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Sophie stirs, her foot stretching against the warmth of legs curled around her own. One eye opens, then the other, meeting with Benedict's sleeping face. Even puffs of breath tickle her nose and she smiles languidly at the memory of last night; the daring rouse to obtain Queen Charlotte's support, exposing Araminta, Benedict's marriage proposal before the Ton, their celebratory dance on the Bridgerton terrace. Sophie all but floated to the guest room where Celia helped remove the lavish gown borrowed from Francesca. When she laid her head on the pillow did Sophie feel the note underneath.
John will depart at half past midnight. Nigel is to return at five in the morn. Tomorrow I shall knock once at quarter to the hour if it's safe, two knocks remain. H
Holding her breath with an ear pressed against the door Sophie listened for retreating footsteps before making a swift dash across the hall. Benedict was within his bed not yet in deep slumber. He whispered Sophie's name into the dark, her answer came in the form of a kiss as she slipped between the sheets and his open arms.
Reality comes back to Sophie as she looks towards the mantel clock, squinting through the dark to better attain the position of its hands.
She moves slowly, untwisting her nightgown cautiously not wanting to disturb Benedict as she begins to shimmy out of the warmth of his bed.
Her movements are halted as Benedict's arms pull at her waist, “it is night.”
“It is half past four.” Sophie's voice is rough with sleep.
Benedict lifts his head in the direction of the mantle. “yes, night.”
“Footman Nigel will be in the hallway by five.”
He groans as he pulls himself tighter against Sophie.
“I do not wish to see my fiance sent to his lodgings for the remainder of our engagement. Also, I wish to avoid putting the staff in strife. Mrs. Wilson will suspect Hazel if we are caught.”
Benedict rolls onto his back, defeated and dejected. Sophie lets out her own deflated breath. Over her shoulder she glances at the clock then back at Benedict. Leaning forward she runs her hand up his arm before letting it rest over his heart for moment. With one final look at the clock Sophie then shifts to lay her head where she can hear his steady, safe beat.
Her hand upon his chest does not stay still for long, wandering across the plain of his abdomen, muscles shifting beneath Sophie's light touch. She draws a lazy circle around his belly button before coming to the top of his breeches. In a measured breath Sophie slips her hand beneath, boldly feeling the length of him. She smiles into his chest upon hearing the way he says her name, pushing up into her hand as he hardens. Sophie turns her head to find him looking upon her, an eyebrow raised in question.
She pulls herself up to kneel over him loosening the buttons of his undergarments then pushing the cloth past his hips. Exposed and bare, she touches him again in lingering strokes, brushing the palm of her hand across the head. Benedict's own hand grasps at her thigh, his uneven breaths spilling out into the room as her silky hair spreads over him when she leans in with her mouth.
Sophie's fingers linger, her mouth moving in reassuring repetition as she explores him from base to tip. Her curiosity takes her to swapping between slow drawn licks at the tip to swallowing him, the building moans encouraging her to increase the pace, ignoring the ache between her own thighs. Her fingers tighten at the base holding firmly as she continues to envelop him over and over and over. His hand tightens in Sophie's hair then moves to fist her nightgown in desperation. Sophie can feel him raise to sitting but she pushes him back, her attention not breaking, restraint leaving him as she takes the release.
Sophie's hands and lips slow as his hips settle, laggardly letting him come back to himself, as Benedict did with his own mouth on her only hours ago.
Benedict’s rushes forward, pressing a kiss to Sophie's shoulder, whispering “My turn, lay down—”
“I must go,” she replies placing her hands against his chest.
“But what about you?” he pleads.
Sophie leaves the bed smoothing down her nightdress. “I'll use my own hands and pretend it's you,” she says with a smirk.
Benedict growls imploringly as he reaches for her. “Then let me watch you.”
She steps back with a small laugh settling her dressing gown on.
“At least, allow me to inspire you.” He pulls himself from the bed reaching successfully and drawing Sophie into his arms. She does not move away at once, lingering in the warmth of his body as he sits perched on the edge of the bed, his lips finding the sweet spot on her neck.
“All the months I have resided here and I've completed the task with efficiency long before I knew the feel of your hands, your lips and...all of you, upon my body,” she says with a satisfying sigh.
Benedict breaks from his kiss to look at her, his eyes are wide and Sophie enjoys the shock from her confession. “There were a one or two attempts where I could not get to that—place, but that was more due to frustration of really, really wanting you and my hand not being enough.”
He drops his head onto her shoulder. “This whole time you were upstairs, you were touching your—” he groans nipping his teeth at her shoulder. “Are you trying to kill me with desire?”
“Then I best not confess to a moment when we were at My Cottage, after our kiss by the lake...”
His fingers knead Sophie's thighs tightly. “I fear I will burn alive with want if I don't touch you now,” he growls.
With a steady breath she decides to reveal more. “Even...even before My Cottage I couldn't help but to touch myself when I thought of you.”
Benedict raises his face to look at her. In the low light she can see his eyebrows knit together.
“Since the masquerade ball?”
Sophie nods, unsure how her voice will sound if she said the word yes out loud.
A heavy pause follows, stretching with the memories each of them hold from the night and heartbreak felt after.
“Truly?” he asks in a shuddering breath.
Sophie brings her hand to rest on his face, her thumb caressing his cheek.
“In the evenings at Penwood House when I was in my small bed, in my small cold room, I'd think of you and our night.” Sophie closes her eyes remembering the different fantasies she conjured for herself. “There was one where I imagined I did not depart directly after I kissed you on the terrace. Rather we kissed for much longer. When you asked for my name again I decided to offer you something else—one night together. My only rule was the mask must stay on. You gave me the address to your lodgings, far away from Bridgerton House, far away from Penwood House, far away from everything and everyone. I went directly to you. You took me to your bedroom. You unclothed me, touched me...”
Benedict says her name in a strangled tone. Only a few nights ago Sophie had listened heartbroken when he revealed how lowly he felt when his search for her as the Lady in silver failed. He translated her unwillingness to come forward as a sign he was not good enough.
“I wanted you for so long, Benedict. During the day I dreamed of you clothed and proper, but at night I imagined us, as we are now.”
Benedict runs his thumb across her cheek, then lips. Closing the gap he kisses her tenderly and with love, most importantly the kiss is full of understanding what her confession meant; letting the remaining ache of rejection go, knowing neither will ever feel alone again. The red lines of their fate looping tighter with a force that nothing could unravel.
“I don't suppose you still have the mask and your silver dress?” he asks in a whisper. Her eyes are closed but she can feel him smirking against her cheek.
“I could inquire...”
“I think you should.”
“I think I must.”
A short, sharp knock at the door breaks the moment.
“It must be Hazel.”
Sophie presses one last kiss to his lips before slipping out the door.