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eleanor-bradstreet · 24 days ago

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Let Me Be Your Anchor

Chapter 18: London

Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Beckett An Offer from a Gentleman reimagined Chapter rating: 18+ - explicit sexual content Word count: 8.7k

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Author's note: Happy new year, dear readers. I thank you again for your patience as I finished this beast of a chapter. Several more will follow in quick succession and I am writing the final ones now. Quick reminder, any lines written in italics are quotes from AOFAG by Julia Quinn. At long last, a change of scenery for our secretive lovers. Enjoy! 💙

The sound of approaching footsteps broke Sophie out of her reverie and she darted around Eloise’s bedroom, straightening the duvet she had laid upon losing track of time as she fantasized about dancing with Benedict. With his painting stashed safely in her apron, she stood at attention as the door opened and Eloise bustled inside.

“Miss Eloise!” Sophie smiled. “Are you retiring early? The ball is still ongoing, is it not?”

The young woman’s excitement was evident. “It’s nearly finished now, but it cannot hold my interest. Not when I have the best of news to tell you.”

“News? Did you meet a young gentleman, or…”

Eloise’s bright eyed expression contorted into one of disgust. “God, no. No.” Peeling off her gloves, she beckoned Sophie further into the room. “Sophie, I have spoken with the Viscountess and we would very much like for you to join us in London. You can stay on as my lady’s maid.”

Sophie froze. This was the last thing she had expected to hear. Swallowing hard, she eeked out, “London?”

Eloise’s face fell. “Do you not wish to? You will be handsomely paid and Mrs. Wilson is not so sour once you get to know her. Are you not excited?”

Sophie dropped her gaze and tried to organize her thoughts. She had been overwhelmed with conflicting feelings every day since arriving at Aubrey Hall; her mind a battleground pitting the forces of hope and excitement against those of fear and doubt. Her only way to cope had been to focus on each moment and forbid herself from looking forward. There was joy to be found in moments with Lizzie and Eloise and Benedict. The future was a shadow of uncertainty. Each time she had thought her path was set, the ground seemed to shift beneath her feet.

Eloise was dejected. “I only thought we were getting along so well, you and I and…”

Sophie shook her head. “It is not that, Miss. I am flattered by your offer. There are just…many factors I need to consider.” The longer she remained near Benedict, the greater her heartbreak would certainly be when the rules of society inevitably separated them, whether through discovery and scandal or through Benedict’s final relent into marriage. And yet, she couldn’t form the words to refuse.

Eloise nodded. “I understand. You must do what is best for you. Choose your own path.” She rested a hand lightly on Sophie’s arm, a gesture of friendship she had never received from an employer.

Sophie met her eyes and the young woman gave her a sad but supportive little smile. “We return to the city tomorrow. Please do consider it. Staying with me. With Benedict. With all of us.”

Sophie’s heart began to pound. Something in Eloise’s tone was pointed. Had she already sussed them out? Had Sophie been that bad at hiding her feelings when they spoke of Benedict earlier? But then if she did know, she was doing nothing but expressing support. She was creating a way for them to stay together. It was too much to contemplate in the space of a moment.

“May I have until the morning?”

“Of course.” Eloise stepped away and sat at her vanity, leaving Sophie to unpin her hair with shaking fingers.

___

After a spell of uncharacteristic silence readying Eloise for bed, Sophie stepped out into the hallway, breathing a sigh of relief to be alone with her thoughts. She needed to speak to Benedict. Did he already know of his family’s desire to bring her to London? Had he convinced them to do so? How were they to navigate this? Despite their agreement to maintain distance, she needed to find him and formulate a plan.

The music downstairs had ceased and was replaced with the din of animated voices as the partygoers poured into the main hall and wound their ways up to the guest rooms. By the jovial exclamations she heard, Sophie surmised the evening had been a success. She marched briskly through the east corridor past the family bedrooms, the only wing of the house where guests would not pass by. She reached the stretch of windows opposite a stairway down to the foyer and stopped dead as a figure suddenly clambered over one of the sills, a tangle of long limbs straightening as he stood and closed the window behind him.

“Benedict?!”

He spun to face her, his startled expression quickly softening into relief.

“Sophie!”

“What on earth?” She looked him up and down, noting the streaks of dust across his hands and knees and his windswept hair. Why he was sneaking through windows instead of attending his family’s ball was beyond her.

He looked down bashfully and began to brush himself off, stuttering for an explanation. “I…well…”

“Nevermind.” She shook the curiosity from her thoughts, unable to deny that appearing inexplicably through a window was somehow perfectly in line with his boyish nature which she so adored. However he had gotten there, she was grateful he was with her. They had pressing matters to discuss.

She stepped close to him, her voice growing nervous. “Ben, Eloise and the Viscountess have asked to retain me in London.”

Benedict’s eyes sparkled. “Have they?”

It was clear this was the first he was hearing of it and clearer still that he delighted in the thought. With a grin he ran a finger softly down Sophie’s cheek, marvelling at her. “What magic do you possess that you have managed to charm Eloise?” He knew well enough the faerie-like power she had exerted over him. Her inherent goodness must have been strong enough to touch the heart of his most stubborn sister too.

“I think she knows about us.” Sophie looked around, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I think…I must have made an expression when she was speaking of you and I gave us away.” She frowned, shaking her head in apology. “I’m sorry, I should have…”

Benedict lifted her chin and drew her eyes to meet his, seeing that she was holding tears just at bay. “No, no, you’ve done nothing wrong.” He soothed, recalling his own conversation with Eloise as the pieces fell into place. “I spoke to her as well.”

Sophie’s fear twisted into shock. “You told her?!”

Benedict shrugged. “I intimated enough.” Though he understood the gravity of what he had shared with Eloise, he felt no accompanying anxiety about it. For his dearest sister to know his true feelings seemed like the natural and correct choice. To share them with someone felt like the pressure release that would keep him from exploding into rash action. That Eloise would instantly become an advocate for his clandestine relationship was a surprise, but also fitting of her character and his heart swelled with gratitude. Only she could so quickly and cleverly carve out a means to keep Sophie at his side.

Sophie, however, did not share their understanding and her nerves began to rise. “But who will she tell? What do we…what am I supposed to…”

“Shhh, shhh.” Benedict wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close, running a hand reassuringly through her hair. “She’s not going to tell anyone. Blabbermouth though she may be when touting her own opinions, she is exceptionally discreet when it comes to keeping others’ secrets. Especially what I share with her in confidence. We can trust her, believe me.” He brought a hand to cup her face. “And she won’t think any differently of you, I assure you. Clearly she seems more excited than anything, asking to bring you along to the city.”

Sophie chewed her lip, waiting for Benedict’s soothing ministrations to quell the jittering fear she felt under her skin. He had never led her astray and if he was calm about the situation, she decided she could be too. “If you say we are safe, I trust you.”

He looked deep into her eyes, imploring her to believe him. “We’re safe. You’re safe.”

With a heavy exhale she melted into him, laying her head on his chest. “So what are we going to do?”

He held her tightly, resting his chin atop her head, delighting in the faint, lovely scent of her hair. He knew what he wanted, to never let her out of his grasp. But she had made it abundantly clear she would not be kept; her life was her own. It pained him to imagine she may choose to live it without him, but he also knew the only way to secure her company was to earn it through care and respect.

“The choice is yours, Sophie. I need to return to London with my family. If you wish to join us, I believe it would be possible for you and I to maintain our…arrangement. Though admittedly somewhat more complicated. Work for my family and I will visit you when I can. Or you may stay here with Mrs. Wiggin until you find another position elsewhere.” He felt her shift against him as she weighed her options. He continued to hold her fast. “No matter the case, I will see that you are cared for and paid well. You have more than earned it. You have repaid your debt to me ten times over and now…now you have the freedom to decide what you want.”

