Page 148 of A Duchess for his Family

“I was going to speak to you… properly,” he continued. “To apologize, to tell you that what I said at the ball was not the truth, or at least, not all of it.” His mouth tightened. “I decided I would leave at first light. Then I went to check on the girls and discovered that Marjorie had been less willing to wait for morning than I was.”

For a moment, Sophia could not say anything. Then, slowly, she smiled.

“What?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

“Sophia.”

“I had precisely the same difficulty. I could not sleep either,” she explained. “I decided to return in the morning.”

Benedict stared at her.

“But eventually morning seemed far too distant.”

Understanding moved across his face. “You were coming home.”

“Yes.” Something in his expression broke open. “I was coming home,” she repeated.

His hand turned beneath hers until their fingers joined. Sophia looked down at them. She had spent days missing that simple contact.

Her throat tightened. “There is something I need to say first.”

The seriousness in his voice made her heart begin to pound.

“Benedict—”

“Please.”

Sophia fell silent. He looked down at their joined hands. For once, Benedict seemed uncertain how to begin. That frightened her more than anything.

Then he drew a slow breath. “I owe you an apology. I have behaved…” His mouth tightened. “Poorly.”

His eyes lifted. Sophia could not quite prevent the faint smile. Benedict almost smiled, too. Then his expression became serious again.

“No. Not poorly.” He looked at her. “Cowardly.”

Sophia’s breath caught.

“After I kissed you, I panicked.”

There was no elegance to the confession, no careful preparation. That made it more powerful.

Benedict continued before she could answer. “I told myself I was preserving the arrangement, that I was respecting what we agreed, that keeping some distance between us would make everything simpler.”

His thumb moved once against her fingers.

“It was a lie.”

Sophia’s eyes began to sting. Benedict looked away.

“My brother’s death nearly broke me.”

His voice had changed. Sophia did not move. She knew enough of Benedict to understand that interrupting him now would cost him whatever courage had brought these words forward.

“I thought I understood grief before him,” he continued. “I had lost my parents. I believed I knew what it meant.”

His jaw tightened.