Page 14 of Duke of Bronze

CHAPTER 14

" O h, why else do you think she is called the Wild Spinster?"

Colin stiffened, his fingers curling imperceptibly around his tumbler as he turned an ear toward the conversation. The words were coming from a nearby table.

He had come to White's for a quiet drink; to gather his wits after a particularly irksome afternoon. Yet, it seemed peace was not to be found tonight.

"I hear her spinsterhood is self-imposed," another voice murmured, lowering in that manner that men often employed when they wished to appear well-informed.

Colin fought the urge to shift in his seat, forcing his grip to remain steady. What, pray, do you mean by that? he thought, though he did not say it aloud.

"What do you mean?" a third voice, younger, less assured, inquired.

"Why, she chose to remain wild and unmarried, what else?" the second voice answered smugly.

A dry chuckle followed. "I am a testament to that."

There was something in the way the first gentleman spoke that immediately set Colin's teeth on edge. A bitterness that was at odds with the forced levity in his tone. Colin had heard that kind of tone before—wounded pride masquerading as indifference.

"A testament?" the younger man prompted, clearly intrigued. "How so?"

"Well, er…" The first speaker faltered momentarily before clearing his throat, as though steadying himself. "She outright rejected a… friend of mine once. He offered for her hand, you see."

Liar.

Colin had no doubt in his mind that this supposed friend was none other than the man currently speaking. The hesitance, the veiled resentment—it was all there, plain as day. A man licking his wounds, trying to salvage his dignity by weaving a false narrative of indifference.

"This friend of yours must have taken quite the blow, then," the second voice mused, though Colin detected something in his tone—doubt, perhaps mild amusement.

A skeptic among them.

"Oh, it was hardly a blow," the bitter one responded too quickly, too forcefully. "Women of her caliber are not worth a dime. She is wild and uncouth. An anomaly that she is of noble blood, if you ask me."

Colin's jaw locked, his grip on the whiskey tumbler tightening until the crystal threatened to fracture beneath his fingers. A slow burn of fury crept through him, seeping into his veins, coiling tight in his chest.

How dare they?

How dare they speak of her with such brazen disrespect? Of Anna —who, for all her maddening ways, possessed more wit, intelligence, and spirit than this entire room combined?

The urge to rise, to cross the room and make his presence unmistakably known, clawed at him. His fingers itched to grasp the front of that arrogant buffoon's coat and demand that he repeat his slander to Colin's face.

But he did not move.

He could not afford to.

Not when Anna was already the subject of too much speculation. Not when her reputation would suffer for his lack of control. If he caused a scene—if word got out that the Duke of Copperton had erupted into a fit of temper over a woman Society already deemed too scandalous—what would follow? He could see the headlines now:

The Wild, Self-Imposed Spinster: Duke's Temper Confirms the Rumors!

No. He would not add more fuel to the fire. He would not make her the object of further ridicule.

Instead, he inhaled deeply, forcing his rage to settle into something cold, something calculating. He would not forget this slight. And when the moment was right, those gentlemen would learn just how unwise it was to insult Anna Sutton within earshot of the Duke of Copperton.

For now, though, he merely lifted his glass, took a measured sip of whiskey, and let the slow burn of both drink and anger settle within him.

"Do you know what else I heard?" The gentlemen had not yet exhausted their cruel amusement.

"That the true reason she remains unmarried is because she is mistress to half the elderly lords in society," the second voice supplied with an air of smug satisfaction.

Colin felt his body go rigid before he had fully registered his own reaction. The words struck him like a physical blow, rage seizing his limbs with an unfamiliar violence.

"Why, in that case," a third voice drawled, "do you suppose she might extend her generosity our way as well?"

Laughter erupted.

Colin saw red.

Before he had consciously decided to move, he was already upon them. Their laughter suffered an unceremonious death as the men sprang upright in their seats, identical expressions of shock and dismay plastered across their faces.

"Y-Your Grace," one stammered.

"Copperton!" another choked out, scrambling to set down his drink.

Colin surveyed them with the slow, deliberate scrutiny of a man deciding whether his opponents were even worth the effort of his ire. He could feel his anger pressing against his ribs, but he held it steady, shaping it into something useful .

"I see you gentlemen have no honorable leash on your tongues," he said, his voice deceptively calm, though the steel beneath it was impossible to miss.

A pathetic little chuckle sounded from one of them. "I fear we do not quite understand Your Grace's meaning."

Colin turned his gaze on the man who had spoken—the one who, no doubt, had first uttered that vile slander. The coward held himself with an air of bravado, but there was a nervousness in his eyes now.

"Are you not ashamed?" Colin asked, his voice now carrying the unmistakable weight of command. "To share and entertain such vile falsehoods about an innocent lady ?"

The second gentleman—the one with the boldest tongue—lifted his chin. "There is hardly any harm done here, Your Grace. We were merely conversing."

Colin tilted his head ever so slightly. Conversing?

"A conversation, was it?" His voice dropped to a dangerously quiet timbre. "Then allow me to partake in it."

