An Offer From a Gentleman (Cinderella)

Chapter 6

But there was something about her that held him mesmerized. It was her smile, the shape of her eyes, the way she held herself and looked about the ballroom as if she’d never seen a more glorious sight than the silly members of the ton all dressed up in ridiculous costumes.

Her beauty came from within.

She shimmered. She glowed.

She was utterly radiant, and Benedict suddenly realized that it was because she looked so damned happy. Happy to be where she was, happy to be who she was.

Happy in a way Benedict could barely remember. His was a good life, it was true, maybe even a great life. He had seven wonderful siblings, a loving mother, and scores of friends. But this woman—

This woman knew joy.

And Benedict had to know her.

Penelope forgotten, he pushed his way through the crowd until he was but a few steps from her side. Three other gentlemen had beaten him to his destination and were presently showering her with flattery and praise. Benedict watched her with interest; she did not react as any woman of his acquaintance might.

She did not act coy. Nor did she act as if she expected their compliments as her due. Nor was she shy, or tittering, or arch, or ironic, or any of those things one might expect from a woman.

She just smiled. Beamed, actually. Benedict supposed that compliments were meant to bring a measure of happiness to the receiver, but never had he seen a woman react with such pure, unadulterated joy.

He stepped forward. He wanted that joy for himself.

“Excuse me, gentlemen, but the lady has already promised this dance to me,” he lied.

Her mask’s eye-holes were cut a bit large, and he could see that her eyes widened considerably, then crinkled with amusement. He held out his hand to her, silently daring her to call his bluff.

But she just smiled at him, a wide, radiant grin that pierced his skin and traveled straight to his soul. She put her hand in his, and it was only then that Benedict realized he’d been holding his breath.

“Have you permission to dance the waltz?” he murmured once they reached the dance floor.

She shook her head. “I do not dance.”

“You jest.”

“I’m afraid I do not. The truth is—” She leaned forward and with a glimmer of a smile said, “I don’t know how.”

He looked at her with surprise. She moved with an inborn grace, and furthermore, what gently bred lady could reach her age without learning how to dance? “There is only one thing to do, then,” he murmured. “I shall teach you.”

Her eyes widened, then her lips parted, and a surprised laugh burst forth.

“What,” he asked, trying to sound serious, “is so funny?”

She grinned at him—the sort of grin one expects from an old school chum, not a debutante at a ball. Still smiling, she said, “Even I know that one does not conduct dancing

“What does that mean, I wonder,” he murmured, “even you?”

She said nothing.

to take the upper

“Force me?”

But she was smiling as she said it, so he knew she took no offense, and he said, “It would be ungentlemanly of

“Sorrowful, you

He shrugged. “A beautiful lady who cannot dance. It seems a crime against nature.”

allow you to

“When you allow me to teach you.”

“If I allow you to teach me, where shall you conduct the lesson?”

at an inch above six feet, he was one of the tallest men in

she echoed. “Won’t it be terribly crowded? It’s

He leaned forward. “Not the

terrace, you say?” she asked, amusement in her voice.

was just that he was a Bridgerton, and if a person met one Bridgerton, that generally meant he could recognize another. And as there was no one in London who

did not answer my question,” his mystery lady reminded him.

“About the private terrace?” Benedict raised her hand to his lips and kissed the

She appeared undecided, and so he tugged at her fingers, pulling her closer—only by an inch, but somehow it seemed she was only a kiss away. “Come,” he said. “Dance with me.”

She took a step forward, and he knew his life had been changed forever.

Sophie hadn’t seen him when she’d first walked into the room, but she’d felt magic in the air, and when he’d appeared before her, like some charming prince from a children’s tale, she somehow knew that he was the reason she’d stolen into the ball.

He was tall, and what she could see of his face was very handsome, with lips that hinted of irony and smiles, and skin that was just

moved, the other partygoers stepped out of his path. And when he’d lied

was strong, and for this one night, he was hers.

When the clock struck midnight, she’d be back to her life of drudgery, of mending and washing, and attending to Araminta’s every wish. Was she so wrong to want this one heady night of

that this entire evening was a lie, that she was a nobleman’s bastard and a countess’s maid, that her dress was borrowed and her shoes practically stolen—none of that seemed to matter as their fingers twined.

gentleman could be her gentleman, and that from this moment on, her life would be changed forever.

was nothing but a dream, but it had been so terribly long since she’d let herself dream.

Banishing all caution, she allowed him to lead her out of the ballroom. He walked quickly, even

they reached the hall outside the ballroom, “that you always seem to be laughing at me?”

happy,” she said with a helpless shrug. “I’m just so happy to be here.”

“And why is that? A ball such as this

Sophie grinned. If he thought she was a member of

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