When she laughed and touched Cassian’s arm, Benedict nearly snapped the stem of his wineglass in two.
He told himself it was harmless, nothing more than Anastasia’s quick tongue and Cassian’s endless mischief. Yet as the evening dragged on, Benedict could hardly hear Amelia’s sweet chatter or Sebastian’s smooth observations. His focus narrowed to Anastasia’s laughter. Laughter that did not belong to Cassian, but that Cassian shamelessly coaxed out of her.
By the time his guests retired, Benedict’s temper was wound so tight it might have strangled him. He bade them goodnight witha civility he did not feel, then prowled the hallway like a man possessed.
How dare she act so shamelessly? As if…
I should not care. I do not care.
He did not intend to stop outside her door. He told himself he was making one last round, ensuring the household had settled, that nothing else had been left to chance. But when he saw the sliver of light beneath the door, and then the movement of her shadow crossing it, something in him snapped cleanly in two.
In stark contrast to his character, he opened the door without knocking. Anastasia gasped as Benedict crossed the room in three strides and caught her by the arm before she could retreat.
“We need to talk.”
Chapter 16
“Mr. Straton!” Anastasia hissed, struggling as Benedict closed the door behind them. “Have you gone mad? Let me—”
“Enough,” Benedict snapped, pulling her toward him. “I will not be taken for a fool any longer. What was that all about?”
Her eyes, wide and unrepentant, gleamed in the candlelight. “What was what about?” she asked with maddening innocence.
“Do not play coy with me.” His grip on her arm tightened, though he fought to keep his voice even. “I will not tolerate your shameless flirting with my friends.”
Anastasia’s lips curved into a mocking little smile. “Oh? And why ever not? You have made it very clear that you want me married off as soon as possible. I assumed—quite naturally—that you had invited His Grace for me. After our bet, I told you I would not make a fuss with any suitor you bring me, and I intend to keep my word.”
Benedict stared at her, incredulous. “Cassian?”
“I have to admit that he is witty,” Anastasia continued blithely, ignoring the dangerous edge in his tone. “And undeniably handsome. A woman could do worse.”
“Witty?” Benedict’s jaw clenched. “He is a simpleton with a charming grin. And that is even debatable.”
She tilted her head, her smile deepening. “A charming grin can go a long way, Mr. Straton.”
Benedict could hardly breathe for the fury swelling in his chest. “Tell me, Anastasia,” he said tightly. “Are you deliberately trying to provoke me?”
“Perhaps,” she said airily. “It does seem to get your attention, though I am not sure I understand why that is.” He stepped closer until the tips of her slippers brushed his boots. “Are you jealous?” she asked, her voice low, teasing, almost dangerous.
Benedict barked a laugh that was half a growl. “Jealous? Of you and Cassian? Do not be absurd. I could have any woman I wanted.”
Her eyes glittered, steady on his. “And yet,” she murmured, “here you are. Bursting into my room uninvited in the middle of the night. I have to say, I hardly recognize you, Mr. Straton.”
Benedict’s breath caught, and for one reckless, damning moment, he did not know if he meant to shake her… or kiss her senseless.
“Nonsense. I feel responsible for you, and I am trying to protect you. Cassian is not the one for you,” Benedict said.
He closed the gap between them, and he was standing so dangerously close to her that he could smell the vanilla scent wafting from her hair.
Anastasia did not back down one inch. “You forget yourself, Mr. Straton. You can have any woman you want, yes, but you can’t have me.”
The words struck him like a slap.
Not because they were untrue—he had known from the moment she arrived that she would not be easily claimed—but because she said them as though she were certain. As though she did not feel the same heat that had been simmering between them since the moment they met.
He should have stepped back. He should have reminded himself of his list, of his rules, of the very real catastrophe that would follow if he crossed the last line and could not return.
But Benedict knew that he needed to do something about her insolence. He needed to show her what it meant to cross him, and she was going to learn the hard way. And before Anastasia could draw her next mocking breath, his hand shot up, tangling in her hair as he pulled her closer.
