Page 28 of Duke of Bronze

CHAPTER 28

W ithout hesitation, Colin took hold of Anna's hand, and in an instant, they were running.

She barely had time to suppress a startled gasp before laughter bubbled in her chest, the reckless thrill of the moment overtaking her. They darted through the orchard, their mirth barely contained, like the very children she had seen playing by the market stalls earlier.

By the time they stopped, breathless and flushed, Anna felt a lightness she had not known all day. The weight of her earlier mood had lifted, scattered like the leaves they had disturbed in their mad dash away from the cottage.

They collected themselves, smoothing their attire and composing their expressions before stepping back into the lively bustle of the market to rejoin the others.

"Oh, there you are, Anna," Hester exclaimed upon sighting her. "I was just telling Nancy and Fiona about the most magnificent porcelain doll collection I saw at the ceramics stall. Shall we go and see it?"

Anna hesitated only a moment before nodding. "Now that does sound like quite the sight."

As she spoke, her gaze caught Fiona's, and she stilled slightly.

Fiona regarded her with a peculiar expression—a gleam in her eyes as she glanced between Anna and Colin, who still stood beside her. For a brief, uncomfortable moment, Anna thought she saw something unpleasant pass over her friend's features. Was it disapproval? Jealousy?

The thought unsettled her. But before she could fully dissect it, Fiona's gaze softened, something almost knowing settling behind her composed demeanor.

Anna frowned slightly. What was she thinking?

"Where did you get the apple?" Fiona's voice was light, but her curiosity was unmistakable as her attention finally settled on the fruit still cradled in Anna's hand.

Anna cast about for an explanation, scrambling for something that might sound remotely plausible. But before she could find one, she felt Colin's finger grazing the back of her hand in the subtlest of gestures.

A silent exchange.

Before she could find her voice, Colin spoke for her. Thankfully.

"It was the last apple at a nearby fruit stall," he supplied with smooth ease, offering their companions an affable smile. "And you know what they say—there is fortune to be found in the last of its kind."

His quip, paired with a light shrug, proved effective in distracting them from any further inquiries.

Anna felt her chest loosen, a silent breath escaping her before she even realized she had been holding it.

Her gaze lifted to his, gratitude evident in her eyes. She only hoped he saw it.

From the slight smirk that ghosted across his lips, from the way his gaze lingered on hers just a fraction longer than necessary, she suspected he had.

And for reasons she could not quite name, that realization sent a peculiar warmth rushing to her cheeks.

Hester, blissfully unaware of the silent exchange, clasped her hands together with renewed enthusiasm. "Come now, we must not dawdle! There is a most exquisite selection of porcelain dolls at the ceramics stall—I insist we go at once!"

With little room for protest, she led them onward, her excitement proving infectious. Soon, they were perusing delicate figurines and charming trinkets, their afternoon marked by lighthearted conversation and a handful of small but meaningful purchases.

Among them, a dainty porcelain doll found its way into Anna's possession—a quaint memento of a day that had, against all odds, turned into one of unexpected pleasure.

And as they made their way back toward the carriages, Anna could not help but acknowledge a simple truth:

This had been one of the most pleasant outings she had had in quite some time.

And oddly, she felt all but content.

The following afternoon, Colin sat at his desk, his mind only half-engaged with the estate accounts before him. The study was quiet, save for the occasional scratch of his quill and the soft rustling of parchment. The stillness ought to have been soothing. Instead, it was stifling.

He clenched his jaw and pushed back from the desk, rolling the stiffness from his shoulders as he let his gaze drift toward the open French doors. The summer air drifted in, carrying with it the scent of the gardens, and for a moment, he considered stepping outside for a reprieve.

And then?—

He stilled.

Through the doors, a sight rooted him to the spot, tension coiling in his limbs like a drawn bowstring.

Anna.

Walking through the gardens.

With none other than Roderick .

Colin's jaw tightened, his grip flexing against the arms of his chair. He watched as Anna moved with ease beside the man, the sunlight catching in her hair, her lips curved ever so slightly as she listened to something Roderick was saying. Whatever it was, it seemed to amuse her.

A muscle twitched in Colin's jaw. The urge to rise, to stride across the gardens and interrupt whatever conversation they were having, was near unbearable. He could impose himself upon their little stroll. He could?—

A discreet cough sounded behind him.

Colin turned, his irritation mounting further at the untimely intrusion. Fisher, his ever-efficient valet, stood at the threshold, a folded gossip sheet in hand.

"Your Grace has not attended to the columns of late," Fisher observed mildly. "I thought it prudent to bring a little reminder."

Colin dragged a hand through his hair. "Attempt to govern a dukedom whilst hosting a houseful of guests, Fisher, and then tell me if you should find yourself engrossed in the latest scandal sheets."

"Perish the thought, Your Grace," Fisher replied, unperturbed. "Fortunately for you, that is precisely why I am here. Bringing the paper was merely a formality—I have already read it in its entirety and am more than happy to relay what you have missed."

Colin cast him a flat look. "I doubt I have missed anything of import."

Fisher lifted a brow. "Indeed, Your Grace remains the column's preferred subject, as ever."

Colin pinched the bridge of his nose. "We are not even in Town. What could they possibly find to report on here?"

"It would appear, Your Grace, that the columns have trailed us even here." Fisher said, sounding far too amused for Colin's liking. "Still publishing. Daily , in fact."

Colin's brow furrowed, the irritation he had been trying to suppress flaring anew. "Daily?"

Fisher nodded, his expression far too knowing. "I could wager anything that the writer is among your guests."

"The details they print about the house party are far too precise to be mere coincidence, Your Grace. Nor does it read as sold information," Fisher mused. "The writer must be among us, observing, listening. Indeed, today's column made specific mention of your conversation with Lady Fiona by the carriage just before yesterday's excursion."

