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are in need of my
warmth."
    As if in slow motion, his head descended toward her,
his eyes intent on her lips. Fear in the face of inevitable ruin,
the fate that was worse than death — her body reacted as though an
involuntary force, and she struggled violently against him. A
fervent voice shattered the silence encompassing them. And it was
several moments before she realized the screaming she heard was her
own, as though she were viewing the scene from a balcony seat at
the opera.
    "No! No! Let me go!" Anastasia's insistent wail
brought her spirit sailing back down from the rafters, jolting her
into the present danger. She wrenched an arm from his vice-like
grip and swung at him with all her might.
    Her attacker caught her arm mid-swing and laughed
heartily in her face. "Your spirit simply makes this more
interesting, señorita . So fight on, amor. The music
is too loud, and the night too cold. No one shall hear your cries
but me."
    He released his grasp on her wrists then, but only to
wrap his arms around her, immobilizing her completely. When his
lips crushed onto hers, her mind screamed in fury. The depraved cur
was stealing from her what she had saved her entire life to offer
only to her duke. For Baldwyn alone. Her whole body revolted
against the vile sensation, the taste of his Spanish accent. Bile
rose in her throat, and she had no intention of holding it back,
should it come with urgency.
    Inexhaustibly she struggled against his hold on her.
With every chance for air, she screamed her protest. With every
chance for movement, she pounded him with her fists. Until he
seemed to weary of her fight.
    "Enough!" He railed and twisted her arms, sending
sharp pains stabbing through her with vicious intensity until she
had no choice but to fall to her knees at his feet. "And now we
shall see." The wicked gleam in his eye danced in the darkness held
there.
    "Yes, we shall!" Another voice echoed over her.
Before she knew what was happening, someone grabbed Mr. Tenorio by
the shoulder and spun him around to meet with a bone-shattering
blow, delivered sharply to the man's jaw.
    Another scream escaped Anastasia's throat as her
assailant crumpled to the ground unconscious.
    She leapt to her feet and covered her mouth with both
hands. Her gaze darted to her savior, who loomed over his quarry,
panting as though out of breath.
    He had come. Baldwyn had saved her.
    The reality of her ordeal slammed her with full force
then, and she threw herself into Baldwyn's arms, clutching at him
for dear life.
    The tears flowed on their own. She could hardly stop
them. How close she had come! How close she had been to—
    She dared not give voice to the truth. All she could
do was cling to her rescuer as though life would end otherwise.
    When he wrapped his arms around her, the warmth from
his frame spread through her, chasing away both the chill of the
winter night and the icy fear that had frozen the blood in her
veins.
    Slowly he swept her into his arms and carried her
toward the house with a deliberate stride, murmuring softly in her
ear, "It's over now. All is well." His native Scottish accent
seemed to grow more evident as he spoke, and the words seeped into
her every pore, soothing her simpering breath, melting away her
fears.
    Anastasia buried her face against his neck and
breathed him in. The smell of safety. Protection. The smell of a
knight in shining armor. The smell of sandalwood and nutmeg. How
she loved that smell.
    The warmth emanating from the grate in the dark room
welcomed them as Baldwyn stepped inside and set her on her feet.
Lord Montmouth's library. They had come through a side door, just
out of sight of the balcony but with a grand view of the gazebo
where she had only moments ago been held captive.
    His hands remained on her shoulders, as though to
steady her. She lifted her gaze to meet his. His clear blue eyes
shone with concern, but a veiled hint of fear seemed to hang there
as well.
    He truly was her knight in shining