“I warned you,” he said softly, though the promise in his tone was edged with steel. “I told you what would happen if you kept behaving like a hoyden instead of a lady. I told you I would have to teach you a lesson.”
She swallowed, her lashes fluttering with the slightest tremor, and he caught it—of course, he caught it. He noticed everything about her. The quiver of her throat, the defiant tilt of her chin, the faint hitch in her breath. God help him, he wanted to lean down and kiss that stubborn mouth until it yielded.
Instead, he stood his ground.
I cannot let her undo me again.
Anastasia lifted her chin defiantly at him in the way that she always did when she was ready to counter his words.
Her lips parted. “I never asked for any of this,” she threw back at him, sharp as a blade.
And still, he felt a twitch at the corner of his mouth, the dangerous urge to smile because only Anastasia Dawson would have the audacity to defy him when he stood towering over her, when every inch of him radiated warning.
She was upset; Benedict could tell. He could also tell that she was definitely hurt about what had happened with the viscount. Yet, even as she spoke, he could not tear his eyes away from her for one moment. The way she was standing there, her nose in the air, pretending like she did not care about all the disrupted matches. Or pretending like she did not know what that mouth did to him, how badly he wanted to pin her to the wall and kiss her.
He forced his voice cool, level, when every part of him urged otherwise. He could not afford to lose his composure. Not with her.
“You should know that people do not always choose their duty, Miss Dawson. It is simply what happens. That is precisely whatmakes it a duty.”
Her lips parted in disbelief before hardening into a line of resistance. “How convenient for you, Mr. Straton, to have all of life arranged into neat little obligations. To never crave a breath of air for yourself, and to impose your ledgers and commands on everyone else. Well, I, for one, do not intend to be managed like a column of figures.”
Benedict’s jaw flexed.Reckless woman.She wore scandal like a second skin and yet stood here spitting fire at him, as though the world were hers to scorn. And the worst of it—the part that twisted inside him like a blade—was that he found it intoxicating.
He stepped closer, deliberate, savoring the way she stiffened at his nearness. She did not retreat. Of course, she did not. Stubborn to the marrow, she would rather break than bend.
“So,” he asked softly, letting the menace lace each syllable. “You think me unfair?”
Her eyes gleamed. “Strange, is it not, how rules always seem to bend in your favor,Your Grace?”
The title dripping with mockery slid between them like poison. He despised the way she said it—despised it because it reminded him she could cut him down with nothing more than her tongue. And despised it more because, damn her, it made him want her all the same.
“Are you trying to say that you have not done this on purpose?” he asked, stepping closer until her back met the door.
“How dare you! I have done everything you asked of me. I have embroidered until my fingers ached. I smiled and dranktea in silence while listening to boring conversations with men I would not even spare a glance at. I have even considered—” she stopped, breathless, a flush creeping up her throat. “I have even considered men I could scarcely tolerate, and yet you are never satisfied. What do you need me to do? Bleed myself dry for your satisfaction?”
Her words landed harder than he expected. For a flicker of a moment, Benedict almost stepped back. Hehadseen her try. Not enough perhaps, but it had been real. She had been trying. And still she stood here, defiant, her nose in the air, pretending she did not care about the suitors or the whispers—or pretending she did not know how badly that mouth made him want to taste her.
Before Benedict could say another word, Anastasia was already speaking. She was not done with her rant, not yet.
Her voice was shaking with anger now, and Benedict was petrified of what might happen if she burst into tears. He had no idea how to console sobbing women, but he was sure that seeing Anastasia cry would break him.
“If you think that I do not know what people say about me, then you are sorely mistaken. This is the life I have had to live, and I have endured it for God knows how long. I know what they whisper about me behind my back and what they say to my face. I know that my being under your roof is detrimental to your own reputation, but I have tried.” She drew a breath, her chest rising and falling, eyes bright as glass. “Yet, you keep me here like some prisoner, even when I have tried to leave. What else will you do, Your Grace? Tie me up so I cannot escape? Drag me to the altar by force?”
The challenge vibrated in the air between them, and that was when his control snapped.
“You are right about one thing, Miss Dawson.” His lips brushed her ear without touching. “If I tie you…” He let the words curl slowly and lethally, savoring the way she stiffened. “…you will not be able to escape me.”
Every warning bell in Benedict’s head clanged at once. This was madness. She was unsuitable—everything he had sworn to avoid. But she was also standing there, breathless and unflinching, and something dark and reckless inside him thrilled at it. He knew he was crossing a line and yet, God help him, he no longer cared.
Her chest rose and fell in shallow bursts as he trailed a single finger from the corner of her cheek down to her jawline, a touch so light it felt like a claim. She looked as though she had run the length of the estate, even though she had not moved an inch.
His hand lingered at her jaw, testing the tremor beneath her skin before he let it drop, his palm hovering at her throat. He could feel her pulse hammering there—wild, defiant, betraying her in a way her eyes refused to. The thrill of it was dangerous, addictive.
“So…” he murmured, his voice rough with desire and warning all at once. “Would you like me to tie you up, drag you to the altar, and hand you to the very first man I see?”
Her gaze snapped to his, eyes blazing, lips set in a line of pure defiance. “I will not bend to your will,” she spat, each word cutting like glass.
He would have believed her if she had said that and moved away from him, but she had not. She was still frozen to the spot, unmoving. She stayed pinned between his body and the door,frozen yet unyielding, and it only made him want her more.
