Page 146 of A Duchess for his Family

Benedict carried Sophia through the hall. Her wet hair lay against his arm. Her face rested against his chest. Benedict tightened his hold around her and hurried toward the stairs, terrified by the limp weight of her body and by one simple truth he could no longer deny.

He had already lost too many people he loved. He could not lose her, too.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Sophia woke to unfamiliar darkness. For one confused moment, she did not know where she was.

The bed beneath her was too large. The mattress was firmer than her own. The curtains surrounding it were dark rather than pale, and the faint scent clinging to the linen was not lavender or rosewater but something cleaner, warmer.

Cedar… soap… Benedict.

Memory returned all at once: the stream, Marjorie crying, cold water closing over her head, hands dragging her upward and finally, Benedict’s voice.

Sophia drew a sharp breath and pushed herself onto her elbows. The room was dim, lit only by the low orange remains of a fire and one candle burning upon the bedside table. She recognized it then. It was Benedict’s bedchamber.

Sophia blinked. She was in Benedict’s bed. The realization would ordinarily have produced several extremely distracting thoughts.

Instead, she saw the armchair beside her… and Benedict. He was asleep. He sat awkwardly in the deep chair, his head resting against one hand, still wearing yesterday’s shirt and trousers. His coat was gone. His collar had been unbuttoned, and his dark hair had dried in complete disorder after the stream.

Sophia had never seen him look so exhausted. Something tightened painfully in her chest. He had stayed.

Sophia shifted upright. The mattress moved beneath her and Benedict woke instantly. His head lifted.

“Sophia?”

He was out of the chair before she could answer. One moment he was several feet away and the next he was beside the bed.

“How do you feel?” His hand came to her forehead, then her cheek, as though testing for fever. “Are you dizzy?”

“No.”

“Does your head hurt?”

“No.”

“Your chest?”

She smiled weakly. “Benedict.”

“Were you coughing after I brought you inside? The physician said⁠—”

“Benedict.” He stopped. Sophia caught his wrist gently. “I am perfectly fine.”

His expression suggested he considered this statement wildly irresponsible.

“You lost consciousness.”

“I fainted.”

“You were unconscious.”

“That is generally involved in fainting.”

His mouth tightened. Sophia almost smiled. There he was. She had missed him terribly.

“I am all right,” she repeated softly.

Benedict stared at her for several seconds, then some of the tension left his shoulders.