In so few words, Benedict somehow managed to make an impossibly convoluted situation seem perfectly plain. The wave of clarity forced Sophie to look up and meet his penetrating blue eyes. How could a man make her heart feel so trapped and her soul so free simultaneously?

“What I want?” she asked, savoring a power she had never held before.

“Yes.” Benedict rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes, his warm breath gusting across her lips. “What do you want, Sophie?”

Her head swam, drunk with possibility and with his scent. With the realization that he was dressed the same as he had been at the masquerade and that he was holding her even more closely than he had then. For years her dreams had always led to this moment of an unconsummated kiss and now its realization was only millimeters away, hers for the taking. She breathed deep, feeling warmth rising through her.

“I want…”

“Benedict!�� A man’s voice boomed up the stairway. Instantly they leapt apart. Sophie pressed herself against the nearest wall to stay out of sight. Frazzled, Benedict turned to the stairs to find Anthony standing at the foot, looking impatient.

“A brandy in the study?” With a flick of his head, the Viscount signaled to his brother that it was not an invitation, it was a summons.

___

Anthony oftentimes decompressed after a social evening by sharing drinks with his two eldest brothers, leaving Benedict unsuspecting of the call to join him. He expected to receive the elder’s recount of overheard business ventures and reputational gossip. A fire was burning low in the study hearth beneath the portrait of their father. Anthony poured them each a tumbler and they settled on either side of the expansive desk.

Benedict sprawled in his chair and raised his glass. “Excellent ball tonight, brother. I will be sure to compliment Kate first thing in the morning.”

The Viscount smiled automatically at any mention of his wife. “Yes, she did a wonderful job, did she not? Very dutiful.” Raising his own glass they nodded at one another and sipped deeply.

“Good?” Anthony asked, motioning to the drink.

“Mmm.” Benedict nodded. His brother’s purse strings may have been tight around many expenses, but good liquor was not one of them.

“You always were one for chasing simple pleasures.”

Benedict’s face twisted, surprised by the sting in the underhanded compliment. “Simple?”

Anthony narrowed his eyes over the rim of his glass as he took another sip. “Or all pleasure, I suppose.”

He was in a mood, something Benedict had grown accustomed to dealing with. He braced himself for glancing blows as he tried to untangle Anthony’s sour emotions. “How many of those have you had? What are you on about?”

Anthony leveled a dark stare on his brother. “The maid.”

A cold stab spiked Benedict’s stomach, but decades of poker and sibling politics had equipped him to hide all reaction. He pouted with feigned confusion. “Maid?”

“The one or several maids you have apparently been growing too familiar with.” His brother’s tone was clipped.

A catalog of faces flipped through Benedict's mind as he tried to envision who had been the informant and more importantly, what they had seen. His family had only been present for a few days, all of which time he and Sophie had strategically remained apart. He knew Eloise had not betrayed them. He also knew that Anthony would not have delayed this conversation after being notified, meaning he had most likely been approached during the ball. That didn’t narrow down the suspects, rather it implicated the entire household and their dozens of guests. He thought he and Sophie had been careful enough, but now was realizing his own naivety. But he wouldn’t be rattled. Anthony clearly only had hearsay to act upon and Benedict knew he could deftly skirt accusations founded on nothing more than talk.

Taking another drink, he acted bemused. “Where have you heard this?”

Anthony set his glass down and stood, one fist on his desk and the other on his hip. “That’s unimportant. What is important is that it stop immediately. Benedict, you should know better.”

An awkward silence hung between them as they both recognized a pattern they had fallen into before. Anthony trying to act like a father as he did with their other siblings. But over Benedict, who was closest in age and experience, it held no sway. Unflinching, Benedict met his brother’s gaze with a warning one.

“It may be difficult to stop what I’m supposed to be doing when I am uncertain what I stand accused of.”

Anthony huffed. He knew he wouldn’t be able to shame or bully his brother into compliance. He could only try to appeal to his reason. He leaned forward, eyes probing. “Have you bedded a woman we hired to work at this house?”

Snippets of his encounters with Sophie flashed in Benedict’s mind - her lips, the smoothness of her inner thighs, the sound of her gasping in his ear. But while they had engaged in all adjacent manner of lascivious activities together, he had not bedded her properly. Nor, he noted with impish exactitude, had his family hired her to work at Aubrey Hall. He had hired her personally and they had only retained her for the ball and now to relocate to London.

His reply was defiant. “No.”

Anthony leaned in further, his annoyance rising. “Have you enticed some poor girl into closet trysts?”

Benedict wiggled his eyebrows, smirking. “My, that would be scandalous, wouldn’t it?”

The Viscount moved around the desk to stand over him. “Benedict, this is not a joking matter. If anyone were to catch you our name would be scandalized. You remember how Mother near single-handedly had that loathsome Berbrooke run out of town for this same behavior?”

He did remember it, how Anthony had bungled Daphne’s debut season and betrothed her to the toad-like man without her consent. It was only thanks to their mother discovering his shameful abandonment of a hidden bastard that released his sister from a life of misery married to a scoundrel. He mused on how his brother only seemed to remember the happy conclusion to the scenario and not how he himself had embroiled his family in it.

He remained comfortably seated and rested a hand across his heart. “Anthony, on my honor I have no bastards and I have not bedded any of your servants.”

His brother was scowling, sensing misdirection. Though he knew Benedict well enough to tell when he was wearing a mask, he had never developed the skill of removing it. “Then why have these rumors reached me?”

Benedict shrugged, spreading his arms wide. “Speculative gossip. What else fuels the ton? I’ve been sequestered here recuperating for weeks and an active imagination must have wondered how I wiled away the time.” He swallowed another mouthful of brandy, answering matter-of-factly. “Did I grow friendly with those who cared for me, having no other company? Yes. Is it a crime to show kindness to our fellow man simply because they have been hired to work for us?”

Anthony sat back behind his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose with a deep sigh. Benedict was up to something. To be fair, he was always up to something, but details of his eccentricities rarely reached his ears. This defensive stonewalling was a sharp side of his brother Anthony was unfamiliar with and it was uniquely aggravating.

He spoke slowly, trying to maintain a degree of calm. “I’ve been very lenient with you over the years. Giving you space to lead your life of idle freedoms.”

Benedict scoffed. Anthony ignored him.

“I know you enjoy the company of those outside our circles. The modiste. God knows what sort of characters you encountered in the art world. I don’t even know where you are most of the time. I trust you to go about your business with discretion and decency…”

“And you should continue to do so.” Benedict cut him off, leaning forward and planting his glass on the desk. If his brother wanted to list off the choices that he saw as questionable, Benedict would list off the times Anthony had placed discretion directly into his hands. “As you trusted me to act as steward on your honeymoon. And as you trusted me to provide for a certain unnamed lady were your duel with Simon to go awry.”

His brother glared, cautioning him to tread lightly, but Benedict knew his point had been made. He would not endure censure from someone who had committed the same acts. If Benedict could set Sophie up as his mistress, keeping her comfortable in a London apartment as Anthony’s paramours had been, he would have. That the woman he desired was setting different parameters for their relationship made her no more worthy of scrutiny than anyone Anthony had pursued before his marriage. Benedict would not stand for it.

He rose to his feet and buttoned his jacket, making his words clear. “I understand my role, brother. I understand the rules of society. Trust that I will continue to navigate them in my own quiet way.”

He walked to the door, pausing to look back at the glowering Viscount. “If you do not even know where I am, then I must be staying out of trouble, musn’t I?”

___

The next morning after the convoy of guest carriages had departed and the Hastings headed back to Clyvedon, the Bridgerton clan were loading into their own procession. Benedict’s heart leapt into his throat to see Sophie dressed in travelling clothes and helping Eloise into her transport. She had made her choice and the buoyant feeling it caused within him did not subside for the entire day’s ride into the city.