He took a measured step forward, watching with satisfaction as two of the three men instinctively leaned back in their seats. But the second man, the bold one, did not. Instead, he lifted his glass with an exaggerated air of nonchalance.

"Care to join us in a drink, Your Grace?" he invited smoothly.

Colin smiled. A slow, deliberate, and wholly unamused smile.

"I will tell you what I shall do instead."

The room seemed to shrink around them as he continued, his voice measured but carrying the unmistakable weight of promise. "I shall ensure that every respectable household in society knows what manner of men you truly are. That every lady whose favor you so desperately seek understands your penchant for slander and dishonor. And more importantly, that no gentleman of standing would dare associate himself in business or reputation with those who spew falsehoods in the shadows."

The effect was immediate. He watched, almost idly, as the color drained from their faces. Even the bold one.

He leaned back slightly, satisfaction curling in his chest as he took in their stricken expressions.

"I imagine you all value your family names too dearly to take such a risk. Do you not?"

A heavy silence fell. Then, the first and third men bobbed their heads in frantic agreement, their gazes darting toward their companion as though urging him to follow suit.

The second man hesitated, his throat working as if searching for some retort—some flimsy attempt at bravado. But at the first impatient nudge from his neighbor, he swallowed hard and gave a stiff nod.

"Have I made myself clear now?" he asked once more for good measure.

"Y–yes, Your Grace."

"You certainly have, Your Grace," their words tumbled after each other's.

Colin let his gaze linger on them a moment longer, ensuring they truly felt their disgrace before turning on his heel and making for the door. Their frantic whispers trailed after him.

"I have always told you to watch that tongue of yours. Now look what you have done! We are in Copperton's bad book, and if he has his way, in all of society's as well!" the first gentleman hissed.

"Do not blame me. Blame the spinster who turned your suit down," the second man grumbled.

"I told you it was not me she rejected. It was a friend of mine. A friend , you fool!"

Colin shook his head as he caught that last lament. It seemed the poor fool was still licking his wounds, despite his earlier bravado. Pulling his gloves taut over his fingers, he stepped out, then slipped a hand into his coat and retrieved his pocket watch to check the time.

He did not need to return home at this time, nor did he know what to do with the remainder of his afternoon. Oh, he had much to do but he was unwilling. As Colin snapped the watch shut and stepped forward, a sight brought him to an abrupt halt.

Anna.

There she was again, dressed much the same as she had been when he had first spotted her in the East End—plainly garbed, her form cloaked. She was climbing into a hired hack.

What in God's name is she doing?

Colin moved without thinking, finding his horse and following. The image of her,—a well-bred lady of standing, wandering the streets of London unchaperoned—was enough to send a jolt of unease through him. Then the hack turned, taking a direct path toward the East End.

His stomach tightened.

Was she going to Roderick? And what business did she have with him? Was it with his family? Lydia perhaps? The words from the gentlemen at White's surfaced, unbidden. The vile insinuations. The cruel laughter. His jaw clenched.

No.

He refused to fall victim to such baseless gossip. He knew Anna. Knew her spirit, stubborn pride, and fierce independence. Whatever had brought her to the East End was no idle whim. It was something important.

It had to be.

The hackney came to a halt before a large and rather dreary-looking building. Colin, still keeping a safe distance, watched as Anna stepped down with practiced ease. She hesitated for only a moment before moving toward the entrance, her cloak drawn tightly around her.

Just as she raised her hand to knock, the door opened of its own accord, as though she had been expected.

Colin frowned, pressing himself against the nearest lamppost as she cast a swift glance over her shoulder. His pulse leapt in anticipation, but she did not linger. Within seconds, she disappeared inside, leaving him staring after her, more intrigued than ever.

What in God's name is this place?

His gaze lifted, his question answered by the large wooden sign above the door: The Adderley Foundling Hospital.

He straightened slightly, the knot of confusion in his chest loosening just enough to make way for something else—curiosity.

Moving cautiously, he approached the building, his boots silent against the worn stone path. From a nearby window, a flicker of movement caught his eye. He stepped closer, keeping to the shadows, and what he saw sent a strange, unfamiliar sensation twisting through him.

Anna had removed her cloak and was now moving from bed to bed, assisting the nurses in serving and feeding the children. There was no air of reluctant obligation about her; she moved with purpose, her touch gentle, her posture open. A small child reached out with a hesitant hand, and she took it without hesitation, offering a soft smile that transformed her features in a way Colin had never seen before.

A lump formed in his throat.

Never—not even in his wildest imaginings—had he pictured her like this. He had always thought of her as stubborn, vexing, impossible to pin down. But this? This was something else entirely.

She was God-sent, he thought, unable to look away.

And then she turned.

Her gaze lifted toward the very window where he stood, and his stomach plummeted. He barely had time to react before instinct propelled him backward, pressing himself against the cold stone of the building's exterior. His pulse thundered as he counted the seconds, half-expecting her to come rushing outside and demand an explanation.

But the moment passed. When he dared a glance back, she had resumed her task, oblivious to his presence.

Colin raked a hand through his hair. He needed time to think.

