Page 145 of A Duchess for his Family

“She was afraid.”

“You could have died.”

“So could she.”

Benedict held her closer. He wanted to be angry. Anger would be easier. He wanted to lecture her about risk and foolishness and the impossibility of protecting someone who seemed determined to walk directly into danger.

But every argument collapsed beneath one memory, of the water closing over her head. He had seen death before. He knew the abrupt obscenity of absence. A person was present one moment, and gone the next.

Loss never asked permission. And Benedict had spent years convincing himself that if he cared carefully enough, if he loved from far enough away, he might somehow escape its reach.

Sophia had proved the lie of it without even trying. Because when she’d disappeared beneath that stream, Benedict had not thought: This was only an arrangement. He had thought: Not her. Anything but her.

The house grew nearer. Servants came running from the terrace carrying lanterns. Their voices reached him indistinctly.

“Your Grace!”

“Bring towels!”

“The physician has been sent for!”

Benedict kept walking. Sophia had gone very quiet. At first, he was grateful for it. She had stopped insisting she was unharmed. Then something about the silence changed. Benedict took several more steps.

“Sophia?”

No answer. His heart stopped. He looked down. Her head had fallen heavily against his arm, and her eyes were closed.

“Sophia.” No reply. Benedict stopped so abruptly that the servant behind him nearly collided with him.

“Sophia.” He shifted her higher against his chest. Her face was terribly pale. “Sophia, open your eyes.”

She did not. Panic struck with brutal force.

“Your Grace?”

“She has fainted.”

Someone reached toward her. Benedict tightened his hold instinctively.

“No.”

“Your Grace, we can carry⁠—”

“No.”

He started forward again, faster. The terrace steps were only yards away. She remained limp against him. Benedict climbed the steps two at a time. His wet boots struck stone. Water ran from both of them, leaving dark trails behind.

Servants opened the doors. Heat spilled from the house.

Benedict barely noticed. He held Sophia so tightly that somewhere in the distant, rational part of his mind he knew he ought to loosen his arms. He could not. He had spent days forcing himself not to reach for her. Now every instinct in his body rebelled against ever letting her go again.

“Fetch the physician,” he ordered.

“He is already coming, Your Grace.”

“Then send someone to meet him.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”