Page 48 of A Duchess for his Family

Nathaniel murmured to the twins. “A bold strategy.”

“What strategy?” Amelia whispered.

“Accusing your uncle of error.”

Marjorie looked delighted. “Is it dangerous?”

“Only if one values peace.”

Benedict resumed the step. His hand remained at Sophia’s waist. Again and again, they crossed the room together. He felt the shift of her beneath his palm, the light pressure of her fingers in his, the faint brush of her skirt against his boots. Her floral scent rose each time she turned close to him.

Fortunately, the girls and Nathaniel were present. Benedict repeated this to himself with growing insistence. Without them, the room would have been too quiet. Without them, he might have noticed too plainly how Sophia’s breath caught when he drew her closer to correct a turn, how her hand warmed in his, or how every sharp little argument ended with her looking at him as though she had forgotten the rest of the room.

He was not certain he wished to know what might happen in such silence.

“Do not look down,” he urged.

“I am not looking down.”

“You looked at your feet.”

“I wished to confirm they remained attached after two hours of criticism.”

“They are perfectly safe.”

“That is generous of you.”

Nathaniel set down his cup. “I feel the lesson has reached a philosophical stage.”

“It reached that stage when Uncle Benedict declared doors political,” Marjorie said.

“I did not.”

“You implied it,” Sophia replied.

Benedict looked down at her. “You have a remarkable talent for inventing arguments I have not made.”

“And you possess one for continuing arguments you claim do not exist.”

Nathaniel began to laugh again. Benedict’s patience, which had survived Parliament, estate disputes, negligent stewards, and Marjorie with a slingshot, was strained. Then Sophia smiled in a small, provoking curve of her lips, telling him she knew exactly what she was doing. His irritation shifted into something warmer and far less manageable.

“Ten minutes,” Nathaniel announced suddenly.

Benedict glanced toward him. “What?”

“I give you ten minutes before one of you loses patience.”

Sophia drew back. “One of us?”

Nathaniel produced several coins from his pocket and placed them upon the table. “A wager.”

Marjorie scrambled to her feet. “I wager Uncle Benedict.”

“Disloyal,” Benedict said.

“Accurate,” Marjorie replied.

Amelia considered carefully. “I think Miss Norton.”