With one last glance at the hospital, he made his way across the street to a modest pub, choosing a seat near the window where he could keep watch over the entrance. He ordered a drink, though he barely touched it, his mind occupied with what he had just seen.

He waited.

Minutes passed. Then an hour. And finally, when the door to the hospital creaked open once more, Anna emerged, her cloak fastened tightly around her once again.

Colin tossed a few coins onto the table and strode out after her.

She was already walking away, her pace brisk, as though eager to put distance between herself and the hospital. He quickened his step, careful not to draw too much attention to himself. But, as fate would have it, his boots met with a patch of loose gravel, the crunching sound loud in the quiet street.

Anna froze.

Slowly, she turned, her eyes widening in shock as they settled on him.

"You," she breathed.

He lifted a brow. "Me."

Her expression shifted from surprise to sharp suspicion. "What in the world are you doing here?"

Colin tilted his head. "I should ask you the same question."

Her eyes narrowed. "Did you follow me?"

Rather than answering, he let a slow smile curve his lips. "It truly does seem," he mused, "as though you are an angel to everyone— except me."

"What is that supposed to mean now?" Anna asked, her steps quickening as though she could leave both the conversation and him behind.

Colin easily matched her pace, refusing to be dismissed. "I speak of your volunteer work at the foundling hospital," he said, watching with interest as a flush crept up her neck.

"That is no business of yours," she said, tilting her chin in that stubborn way of hers.

"Such work is nothing to be ashamed of, Anna."

"I am not ashamed," she shot back. Her fingers tightened around the edges of her cloak. A moment passed before she added, "It is simply heartbreaking that so few acknowledge there is a world beyond the luxury of the aristocracy. A world aching for help."

Colin remained silent, her words striking an unexpected chord within him. He had always understood suffering—had worked in his own way to ease it in the country—but there was something about the way Anna carried the weight of it that made him see it anew.

"Your compassion is commendable," he said after a pause.

She turned to him with an arch look. "And your penchant for lurking and following is equally commendable, Your Grace."

He smirked. "Can you not accept a simple compliment without deflecting it with sarcasm?"

"I would not be myself if I did," she said, her lips twitching.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "How did you find me?"

"I saw you by chance," he admitted. "And when you headed into the East End, I sought to ensure your safety."

She studied him, her gaze sharp. "Should I thank you, then?"

"It would be the proper thing to do," he teased.

"Do not expect it."

Colin looked about for a hackney, then back at Anna. "Tell me, do you always traipse about London unescorted, or is this a pastime reserved for particular days of the week?"

"You make it sound as though I wander about aimlessly. I had a purpose," Anna scoffed.

"Yes. A noble one," he admitted. "But do you not find it exhausting? Giving so much of yourself both here and in Mayfair?"

She shrugged. "I find it far more exhausting to pretend such suffering does not exist."

Colin considered her words, nodding slowly. "Perhaps I shall accompany you next time. See this world you are so determined to save."

Anna shot him a skeptical look. "And what would a duke do at a foundling hospital? Buy the children silk waistcoats?"

He let out a laugh. "If you must know, I have done my fair share of helping. But I dare say I have never fed a room full of children."

"Then it would be quite the experience for you," she said.

Colin grinned as he found a hackney. He handed his horse to a young man with a coin to look after it before helping Anna into the carriage. "Must you accompany me?" she asked when he climbed in after her.

Colin pressed a hand to his chest. "You wound me, Anna. Truly. I only wish to ensure your safety."

"You will recover." She smiled.

Their time flowed effortlessly, and when they reached her home, she did not move to exit the carriage immediately. Colin was equally loath to end their time together. "I shall send word about our second outing soon," he said.

She gave a brief nod, but uncertainty shadowed her eyes. "You do not need to help me down," she said when he moved toward the door, even though the carriage was some distance away from her house. "We should not be seen together like this."

Colin nodded, and several minutes after she had left, he instructed the driver to take him to his manor.

As he sat behind his desk in his study two hours later, Colin found himself dwelling on Anna once more. He rubbed a hand over his jaw. He had been touched, yes, but more than that, he had been surprised .

She was not the woman he had believed her to be.

Society had painted her as wild, ungovernable, a creature of scandal and sharp retorts. But now, he saw her for what she truly was—a woman with a heart far greater than she cared to reveal. A heart that, against all better judgment, he found himself wanting to unravel .

A dangerous thought.

Colin straightened in his chair, shaking his head as though the movement alone could dislodge such notions. He reached for the open ledger, attempting once more to turn his mind to business. Yet as his gaze skimmed over the page, a small detail caught his attention.

The date. Tuesday.

His fingers drummed against the desk as a realization struck him. Last Tuesday had been the first time he had encountered Anna outside the expected bounds of society. And this Tuesday, once again, he had found her at the foundling hospital.

A coincidence? Perhaps not.

His lips curved in a knowing smirk. Did she make a habit of volunteering on Tuesdays?

There was only one way to discern that.

The thought of it sent a curious thrill through him. He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers as a plan began to form.