His eyes burned into hers, glacial fire edged with something darker.
“I can. And I have.”
Chapter 5
“How dare you! Unhand me at once!”
Benedict’s jaw flexed as he held her wrist, fury churning beneath the mask of composure he forced onto his face. Yes, he had told her to leave. He had meant it, too—before the solicitor had tethered his future to hers with that damned will.
Now, the very thought of her departure was intolerable. The fortune of Frostmore hung on her marriage, and until it was secured, she was his responsibility. His burden.
His gaze shifted to the maid lingering uncertainly with the luggage. “Take Miss Dawson’s belongings back to her chambers. Inform the butler that there will be no carriage. No one is leaving Frostmore today.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The maid bobbed a nervous curtsey and hurried up the stairs, leaving Anastasia and Benedict alone in the hall.
Anastasia glowered up at him. “What are you doing? You have no right to keep me here!”
“Come with me,” Benedict said, his voice clipped, controlled. “I will not discuss this here.”
Anastasia matched his glare with one of her own, but did not resist as he pulled her down the corridor, her wrist still captive. She stumbled to keep up with his pace, her fury rising—yet beneath it, something far more dangerous stirred, something that had nothing to do with anger. She had no choice but to follow until he thrust open the study door and ushered her inside. With a decisive slam, the door shut behind them.
“Very well,Mr. Straton.” Her chin tilted up, daring him. “I trust this is quiet enough for your delicate sensibilities?”
“Do not call meMr. Straton.” His voice cracked like a whip. “I amthe Duke of Frostmore—Your Graceto you. And given the circumstances, I will not tolerate anything less.”
“What circumstances?” Anastasia tossed her head, that infuriating smile curving her lips. “I have no desire to have anything further to do with you, or with your precious inheritance. Ask the solicitor to take whatever steps you please to nullify your uncle’s ridiculous stipulations. Tell him I have joined a convent if it will ease your burden.”
Benedict’s hands curled into fists at his sides. It took every shred of discipline not to seize her and silence her with a kiss before she could provoke him further. He crushed the thought down at once.
“If it were that simple, I would have done so already. Nothing would please me more than to see you vanish from my life and my estate. I would pack your bags myself and send you to the farthest corner of the country if it would spare me the suffering of your insolent presence.”
Her eyes gleamed at the accusation, and his jaw clenched harder.
Remember your rules, remember who you are. I cannot let a woman make me lose my composure.
And yet, with her standing before him, flushed and unyielding, it was the very battle he was in danger of losing.
“Alas, I cannot do that. My uncle’s will is clear, and there is no loophole in it.” He stepped toward her, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “Until you are married, the fortune remains locked. Which means, Miss Dawson, that your presence here is no longer a choice. Therefore, youwillremain at Frostmore.”
“Then you intend to keep me here like a prisoner?” Her voice cut through the air, hot with defiance. The heat in her eyes might have scorched him—had he not already been ablaze with fury and cold determination.
“Call it what you like.” His words fell like a gavel. “You will remain at Frostmore until you are married and therefore no longer my concern.”
To his surprise, her only answer was a bitter smile, followed by a short, humorless laugh.
“As if any man would have me. Ask anyone in theton. My reputation is far too tarnished for a respectable gentleman even to acknowledge me. So good luck with finding someone willing.”
Benedict’s jaw locked. Insolent, reckless woman. She wanted to provoke him, to press against the edges of his composure—and God help him, she was succeeding. Every arch of her brow, every careless tilt of her lips, was a deliberate strike against the discipline he had sworn to uphold.
He would have to investigate her claims. While he would not put it past her to be exaggerating to infuriate him, she might be telling him the truth. That would complicate matters.
“If that is the case,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, “you will remain at Frostmore for a very long time.”
Anastasia’s answer was a mocking lift of her brow, her chin tilted high, a silent dare that made his stomach clench with a heat that had nothing to do with anger. “We will see about that,Mr. Straton.”
The title—wrong, deliberate again—was the final spark. He closed the distance in two strides until her skirts brushed his legs and the air between them thinned to nothing. His hand came up, unerring, gripping her chin with a firm, commanding pressure that forced her gaze to his.
“You should be very careful about challenging me, Miss Dawson.” His thumb brushed the soft edge of her lower lip, a touch that was almost accidental—almost. “You may consider Frostmore a prison, but how comfortable that prison is…” His face dipped closer, his breath skimming her cheek. “…that is entirely at my discretion.”
