An Offer From a Gentleman (Cinderella)

Chapter 39

“Stupid girl,” she muttered.

“Who’s stupid?” Benedict asked. “Surely not you.”

Sophie nearly jumped a foot. “Where did you come from?” she demanded, once she’d almost caught

her breath.

He pointed to an open doorway. “Right there,” he answered, his voice all innocence.

“So now you’re jumping out at me from closets?”

“Of course not.” He looked affronted. “That was a staircase.”

Sophie peered around him. It was the side staircase. The servants’ staircase. Certainly not anyplace a

family member would just happen to be walking. “Do you often creep down the side staircase?” she

asked, crossing her arms.

He leaned forward, just close enough to make her slightly uncomfortable, and, although she would

never admit it to anyone, barely even herself, slightly excited. “Only when I want to sneak up on

someone.”

She attempted to brush past him. “I have to get to work.”

“Now?”

She gritted her teeth. “Yes, now.”

“But Hyacinth is eating breakfast. You can hardly dress her hair while she’s eating.”

“I also attend to Francesca and Eloise.”

He shrugged, smiling innocently. “They’re eating breakfast, too. Truly, you have nothing to do.”

“Which shows how little you know about working for a living,” she shot back. “I have ironing, mending, NôvelDrama.Org holds text © rights.

polishing—”

“They make you polish the silver?”

“Shoes!” she fairly yelled. “I have to polish shoes.”

“Oh.” He leaned back, one shoulder resting against the wall as he crossed his arms. “It sounds dull.”

“It is dull,” she ground out, trying to ignore the tears that suddenly pricked her eyes. She knew her life

was dull, but it was painful to hear someone else point it out.

One corner of his mouth lifted into a lazy, seductive smile. “Your life doesn’t have to be dull, you know.”

She tried to step past him. “I prefer it dull.”

He waved his arm grandly to the side, motioning for her to pass. “If that is how you wish it.”

“I do.” But the words didn’t come out nearly as firmly as she’d intended. “I do,” she repeated. Oh, very

well, no use lying to herself. She didn’t. Not entirely. But that was the way it had to be.

“Are you trying to convince yourself, or me?” he asked softly.

“I won’t even dignify that with an answer,” she replied. But she didn’t meet his eyes as she said it.

“You’d best get yourself upstairs, then,” he said, raising one brow when she didn’t move. “I’m sure you

have a great many shoes to polish.”

Sophie ran up the stairs—the servants’ stairs—and didn’t look back.

He next found her in the garden—that tiny patch of green she’d so recently (and accurately) mocked as

the size of a pound note. The Bridgerton sisters had gone off to visit the Featherington sisters, and

Lady Bridgerton was taking a nap. Sophie had all of their gowns pressed and ready for that evening’s

social event, hair ribbons were selected and matched to each dress, and enough shoes had been

polished to last a week.

With all her work done, Sophie decided to take a short break and read in the garden. Lady Bridgerton

had told her that she might borrow freely from her small library of books, so Sophie selected a recently

published novel and settled herself into a wrought-iron chair on the small patio. She’d only read a

chapter before she heard footsteps approaching from the house. Somehow she managed not to look

up until a shadow fell across her. Predictably, it was Benedict.

“Do you live here?” Sophie asked dryly.

“No,” he said, plopping down into the chair next to her, “although my mother is constantly telling me to

make myself right at home.”

She could think of no witty rejoinder, so she merely “hmmphed” and stuck her nose back in her book.

He plunked his feet on the small table in front. “And what are we reading today?”

“That question,” she said, snapping the book shut but leaving her finger in to mark her place, “implies

that I am actually reading, which I assure you I am unable to do while you are sitting here.”

“My presence is that compelling, eh?”

“It’s that disturbing.”

“Better than dull,” he pointed out.

“I like my life dull.”

“If you like your life dull, then that can only mean that you do not understand the nature of excitement.”

The condescension in his tone was appalling. Sophie gripped her book so hard her knuckles turned

white. “I have had enough excitement in my life,” she said through gritted teeth. “I assure you.”

“I would be pleased to participate in this conversation to a greater degree,” he drawled, “except that

you have not seen fit to share with me any of the details of your life.”

“It was not an oversight on my part.”

He clucked disapprovingly. “So hostile.”

Her eyes bugged out. “You abducted me—”

“Coerced,” he reminded her.

“Do you want me to hit you?”

“I wouldn’t mind it,” he said mildly. “And besides, now that you’re here, was it really so very terrible that

I browbeat you into coming? You like my family, don’t you?”

“Yes, but—”

“And they treat you fairly, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then what,” he asked, his tone most supercilious, “is the problem?”

Sophie almost lost her temper. She almost jumped to her feet and grabbed his shoulders and shook

and shook and shook, but at the last moment she realized that that was exactly what he wanted her to

do. And so instead she merely sniffed and said, “If you cannot

recognize the problem, there is no way that I could explain it to you.”

He laughed, damn the man. “My goodness,” he said, “that was an expert sidestep.”

She picked up her book and opened it. “I’m reading.”

“Trying, at least,” he murmured.

She flipped a page, even though she hadn’t read the last two paragraphs. She was really just trying to

make a show of ignoring him, and besides, she could always go back and read them later, after he left.

“Your book is upside down,” he pointed out.

Sophie gasped and looked down. “It is not!”

He smiled slyly. “But you still had to look to be sure, didn’t you?”

She stood up and announced, “I’m going inside.”

He stood immediately. “And leave the splendid spring air?”

“And leave you,” she retorted, even though his gesture of respect was not lost on her. Gentlemen did

not ordinarily stand for mere servants.

“Pity,” he murmured. “I was having such fun.”

Sophie wondered how much injury he’d sustain if she threw the book at him. Probably not enough to

make up for the loss to her dignity.

It amazed her how easily he could infuriate her. She loved him desperately—she’d long since given up

lying to herself about that—and yet he could make her entire body shake with anger with one little quip.

“Good-bye, Mr. Bridgerton.”

He waved her off. “I’ll see you later, I’m sure.”

Sophie paused, not sure she liked his dismissive demeanor.

“I thought you were leaving,” he said, looking faintly amused.

“I am,” she insisted.

He cocked his head to the side but didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. The vaguely mocking

expression in his eyes did the job quite well.

She turned and walked toward the door leading inside, but when she was about halfway to her

destination, she heard him call out, “Your new dress is quite fetching.”

She stopped and sighed. She might have gone from faux-guardian of an earl to a mere lady’s maid, but

good manners were good manners, and there was no way she could ignore a compliment. Turning

around, she said, “Thank you. It was a gift from your mother. I believe it used to belong to Francesca.”

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