Page 106 of Duke of Bronze
The thought of entering the Millard household, of smiling and laughing and pretending at cheer, felt almost insurmountable. She had no appetite for society—not even for friends. Her heart was still tender, still raw.
And the luncheon, she reminded herself, was not merely a friendly gathering.
It was a celebration.
Of a sponsorship.FromColin.
Her heart gave a painful squeeze.
Colin's name had not been mentioned, but his presence lingered between every line of that letter. It was, after all, his generosity that had made this luncheon possible. His name was etched invisibly in the very fabric of this new chapter in the Millards' lives.
And the Millards werehisfamily.
Anna swallowed hard, her fingers curling slightly around the edges of the letter.
She had every reason to attend. The children had asked for her. Roderick and Jane had opened their home once more. It was an important milestone, and she should have felt honored to be included.
But all she felt was a heavy ache in her chest.
To be there would mean walking straight into the heart of her grief. It would mean smiling while her soul mourned. It would mean facing, once again, the man who had come to mean everything—and who could never truly be hers.
The guilt twisted deeper.
She could not bear the thought of disappointing the children, their small eager faces flashing in her memory. She could hear Martha's lilting voice, see John's careful bow, feel Abraham's tiny fingers clutching hers.
They would wonder why she hadn't come.
And yet—how could she?
What if Colin were invited as well? What if he were already planning to attend?
The very idea sent a fresh wave of tightness through her chest, wrapping like a vise around her lungs.
She pressed a palm there, as if she could ease the ache with mere touch.
Would she ever learn to rejoice again?
The world seemed drained of color without him. The future, stripped of Colin's presence, stretched ahead like a garden in winter—bare, cold, and still.
CHAPTER 38
Colin could recall every detail of his kiss with Anna.
The kiss they had shared haunted him—each breath, each heartbeat echoing the memory of her lips against his. He had kissed her with everything he had, and still, it had not been enough. When they parted in that carriage, it had felt… final. Yet, he wanted her.
He wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. That much he could admit to himself now. But she had made her position unmistakably clear, had she not? On the terrace that night at the house party—Anna had spoken of freedom, of a future unshackled by title or obligation. Of a life that did not require a man like him.
She did not want to be anyone's duchess. Especiallyhis.
The thought sat in his chest like a stone.
A voice in the back of his mind—cooler, more dutiful—reminded him that there was a life to be lived beyond the shadow of one woman. There was expectation. There was legacy. There was, whether he liked it or not, the matter of marriage.
And so, he called upon Lady Fiona.
The townhouse was elegant and efficient, much like its mistress. Colin was shown to the drawing room, where he stood by the hearth, one hand resting on the mantel as he composed himself. It felt, oddly, like preparing for a duel.
Fiona swept in moments later, her smile bright and effortless.