As Aubrey Hall shrank in the carriage window behind him, he noted that he felt an even greater fondness for the place. It was the site of so many significant beginnings. The beginning of his very life, of his forays into art, and now, his beginning with Sophie. No matter what would transpire between them in future, he knew he would always be grateful that she had walked its gardens, wandered its halls, and amplified the beauty of every corner he had found her in. Sitting across from his two younger brothers, he did not even attempt to suppress a grin as they trundled off to London.

Sophie felt her skin prickle as they passed through the city limits. Perched on a carriage bench with the other servants, her eyes traced the cobblestone streets she had fled through so long ago. She had been rationalizing her choice to return for the entire length of the journey and the risks it incurred were making her downright queasy. It was May, which meant that the season was in full swing. If the Cowpers were maintaining their usual schedule, they would be returning from Penwood at the end of the month. Which meant there was always a danger she would come into contact with them, especially now that Lady Bridgerton had elevated her from housemaid to lady’s maid. At some point she would need to chaperone Eloise on outings in the city, outings to places Araminta and Cressida might choose to frequent. And Sophie had no doubt Araminta would find a way to make her life a living hell. Araminta hated her in a way that defied reason, went beyond emotion. If she saw Sophie in London, she would not be content simply to ignore her.

But even her fear of the Cowpers could not overcome her desire to stay with Benedict and to remain in his family’s orbit. She loved him, and she had never been treated so well as she was by the Bridgertons. She had been clever all of her life. It had helped her survive when she was under the Cowper’s roof and she was certain it would help her as she sought to avoid them. She could feign illness, ask favors of the other maids, or maybe change her appearance if compelled to leave the house. Her hair was already shorter, her face more slender. If Benedict and Colin hadn’t recognized her, maybe no one could. As she had learned, she could only navigate one day at a time, and this day was already whirlwind enough.

Her looming sense of apprehension was dulled by one of wonder when the carriages stopped at last in front of Bridgerton House. The elegant facade, grown over with blooming wisteria, was a sight she had dreamed of countless times as the masquerade played over and over in her memory. She could not help but gaze at it, her steps slowed as everyone disembarked. Eloise scampered past her chasing Hyacinth who was cackling as they bounded into the house.

Seeing her hesitate, the Viscountess approached Sophie and gently waved her inside.

“Come along, Sophie.” Kate said warmly.

Sophie followed her up the stairs, wondering why, if she were merely about to begin work in a new home, she felt as if she were entering a new family. It felt…nice. And it had been a long, long while since her life had felt nice. With a small smile, she stepped across the threshold and into the main hall. A maid’s footsteps now entering where the lady in silver had made her swift exit.

The courtesies did not end at the door. Lunch was waiting for the family upon arrival and while they ate Mrs. Wilson showed Sophie to her room in the lower level. With a writing desk, looking glass and soft bed, it was surely the nicest any servant had ever been assigned. She knew that she should not allow herself to grow too comfortable at Bridgerton House, but she just couldn’t help wishing that she could stay forever. That was impossible, of course. But she could stay just a little while. Not long. A few weeks - at most until the end of the season. Just long enough to get her thoughts in order and find a way to separate herself from Benedict at last. Perhaps he would find his love match, or he might grow tired of her. Perhaps she would finally come to her senses and secure another position away from the nest of secrets and lies she had built for herself. She’d fallen in love with the wrong man. She could never keep him for herself, and she refused to go to him on his terms. It was hopeless.

She was saved from any further depressing thoughts by a brisk knock on her door. When she called out “Yes?” the door opened, and Lady Bridgerton entered the room.

Sophie immediately jumped to her feet and bobbed a curtsy. “Was there anything you needed, my lady?” she asked.

“No, not at all,” Lady Bridgerton replied. “I was merely checking to see if you were getting settled in. Is there anything I can get for you?”

Sophie blinked. Lady Bridgerton was asking her if she needed anything? Rather the reverse of the usual lady-servant relationship. “Er, no thank you,” Sophie said. “I would be happy to get something for you though.”

Lady Bridgerton waived her offer away. “No need. You shouldn’t feel you have to do anything for us today. I’d prefer that you get yourself settled in first so that you do not feel distracted when you begin.”

Sophie cast her eyes toward her small bag. “I don’t have much to unpack. Truly, I should be happy to continue working today.”

“Nonsense. We are not planning to go out this evening. We have another lady’s maid and Eloise shall certainly survive the night.”

“But-”

Lady Bridgerton smiled, her bright eyes containing the same cheer as her son’s. “No arguments, if you please. One free evening is the least I can do after you saved my son.”

“I did very little,” Sophie said. “He would have been fine without me.”

“Nevertheless, you aided him when he needed help, and for that I am in your debt.”

“It was my pleasure,” Sophie replied. “I owed him after what he did for me.” She thought back to that fateful night in the storm but knew that Benedict had saved her long before he found her on the road. Ever since the moment he had found her in the garden of Bridgerton House, he had breathed life back into her dreams. He had opened her heart to romance, opened her body to pleasure, and made her feel worthy. Wanted. Though she could not accept his offer to lavish her with even more, he was still ensuring her safety and comfort through employment with his family. It was more than she could ever repay.

“Is something wrong, Sophie?” Lady Bridgerton asked. “You have a tear in your eye.”

Sophie shook her head. “Just a speck of dust,” she mumbled, pretending to busy herself with the unpacking of her small bag of possessions. And even though she had no idea where she intended to go from this moment on, she had the oddest feeling that her life had just begun.

___

The next day Sophie dove headfirst into her work. The lady’s maid now assigned to Francesca and Hyacinth, a quiet woman named Ines, was obviously relieved to have Eloise taken off of her hands. Nothing seemed to remain orderly when Eloise was around. Somehow hairpins went missing, hems were ripped and ink was spilled on a regular basis. Just organizing her wardrobe was a project that would occupy Sophie for more than a day.

As she went about her tasks, she was treated politely by her fellow staff and kindly by each member of the family. Hyacinth chattered nearly as much as Eloise and was often joined by her brother Gregory as they antagonized one another. Lady Bridgerton and the Viscountess doted on young Edmund. Sophie only saw the Viscount when she was near the study and made it a point to try and avoid him. Of everyone in the household, his presence made her the most nervous. An imperious man with a stern brow, she knew that if any of her secrets came to light, he would be the one to dole out her punishment. Despite his being a Bridgerton, her many experiences with titled gentlemen of the ton did not leave her much hope that he would be a warm personality.

Benedict and Colin each kept their own apartments elsewhere, which she knew was for the best. She didn’t want Colin growing too familiar with her appearance and if Benedict was sleeping under the same roof they would not have been able to keep their distance from one another. Precisely when and where she would see him again was already a mystery, nevermind how they were supposed to stay hidden while in such close proximity to his family.

On her second morning she learned that Benedict gave little care for such proximity when he suddenly appeared beside her in the stairway alcove of the main hall.

Sophie nearly jumped a foot. “Where did you come from?”

With a crooked grin he pointed to a small open doorway. “Right there,” he answered, his voice all innocence.

She chided him playfully. “First windows, and now you’re jumping out at me from closets?”

He frowned at her with mock scrutiny, “Now, Miss Beckett, clearly you haven’t done your diligence in learning the layout of the house.” He pushed her further into the shadow of the stairway, his voice lowering to a purr. “Because if you had, you’d know that is a side door and I am welcome to move about my family home as I please.”

Then his mouth was on hers, hot and needy. She hummed against his lips. Even two days apart had felt unbearable. They pawed at each other, her hands winding in his hair, his pulling at the collar of her uniform, both of them aching with the knowledge that they couldn’t go any further.

“How are you finding everything? How are they treating you?” Benedict gasped as he tried to steady himself. If the sight of Sophie rooted him to the spot, the feeling of her in his arms drove him to madness. They were practically on display for the whole house to see and yet nothing could tame his hunger for her.

