sharp and aching. And then—they hung there, between them, like a blade suspended.
She had confessed. Unwittingly, but entirely.
Colin's features froze, his breath caught.
Then—
Something shifted. The confusion dissolved, replaced by something far more arresting: focus, certainty.
In one stride, he closed the distance between them. His hands came to rest gently, but unyieldingly, upon her shoulders.
"What did you just say?" he asked, his voice a whisper, taut with something she could not yet name.
Anna said nothing. She felt the sting of her own admission crashing down, felt the weight of his gaze pressing into hers.
"What did you say, Anna?" he repeated, softer now, more urgent.
Still she remained silent.
And then, with a breathless hush, he asked, "Do you love me?"
She lifted her chin with all the pride she had left. "I refuse to indulge your vanity, Your Grace," she said coldly. "You shall have no satisfaction from me."
A slow grin broke across his face. "I shall take that as a resounding yes."
And before she could protest, before her indignation could fully return—he kissed her.
His mouth found hers in a way that was neither tentative nor demanding, but resolute. And heaven help her, she kissed him back. Her fingers curled against his coat as the pain, the fury, the weeks of restrained emotion poured into the space between them.
But reality returned far too quickly.
She pulled away with a start, gasping, her eyes bright with tears once more.
"You have no right to do this," she whispered, stepping back. "You have no right to torment me, to touch me, to make me feel as though I am wanted when I know that I am not."
Colin stood frozen.
"You want the perfect duchess," Anna continued, her voice shaking with a prideful sort of finality. "And I am not—will never be—that woman."
"To the devil with perfection, Anna! You are everything I have ever longed for and more," Colin declared, his voice rough with feeling, his hands tightening gently upon her shoulders as if anchoring himself to the truth at last.
Anna could only gape at him, the breath stolen clean from her lungs. "What?"
"I love you," he said, the words fierce and unyielding. "Good God, Anna, can you not see it?"
"You do?" Her voice was barely a whisper. And with it came a fresh flood of tears, slipping silently down her cheeks.
"More than I care for breath," he said, with such unshakable conviction that she could scarcely believe he stood before her, saying those impossible, glorious words. "More than I have ever desired anything in my entire life."
It felt unreal, each word brighter and more brilliant than the last, like the sun had burst forth from a storm cloud directly into her heart.
"I have been the most pitiful coward," he went on, eyes searching hers. "But it has always been you, Anna. From the very beginning. I forced myself to hide it. To bury it. I thought I was honoring your wish for independence. And in doing so, I denied myself the one thing I wanted most."
