Chapter 35
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.
Sophia looked around. “Marjorie?”
“She is fine.” The answer came immediately.
“She was examined?”
“Yes.”
“Is she warm?”
“Yes.”
“Frightened?”
“Yes.”
Sophia’s heart tightened.
“But unharmed,” Benedict added quickly. “She is asleep now. Amelia refused to leave her until she was.”
Sophia closed her eyes briefly. “Thank God.”
Benedict sat on the edge of the bed. Only then did Sophia notice that his hand still rested beneath hers. Neither moved it. For several moments, there was only the faint crackle of the fire. Then Sophia looked at him.
“What were you doing outside, in the middle of the night?”
Something shifted in his expression. Sophia watched him carefully.
“You were hardly taking a peaceful midnight stroll during a flood.”
“No.” Benedict looked toward the fire. “I was searching for Marjorie.”
Sophia’s smile faded.
“I went to check on the girls before retiring,” he continued. “Amelia was asleep. Marjorie’s bed was empty.”
Her fingers tightened slightly around his wrist.
“You realized where she had gone?”
“Amelia told me Marjorie intended to bring you home if I would not.”
“Oh, Benedict,” she gasped.
“I should have come sooner,” he whispered.
“For Marjorie?”
His gaze returned to hers. “For you.”
Sophia went still. Benedict was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter.
“I could not sleep. I spent half the night waiting for morning.”
Her heart gave a painful little beat. “Why?”
“I intended to find you and… ask you to come home.” Benedict continued. “I could not sleep. I thought walking might make the hours pass more quickly.”
Sophia stared at him.
“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.
“I did not.”
Sophia’s chest ached.
“He was simply… there. All my life. Irritating me, arguing with me, making everything louder than it needed to be.”
The faintest shadow of a smile touched Benedict’s face, then vanished.
“And then he was not.”
Sophia squeezed his hand. Benedict looked at their joined fingers.
“When Amelia and Marjorie became mine to protect, I thought I could prevent anything else from happening if I was careful enough.”
“You made rules.”
“Yes.”
“So many rules.”
He gave a breath that almost became a laugh.
“Yes.” Benedict continued quietly. “The thought of losing either of them terrifies me.”
His gaze lifted.
“And somewhere along the way…” He stopped. Sophia scarcely breathed. “The thought of losing you became just as frightening.”
Her heart seemed to stop. Benedict looked at her as though he could no longer hide behind anything.
“When I realized that, I did what I have always done.”
“You withdrew.”
“Yes. I thought distance would make it safer.”
“For whom?”
“For me.”
The honesty of it hurt. Benedict’s fingers tightened around hers.
“And perhaps for you as well. That was what I told myself.”
Sophia looked at him. “Did it?”
“No.” The answer came immediately. “It made me miserable.”
A tear escaped before Sophia could stop it. Benedict saw. His free hand rose and brushed it away with his thumb.
“I missed you even when you were in the next room,” he said.
Sophia closed her eyes.
“And when you left…” His voice broke slightly. “I understood how thoroughly I had failed.”
She opened her eyes again. Benedict was watching her.
“I thought loving someone meant giving the world another means of hurting me.”
His thumb remained against her cheek.
“Perhaps it does.”
Sophia’s throat tightened.
“But losing you tonight…”
He stopped. His eyes closed briefly. When they opened again, whatever remained of his defenses was gone.
“I cannot live half a life merely because I am afraid of losing it.”
Sophia’s breath trembled. Benedict leaned closer.
“I love you.”
The room went still. Sophia stared at him. He did not look away.
“I love you,” he repeated. “Not because Amelia and Marjorie need you. Not because Rivermere needs you. Not because you are my wife.”
His hand cupped her cheek.
“I love you because you are Sophia… my Sophia.”
Tears spilled freely now. Sophia laughed through them.
Benedict’s expression tightened with concern. “Why are you crying?”
“Because you are such a fool.”
He blinked. “That was not the response I anticipated.”
Sophia caught his face between her hands. “I love you, too.”
He went completely still. Sophia smiled despite her tears.
“I have loved you for some time, I think. I was simply considerably less efficient at denying it.”
Benedict stared at her. “You love me.”
“Yes.”
“Despite—”
“Yes.”
“You have not heard the remainder.”
“I am familiar with the remainder.”
Something like wonder entered his face. Sophia had never seen it there before. It made him look younger and less burdened. She touched her forehead to his.
“I love you,” she whispered again.
Benedict kissed her. There was nothing hesitant about it this time.
His arms came around her, drawing her carefully but completely against him.
Sophia wrapped both arms around his neck.
His mouth moved over hers with all the tenderness he had once tried so desperately to restrain.
She could feel his relief in it, his fear, his love, everything neither of them had known how to say.
When they finally parted, Sophia remained against him. Benedict pressed his forehead to hers. His breathing was unsteady. So was hers.
For several quiet moments neither spoke. Then his expression changed. Sophia recognized the faintest trace of dangerous amusement.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Benedict.”
His thumb brushed her cheek.
“You once informed me that if you wished to become a mother, I was expected to do my duty.”
Sophia froze. Heat rushed into her face.
“Oh, good heavens.”
Benedict’s mouth curved… actually curved.
“I cannot believe you remember that.”
His eyes warmed.
“Trust me, Sophia.” He leaned closer. “I remember it very well.”