Sophie smiled, catching her breath as she clung to his lapels. “Your family is wonderful. I don’t believe anyone suspects anything. Though the footman, John, looks at me askance.”

Benedict chuckled. “I wouldn’t worry about him. He stays tight-lipped that one.”

“That could be precisely something to worry about,” she warned. “That he’s biding his time observing. I know all about footmen and how they collect precious information. More, I daresay than you do.”

Never failing to delight in her confidence, he smirked. “You act less like a maid than any woman of my acquaintance.”

“You bring out the worst in me, Mr. Bridgerton.” With a glint in her eye she tugged him into another heated kiss. Benedict could feel a crisis stirring in his trousers. It was all he could do to keep from hoisting her legs around his waist.

“Use my name,” he pleaded.

Feeling devilish, she ran her nails across the blue velvet of his jacket and leaned in to lick his ear. “Do many of your servants call you by your given name? You can’t have it both ways, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“I only want it one way,” he growled, pressing her harder against the wall. She was a faerie and a temptress. She was everything he wanted, dangled so tantalizingly before him…

The thud of a door closing on the landing above snapped him back to his senses and he pulled away, straightening his clothes and smoothing his hair mere seconds before footfalls descended the stairs.

“Benedict!” His mother caught him just as he rounded the banister. Though he was certain his cheeks were flushed, she seemed none the wiser.

“Mother!” He croaked, forcing a smile. “It is good to see you.”

From the corner of his eye he could see Sophie composing herself and attempting to shuffle silently out the side door.

“Ah, you’ve found Miss Beckett.” His mother had spied her too. Sophie stopped in her tracks and turned to curtsy.

His mind still hazy with Sophie’s scent, Benedict stuttered. “We were only passing…I wasn’t…”

Violet looked between them both, not with suspicion but with genuine affection. “She has been such a wonderful addition to the staff. I’ve never seen Eloise so contented with a lady’s maid. You had quite an eye in finding her.”

Sophie blushed and bowed her head again, hands clasped firmly in front of her.

Benedict could feel the cold sweat gathering under his cravat. Thankfully his mother had not witnessed anything, but it had been close. Perhaps too close. If she only knew everything he had found in Sophie.

“Yes, well, I’m glad.” He feigned nonchalance. “I was…just here to meet with Anthony. The accounts are…well the accounts always need looking after, don’t they?”

“Yes they do. Thank you, dearest.”

With silent gratitude that his ability to form a sentence was returning, Benedict nodded at the ladies and turned to head for the study.

Violet called after him. “I assume you are too busy to join us at Lady Danbury’s dinner party tonight?”

Benedict turned. “And miss the lash of her razored wit? How could I?” With a cheeky grin and a wink, he strutted off through the main hall and disappeared behind the study door.

Violet stepped to the bottom of the staircase with a sigh, shaking her head. “Between him and his brother, I don’t know which one of them will kill me first,” she muttered.

Emerging from the shadows, Sophie inquired, “Which brother?”

Violet shrugged. “Either. Both. All three. Scoundrels, the lot of them.”

But they were scoundrels she clearly loved. Sophie could hear it in the way she spoke, see it in her eyes when they lit with joy upon seeing her son. And it made Sophie lonely and wistful and jealous. How different her life might have been had her mother lived through childbirth. They might have been unrespectable, Mrs. Beckett a mistress and Sophie a bastard, but Sophie liked to think that her mother would have loved her. Which was more than she had received from any other adult, her father included. Just as she had sensed it in the very walls of Aubrey Hall, she could feel the love the family had imbued into Bridgerton House too, and it was a feeling she did not want to leave.

Though she knew she could never be a part of the Bridgerton family, maybe she could be a friend. Maybe for a short while, she could pretend she was a little more than just a servant.

____

As the days melted into a week, Sophie discovered that working for the Bridgertons could keep a girl very busy indeed. Her days were filled with hairdressing, mending, pressing gowns, polishing shoes and any other tasks needed to support Eloise, which often included listening to her analyses of various books and pamphlets. She hadn’t yet been called upon to leave the house. The three youngest Bridgerton sisters enjoyed trips into town with quiet Ines and Sophie began to wonder if Eloise was intentionally granting her privacy. Benedict somehow never failed to materialize when Sophie was at her leisure and she suspected a degree of collusion.

Always keeping watch for prying eyes, they would steal desperate kisses in hallway corners and trade glances across the drawing room when Benedict joined the family for tea. On one occasion he found her reading in the back garden, an encounter which ended with the two of them hidden in the hedges, a hand clamped over her mouth to stifle her cries while the other was buried beneath her skirts.

At some point a small spray of forget-me-nots appeared on the writing desk in her room. When it began to wilt, a fresh bunch showed up in its place. She never saw who delivered them, but her heart trilled every time she opened the door to find them waiting. Their delicate yellow stars dotted across soft blue were so reminiscent of the night sky during the masquerade.

Where life with the Cowpers and Cavenders had been dreary and demeaning, the Bridgerton household was filled with laughter and smiles. The family bickered and teased, but never with malice. When tea was informal, with only the ladies of the house in attendance, Sophie was always invited to partake. She usually brought her basket of mending and darned or sewed buttons while the Bridgertons chattered away, but it was so lovely to be able to sit and sip a fine cup of tea, with fresh milk and warm scones. And after a while, Sophie began to feel comfortable enough to occasionally add to the conversation. It had become her favorite time of day.

“Where,” Eloise asked one afternoon, “do you suppose Benedict is?”

“Ow!”

All eyes turned to Sophie. “Are you all right?” Lady Bridgerton asked, her teacup suspended halfway between her saucer and her mouth.

Sophie grimaced. “I pricked my finger.”

Lady Bridgerton’s lips curled into a small smile and she continued to sip delicately.

“He has been visiting the house more than usual lately,” Kate mused, stirring her chai. “Though I haven’t seen him today.”

Sophie kept her eyes trained on her sewing and bit her lip to keep from making any expressions. If Benedict’s movements were being noted, they would need to exercise more caution. Reminded of the danger she kept placing herself in, a stab of fear ran through her. It was unlike her to be so brazen. Only Benedict could cause her to act so foolishly.

“He told me he would help me with my arithmetic,” Hyacinth grumbled, “and he has most certainly reneged on his word.”

“I’m sure it has merely slipped his mind,” Lady Bridgerton said diplomatically. “Perhaps if you sent him a note.”

“Or simply knocked on his door,” Francesca said, giving her eyes a slight roll. “It’s not as if he lives very far away.”

“I am an unmarried female,” Hyacinth said with a huff. “I cannot visit bachelor lodgings.”

Sophie coughed.

“You’re fourteen and he’s your brother,” Francesca said disdainfully.

“Nevertheless!”

Ever the peacekeeper, Kate interjected. “Perhaps you could ask Anthony for help. He’s much better with numbers than Benedict anyway.”

“You know, you’re right,” Hyacinth said, shooting one last glare at Francesca. “Pity for Benedict. He’s completely without use to me now.”

They all giggled, because they knew she was joking. Except for Sophie, who did not find it so amusing.

“But in all seriousness,” Hyacinth continued, “what is he good at? Anthony’s better at numbers, and Colin has seen so much of the world. Even Simon is such a good horseman, and…”

“Art,” Sophie interrupted in a sharp voice, surprised at herself but irritated that Benedict’s own family didn’t recognize his individuality and strengths.

Hyacinth looked at her in surprise. “Didn’t he give that up?”

Sophie swallowed. Her remark had gotten everyone’s attention, because while she had let them see her naturally dry wit, she was generally soft-spoken, and she had certainly never said a sharp word to any of them. Five pairs of eyes were fixed on her and Eloise was twisting her fingers anxiously.

