Page 118 of A Duchess for his Family

That was the humiliating part.

Something had altered in her. She had begun wanting things she had no right to expect, such as his attention, his company, the private version of his smile that appeared only at the corner of his mouth, and his hand reaching for hers without necessity.

She had begun to believe that perhaps the arrangement was becoming something neither of them anticipated. And Benedict, apparently, had realized the danger before she had.

Sophia pressed her face into the pillow. She wished desperately that the hurt made her angry. Frances would have become angry. Frances would have stormed into Benedict’s study, demanded an explanation, and stayed there until the Duke of Rivermere surrendered from exhaustion.

Emma would have understood how to speak gently enough for the truth to become unavoidable.

Sophia did neither.

Sophia became quieter.

She had always known how.

The corridor outside the morning room was filled with late-afternoon sunlight when she saw him again. Sophia had just left Amelia upstairs and was carrying a book she meant to return to the library.

Benedict came around the corner at the same moment. They stopped.

Once, such meetings had become strangely pleasurable. A pause in the day when five minutes stretched to fifteen because Sophia asked where he was going and Benedict asked what she was reading, and somehow they found themselves arguing over whether Gothic heroines possessed sufficient common sense.

This time, the space between them remained empty.

“Benedict.”

“Sophia.” Her name sounded perfectly gentle, perfectly controlled.

He looked tired. There were faint shadows beneath his eyes, and the severe line between his brows seemed deeper than usual. For one tender, foolish moment, concern overcame pride.

“You have been working a great deal,” she pointed out.

“I have had several matters requiring attention.”

“So I gathered.”

A small silence followed. Sophia held the book more tightly against her waist.

Before, he might have heard something in her voice. Before, he had noticed everything.

Now, Benedict merely nodded.

“I hope the girls have not troubled you.”

“No.”

“They have behaved?”

“Relatively.”

His mouth moved into what was almost a smile. Sophia’s heart responded before she could stop it, then the expression vanished.

“I am glad.”

There it was again, the politeness. She would almost have preferred anger. At least anger required feeling.

Sophia looked at him. He wore the dark coat she liked best upon him. She had never told him that. She thought, absurdly, that there would be time for such insignificant confessions. His hair had fallen slightly over his forehead, probably because he had pushed one hand through it while reading.

She knew that habit now. She knew too many things about him.