“I’ve dreamed of doing this for years.”

“Years?” she asked, amused.

“Mmm-hmm. I had many dreams about you after the masquerade.”

Sophie was glad she was leaning forward, her forehead resting on her bent knees, because she blushed.

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

She slid under the water, then quickly came back up.

Benedict rubbed the bar of soap in his hands and then began to work the lather through her hair. “It was longer before,”  he commented.

“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.

“Ready to rinse.”

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She dunked back in the tub, swishing 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 that process a few times, then finally asked, “Aren’t you coming in?” It was dreadfully brazen of her,  and she knew she must be blushing like a raspberry, but she simply had to know.

He shook his head. “I’d planned to, but this is too much fun.”

“Washing me?” she asked doubtfully.

One corner of his mouth quirked into the faintest of half smiles. “I’m rather looking forward to drying you off as well.” He reached down and picked up a large white towel. “Up you go.”

Sophie chewed on her lower lip in indecision. She had, of course, already been as close to him as two people could be, but  she wasn’t so sophisticated that she could rise naked from the tub without a large degree of embarrassment.

Benedict smiled faintly as he stood and unfolded the towel. Holding it wide, he averted his gaze and said, “I’ll have you all wrapped up before I can see a thing.”

Sophie took a deep breath and stood, somehow feeling that that one action might mark the beginning of the rest of her life.

Benedict gently wrapped the towel around her, his hands bringing the corners to her face when he was done. He dabbed at  her cheeks, where light droplets of water were still clinging to her skin, then leaned down and kissed her nose. “I’m glad you’re here,” he murmured.

“I’m glad, too.”

He touched her chin. His eyes never left hers, and she almost felt as if he’d touched those as well. And then, with the softest, most tender caress imaginable, he kissed her. Sophie didn’t just feel loved; she felt revered.

“I should wait until Monday,” he said, “but I don’t want to.”

“I don’t want you to wait,” she whispered.

He kissed her again, this time with a bit more urgency. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured. “Everything I ever dreamed of.”

His lips found her cheek, her chin, her neck, and every kiss, every nibble robbed her of balance and breath. She was sure  her legs would give out, sure her strength would fail her under his tender onslaught, and just when she was convinced she’d  crumple to the floor, he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed.

“In my heart,” he vowed, settling her against the quilts and pillows, “you are my wife.”

Sophie’s breath caught.

“After our wedding it will be legal,” he said, stretching out alongside her, “blessed by God and country, but right now—”  His voice grew hoarse as he propped himself up on one elbow so that he could gaze into her eyes. “Right now it is true”

Sophie reached up and touched his face. “I love you,” she whispered. “I have always loved you. I think I loved you before  I even knew you.”

He leaned down to kiss her anew, but she stopped him with a breathy, “No, wait.”

He paused, mere inches from her lips.

“At the masquerade,” she said, her voice uncharacteristically shaky, “even before I saw you, I felt you. Anticipation. Magic. There was something in the air. And when I turned, and you were there, it was as if you’d been waiting for me, and I knew  that you were the reason I’d stolen into the ball.”

Something wet hit her cheek. A single tear, fallen from his eye.

“You are the reason I exist,” she said softly, “the very reason I was born.”

He opened his mouth, and for a moment she was certain he would say something, but the only sound that emerged was a rough, halting noise, and she realized that he was overcome, that he could not speak.

She was undone.

Benedict kissed her again, trying to show in deeds what he could not say in words. He hadn’t thought he could love her any more than he did just five seconds earlier, but when she’d said ... when she’d told him ...

His heart had grown, and he’d thought it might burst.

He loved her. Suddenly the world was a very simple place. He loved her, and that was all that mattered.

His robe and her towel melted away, and when they were skin to skin he worshipped her with his hands and lips. He wanted her to realize the extent of his need for her, and he wanted her to know the same desire.

“Oh, Sophie,” he groaned, her name the only word he could manage to say. “Sophie, Sophie, Sophie.”

She smiled up at him, and he was struck by the most remarkable desire to laugh. He was happy, he realized. So damned happy.

And it felt good.

He positioned himself over her, ready to enter her, ready to make her his. This was different from the last time, when they’d both been swept away by emotion. This time they had been deliberate. They had chosen more than passion; they had chosen each other.




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