Anastasia: Rank and reason sound perfectly proper. Just do not forget that a dash of mischief makes life far more interesting.
Produce a legitimate heir.
Anastasia: An heir is essential, though I hear affection and love are equally necessary ingredients.
Maintain strict personal discipline—body, mind, routine.
Anastasia: Discipline is a virtue. But a little unpredictability now and then keeps life from growing too dull.
Never let a woman make me lose my composure.
Anastasia: A fine goal. Though I am curious to see how long that composure holds when challenged by the right person.
When she finished, her heart fluttered with excitement. What would Benedict think of her comments? Would he consider it a violation, or would he sense the flirtatiousness in them? She broke his boundaries, entered his haven. However, as she closed the study door and followed the errant dog outside, she felt satisfaction, not guilt.
How can I tell her that I cannot stop thinking about her?
Benedict could not forget the warmth of her lips, even as the afternoon turned into the night. Every time he tried to focus, Anastasia returned to him with merciless clarity—her mouth, her hands, the way she had looked at him when he spoke of his uncle, as though she saw the boy beneath the duke.
He had kissed her in that locked room as if he had waited his entire life to be touched without condition. That was what terrified him most: not that he desired her, but that heneededher.
By the time he returned to Frostmore, irritation sat tight in his chest—not at her, not truly, but at himself. He had been trained, shaped, made into a man who did not allow feelings to steer him. Love was precisely the kind of weakness his uncle would have stamped out with a single look of contempt. Benedict had spent years ensuring he would never be laughed at for softness, never be discarded for wanting too much.
And now he wanted everything.
He entered his study and had to squint at the door. He remembered being in a meeting earlier and thinking he had not closed the door. The thought had bothered him so much, but he was at least able to focus on the discussion at hand.
The door was now closed. Perhaps he had remembered it wrong as he let out an uneasy sigh. He opened the door, pushing it wide to take in the whole study in one glance.
Aha, I knew it.
There were paw prints on the rug and even a slight one on the leather chair. Hints of fur where the pillow was slightly askew alerted him to a particular kind of intruder. He shook his head in grim amusement.
The dogs.
Then, he saw his list open on his desk.
His first reaction was fury. Who dared pull his papers from under the paperweight? Who would dare invade his privacy?
Of course.
It could be nobody else but her. She dared to touch his private papers. He flipped through the pages. To his surprise, she did not just read them. She left comments. Amendments.
How dare she!
As he read the comments line by line, he could not help the slow smile that spread across his face. He had never met anyone like Anastasia Dawson, full of wit and audacity.A chuckle escaped from his throat, surprising him and shocking him. It was then that his feelings of amusement retreated, replaced by annoyance.
At himself.
I must be losing my mind.
He reminded himself that this was not funny at all. Instead, it was proof that she had burrowed deep under his skin. She had managed to infiltrate his space without inspiring anger in him. Instead, he chuckled!
Whatever this was, it unnerved him. This woman had been making him emotionally and physically frustrated. He could not even think of her without being aroused or infuriated, and his life had gone astray. Even his sense of being had been put into question. His list had been violated.
Benedict stormed out of the study and out of the house. He did not know what he needed. Not then. Air, perhaps. Just a moment alone. But destiny seemed to think that what he needed was a mere glimpse of her.
Benedict stopped dead in his tracks when he finally saw where he was. It was like ramming into a wall, with so much force thateven the air came out of his lungs. She was there by the pond, sitting on the grassy bank while the moon illuminated her figure. Her legs dangled in the cool water as her dress bunched up to her knees. The sight of her pale legs reminded him of how he had touched her thighs and opened her up to him.It was easy to recall how her skin felt beneath his fingers and how her breath hitched when he pressed against her most sensitive parts.
