The man was not much older now, but she swore there were more lines around his eyes. It was probably from all the squinting to find his prey. At the center were the same eyes: cold, greedy, and lustful. He might appear to be a well-dressed man of good repute, but inside was a lecherous monster.
“My lord, I am simply getting some air,” she said, trying her utmost to keep her voice steady. Still, she could hear how strained she might be. “Please let me pass.”
“I have missed your fire, Miss Dawson,” the baron commented, chuckling, as he stepped even closer. “I have always admired that about you. You have grown even more beautiful, and possibly more than a handful, as expected. I do not mind that. I am willing to tame you this time.”
Anastasia felt her throat tighten with panic. She could smell brandy wafting from him. Even if he had not drunk anything, the baron was already a dangerous man. With it, he might have gained an excuse and even fewer inhibitions.
“Do not come near me, my lord,” she pleaded, not liking how she sounded defenseless.
“Miss Dawson,” the baron crooned, leaning forward. She could barely contain a shudder. “We have unfinished business, you and I. I meant to collect you, but you seemed to have disappeared from the face of the earth. Oh, you should hear the things they say about you in your absence. That slap?”
He reached out to pull her toward him.
“Even though I must admit that I played my part in that. I made sure to feed the rumors some more.”
“Unhand me, my lord!” Anastasia pulled her hand from him. The man thought that just because there was a taint in her reputation, she would be ready to do whatever he wanted from her. “I heard you are no longer under the protection of the Duke of Frostmore or any man. Therefore, I believe I can now claim the apology I am owed.”
“Who told you that?” she demanded.
She was not genuinely interested in who had said it. She was more concerned about how quickly the word could spread through society. But then again, nothing had changed.
The baron slid his hand around her waist. Then, he pinned her against the wall of the archway. Horror washed over her. This man would never stop until he completely ruined or humiliated her. His intentions could no longer be mistaken for something else.
“This does not seem to be a conversation, my lord,” she protested. “This is an assault. It was why I slapped you then in the first place.”
Her voice trembled as real fear took over her. She knew that finding a secluded place was a mistake.
“Who is going to hear you here? Isn’t that why you headed for this hidden little place? Am I not attractive enough to you like your other paramours?” he asked maliciously.
“M-my other paramours? I… I have no—” she faltered, as she tried to keep the tears at bay.
“Or do you think the Duke of Frostmore would come to your rescue? That man is pure discipline and chilly competence. He would not want to be involved in a business performed in the bushes,” the baron jeered, sounding triumphant. His lips brushed against her ear, making her shake violently. “I will make you scream my name. Don’t you fret. I am ready to put my hand on your lips so that you will not have to suffer the indignity of another scandal.”
Rage tore through her chest. She had ruined herself. That much she could admit. However, she would not let anybody else come and destroy the progress she had managed to gain. She lifted her leg and was about to kick him hard against his shin when a voice boomed against the silence of the night air.
“Oxford, release the lady as she asked you. Now.”
He had uttered the words in a cold manner. However, there was nothing cold or numb in the way he felt it. He was enraged.
Benedict saw the way the baron’s hands were on Anastasia, pinning her against the wall. Feisty as ever, she tried to struggle even though there was terror in her eyes. He had never seen her like this, and he hated that someone had made her feel that way.
He forgot all about the self-control he had trained himself to have all those years. He was all about caution and restraint, but not anymore. Not when Anastasia needed him. The need to protect her and the urge to punish anyone who hurt her rushed over him.
“Frostmore? This is no longer your business, from what I have heard. Go back to your lists,” the baron jeered.
How in all that was damned did he know about his lists?
“I have no more lists to write, Oxford,” he said in a dangerously low voice. “But I can make one that will narrate what I plan to do to you.”
“Ha. There is no need to do that. No threats. No animosity. We are on the same side here, Frostmore. We can’t let little chits like her think they can humiliate us in public and get away with it. The lady and I are merely settling an old account. Surely, you can see the importance of that? You do not want anyone disrespecting you in a similar manner.”
“The account is settled,” Benedict said darkly. There was nothing polite in his tone. It was a declaration. He did not expect anyone to protest or correct. “You have done worse to her, with the way you are handling her. Back away from her, Oxford, or you will regret that you have ever set foot in this ball or that you have ever been born.”
The baron laughed sarcastically. His eyes flashed almost maniacally, possibly not believing what he was hearing. “Frostmore, you may be a duke, but I do not take commands from men who need a piece of paper to tell them what to do for every occasion. Miss Dawson has been asking for this for years.”
Benedict swung his fist without much thinking. It was hard and fast and went straight at Oxford’s jaw. He heard a sickening crack. But for the moment, it felt satisfying.
The baron, surprisingly, remained standing after shaking a little. He swung a fist back, eager to get his revenge, but Benedict was quick enough to avoid the hit. He punched the baron one more time. This time, the lecherous man collapsed to the ground in a lifeless heap.
