“That was different,” Lady Bridgerton said.
“How so?” This, from Francesca, who was wearing her usual sly smile.
“He’d said he was going to that awful Cavender boy’s party, and then never came back, whereas this time...” Lady Bridgerton stopped, pursing her lips. “Why am I explaining myself to you?”
“I can’t imagine,” Sophie murmured.
Eloise, who was sitting closest to Sophie, choked on her tea.
Francesca whacked Eloise on the back as she leaned forward to inquire, “Did you say something, Sophie?”
Sophie shook her head as she stabbed her needle into the dress she was mending, completely missing the hem.
Eloise gave her a dubious sideways glance.
Lady Bridgerton cleared her throat. “Well, I think—” She stopped, cocking her head to the side. “I say, is that someone in the hall?”
Sophie stifled a groan and looked over toward the doorway, expecting the butler to enter. Wickham always gave her a disapproving frown before imparting whatever news he was carrying. He didn’t approve of the maid taking tea with the ladies of the house, and while he never vocalized his thoughts on the issue in front of the Bridgertons, he rarely took pains to keep his opinions from showing on his face.
But instead of Wickham, Benedict walked through the doorway.
“Benedict!” Eloise called out, rising to her feet. “We were just talking about you.”
He looked at Sophie. “Were you?”
“I wasn’t,” Sophie muttered.
“Did you say something, Sophie?” Hyacinth asked.
“Ow!”
“I’m going to have to take that mending away from you,” Lady Bridgerton said with an amused smile. “You’ll have lost a pint of blood before the day is through.”
Sophie lurched to her feet. “I’ll get a thimble.”
“You don’t have a thimble.” Hyacinth asked. “I would never dream of doing mending without a thimble.”
“Have you ever dreamed of mending?” Francesca smirked.
Hyacinth kicked her, nearly upsetting the tea service in the process.
“Hyacinth!” Lady Bridgerton scolded.
Sophie stared at the door, trying desperately to keep her eyes focused on anything but Benedict. She’d spent all week hoping for a glimpse, but now that he was here, all she wanted was to escape. If she looked at his face, her eyes inevitably strayed to his lips. And if she looked at his lips, her thoughts immediately went to their kiss. And if she thought about the kiss ...
“I need that thimble,” she blurted out, jumping to her feet. There were some things one just shouldn’t think about in public.
“So you said,” Benedict murmured, one of his eyebrows quirking up into a perfect—and perfectly arrogant—arch.
“It’s downstairs,” she muttered. “In my room.”
“But your room is upstairs,” Hyacinth said.
Sophie could have killed her. “That’s what I said,” she ground out.
“No,” Hyacinth said in a matter-of-fact tone, “you didn’t.”
“Yes,” Lady Bridgerton said, “she did. I heard her.”
Sophie twisted her head sharply to look at Lady Bridgerton and knew in an instant that the older woman had lied. “I have to get that thimble,” she said, for what seemed like the thirtieth time. She hurried toward the doorway, gulping as she grew close to Benedict.
“Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself,” he said, stepping aside to allow her through the doorway. But as she brushed past him, he leaned forward, whispering, “Coward.”
Sophie’s cheeks burned, and she was halfway down the stairs before she realized that she’d meant to go back to her room. Dash it all, she didn’t want to march back up the stairs and have to walk past Benedict again. He was probably still standing in the doorway, and his lips would tilt upward as she passed—one of those faintly mocking, faintly seductive smiles that never failed to leave her breathless.
This was a disaster. There was no way she was going to be able to stay here. How could she remain with Lady Bridgerton, when every glimpse of Benedict turned her knees to water? She just wasn’t strong enough. He was going to wear her down, make her forget all of her principles, all of her vows. She was going to have to leave. There was no other option.
And that was really too bad, because she liked working for the Bridgerton sisters. They treated her like a human being, not like some barely paid workhorse. They asked her questions and seemed to care about her answers.
Sophie knew she wasn’t one of them, would never be one of them, but they made it so easy to pretend. And in all truth, all that Sophie had ever really wanted out of life was a family.
With the Bridgertons, she could almost pretend that she had one.
“Lost your way?”
Sophie looked up to see Benedict at the top of the stairs, leaning lazily against the wall. She looked down and realized that she was still standing on the stairs. “I’m going out,” she said.
‘To buy a thimble?”
“Yes,” she said defiantly.
“Don’t you need money?”
She could lie, and say that she had money in her pocket, or she could tell the truth, and show herself for the pathetic fool she was. Or she could just run down the stairs and out of the house. It was the cowardly thing to do, but...
“I have to go,” she muttered, and dashed away so quickly that she completely forgot she ought to be using the servants’ entrance. She skidded across the foyer and pushed open the heavy door, stumbling her way down the front steps. When her feet hit the pavement, she turned north, not for any particular reason, just because she had to go somewhere, and then she heard a voice.