Page 95 of A Duchess for his Family

Benedict frowned. “That seems excessive.”

Sophia’s lips curved. “You had better remain and defend yourself.”

He should have refused. Instead, he crossed the room and sat in the chair beside hers. Marjorie settled back triumphantly. Amelia adjusted the blanket over Admiral, who immediately crawled out from beneath it and curled near her feet.

Sophia found her place and began to read. Her voice changed when she read aloud. It remained gentle, but gathered warmth and expression, giving each sentence its own shape. Marjorie interrupted twice to object to the hero’s decisions. Amelia defended him once, then withdrew her defense when he entered a dark corridor without a candle.

Benedict listened. At first, he watched the fire. Then, he watched the girls. Amelia’s eyes remained fixed upon Sophia, solemn and absorbed. Marjorie attempted to resist sleep through force of character, though her head had begun to sink against the pillows.

Sophia turned a page. The candlelight softened her face. One loose strand of hair escaped near her temple, and her hand rested lightly against the open book.

A thought came to Benedict without warning. He imagined another nursery, another child beneath the covers, perhaps with Sophia’s hazel eyes and his own stubbornness. He imagined Sophia seated beside a smaller bed, reading in that same warm voice while a son or daughter leaned against her arm.

Their child.

The words entered him with such force that his chest tightened. He looked away at once. It was a foolish thought… worse than foolish. Their marriage had been made for the twins, for order, security, and a practical future. He had no right to build tender little scenes upon promises neither of them had made.

Yet the image remained.

Sophia with a baby in her arms. Sophia smiling across a nursery at him. Sophia reading to their children while Rivermere breathed quietly around them.

He hated himself for imagining it. He hated even more that the thought did not frighten him as much as it should have done.

Sophia finished the chapter and closed the book, bringing him back to the present moment.

Marjorie immediately protested. “One more.”

“No,” Sophia said.

“But the door has just opened.”

“Which means tomorrow we shall discover what is behind it.”

“A villain,” Benedict said.

Three faces turned toward him.

Marjorie narrowed her eyes. “You have read it before.”

“I have not.”

“Then how do you know?”

“Anyone entering a dark corridor without a candle deserves to find a villain.”

Sophia laughed softly. The sound settled around him in the firelight. Amelia yawned and reached for his hand. Benedict gave it to her. Marjorie leaned across the pillows and caught his sleeve with two fingers, as if to hold him back. Sophia looked at him over the closed book. For a quiet moment, Benedict allowed himself to imagine that he belonged there.

That was the most dangerous thought of all.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Benedict did not know how he had become involved in a treasure hunt.

He remembered entering the morning room with the reasonable intention of asking Sophia whether she wished to ride before dinner. He remembered Marjorie appearing with a folded map, Amelia carrying a basket, and Sophia looking at him with an expression of such innocent hope that suspicion should have saved him.

It had not. Now, he was standing in the garden holding a wooden spade painted gold.

“This is undignified,” he murmured.