Colin's fingers curled at his sides. "Is that so?" he muttered.

It was preposterous—the gossip, the speculative drivel. His supposed interest in Lady Fiona. The entire notion was absurd. Baseless. Yet, what unsettled him most was not the unwarranted attention on his acquaintance with her, but rather the comparisons to Anna .

That, that , he found intolerable.

"And these absurd wagers," Colin scoffed, tossing the paper aside. "What addle-brained fool is placing bets on my affairs?"

Fisher's expression turned sly. "Perhaps I ought to try my own luck. A few well-placed wagers on the Duke, his spinster, and the Diamond might secure me a rather comfortable future."

Colin shot him a pointed look. "Do you have a death wish?"

"I value my neck far too dearly to tempt fate, Your Grace," Fisher chuckled, making a great show of rubbing at his throat. "Wagers or not, I should rather remain in full possession of my faculties—and my head."

Colin huffed in amusement but said no more.

Later that evening, as he made his way toward the dining hall, a glimpse through an open doorway slowed his steps.

The salon had been left ajar, and inside, Roderick stood engaged in an animated discussion. But he was not alone.

Opposite him sat a young gentleman Colin immediately recognized—the Earl of Sutherton.

His brows ascended in surprise.

The fighter and the Earl, deep in conversation? Now, that was an unusual pairing.

The Earl of Sutherton leaned forward, his expression keen with interest as he posed yet another question. "And tell me, sir, does strategy play as great a role as brute strength? Or does one simply require a solid fist and a bit of luck?"

Roderick, appearing entirely at ease for the first time since his arrival, let out a short laugh. "Strength alone is worth little without the mind to wield it. A well-placed blow is far more effective than a hundred wild swings. One must study his opponent, anticipate his movements, and strike before the opportunity slips away."

Sutherton nodded, intrigued. "Fascinating. I should very much like to continue this discussion over a brandy later." He withdrew his pocket watch and sighed. "Alas, duty calls. I have promised to escort a group of ladies to the village, and it seems the hour is upon me."

He rose, brushing off his coat, and made his way toward the door just as Colin stepped inside.

"Your Grace," Sutherton greeted with a polite inclination of his head.

Colin returned the gesture. "Sutherton."

With that, the young Earl excused himself, leaving the room in an air of quiet satisfaction, as though he had just discovered a newfound enthusiasm.

Colin turned to Roderick, arching a brow. "I see you have acquired quite the eager audience."

Roderick merely shrugged.

Colin, however, found himself oddly pleased. He had been uncertain how Roderick would be received among his guests, but the exchange with Sutherton had been easy; natural even. The man who had sat before him had been open, animated—an entirely different creature from the one who now regarded him with barely veiled indifference.

So, the disdain was reserved solely for him , then.

Colin's jaw tightened at the realization. The thought had barely settled before Roderick, as if sensing it, shifted once more into that practiced, cold courtesy.

"Some men appreciate my world," Roderick remarked, his voice even.

Colin could not help but feel the sting of accusation beneath the words.

"Do we not all?" he returned smoothly, unwilling to rise to whatever bait was being laid before him.

"I would not know," Roderick mused with a shrug. "Dukes are not often required to see beyond the silver spoons with which they eat."

Colin went still. The phrasing was deliberate, its meaning all too clear.

The tension between them thickened, truths lingering just beneath the surface of civility. Was it mere bitterness? Or did Roderick believe himself entitled to more than he had been given?

For the first time, Colin wondered whether his unease had been warranted after all.

But most pressingly, Colin wondered if he ought to be concerned now.

"You are quick to judge a book by its cover," he remarked, measured.

Roderick's lips curved slightly, though his eyes remained sharp. "Are the covers not mere reflections of the book's contents? I do not judge, Your Grace. I merely state what is plain to see."

"To each his own opinion," Colin returned smoothly, offering a small, knowing smile.

He watched as Roderick reached for the decanter, refilling his own glass with practiced ease. What he did not anticipate, however, was the man tipping the crystal vessel toward Colin's as well.

Colin let out a low chuckle. "Pouring for your host? Bold indeed." He lifted his glass in faint amusement. "You have admirable nerve."

Something shifted across Roderick's features. For a brief moment, Colin thought he caught the ghost of amusement there, fleeting but unmistakable.

A silence passed between them, one not entirely tense, nor wholly companionable either.

"I trust you enjoyed your walk in the gardens," Colin said at last, taking a sip of his drink. He let the words settle before adding, with deliberate intent, "Lady Anna is always pleasant company."

There was the barest pause before Roderick inclined his head. "She is indeed." A thoughtful look crossed his face. "One of the rare few among her kind who see beyond their silver spoons. A woman with a most generous heart."

Colin noted the slight curve of the man's lips, and the softening of his eyes. Gratitude?

A brow quirked before Colin could stop it, but he masked his interest well. A thought occurred to him; one that slotted into place with unnerving clarity. The foundling hospital. It was not far from Roderick's own residence. Could it be that Anna's charitable endeavors had extended beyond mere formality? Had she, in her boundless goodwill, befriended him ?

"You must have quite the acquaintance," Colin mused lightly, though his intent was anything but idle.

Roderick's gaze sharpened slightly. "Friendship," he corrected without hesitation.

Something twisted, dark and unwelcome, within Colin's chest.

He knew well of Anna's generosity. Her kindheartedness had always been boundless. But to hear another man— this man—speak of it with such familiarity, such certainty …

"Lady Anna simply would not stay away," Roderick added, a quiet look settling over his face.

Colin's grip on his glass tightened imperceptibly. That twist in his gut turned to something sharper; something that left a bitter taste upon his tongue.

She could not stay away?

How absurd.

And yet, the words lingered, taunting him.