But what he wanted was her.
He ran after her, no longer caring if anyone was watching—and everyone was. He was no longer afraid of scandal. Of keeping things behind closed doors.
“Stop, Anastasia!”
Heads turned toward him. He knew what they were thinking. They were scandalized at his calling Miss Dawson by her given name. She turned around to look at him, with eyes wide with horror. She was thinking the same thing; he knew.
“Stop being dense and stop running away from me. Please, Anastasia?”
“Me, dense?” she asked, sounding a little offended.
Let her be offended then. He thought that it might just make her stay, annoyed at him. That would be better than her running away again.
“You know what I mean. You do not listen because you are afraid of what I have to say,” he said, frustrated. “I think I will have to tie you to me next time.”
“Tie me to you?” she echoed him once more, a tear rolling down her cheek.
“I am not good with words, Anastasia, but making lists is my strong suit. I tore my list for you. But when you were gone, I came up with a new one. A better one. One I would not mind sharing with you, and the only one I will ever follow again.”
Benedict reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. It was unlike any of his other lists, which were lengthy. This one was folded and contained the weight of his soul.
Anastasia had stopped in her tracks. He took advantage of it by walking toward her and handing the paper right into her palm. Her fingers were trembling beneath his own.
“Here is the new one. The only one that matters now.”
She met his eyes. Questions were brimming there together with the tears. Then, she unfolded the paper and read the document. He knew what she would see first.
Benedict might have folded the paper, but he wrote it in his usual elegant script. He knew this woman needed all the effort he could give, even on this new list he had made. The list was not even a list.
It only said,“Spend the rest of my life with Anastasia.”
She looked up to him once more, her eyes widening. This time, her reaction was not out of fear or worry. Benedict could see hope and love there.
“Benedict—”
“I love you,” he declared, cutting off whatever gratitude or protest that might be coming from her mouth.
He needed something more from her. He needed her.
“I love everything about you, even the chaos you bring and your defiance. I love the way you burn down everything I believe in, and I want that. I want to burn with you. Everything about you seems to be infuriating, but I realized it was what I needed all along. Come home with me to Frostmore and be the lady of the house who will make me fail at my attempts to follow my own rules. I know you would like that. The challenge. Marry me.”
There were gasps from the crowd, reminding him then that they were in a public space. People had gathered close to hear what they had to say. Some were shamelessly gaping at them, following each word greedily.
A burst of triumphant laughter rattled the place, startling those who were stunned into silence.
“Finally! You two had been behaving quite annoyingly,” the dowager cried, as she made her way closer to the couple.
The throng stepped back to let her pass, watching as she walked with the strength and vigor of a woman several decades younger. Her eyes shone like those of a child given a bowl of sweets. She clasped her hands together in glee, oblivious to the fact that her words might shake the gossipmongers to the very core. “It was about time you two became honest with each other. It was getting exhausting! I am an old woman, you know that, and I do not have much time to wait. But here you are!”
Anastasia burst into tears this time. Her hands both covered her mouth as if she were afraid of letting the dam break free even more. It was like they had switched their roles, even for a moment.
“I will marry you,” she said, making him the happiest man in the world. “But—”
There were stifled gasps this time. It sounded like everyone wanted to hear what would become of the Duke of Frostmore’s proposal—never had anyone thought that it would be him who would rattle society with a risky declaration.
“Anastasia,” he warned.
The warning was more for himself. He needed to know when this woman would decide to steer the other way once more. It was so close. She had just said yes.