“He is drawing and painting again, I have seen it.” Sophie confirmed. “He’s quite good at art.” A smile tugged at her lips as she recalled the sketchbook he worked at so diligently in his recovery, and her abandoned portrait in the nursery of Aubrey Hall.

“I did not know he had been working on anything since leaving the Academy,” Kate said with quiet interest. Sophie turned to her. It would have been impossible to miss the look of sharp intelligence in her eyes. Kate was curious about Benedict’s pursuits and wanted to know why Sophie was more informed than the rest of the family. In less than a second she was able to read all of that in the Viscountess’ gaze. And in less than a second she decided that she’d made a mistake.

“Yes, when he was convalescing he would spend time sketching.” She explained in a voice that she hoped was curt enough to prevent further questions.

It was. No one said a word, although everyone remained focused quite intently on her. She looked from face to face. Eloise’s eyes were blinking rapidly. Lady Bridgerton wasn’t blinking at all.

“He’s quite good,” Sophie repeated, mentally kicking herself even as she said it. “He has made sketches of the house and the family. Beautiful portraits of each of you.” There was something about silence among the Bridgertons that compelled her to fill the void.

Finally, after the longest moment of silence, Lady Bridgerton cleared her throat and said, “How lovely. I should like to see those sketches.” She dabbed a napkin to her lips even though she hadn’t taken a sip of her tea. “Provided, of course, that he cares to share it with me.”

“I must retire to my room,” Eloise suddenly blurted out, breaking the spell. She pressed a hand to her stomach. “I think something is disagreeing with me. Sophie?”

Before anyone could say a word, the young lady pushed her way out the door and Sophie leapt up to follow.

“Are you alright, Miss?” Sophie asked as they scurried down the halls.

Eloise stopped short and leaned close, dropping her voice. “I am not ill. I was merely trying to get us out of that conversation.”

“I am sorry, Miss,” Sophie apologized. “I didn’t mean to speak out of turn. I only wished to point out your brother’s talent.”

“I’m happy you did,” Eloise assured her. “It’s just that…discussion of his art has been all but forbidden for a long time. You see, he left the Royal Academy because he found out that Anthony had paid for his admission. We could never convince him that he had been recognized for his merits as well. It broke his heart and he dropped the whole thing.”

Sophie felt a piece of her own heart crack to learn the true story behind Benedict’s abandoned aspirations. He had mentioned the Academy only once before and had made it seem as if his self-doubt had driven him out of his own accord. She hadn’t known the Viscount had a hand in undermining his confidence and it soured her perception of him even further.

“I tried to encourage him to continue,” Eloise went on. “But he simply closed that part of himself off. He’s been rather aimless for years; no real passions other than attending parties. We see less and less of him and he has been…well, not himself. Until recently.”

The conspiratorial smile she gave Sophie was somehow both nerve wracking and comforting. To have someone within the family who knew she and Benedict shared a connection was a liability, but also undeniably affirming. However, Sophie would not confirm or divulge anything. She didn’t know how much Eloise was privy to and decided it was up to Benedict to share.

“I am glad to hear he has been inspired to create again,” Eloise grinned.

Sophie returned a small smile. “As am I.”

___

In the days that followed Sophie began to realize that her perception of Benedict was changing. As she observed the personalities in his family and learned more about him through their chatter, she was gaining a fuller picture of the man. He was not just the captivating temptor of her dreams, he was a whole person with flaws and fears of his own. It was clear that he was somewhat misunderstood, perhaps even undervalued within his family, whose affections seemed tinged with a certain dismissiveness. Benedict was called upon for support and good cheer but his own wellbeing was rarely inquired after. His absence was always credited to the idle irresponsibility of a second son. Though it was evident that they loved him, it was also evident they did not take him very seriously. Sophie began to wonder if his outward charisma may be hiding a wounded and self-doubting heart. It made her love him all the more.

She knew that he was capable of great things. She had been on the receiving end of his deep kindness, had parried with his wit, and had seen his natural talents during their time at Aubrey Hall. His art was an extension of his soul, a point of vulnerability that she now realized he had only chosen to share with her. What she couldn’t puzzle was why he had done so. Surely she could not have been the source of his renewed inspiration. A maid willing to cavort with him couldn’t mean that much.

Her thoughts were fixed on this same mystery late one morning as she paused in a corridor to observe herself in a small hanging mirror. She was neither as glamorous as she had been when she had first visited Bridgerton House, nor as wretched as Benedict had found her upon leaving the Cavenders. Under employment with the Bridgertons, fed and treated well, another version of herself was emerging. Someone who felt closer to the truth.

When a hand came to rest on her shoulder, she didn’t jump. She could tell from the ruby signet ring in the reflection that it was him. Stemming the flood of yearning that surged within her, she led him wordlessly to a nearby broom closet and slipped inside. After Benedict closed the door behind them Sophie positively leapt upon him, her lips colliding with his and slamming him against the door. Her tongue was hot and forceful, teasing and exploring his mouth. Her hands were in his hair so tightly it hurt. He loved to feel her desire, her control. He would give her anything she asked of him.

“I missed you,” she rasped against his lips.

Just the sound of her words made him groan. Heat pulsed through his veins, an animal hunger spread through him and numbed his mind to everything but sensation. Clasping her against him, he moved deeper into the small space until her back hit a set of shelves. As his hands roamed across every sumptuous inch of her body, Sophie nipped at his ear, planting warm kisses down his neck.

“You’re wonderful, Benedict,” she breathed. “Wonderful.”

He didn’t know what he had done to warrant such praise but before he could ask, she suddenly dropped to her knees and began tearing at his trouser buttons.

Breathless, he looked down to watch her release his engorged cock, stroke it to full stiffness and then close her mouth around it. He stuttered as his knees nearly buckled, reaching to hold onto the shelves for support. Sophie moved her mouth and hand, warm and insistent across him, inching him deeper and deeper as her throat opened to receive him.

“God,” he hissed, blood rushing in his ears. “Sophie…what? Are you sure you want to…?”

Her eyes flashed up to him, just dewy pinpricks in the darkness of the closet. She withdrew her mouth but held him firmly in hand, her voice an impossible blend of sin and sweetness.

“You’re an artist Ben, and I want you to paint my throat. Please.”

His eyes rolled to the back of his skull as he fought not to swallow his tongue. Dear god, this woman would be the death of him. Completely incapable of speech, he tried to express his gratitude by cupping her chin. She moved her hands to hold his waist and waited eagerly, mouth wide as he guided himself back in and then wound both hands gently into her hair. Sophie closed her lips tight around him, sucking until her cheeks hollowed.

Possessed by desire, Benedict’s hips began to move, thrusting into her mouth rhythmically. His body and mind were reeling, ready to pummel into her heat and erupt within seconds but he fought to pace himself, though time was still of the essence. He kept his probing shallow, not wanting to cause her discomfort. Sophie’s hands gripped him tighter, her breath bursting in little gusts against his abdomen.

Benedict was in ecstasy, so thrilled to be alone with her again, so thrilled at how she wanted to please him. He knew he should be quiet. He knew how dangerous this was and that any noise may lead to their discovery in the most scandalous position imaginable. The thought of their debauched tableau stiffened him to the point of aching, imagining someone opening the door to find him, sweating and thrusting, cock being swallowed greedily by a gorgeous woman. He could barely contain himself as moans threatened to tear out of his chest. He tried to exhale them away and drove into her harder.

He knew he wasn’t going to last long. Their passion burned so hot, he felt he would come in a few more thrusts. It was like he was a green lad of sixteen, not an experienced man of thirty. She did this to him. Only her. It was a humbling thought.

Then Sophie snaked a hand up his torso to rest on his chest and loosened her jaw even more, pushing forward until he slid fully down her throat. He gripped her hair and let out a small yelp. He was so hard, so desperately needy. The wet suction of her lips and the drag of her tongue across his veins was so good, he felt the threat of euphoria begin to rise up his spine.

