Page 104 of A Duchess for his Family

Jenny had retired nearly an hour earlier after Sophia assured her that no further assistance would be required. At the time, this had seemed considerate. Jenny had risen early and spent the day attending to a visiting seamstress, two missing ribbons, and Marjorie’s conviction that Admiral required a bonnet.

The kitten had not agreed. His resistance resulted in one scratched ribbon, an overturned basket, and Marjorie’s declaration that gentlemen did not always appreciate fashion. Sophia had not wished to disturb Jenny merely because a gown refused to release its occupant.

Perhaps she could undo the lower buttons first.

She turned her back more fully toward the glass and reached behind her waist. The lowest button proved no more cooperative than the first. After several minutes of twisting, stretching, and muttering remarks unworthy of a duchess, Sophia rested both hands upon the dressing table.

Perhaps I could sleep in my gown.

It would crease horribly. Jenny would know at once what happened. Worse, she would look at Sophia with the gentle patience reserved for children who refused assistance and then discovered the consequence.

Sophia was still considering whether sleeping upright in a chair might preserve the silk when a knock sounded at the outer door of her sitting room.

She straightened. At such an hour, a knock could not be casual. The girls had gone to bed, and the household had settled into its evening quiet. Beyond the faint crackle of the fire, Rivermere seemed to breathe in a deep, sleeping silence.

Sophia drew her wrapper more securely over the gown and crossed the sitting room.

“Who is it?”

“Benedict.”

Her hand froze upon the latch. Then, she opened the door. Benedict stood in the corridor holding a book. He had removed his coat and cravat, though his dark waistcoat remained fastened and his shirtsleeves were still immaculate. His collar lay open at the throat, revealing a small portion of skin Sophia had no proper reason to notice and no ability whatever to ignore.

Without the stern arrangement of formal evening dress, he appeared less like the Duke of Rivermere and more dangerously like a man who belonged outside his wife’s chamber after dark.

His hair had fallen slightly across his brow. He looked tired, though not displeased, and the softer candlelight from her room took some of the severity from the lines of his face.

Sophia became immediately conscious of her loose hair, her wrapper, and the evening gown she had been unable to remove.

“You left this in the drawing room,” he said.

Her gaze dropped to the volume in his hand. It was the botanical book Mr. Fairford had sent that afternoon.

“Oh.”

Something changed very slightly in Benedict’s expression.

“I thought you might wish to have it returned.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

He held it out. Sophia accepted it, and their fingers brushed along the smooth leather spine. The contact lasted no more than a second. Her pulse responded as though he had taken her hand and held it.

Benedict’s gaze moved briefly toward her face, then away. “I did not mean to disturb you.”

“You have not.” The words came too quickly.

Silence settled between them. It was not, precisely, an uncomfortable silence. Sophia and Benedict had shared many silences. Some had been guarded, some companionable, and some so full of unspoken feeling that she had scarcely known how to endure them.

This one felt different. The lateness of the hour altered everything. There were no servants arranging tea, no twins interrupting, no open garden to remind them of the world beyond one another. They stood at the threshold of her private rooms, with Benedict’s throat bare above his collar and Sophia’s hair falling loose over one shoulder.

He inclined his head. “Good night, then.”

He began to turn.

“Benedict?” His name escaped before Sophia had decided to speak it.

He looked back. She ought to have let him go. She ought to have closed the door, placed the book upon the table, and rang for Jenny despite the embarrassment.