Page 121 of A Duchess for his Family

Benedict looked at him then. Nathaniel lifted his glass.

“No one else can tell.”

“Then there is no difficulty.”

Nathaniel’s expression went flat. Benedict ignored him. This was better. That was the point. Sophia had security. The girls had her. Rivermere had warmth again. And he could meet all the expectations of a husband without becoming something he had never promised to be.

He could stand beside her in ballrooms and escort her to dinner and ensure no one ever treated her with disrespect. He could give her everything except the one thing neither had included in their agreement.

His heart.

The thought felt unexpectedly childish. He disliked it at once.

Sophia returned to his side. “Frances believes Lord Harbury’s new mustache makes him resemble an unhappy spaniel.”

Benedict looked toward the gentleman in question. “She is not entirely wrong.”

Sophia laughed. It struck him with such force that for one dangerous moment he forgot every resolution he had made. Their eyes met. Something familiar warmed between them. Then Benedict remembered.

He looked toward the dancers. “The next set is beginning.”

Sophia’s smile faded by a fraction. “Yes.”

He offered his hand. “Will you dance?”

Her gaze dropped to his hand. For a moment, Benedict thought she might refuse. Instead, she placed her fingers in his.

“Of course.”

Her glove was thin. That was the first thought he had. The second was that her hand fitted into his exactly as he remembered.

He led her onto the floor. Around them, couples arranged themselves beneath the chandeliers. The musicians began a slower country dance, graceful enough to permit conversation and close enough to make Benedict immediately regret choosing it.

Sophia stood opposite him. She smiled when another couple passed. Benedict bowed. She curtsied.

Perfect.

Every movement between them was perfect. That was almost unbearable.

The figure began. They came together, parted, turned, returned. His hand met hers. Sophia’s fingers curled around his with proper lightness.

Once, she would have commented upon his expression. Once, she might have accused him of conducting the dance like a military campaign. Tonight she said nothing.

Benedict discovered he missed her arguing with him. He nearly smiled at the absurdity.

Sophia noticed. Her eyes lifted. But before either spoke, the figure separated them again. When she returned, she was still watching him.

“Benedict?”

“Yes?”

Her voice was quiet enough that only he could hear.

“Is this how things will always be?”

His step almost faltered.

Almost.