He moved to pull out but Sophie tugged him back against her, holding firmly.

“Sophie,” he panted desperately. “I’m going to…”

But she wouldn’t let him go. She mumbled something, the vibrations of her voice buzzing around his entire manhood and triggering a responding ripple. He curled his body over her, gasping as he pulsed and emptied himself down her throat, painting her within as requested. Sophie held still, clutching onto him, coughing once and breathing heavily as she swallowed his release.

Benedict’s mind was blank, his muscles trembling as Sophie slowly sat back and let him slide out between her lips. He numbly tucked himself away and straightened his clothes while she wiped her mouth and stood, smoothing her hair. The only sound was the rasp of their breath slowing.

They stared at one another in the faint light peeking around the doorframe. She could see the sheen of sweat glistening on his brow and wiped it away. He grasped her hand and kissed her palm.

“I don’t know how I shall do anything worthwhile if you continue to distract me like this, Miss Beckett.”

“And I don’t know how I shall keep my position if I keep vanishing into closets.” She smirked at him.

He returned her smile but something inside him ached. He needed her closer, he needed her longer. He crushed her to himself, kissing her deeply, tasting her, drinking her, breathing her. He tried to recall if anyone had ever made his heart pound as furiously as it did then and realized - it had only been the lady in silver. He had been overconfident with her, assuming he could capture lightning in a bottle and keep it forever. And he’d lost her, maybe lost everything. He hadn’t met anyone since with whom he could even imagine building a life.

Until Sophie.

The perilous chaos of their arrangement was both the most beautiful and terrible thing in his world. Unlike the lady in silver, she wasn’t someone he could hope to marry, but also unlike the lady in silver, she was here. And he wasn’t going to let her get away.

“Come home with me,” he whispered in her ear.

She said nothing, but he felt her stiffen.

“Come home with me,” he repeated.

“I can’t,” she sighed, the breath of each word whispering across his skin.

Gently, slowly, she disentangled herself from his arms and straightened her dress.

“Wait a moment after me,” she ordered, then inched the door open, looked up and down the hall and flitted away.

Benedict leaned against the wall in the dark closet trying to slow his breath, contending with his confusion, his frustration, and his disgust with himself. Sophie couldn’t stay like this, a servant in his family house. She was more. She deserved more. As salacious as their encounters were, they should be able to enjoy them without all the secrecy and risk. He didn’t want to keep meeting her in broom closets like a teenager or a scoundrel, so rushed that he couldn’t even ensure her pleasure. Something had to change but he’d be damned if he couldn’t think his way through it yet.

He was playing with fire and yet, for Sophie he was ready to be burned to ash. Better to be ruined by the blaze that roared between them than to live without her warmth.

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eleanor-bradstreet · 10 months ago

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Let Me Be Your Anchor

Chapter 16: Teatime

Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Beckett An Offer from a Gentleman reimagined Chapter rating: 18+ - explicit sexual content, drug use Word count: 4.4k

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The next day Aubrey Hall continued to teem with activity under the watchful eyes of the Duke and Duchess. Benedict notified Mr. Dewitt that Sophie would be retained as a member of the housekeeping staff during the country visit. If the steward had any thoughts about the whiplash instructions he was receiving in regards to the newly arrived maid, he was wise enough not to betray them.

Benedict’s mind hadn’t stopped whirring since his encounter with Sophie in the drawing room the previous day. After returning from the lake, his sister gave no indication that she suspected anything untoward. It seemed their secret was safe. But how much longer could they carry on like this, sneaking through hallways in the dead of night, scurrying into unoccupied rooms? The risk of their discovery would increase tenfold when the family and guests started to arrive. Sophie was correct that they would need to actively avoid one another. He hadn’t even contemplated what would happen at the conclusion of his family’s hosting duties when he would be expected to return to London.

In the midst of his colliding thoughts, all he could think of was his need for Sophie; his yearning to watch her lips part as he made her gasp, his hunger to make her come apart, his ache to hold her in his arms. He set up an easel in his bedchamber and tried to unleash his feelings on a canvas, but found himself lost in daydreams of her. Rash as it may have been, he sent word to the kitchen specifically requesting that Sophie bring him his tea.

His heart bounded when she opened the door, tray balanced on her hip as he had seen her so many times before while convalescing. Her smile was brighter than the sunlight streaming through the windows.

She set the tea tray on a table and curtsied. “Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Sophie.” Her name left his lips with a sigh of relief. “Are we not done with formalities when we are alone together?”

She returned a coy smile. “Very well, Ben. I assume you summoned me for a reason. Would you like me to sit for my portrait?”

He stepped toward her, feeling a stab of guilt that he could never seem to concentrate long enough in her presence to complete his work. “I certainly intend to finish your portrait. That is a gift I promised you. But I’m afraid my thoughts are too preoccupied to give it the attention it deserves at the moment.

“Preoccupied?” Her eyes sparkled with curiosity as he closed the distance between them and ran his knuckles across her cheek.

“Anticipation of my family’s arrival. And thoughts of you. Knowing we must keep our distance once they arrive.”

“Yes, we must.” Sophie swallowed, feeling the familiar bloom of heat just from his proximity.

“But we have today.” Benedict nuzzled against her cheek, delighting in her scent, the faintest hint of amber and vanilla.

Sophie’s eyes rolled closed and she grew pliant in his arms, but her mind still registered the risk of their encounters. “The Duke and Duchess…”

“Are calling at Romney Hall nearby,” he explained. “My sister is a friend of Lady Crane. She is ill and won’t be able to attend the visit.”

“The children?”

Benedict snickered. “Are with their army of nurses. The time is ours.” He pressed his lips to hers, soft and plush, and she was bereft of any further protest. “I wanted to ask if you’d like to…join me in calming my thoughts?”

“How do you mean?” Sophie asked, noting the mischievous flicker across his features, his crooked grin triggering a spark of excitement.

“An elixir procured by my younger brother in his travels. Whatever it may be, I find it both soothes the nerves and opens my mind to artistic inspiration. When paired with a canvas it helps me produce some of my most…experimental work.” He ran a hand gently through her hair, gazing at her as if she were his greatest muse. “It’s an experience unlike any other, and one that I’d like to share with you, if you are willing.”

Sophie was surprised by his offer, that he was inviting her to join him in more than just carnal pleasures. She had never tried any such substances, but assumed the effects must be different than strong drink. On a few occasions she had indulged enough to experience drunkenness with her fellow servants, usually on holidays. She found the sensation not unpleasant, a numbing carefree haze, but it did have a way of stealing joy from the following day when she would wake with a headache and bitter mouth. But she trusted Benedict implicitly. He would ensure her enjoyment as he introduced her to something new.

“How does one take this elixir?” She asked.

“A powder added to tea.” He wiggled his eyebrows and moved about the room, producing a small pouch from a drawer in his writing desk and shaking it playfully before resting it beside the teapot. “Medicinal in a way not unlike your tinctures, but entirely unique.”

Nodding her consent, Sophie sat across from Benedict at the small table and watched as he poured them each a cup of tea and added small spoonfuls of the pouch’s vibrant purple powder. He stirred and handed her the mixture, insisting she take the first sip. Tentatively, she brought it to her lips.

“You may wish to hold your nose,” Benedict coached. “The smell and taste can be a bit foul.”

Sophie did detect a whiff of something pungent, vegetal but charred somehow. Holding her breath, she took a full sip and scrunched up her face as the aftertaste withered her tongue.

“Ugh,” she grimaced as Benedict giggled. “You claim this makes you feel better?”

“Give it a moment,” he grinned. “You will see.”

