Page 24 of A Duchess for his Family

“Tired?”

“No.”

“Then you are crushing my sleeve for sport?”

Her hand loosened at once. A little color rose in her cheeks. “I was not crushing it.”

“Punishing it, perhaps.”

She glanced up at him, and he saw irritation mingled with embarrassment in her hazel eyes. It was an expression he found he liked far more than was convenient.

“They are all staring,” she said.

“Yes.”

Sophia waited. Benedict continued walking.

After several seconds, she said with some indignation, “That is all you intend to say?”

“What else should I say?”

“You might express concern.”

He gave a dismissive shrug. “I am not concerned.”

“That is very evident.”

He almost smiled. “You sound displeased by my composure.”

“I am displeased by its excess. A moderate amount of composure is admirable. Yours borders on offensive.”

A lady in a passing barouche bowed to him with bright curiosity. Benedict inclined his head. Sophia’s mouth tightened.

“They will talk whatever we do,” he said.

“What a wonderfully comforting observation. They will talk. How very easy for you. You have been a duke all your life.”

“Not all my life.”

“Near enough.”

“I was once a small boy.”

“I find that difficult to imagine.”

“That is because you possess excellent judgment.”

Despite herself, her lips twitched. Then she mastered the impulse and looked ahead. “You know what I mean. People have watched you since you were born. You are accustomed to being observed, discussed, bowed to, approved of, disapproved of, and probably obeyed before you even decided what you wanted.”

“That last part is exaggerated.”

“Is it?”

“No. But it is still unkind of you to mention it.”

Her laugh escaped before she could restrain it. The sound was brief, surprised, and so pleasing that Benedict found his attention caught by it more firmly than by all the whispers in the park.

Then another group passed them. One lady stared openly at Sophia’s gown, her face, and finally at the hand resting upon Benedict’s arm. Sophia’s laughter faded.