Page 106 of A Duchess for his Family

Then, Benedict’s fingertips grazed her back again, and all ordinary thought deserted her. She watched his reflection. A faint line had appeared between his brows. He approached each small fastening with grave concentration, as though the gown presented a matter of estate law rather than seven troublesome pearl buttons.

The sixth came loose. Only one remained, positioned lower at the center of her back. Benedict hesitated. Sophia felt the hesitation before she saw it. The final button sat just beyond the comfortable reach of his hand. To reach it, he would have to step closer… and he did.

His body did not touch hers, but the heat of him seemed to surround her. His breath stirred the loose curls near her shoulder. The scents of clean linen, leather, and soap filled the small space between them.

Sophia’s entire awareness narrowed to the place where his hand rested against the fabric. The loop had twisted around the pearl. Benedict worked at it carefully. His knuckle grazed the bare edge of skin where the gown had parted.

Sophia inhaled sharply. He went still. Their eyes met in the looking glass. He was close enough that she could see the pulse beating at the base of his throat. His gaze had darkened, the green of his eyes almost lost beneath something deeper and less guarded.

“Forgive me,” he murmured.

“There is nothing to forgive.”

Neither looked away. Benedict’s thumb rested only an inch from her spine. Sophia wondered what would happen if he moved it, if his hand ceased to be careful, if he touched her not because a button required it, but because he wished to.

The thought sent warmth low through her body.

His gaze shifted briefly to the curve of her exposed shoulder. The final loop slipped free. The button came loose. Benedict’s hand remained where it was for one breath longer than necessary, then he lowered it.

“It is done.”

Sophia turned. She had meant only to thank him. She had forgotten how close he stood.

The movement brought them nearly against one another. Her wrapper loosened, and she caught it instinctively at her chest. The back of the gown remained open beneath it, leaving her feeling both covered and strangely exposed.

Benedict stood directly before her, scarcely more than a breath away. Neither moved.

Sophia’s heart was beating so violently she was certain he had to hear it. She wondered whether he could see the pulse at her throat, whether he knew how difficult it had become to draw air into her lungs.

His eyes held hers. There was no polite distance or guarded consideration, only the same restrained hunger she had glimpsed in the garden when he caught her before she fell.

His gaze dropped to her lips. Sophia’s breath caught.

She remembered his arm around her waist, the solid warmth of his chest beneath her palm and the single suspended moment before Marjorie’s voice had called them apart.

There was no one to interrupt them now. The twins slept several rooms away. The servants had withdrawn. Even the corridor outside remained silent.

Benedict’s gaze lingered upon her mouth. Sophia’s lips parted without intention. Something in his face changed.

His hand shifted at his side, his fingers curling once as though resisting the impulse to reach for her. He leaned nearer, not enough to touch her, but enough that the air between them seemed to disappear. Sophia did not step away.

She wanted him to kiss her.

The truth was no longer surprising. It was only overwhelming.

She wanted to feel the restraint in him break. She wanted his hand at her waist again, drawing her closer rather than preventing a fall. She wanted to know whether his mouth would be as careful as his fingers had been or whether care would prove impossible once they touched.

Benedict lifted one hand. For a heartbeat, Sophia thought he meant to cup her face. His fingers stopped halfway between them. The struggle in his expression was so clear that tenderness mingled painfully with her longing.

Then restraint returned. It closed over him slowly, like ice forming across dark water. His hand fell, and he stepped back. The loss of his nearness left the room abruptly cold.

“Good night, Sophia.” His voice was rough enough to betray him, whatever his expression attempted to conceal.

Sophia tightened her wrapper across her chest. “Good night.”

Benedict turned and crossed toward the door. At the threshold, he stopped. For one breath, Sophia believed he might look back. Her heart rose foolishly with the hope of it.

He did not. His hand tightened upon the doorframe, then released it. He left, pulling the door gently closed behind him, while Sophia remained where she stood.