She turned from the window, her skirts rustling, and pressed a trembling hand to her mouth.
I need to leave Frostmore,she thought, the truth hitting hard.Because the next time he touches me, I will not have the strength to pretend I do not want it.
“Damnation!” Benedict jolted, sloshing port across the open ledgers on his desk.
He could tell he was losing his mind; there was no other explanation for the feverish state he was in. It had been days since he had pushed Anastasia against his desk, tied her wrists, and demanded her obedience like some rake fresh from London. Madness, absolute madness. Anyone could have walked in, seen them, destroyed them both, but he had not cared. He had licked her juices from his fingers like a starved man, savoring her as though she were the only sustenance in the world.
The memory made him so hard that he had spent the night stroking himself to the thought of her, biting back her name like a blasphemy.
He loathed himself for it. Loathed her more for being the reason.
Since then, his study had become unbearable. The desk mocked him. He had contemplated dragging it into the gardens and setting it on fire, as though the flames could erase the memory of Anastasia bent over it, gasping his name into the wood. But fire would not burn out his madness.
He had taken to rereading his list—the one he had written in neat, uncompromising ink, rules to govern his life, his composure, his reputation. It had always been his compass, his order against chaos. And now, every line mocked him. Because he had broken the one law he prized most: control. Letting a woman shake the foundations of his composure.
Benedict’s childhood came crashing back to him. He had spent his time being whirled around by his father’s recklessness and his uncle’s volatile favor. His father could not be trusted to keep his ledgers in order; his uncle, meanwhile, would draw Benedict close when he pleased him and dismiss him the moment he did not—as though affection were a privilege to be granted and revoked at will. So, Benedict spent most of his life trying tocommand his destiny. He would never be as powerless as he once was. Never again.
“Benedict? Are you all right?” Sebastian’s voice cut through his thoughts, and a hand waved briefly in front of Benedict’s face, as if to check whether he was still in the room.
Fortunately, he had company to interrupt him before his mind ran too far ahead. Cassian and Sebastian had driven all the way to Frostmore that afternoon to surprise him, and the three of them had already been drinking in his study for an hour.
“What? Yes, I am fine.”
“You are downing that port faster than I am, Benedict, and that is saying a lot,” Cassian muttered.
“I need to clear my head,” Benedict responded.
“Or clear everything in it instead,” Sebastian added dryly, earning himself a round of guffaws from Cassian. But Benedict was not in the mood for their antics.
“I cannot make sense of it,” he muttered, glaring at his glass as though it might yield answers. “Three suitors in as many weeks, and all have fled. One stormed away after the meeting, the next had hot tea dumped upon his breeches, and the viscount—” His jaw ticked. “Well, he fell into the pond in the gardens.”
Cassian burst out laughing, his chair creaking as he leaned back. “Into the pond? By God, Benedict, are you collecting stories for a farce? You ought to charge admission.The Misadventures of Miss Dawson,starring your unfortunate guests.”
Sebastian laughed too, shaking his head. “And the viscount no less. I am sure he is still fuming at this very moment.”
Benedict sighed. “I would be if I were him.”
Cassian leaned forward, swirling his glass lazily. “Doesn’t it bother you that your ward—”
“She is not my ward!” Benedict cut in sharply.
Cassian smirked, unbothered. “That the lady in your care seems incapable of holding a gentleman’s attention for longer than a supper course? One might suspect she does not wish to marry at all.”
“Shemustmarry,” Benedict snapped, slamming his glass onto the table. The port sloshed perilously close to the rim. “For her own sake and for mine. I cannot have her under my roof any longer. It is my responsibility to see her settled elsewhere. I cannot have her…” He stopped; the rest of his words remained unspoken.
I cannot have her here, within arm’s reach, driving me to madness at every turn.
Sebastian smirked, all too aware of the silence. “He speaks with such fervor, does he not, Cassian? One might think he is the one being courted.”
“Or avoided,” Cassian drawled, narrowing his eyes at Benedict as if he might strip him bare with a glance. “Though I confess, I cannot tell which. Say, old chap, where is this Miss Dawson? Why haven’t we made her acquaintance yet?”
“Perhaps he is hiding her away,” Sebastian added with a laugh.
“I am not privy to her schedule. Besides, it is best that we avoid each other. She can be… impossible to be around.”
“Or you want to keep her only to yourself.” Cassian took a sip of his drink.
Benedict shot them both a glare sharp enough to cut steel. “You are fools, both of you. I want her married and out of this house as soon as possible. The matter is closed.”
