“Benedict!”
He deposited her right by the door. “Stay here.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Don’t move a muscle,” he said, touching his fingertip to her nose.
Sophie watched helplessly as he slipped out into the hall, only to return two minutes later. “Where did you go?” she asked.
“To order a bath.”
“But—”
His eyes grew very, very wicked. “For two.”
She gulped.
He leaned forward. “They happened to have water heating already.”
“They did?”
He nodded. “It’ll only take a few minutes to fill the tub.”
She glanced toward the front door. “It’s nearly seven.”
“But I’m allowed to keep you until twelve.”
“Benedict!”
He pulled her close. “You want to stay.”
“I never said that.”
“You don’t have to. If you really disagreed with me, you’d have something more to say than, ‘Benedict’!”
She had to smile; he did that good an imitation of her voice.
His mouth curved into a devilish grin. “Am I wrong?”
She looked away, but she knew her lips were twitching.
“I thought not,” he murmured. He motioned with his head toward the stairs. “Come with me.”
She went.
To Sophie’s great surprise, Benedict vacated the room while she undressed for her bath. She held her breath as she pulled her dress over her head. He was right; she did smell rank.
The maid who had drawn the bath had scented it with oil and a sudsy soap that left bubbles floating on the surface. Once Sophie had shed all of her clothing, she dipped her toe into the steaming water. The rest of her soon followed.
Heaven. It was hard to believe it had only been two days since she’d had a bath. One night in jail made it feel more like a year.
Sophie tried to clear her mind and enjoy the hedonism of the moment, but it was difficult to enjoy with the anticipation growing within her veins. She knew when she’d decided to stay that Benedict planned on joining her. She could have refused; for all his wheedling and cajoling, he would have taken her back home to his mother’s.
But she had decided to stay. Somewhere between the sitting-room doorway and the base of the stairs she’d realized she wanted to stay. It had been such a long road to this moment, and she wasn’t quite ready to relinquish him, even if it would only be until the following morning, when he was sure to come by his mother’s for breakfast.
He would be here soon. And when he was . . .
She shivered. Even in the steaming hot tub, she shivered. And then, as she was sinking deeper into the water, allowing it to rise above her shoulders and neck, even right up to her nose, she heard the click of the door opening.
Benedict. He was wearing a dark green dressing gown, tied with a sash at his waist. His feet were bare, as were his legs from the knees down.
“I hope you don’t mind if I have this destroyed,” he said, glancing down at her dress.
She smiled at him and shook her head. It wasn’t what she’d been expecting him to say, and she knew that he’d done it to set her at ease.
“I’ll send someone to fetch you another,” he said.
“Thank you.” She shifted slightly in the water to make room for him, but he surprised her by walking to her end of the tub.
“Lean forward,” he murmured.
She did, and sighed with pleasure as he began to wash her back.
“I’ve dreamed of doing this for years.”
“Years?” she asked, amused.
“Mmm-hmm. I had many dreams about you after the masquerade.”
Sophie was glad she was leaning forward, her forehead resting on her bent knees, because she blushed.
“Dunk your head so I can wash your hair,” he ordered.
She slid under the water, then quickly came back up.
Benedict rubbed the bar of soap in his hands and then began to work the lather through her hair. “It was longer before,” he commented.
“I had to cut it,” she said. “I sold it to a wigmaker.”
She wasn’t sure, but she thought she might have heard him growl.
“It used to be much shorter,” she added.
“Ready to rinse.”
She dunked back in the tub, swishing her head this way and that under the water before coming back up for air.
Benedict cupped his hands and filled them with water. “You’ve still got some in the back,” he said, letting the water pour over her hair.
Sophie let him repeat that process a few times, then finally asked, “Aren’t you coming in?” It was dreadfully brazen of her, and she knew she must be blushing like a raspberry, but she simply had to know.
He shook his head. “I’d planned to, but this is too much fun.”
“Washing me?” she asked doubtfully.
One corner of his mouth quirked into the faintest of half smiles. “I’m rather looking forward to drying you off as well.” He reached down and picked up a large white towel. “Up you go.”
Sophie chewed on her lower lip in indecision. She had, of course, already been as close to him as two people could be, but she wasn’t so sophisticated that she could rise naked from the tub without a large degree of embarrassment.
Benedict smiled faintly as he stood and unfolded the towel. Holding it wide, he averted his gaze and said, “I’ll have you all wrapped up before I can see a thing.”
Sophie took a deep breath and stood, somehow feeling that that one action might mark the beginning of the rest of her life.
Benedict gently wrapped the towel around her, his hands bringing the corners to her face when he was done. He dabbed at her cheeks, where light droplets of water were still clinging to her skin, then leaned down and kissed her nose. “I’m glad you’re here,” he murmured.
“I’m glad, too.”
He touched her chin. His eyes never left hers, and she almost felt as if he’d touched those as well. And then, with the softest, most tender caress imaginable, he kissed her. Sophie didn’t just feel loved; she felt revered.
“I should wait until Monday,” he said, “but I don’t want to.”
“I don’t want you to wait,” she whispered.
He kissed her again, this time with a bit more urgency. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured. “Everything I ever dreamed of.”
His lips found her cheek, her chin, her
neck, and every kiss, every nibble robbed her of balance and breath. She was sure her legs would give out, sure her strength would fail her under his tender onslaught, and just when she was convinced she’d crumple to the floor, he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed.
“In my heart,” he vowed, settling her against the quilts and pillows, “you are my wife.”
Sophie’s breath caught.
“After our wedding it will be legal,” he said, stretching out alongside her, “blessed by God and country, but right now—” His voice grew hoarse as he propped himself up on one elbow so that he could gaze into her eyes. “Right now it is true.”
Sophie reached up and touched his face. “I love you,” she whispered. “I have always loved you. I think I loved you before I even knew you.”
He leaned down to kiss her anew, but she stopped him with a breathy, “No, wait.”
He paused, mere inches from her lips.
“At the masquerade,” she said, her voice uncharacteristically shaky, “even before I saw you, I felt you. Anticipation. Magic. There was something in the air. And when I turned, and you were there, it was as if you’d been waiting for me, and I knew that you were the reason I’d stolen into the ball.”
Something wet hit her cheek. A single tear, fallen from his eye.
“You are the reason I exist,” she said softly, “the very reason I was born.”
He opened his mouth, and for a moment she was certain he would say something, but the only sound that emerged was a rough, halting noise, and she realized that he was overcome, that he could not speak.
She was undone.
Benedict kissed her again, trying to show in deeds what he could not say in words. He hadn’t thought he could love her any more than he did just five seconds earlier, but when she’d said . . . when she’d told him . . .
His heart had grown, and he’d thought it might burst.
He loved her. Suddenly the world was a very simple place. He loved her, and that was all that mattered.
His robe and her towel melted away, and when they were skin to skin he worshipped her with his hands and lips. He wanted her to realize the extent of his need for her, and he wanted her to know the same desire.