And Anastasia, trembling and spent, buried her face in the sheets, hating and craving the man in equal measure.
Benedict stood there for a moment longer than he should have, staring at her as though she were both triumph and threat.
Then, in a burst of cold fear that felt too much like vulnerability, he turned and slipped out before she could recover enough to look at him, because he did not trust what he might say—what he might admit—if she did.
Chapter 17
Anastasia woke up when the sun was entirely above the horizon, shining brightly over the land, and the birds had started chirping. By the time she dragged herself out of bed, the household had already moved on without her. She told herself it was perfectly fine because she had nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone woke up late once in a while.
Except, of course, she did have something to be ashamed of.
Her mind and body raced back to the night before, how Benedict had kissed her senselessly, and that she had lost what was left of her propriety. But he had not stopped there. He had decided to go the extra mile by using his mouth on her, something she was not experienced with and did not think was possible until he did it.
As if I were his.
She could remember how her legs and entire body trembled just by what he was doing to her. How he had made her feel was a sort of euphoria afterward that she had never experienced before.
Was that normal? She could not tell, and she did not care too much if it was not, because it had felt more amazing than anything she had ever felt. And tangled somewhere between those memories was the shameful, dangerous truth: she had wanted him, and worse, she had even obeyed him. No matter how much he spoke to her with words so deeply laced in disrespect, or how much he commanded her and then took her body as his, she still wanted him.
What if someone heard? What if someone saw?
She sat at the edge of her bed, burying her face in her hands.
“You are an utter fool for wanting to be owned by a man like him,” she muttered. And yet, when she straightened, there was a smile tugging at her lips. Fool she might be, but she had seen him crack. She had seen the unshakable Benedict Straton lose control, and she would treasure that victory like a secret jewel.
Still, he deserved torment for daring to behave as if nothing had happened. Anastasia knew that was what he would do. He was so used to living such a double life that he would ignore her existence as if he had not just…
As if he has not risked ruining me.
She managed to shake the thoughts out of her head because once she started, there would be no stopping her. Well, if he thought he would glide through breakfast unscathed, he had another thing coming. She was not going to let him get away with toying with her and then ignoring her this time.
When she entered the breakfast room, it was filled with the fresh scent of bread, and everyone else was awake and chattering.
“Miss Dawson,” Cassian said. “You grace us with your presence at last!”
As predicted, Benedict was there at the head of the table, looking every inch the unyielding host, hands folded neatly, his expression that of impeccable calm. He was cracking open a boiled egg when she lowered herself down beside Cassian. Benedict barely even looked up to acknowledge her presence.
“You are up quite late, Anastasia,” her aunt said, stroking one of her dogs that was on her lap. Lupita, if she could judge by the way the canine was drooling over her mistress’s plate.
Anastasia quickly looked down at her hands, hoping her aunt would not see the shame so blatantly evident on her face.
“Yes, I think I had too much wine last night, and I had a hard time getting up,” she murmured.
Cassian was already pouring her a glass of water as she spoke. “Here, drink some water. It will make you feel better.”
She gave him a stiff smile and sipped her water, her eyes on Benedict. He looked infuriatingly calm. The man had kissed her until she had forgotten her own name, and now sat as if he had never in his life touched a woman.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said with a small smile.
If Benedict were going to ignore her, then she would make sure he felt her presence by any means necessary.
“Your Grace,” Anastasia started, her eyes never leaving Benedict. “I must say, the way you carve ham is quite extraordinary. I have never seen anything like this.”
Cassian froze, knife mid-air. He looked down at his knife and the ham on his plate, even surprised that there was anything remarkable about it.
Anastasia knew he understood the purpose of that comment because he chuckled and accepted the compliment with grace.
“Well, you see, Miss Dawson, ham cutting is one of my many talents. You seem to have a good eye for talent.”
