“It was cold. Really cold. And there was an awful scurrying noise that definitely belong to a small, four-legged creature.Or even worse, a large, four-legged creature. Or to be more precise, a large version of a small, four-legged creature.Rats."Oh,God," Sophie moaned. She didn't often take the Lord's name in vain, but now seemed as good a time as any to start. Maybe He would hear, and maybe He would smite the rats. Yes, that would do very nicely.A big jolt of lightning. Huge. Of biblical proportions. It could hit the earth, spread little electrical tentacles around the globe, and sizzle all the rats dead.It was a lovely dream. Right up there with the ones in which she found herself living happily ever after as Mrs. Benedict Bridgerton.Sophie took a quick gasp as a sudden stab of pain pierced her heart. Of the two dreams, she feared that the genocide of the rats might be the more likely to come true.”

“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."Slowly and carefully, Sophie turned her back to him and put the spoon down on the table. She didn't want to risk any sudden movements. One false move and she knew she'd be hurling it at his head.Benedict raised his brows approvingly. "That was very mature of you."Sophie turned around slowly. "Are you this charming with everyone or only me?""Oh,only you." He grinned. "I shall have to make sure you take me up on my offer to find you employment with my mother.You do bring out the best in me, Miss Sophie Beckett.""This is the best?" she asked with obvious disbelief."I'm afraid so.”

“He saw nothing but the gentle ruffling of the leaves in the wind, but as he finished his sweep of the area, he somehow knew."Sophie!"He heard a gasp, followed by a huge flurry of activity."Sophie Beckett," he yelled, "if you run from me right now, I swear I will follow you,and I will not take the time to don my clothing."The noises coming from the shore slowed."I will catch up with you," he continued, "because I'm stronger and faster. And I might very well feel compelled to tackle you to the ground, just to be certain you do not escape."The sounds of her movements ceased."Good," he grunted. "Show yourself."She didn't."Sophie," he warned.There was a beat of silence, followed by the sound of slow, hesitant footsteps, and then he saw her, standing on the shore in one of those awful dresses he'd like to see sunk to the bottom of the Thames."What are you doing here?" he demanded."I went for a walk.What are you doing here?" she countered. "You're supposed to be ill.That-" she waved her arm toward him and, by extension, the pond- "can't possibly be good for you."He ignored her question and comment. "Were you following me?""Of course not," she replied, and he rather believed her. He didn't think she possessed the acting talents to fake that level of righteousness."I would never follow you to a swimming hole," she continued. "It would be indecent."And then her face went completely red, because they both knew she hadn't a leg to stand on with that argument. If she had truly been concerned about decency, she'd have left the pond the second she'd seen him, accidentally or not.”

“He smiled, and suddenly she knew that his words were true. Everything would be all right. Maybe not today and maybe not tomorrow, but soon. Tragedy couldn't coexist in a world with one of Colin's smiles.”

“She slid a slim volume of poetry off the shelf and returned to her chair, swishing her rather unnattractive skirts before she sat down.Benedict frowned. He'd never really noticed before how ugly her dress was. Not as bad as the one Mrs. Cabtree had lent her, but certainly not anything designed to bring out the best in a woman. He ought to buy her a new dress. She would never accept it,of course, but maybe if her current garments were accidentally burned..."Mr. Bridgerton?"But how could he manage to burn her dress? She'd have to not be wearing it, and that posed a certain challenge in and of itself..."Are you even listening to me?" Sophie demanded."Hmmm?""You're not listening to me.""Sorry," he admitted. "My apologies. My mind got away from me. Please continue."She began anew, and in his attempt to show how much attention he was paying her, he focused his eyes on her lips, which proved to be a big mistake.Because suddenly those lips were all he could see, and he couldn't stop thinking about kissing her, and he knew- absolutely knew-that if one of them didn't leave the room in the next thirty seconds, he was going to do something for which he'd owe her a thousand apologies.Not that he didn't plan to seduce her. Just that he'd rather do it with a bit more finesse."Oh, dear," he blurted out.Sophie gave him an odd look. He didn't blame her. He sounded like a complete idiot. He didn't think he'd uttered the phrase, "Oh,dear," in years. If ever.Hell,he sounded like his mother."Is something wrong?" Sophie asked."I just remembered something," he said, rather stupidly, in his opinion.She raised her brows in question."Something that I'd forgotten," Benedict said."The things one remembers," she said, looking exceedingly amused, "are most often things one had forgotten.”

“But he wanted to smile. He would have done, if he'd been able. Surely that had to be the most important thing.The jabbing at his leg stopped for a bit, then started up again. Then there was a lovely, short pause, and then-Damn, that hurt.But not enough to cry out. Although he might have moaned. He wasn't sure. They'd poured hot water on him. Lots of it. He wondered if they were trying to poach his leg.Boiled meat. How terribly British of them.He chuckled. He was funny. Who knew he was so funny?"Oh, my God!" he heard Honoria yell. "What did I do to him?"He laughed some more. Because she sounded ridiculous.Almost as if she were speaking through a foghorn.Oooorrrrhhhh myyy Grrrrrrrrrd.He wondered if she could hear it,too.Wait a moment..Honoria was asking what she'd done to him?Did that mean she was wielding the scissors now?He wasn't sure how he ought to feel about this.On the other hand...boiled meat!He laughed again,deciding he didn't care.God,he was funny.How was it possible no one had ever told him he was funny before?”

“Blake took a small roll from the tray on the table, then put it back in favor of a larger one. And maybe a little butter. It certainly couldn't hurt. And jam...no, he drew the line at jam. She was a spy, after all.”