___

In what felt like no time at all, Sophie became aware of her altered state. A single cup of Benedict’s mystery tea and she found herself able to count the motes of dust that floated in the shafts of sunlight. As opposed to the numbing effect of alcohol, she found her mind and body heightened in awareness. She was fascinated by the friction of her dress against her skin, the tactile surface of the table and the fine china, and the colors of the fabrics throughout the room. Having drunk his own cup, Benedict seemed to be fixated on color too. After ensuring she was feeling well, he had gone to his easel and was blending oil paints directly with his fingers on both palette and canvas, making sweeping motions with his arms, entirely lost to inspiration.

Sophie didn’t know how long she lazed in her chair watching him. The tea made time seem untrackable and irrelevant. She certainly did feel her nerves calmed and mind opened. She was content to simply gaze at Benedict, the man she secretly loved, drinking in the sight of him and every feature she adored. His tousled dark hair, his animated brow, pale blue eyes locked on his work, lopsided smirk appraising what he was crafting. Her focus narrowed to the sweat beginning to bead on his forehead, the tendons flexing in his muscular neck, and the veins surging in his paint-streaked forearms. He had rolled his sleeves to the elbows but was otherwise fully dressed in a floral patterned waistcoat and pinned cravat, and for some reason this struck her as aggravating. With every inch of her skin sensitized in a way she had never known before, she wanted to touch and be touched, to taste and be tasted, to learn what it felt like to ascend to the plane of bliss when she already felt herself high above any clouds.

With a boldness that surprised even herself she rose, marched to Benedict’s side, took his face in her hands and kissed him deeply. Light danced behind her eyelids as the sweet flavor of his lips cascaded over her own. Benedict froze, holding his hands to either side so as not to cover her in paint.

Sophie pulled back and they both chuckled, heady with the closeness of each other as much as with the tea. Kissing him again, she found herself entirely absent of inhibition. With his hands unavailable she was in control and the realization was undeniably thrilling. There was something she had been longing to try and now was the perfect moment.

Continuing to savor him, her hands went to work unwinding his cravat. Benedict stood still, humming in amusement as they kissed. Once the fabric was in her hands, cool and slippery, she moved to stand behind him. On tiptoe she wrapped the dark blue silk around his eyes and knotted it in the back.

“Blind man’s bluff?” Benedict quipped, sounding befuddled.

“Shh.” Sophie giggled as she moved back to face him and contemplated her next move. The buttons on his waistcoat were slowly unfastened and the garment slipped carefully over his technicolor arms and onto the floor. Biting her lip, she snapped his braces against his chest causing him to gasp before she pulled them down from his shoulders. Next was his shirt. Sophie could hear him breathing harder as she pulled the hem from his waistband. She leaned to his ear and whispered, “Raise your arms.”

Giving himself over to her direction, Benedict grinned uncontrollably as she undressed him. He did as he was told, lifting his arms in front of himself to accommodate her height and she pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it across the room. He stood before her blindfolded and shirtless, chest heaving, trousers jutting out unnaturally with his stiffness. Feeling more seductive than ever before, she traced a finger from his jaw down his neck, chest and abdomen, admiring. He was muscled, athletic, and his pale skin was so soft, smelling of soap and his oil paints. Sophie knelt down to pull off his boots, running her hand lightly down the front of his trousers on her way, causing him to hiss from the sensation.

“Lift your feet.” He obeyed and she pulled off his boots and stockings. Sophie remembered the night at the inn where she had awkwardly relieved him of his clothing out of necessity. This was a decidedly more pleasurable echo of that encounter. They were both breathing quite hard now, knowing there was only one more garment left to remove. Sophie remained on her knees and reached up, slowly unbuttoning his trousers. His hands clenched into fists and she could see him gritting his jaw. She smiled as she slid the last of his clothes down and bid him to step out of them. Now he was nude and erect with anticipation. She delayed a moment, waiting to strike. She would surprise him. She knew he was expecting her hands; how she usually touched him. She would skip that step.

Benedict gasped as her hot, wet mouth encircled him. It was a shock to his system, standing naked and blind in excruciating silence, broken suddenly by his cock being devoured. He reached out to hold her head but she swatted his hand away, reminding him of how soiled they were. Groaning through clenched teeth he fought to stand still and just let her have her way with him. It was agony and paradise combined, a flood of feelings as his swirling senses honed in on her attentions. The minx inside sweet Sophie had been unleashed by the tea and he was both proud and humbled that she was offering her own form of experimentation to match his.

At long last Sophie was fulfilling her wish to take Benedict in her mouth, to show him just how fervently she longed to please him, to worship his body as he had worshipped hers. She found the act surprisingly enjoyable, knowing the power she wielded from her knees. Hearing the needy sounds he made and looking up to see his mouth hung open with awe gave her her own satisfaction in turn. After a few pulls along his manhood she leaned back. “How is this, Ben? Inspirational?” She flicked her tongue across his tip.

He groaned, legs buckling. “Yes, Sophie. It’s…you’re wonderful. Just…just like this. Your lips are like the kiss of heaven.” She chuckled, knowing he would likely spout something poetic even if they were not under the influence. Motivated to push him even higher into the firmament, she leaned forward to consume him again. She tried different motions, licking and sucking, back and forth, her tongue dancing around his veins, her hand rising to join her mouth in stroking. Whenever Benedict moaned above her, she persisted with that action.

Then she tested herself, seeing how deeply she could take him. Slowly, she pushed further and further toward his body, pulling him into her mouth, relaxing every muscle she knew how. She knew he was in her throat once she could no longer breathe. An odd, somewhat alarming sensation but she felt in control. Staying relaxed she began to move gently, sucking him as before, letting him penetrate an entirely new area of her body. Having the most intimate part of him warm and heavy in her mouth was a comfort and sin she could never have imagined.

Benedict positively shouted with surprise as he breached Sophie’s throat. He instinctively tore the cravat from his eyes, looked down and saw her face practically flush with his pelvis, eyes closed in concentration as she rocked back and forth. He was buried so deep that when she finally gagged, he felt as if he were swallowed, squeezed with a pressure and heat that threatened to topple him. He shuddered, mind gone completely blank. Sophie pulled back and came up for air, gasping after his entire length slid out of her beautiful mouth. She wiped her lips on the back of her hand and smiled up at him, looking proud of herself.

“Sophie Beckett, you marvelous creature,” he beamed down at her. With a smug gleam in her eyes she set herself on him again and Benedict rocketed skyward. He murmured praise and suggestions, hips beginning to thrust as she sucked him eagerly. She had a natural talent with her tongue that he knew was liable to destroy him. The warmth of her mouth, the suction of her lips, the challenge in her dewy eyes gazing up at him, it grew too much to bear. As he felt himself nearing the peak he pulled back.

“Sophie, I’m…I am nearly there.”

“Good,” she smiled, tearing away the collar of her uniform and beginning to loosen her frock. Benedict watched, agog as she undressed, stripping down to the waist. Then she wrapped a warm hand around his length and began to pump, her breasts bare and bobbing hypnotically as she stroked him. Whatever fire had been lit within her, he vowed to keep it tended. Gazing at each other open mouthed, she commanded him softly but intently. “Come on me.”

Seeing and hearing how hungry she was for his release brought it to fruition in a moment. Knowing nothing but the wave of ecstasy beginning to spasm through his body, Benedict needed to stabilize himself before he jettisoned off of the earth. His hands fell to Sophie’s shoulders and gripped tight, smearing her in a rainbow of fingerprints as he dropped his head with a cry. Painting her in two ways at once, his breath escaped in halting gasps as she milked him onto her chest.

Sophie never stopped her movements, coaxing him through the aftershocks. When Benedict fell to his knees before her panting, she grinned with devilish victory. She was just as capable of reducing him to a breathless mess as he could her. It made her feel closer to him, more trusted, and more desirable.

