“You didn’t eat at all yesterday, did you?” Benedict asked quietly.
Sophie shook her head.
“Next time I see Cavender,” he growled, “I’m going to beat him to a bloody pulp.”
If she were a better person, she would have been horrified, but Sophie couldn’t quite prevent a smile at the thought of Benedict further defending her honor. Or of seeing Phillip Cavender with his nose relocated to his forehead.
“Fill up your plate again,” Benedict said. “If only for my sake. I assure you that Mrs. Crabtree counted how many eggs and strips of bacon were on the platter when she left, and she’ll have my head if the numbers haven’t gone down by the time she returns.”
“She’s a very nice lady,” Sophie said, reaching for the eggs. The first plate of food had barely touched upon her hunger; she needed no further urging to eat.
“The best.”
Sophie expertly balanced a slice of ham between a serving fork and spoon and moved it to her plate. “How are you feeling this morning, Mr. Bridgerton?”
“Very well, thank you. Or if not well, then at least a damn sight better than I did last night.”
“I was very worried about you,” she said, spearing a corner of the ham with her fork and then cutting a piece off with her knife.
“It was very kind of you to care for me.”
She chewed, swallowed, then said, “It was nothing, really. Anyone would have done it.”
“Perhaps,” he said, “but not with such grace and good humor.”
Sophie’s fork froze in midair. “Thank you,” she said softly. “That is a lovely compliment.”
“I didn’t... er...” He cleared his throat.
Sophie eyed him curiously, waiting for him to finish whatever it was he wanted to say.
“Never mind,” he mumbled.
Disappointed, she put a piece of ham in her mouth.
“I didn’t do anything for which I ought to apologize, did I?” he suddenly blurted out.
Sophie spat the ham out into her napkin.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he muttered.
“No!” she said quickly. “Not at all. You merely startled me.”
His eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t lie to me about this, would you?”
Sophie shook her head as she remembered the single, perfect kiss she’d given him. He hadn’t done anything that required an apology, but that didn’t mean that she hadn’t.
“You’re blushing,” he accused.
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes,” he said, “you are.”
“If I’m blushing,” she replied pertly, “it’s because I’m wondering why you would think you had any reason to apologize.”
“You have a rather smart mouth for a servant,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” Sophie said quickly. She had to remember her place. But that was hard to do with this man, the one member of the ton who had treated her—if only for a few hours—as an equal.
“I meant it as a compliment,” he said. “Do not stifle yourself on my account.”
She said nothing.
“I find you rather...” He paused, obviously searching for the correct word. “Refreshing.”
“Oh.” She set her fork down. “Thank you.”
“Have you plans for the rest of the day?” he asked.
She looked down at her huge garments and grimaced. “I thought I’d wait for my clothes to be readied, and then I suppose I’ll see if any of the nearby houses are in need of housemaids.”
Benedict scowled at her. “I told you I would find you a position with my mother.”
“And I do appreciate that,” she said quickly. “But I would prefer to stay in the country.”
He shrugged the shrug of one who has never been thrown one of life’s great stumbles. “You can work at Aubrey Hall, then. In Kent.”
Sophie chewed on her lower lip. She couldn’t exactly come out and say she didn’t want to work for his mother because then she’d have to see him.
She couldn’t think of a torture that would be more exquisitely painful.
“You shouldn’t think of me as your responsibility,” she finally said.
He gave her a rather superior glance. “I told you I would find you a new position.”
“But—”
“What could there possibly be to discuss?”
“Nothing,” she grumbled. “Nothing at all.” Clearly, it was no use arguing with him just then.
“Good.” He leaned back contentedly against his pillows. “I’m glad you see it my way.”
Sophie stood. “I should be going.”
“To do what?”
She felt rather stupid as she said, “I don’t know.”
He grinned. “Have fun with it, then.”
Her hand tightened around the handle of the serving spoon.
“Don’t do it,” he warned.
“Do what?”
“Throw the spoon.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said tightly.
He laughed aloud. “Oh, yes you would. You’re dreaming of it right now. You just wouldn’t do it.”
Sophie’s hand was gripping the spoon so hard it shook.
Benedict was chuckling so hard his bed shook.
Sophie stood, still holding the spoon.
Benedict smiled. “Are you planning to take that with you?”
Remember your place, Sophie was screaming at herself. Remember your place.
“Whatever could you be thinking,” Benedict mused, “to look so adorably ferocious? No, don’t tell me,” he added. “I’m sure it involves my untimely and painful demise.”