“That I do not know. The only thing I am certain about is the same ball Lord Armandale mentioned earlier that I have overheard while walking toward you,” Cassian admitted.
It looked like Anastasia was not hiding. She was walking about with the Dowager Duchess. Was it a public statement?
It looked like he had a ball to attend.
A ball. He had willingly gone to a ball in such a state, not in search of a wife with a title and reputation. He stood in the Earl of Elton’s residence entrance hall, where he could smell the mix of perfumes and hear the droning sounds of supposed polite society. The whole setup made him feel trapped.
Benedict reminded himself that he was there for a good reason. Anastasia. He let his eyes scan the room, jumping from one glittering debutante to the next. He inspected the titled lords, each preening and discussing what he could only guess was their own lists of accomplishments. Such was life with people like him.
He was beginning to lose hope, his frustration straining him. Then, he saw her.
Anastasia was standing near a pillar, dressed in dark blue that made her eyes stand out. She was talking to a gentleman Benedict recognized as a fortune hunter. He had a strong urge to run toward them and wrap his hand around the other man’s neck, a surge of possessive fury humming in his veins. He managed to stop himself, but only just.Benedict fixed his gaze on the beautiful woman only a few feet away. Getting closer. He could not help walking toward her. This version of her was more polished and suited to the society they inhabited than the elemental, wet-haired chaos she was in the pond, but he liked all versions of this woman.Hiswoman.
She smiled. It was a lovely, practiced smile, soft and gentle but not quite reaching her eyes. At that moment, he felt that he had completely lost her. She seemed happier in this space andtime than when she was with him. He realized something as he continued to watch her from a short distance: he loved her too much to give her up.
It no longer mattered what kind of woman she was: quiet or loud, sophisticated or wild. He wanted and loved Anastasia Dawson. The sight of her made the dam inside him open a little. He was no longer a duke trying to marry for an heir, nor an heir trying to get Anastasia to marry so he could inherit.
No, he was merely a man who no longer cared about his reputation. He did not care if thetonwould shun him now. He knew it, even as he advanced toward her.
The man in front of her laughed, the sound grating on his nerves. Her eyes wandered away, perhaps also reacting to the harsh sound. Her eyes met his. They narrowed. Her smile was gone in an instant, replaced by dismay and hurt.
“May I be excused, my lord? I believe my sister wants to see me,” she said, her voice loud enough to carry toward Benedict.
“Of course, Miss Dawson. If you want a lively conversation, you can find me later. I will be at your service.”
Someone else might think that she was retreating from the other gentleman, but he knew that she was running away from him. He had to act fast. He had to shove his bulk past a plump dowager, with no time for apology.
Chapter 25
What is he doing here?
Anastasia was shaking all over as she hurried down the stone path. She thought she had escaped him, but he was here. Right here at the ball she was attending. Of course, he could get an invitation to any social gathering he wanted to be at.
But why?
Why would he come here?
She thought she had managed to add emotional distance to the physical distance she had created. He should be back at Frostmore, writing letters to other potential brides. He should not be here.
He was not supposed to be there, acting as if he owned the place. His imposing height and perfectly chosen formal attire dominated the doorway. She could feel herself physically recoiling, not because he was repellent but because he was precisely the opposite. She had done all she could to be composed and prepared for the ball. He shattered it with just one glimpse.
Anastasia felt several emotions, each of them potent. Shock. A horrible sense of betrayal. Worst of all, she felt longing. He made her breath catch, and her chest tighten as if he was pulling the air from her. Escape had made her forget—nay, pretend to forget—him, but now, he was vivid and real, having pursued her to topple down her sanctuary.
The Duke of Frostmore should be home writing letters to potential brides. He should be ticking off from a list. Instead, he was here, drawing everyone’s attention and torturing her with his mere presence. It was as if her journey were for naught.
Fear and defiant pride warred inside her. She wanted to turn and run, but she would not let him see just how rattled she was by his presence. So, she raised her chin and tried to smile at the people around her. When she thought he was no longer there to see what she was doing, her steps went faster.
In her haste, she found herself in a secluded archway, the last place she had wanted to be found in. Ladies of scandal should always be accompanied and not stand partially hidden by thick ivy. But oh, she needed this time alone. Her chest hurt too much, and she was afraid she did not have the talent to hide her heartbreak. Thetonwould quickly smell it.
“Are you going somewhere in particular, Miss Dawson?” The rough and familiar voice was not quite the one she expected.
Although Benedict had broken her heart, he did not sound like this. He did not sound like someone who could make her feel ill at any moment. No, this man was someone else—from a time in her life she had always wanted to forget.
She froze. Then, she turned in the direction of the voice slowly and reluctantly.
Baron Oxford.
She had slapped the man a few years ago. He deserved it. However, other people might disagree with her, not when he had a title, while the only thing she had was a tattered reputation due to her association with the captain.