“Sophie,” Benedict marveled at her, barely able to muster words. “I’m sorry. Your shoulders…”

He pointed at the streaks that ran across her skin. She looked down and saw the epaulets she had earned. Bright ornaments of sinful endeavors. The fingerprints of her lover seared into her for all to see. The whole room was twinkling in a dazzling spectrum before her eyes and she felt honored to be made a part of it. With a twist of her lips she collected the palette he had dropped nearby and dipped her fingers into a sky blue shade, then swiped it gently across his abdomen, coloring him as well.

Benedict looked at her quizzically, then she ran a purple thumb across his jaw. Catching on, he wet his fingers in forest green and brushed them across her cheeks. Giggling, Sophie next took a daub of orange and swirled it in circles across her chest, blending it with his seed, painting herself with his essence. Benedict swallowed hard, dumbfounded, and then found himself moving like a man possessed, stripping her of her remaining clothing, hauling her up onto the settee and burying his face between her legs.

The day progressed as a gauzy fantasy, the two of them wrapped in intoxicated wonder and all the sensations they could gift each other. They lost count of their climaxes, Sophie returning time and time again to swallow Benedict and bob her head until he gasped her name, and Benedict on his knees in equal measure, sucking her furiously as she bounced against his tongue. After the poetry they penned with their moans, they broke to make art with their flesh, painting arcs, swirls and handprints across skin, gradients of desire and whimsy, blending with their own juices, traces of themselves ending up on the canvas which had clattered to the floor.

Hours later as the sun began to set, they found themselves looking like madmen, wrapped in sheets, disheveled and covered in streaks of paint from head to toe. Benedict had the presence of mind to wrap Sophie in one of his shirts and hide her in the bedroom next door while he donned a robe and called for a bath. He didn’t much care what the maids thought of seeing him smeared with paint with his hair standing on end. It wouldn’t be the first time he had ended up like this after a dose of the powder.

Working together and casting him sideways glances, Finian and Lizzie brought a large copper tub to his room and filled it with steaming water. Lizzie scented it with oil and a sudsy soap that left bubbles floating on the surface. When they finally exited, Benedict collected Sophie again and locked the door behind them. She giggled helplessly while he stripped her of what little she was wearing and helped her step into the steaming water. She shivered and sank down, allowing the water to rise above her shoulders and neck, even right up to her nose, and then closed her eyes. It felt like heaven.

“Lean forward,” Benedict murmured, kneeling on the floor beside her. She did, and sighed with pleasure as he began to wash her back, making clouds of red and yellow paint swirl into the water.

“We’ll make you all shiny and new again,” he grinned, kissing her shoulder as he scrubbed her arms. Sophie leaned forward and rested her forehead on her bent knees, blushing.

“Dunk your head so I can wash your hair,” he ordered.

She slid under the water, a magical, enveloping sensation while she still felt the fuzzy influence of the tea, and then quickly came back up.

The green streaks of paint on her cheeks started to run down the length of her face. But rather than make her look wretched, Benedict thought it gave her a phantasmal beauty. It made her eyes glow as he had never seen them - glittering emeralds refracting all the light in the room. He rubbed the paint from her face with his thumb as she held his gaze. He suddenly found that it was hard to breathe. Probably a side effect of the tea.

He busied himself by rubbing the bar of soap in his hands and then began to work the lather through her hair. “Do you prefer your hair short?” he asked.

“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.

“Back under.”

She dunked back in the tub, swirling 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 the process a few times, until all the paint was removed as far as she could tell and the water had turned a milky purple. “Aren’t you coming in?” She raised an eyebrow and was met with that cheeky lopsided grin.

Benedict let his robe fall to the floor and stepped in across from her. He groaned with pleasure as he lowered himself, immediately dunking under the water and smoothing back his hair. Sophie took the cloth and went to work scrubbing his fingers, his arms, every inch of him. Their incessant giggling was fading into pleasurable hums and sighs as they caressed each other in the water, gently, curiously. They kissed each other’s necks, arms, foreheads. There was a chastity to it despite that they were fully nude together after an outrageously lascivious afternoon.

Sophie was drained. It had been without a doubt the wildest and most exploratory day of her life thus far. She knew she was still under the giddy haze of the tea but her senses were growing sharper. Time slowly seemed to be returning to its normal rate and her mind was quieting. The last of its effects, the joy of being with Benedict, and the warmth of the lapping water made her euphoric. Benedict had leaned back against his end of the tub, eyes closed. Sophie couldn't stretch out her legs underwater without awkwardly laying on top of him, so she planted her feet to frame his head which made him look up and chuckle. She grinned and bent an elbow over the side, resting her head on her arms. Benedict ran his hands lazily over her knees and the two of them sat in contented silence, descending from their high and soaking up all the heat the water could offer.

Benedict stared at Sophie, resting serenely as glinting water droplets ran across her collarbone. She was dazzling. Never a word that he had thought to associate with a housemaid but it was truly how he felt. Where in the world had she come from? This beautiful, daring and exciting woman whose wit, moods, pleasures and interests so perfectly aligned with his own? He genuinely wondered if she had worked in the Cavender house at all and wasn’t some faerie that had wandered out of the woods to enchant him. These days alone with her in the country had been some of the happiest he had experienced with a woman. He was ready to find her an apartment in London, to send her there with an allowance to buy anything she fancied, and to have all of her servant’s clothes burned. He could do it tomorrow. She shouldn’t spend another day working for his family.

“Why do you want to keep working at this ball?” He asked her.

Sophie lifted her head, brow furrowed. “So I can earn some money.”

Benedict sat up and leaned toward her. “You don’t need to earn money. I’ll take care of you.” He pressed his torso against hers and murmured, “I can give you whatever you want.”

Whether it was her pride or some courage gifted to her by the tea, Sophie felt no fear in being honest with him. “I don’t want you to.” Her voice was more stern than she had intended and he scowled.

“Why can’t we just stay like this? Have this time together?” She nuzzled against his neck and planted a soft kiss on his lips. This was everything she wanted, or at least everything that she could reasonably have with Benedict. She would never experience her dreams of marrying him, or walking on his arm in public, or being with him forever. But she could have these days, weeks or even months if she were lucky, where they enjoyed each other’s company and bodies, and she was grateful for it. Incredibly grateful. It wasn’t perfect, but it was closer to her dreams than she could have ever imagined over the past two years. She would cherish these days forever, but she refused to hinge her hopes or her future on them, when they would never lead to anything.

“I don’t want to be kept somewhere,” she confessed. “Locked in a pretty box for you to play with.”

Benedict pulled back, looking insulted. “Why?”

Sophie sighed, overcome with the weight of her emotions and a wave of approaching sleep. “Because it can’t last forever and I will need work to fall back on.” She rested her head back on her arms and closed her eyes. “You must tell me once you find her,” she sighed.

Benedict looked at her, startled. Find who? Surely she didn’t know about…

As if reading his mind Sophie continued, mumbling. “The woman you will marry. So that I will know to leave. Promise me, Ben.” Her head lolled as she drifted off, her last words barely above a whisper. “I cannot share you.”

Something in Benedict’s chest clenched and again he found himself struggling to breathe. Suddenly the thought of not having Sophie around was unsettling. More unsettling than it should have been for having known her such a short time. She didn’t want to share him with his wife. Did she mean to reveal that to him or did it slip out? He couldn’t tell how it made him feel. Once again he knew she was right. He doubted he could sustain a life as a bachelor chasing after a maid who refused to be kept as a mistress. He would need to marry. Hell, a part of him wanted to marry. It was who that was the problem. He couldn’t find the lady in silver but knew that if he ever did and if she would have him, he would marry her and then there would be no room for Sophie. It made him sad and it made him confused and he was so damned tired. So he resigned himself to following Sophie’s lead and just enjoying the time they had together, for however long it lasted.

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