Page 63 of Duke of Bronze
Morgan blinked, quickly regaining his composure. "What business could you possibly have with the Mighty Stone, Colin?" he asked incredulously.
Colin stiffened, a sudden tension gripping him at Morgan's curious reference. "You know him?" he asked sharply, feeling an unwelcome dread begin to gather.
"Not personally—certainly not as intimately as you appear to—but who has not heard of the Mighty Stone?" Morgan replied with evident curiosity.
Colin frowned, irritation and confusion amalgamating within him. It seemed absurd that everyone around him knew about Millard, the so-called Mighty Stone, except him. And when the revelation finally came, it had arrived in the worst possible manner—a ravaged Lydia, frightened and vulnerable, her words echoing painfully in his ears.
"The man who brought you to me is your brother."
Colin's jaw tightened slightly, his hand curling into a fist at his side as he struggled to dismiss the distressing image.
Morgan, oblivious to Colin's internal turmoil, pressed further. "But tell me, Colin, what business could have possibly brought the Mighty Stone here, to your very doorstep?"
Desperation surged through Colin, and he quickly searched his mind for a plausible explanation. "I am considering sponsoring his sporting events," he replied smoothly, forcing his tone into indifference. "I summoned him to discuss potential arrangements."
Morgan's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Sponsorship? You?"
Colin managed a faintly amused smile. "And why not? Investing in sports seems a pleasant enough diversion; not to mention a potentially profitable venture."
Morgan nodded slowly, seeming to accept the explanation. "Indeed, it could be rather lucrative."
Colin sighed in relief. He realized suddenly that this fabricated story might just be the key to deflecting unwelcome speculation from his other guests as well. Millard's arrival had not gone unnoticed; whispers and speculations would soon follow if he did not manage the situation carefully.
"Yes," Colin affirmed thoughtfully, "perhaps it is time I announced this new venture to our friends at dinner. Better to quell curiosity before idle gossip has the chance to thrive."
Morgan smiled approvingly. "A wise strategy. Perhaps I might join you in this venture myself."
"You would be most welcome," Colin assured him, feeling a pang of genuine consideration. Perhaps sponsoring Millard would indeed be a fitting way to provide the support his illegitimate brother had been denied by their father. God knew Millard deserved better circumstances than those he had been dealt.
Yet a nagging doubt lingered persistently in Colin's mind. Sponsorship was one matter—but legitimacy was anotherentirely. His dukedom loomed ominously in his thoughts, and he found himself wrestling with uncomfortable suspicions. And then, unbidden, Anna's image arose.
What exactly was Anna's connection to Millard? The question disturbed him far more deeply than he wished to admit.
Anna's mind betrayed her at every turn. No matter how she tried to banish the thought, the image persisted—Fiona's delicate hand resting upon Colin's arm as he escorted her toward the gardens. The easy way they walked together, the way Fiona had smiled up at him, poised and elegant, as though she belonged there.
Something unpleasant curled in Anna's stomach, a churning disquiet that made her lips press into a firm line. It was foolish. Utterly ridiculous. And yet, the acrid taste of resentment coated her tongue, unfamiliar and most unwelcome.
What in heaven's name was wrong with her? Why did this trouble her so?
You are overthinking, Anna.Yes, that was all. A bout of weariness, perhaps. Nothing more than an overreaction brought on by travel and the bustle of arriving at Copperton Hall. That, surely, must be the reason.
And yet, she had spent the past hour in the conservatory, deliberately keeping to herself. Or rather, if she were honest, avoiding her friends—Fiona, most particularly. A notion so absurd, she very nearly scoffed aloud at herself.
You are being utterly ridiculous.
The fragrant air of the conservatory, thick with the scent of citrus and fresh earth, should have been soothing. It usually was. Yet today, even amidst the lush greenery and gentle warmth, she found no peace.
A sudden rustling nearby startled her from her thoughts. Anna lifted her head, frowning slightly as she turned toward the sound.
And then she froze, her breath catching in her throat.
"Roderick?"
Her voice was barely above a whisper, shock rippling through her as the man before her stepped into view.
His stride hesitated for the briefest of moments, his own surprise evident in the slight widening of his eyes.
"Anna," Roderick said, recovering from his initial surprise. "I had no idea you were here." He hesitated, then added with a sheepish smile, "Then again, I suppose I should have expected as much. A gathering of the aristocracy, after all."
