An Offer From a Gentleman (Cinderella)

“No one,” she snapped. “No one will hire me. I have no references, and I look far too young.”

“And pretty,” he said grimly. He’d never given much thought to the hiring of governesses, but he knew that the duty usually fell to the mother of the house. And common sense told him that no mother wanted to bring such a pretty young thing into her household. Just look what Sophie had had to endure at the hands of Phillip Cavender.

“You could be a lady’s maid,” he suggested. “At least then you wouldn’t be cleaning chamber pots.”

“You’d be surprised,” she muttered.

“A companion to an elderly lady?”

She sighed. It was a sad, weary sound, and it nearly broke his heart. “You’re very kind to try to help me,” she said, “but I have already explored all of those avenues. Besides, I am not your responsibility.”

“You could be.”

She looked at him in surprise.

In that moment, Benedict knew that he had to have her. There was a connection between them, a strange, inexplicable bond that he’d felt only one other time in his life, with the mystery lady from the masquerade. And while she was gone, vanished into thin air, Sophie was very real. He was tired of mirages. He wanted someone he could see, someone he could touch.

And she needed him. She might not realize it yet, but she needed him. Benedict took her hand and tugged, catching her off-balance and wrapping her to him when she fell against his body.

“Mr. Bridgerton!” she yelped.

“Benedict,” he corrected, his lips at her ear.

“Let me—”

“Say my name,” he persisted. He could be very stubborn when it suited his interests, and he wasn’t going to let her go until he heard his name cross her lips.

And maybe not even then.

“Benedict,” she finally relented. “I—”

“Hush.” He silenced her with his mouth, nibbling at the corner of her lips. When she went soft and compliant in his arms, he drew back, just far enough so that he could focus on her eyes. They looked impossibly green in the late-afternoon light, deep enough to drown in.

“I want you to come back to London with me,” he whispered, the words tumbling forth before he had a chance to consider them. “Come back and live with me.”

She looked at him in surprise.

“Be mine,” he said, his voice thick and urgent. “Be mine right now. Be mine forever. I’ll give you anything you want. All I want in return is you.”

Chapter 12

Eloise Bridgerton, who as his sister ought to

But as Eloise must be the first to admit, a man of Mr. Bridgerton’s age and stature need hardly report his whereabouts to his younger sister.

LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 9 MAY 1817

“You want me to be your mistress,” she said flatly.

she couldn’t be sure whether that was because her statement was so obvious or because he objected to her choice of words. “I want you to be with me,”

The moment was so staggeringly painful and yet she found herself almost smiling. “How is that different from being your mistress?”

“Sophie—”

“How is it different?” she repeated, her voice growing strident.

“I don’t know, Sophie.” He sounded impatient. “Does it matter?”

“It does to me.”

“Fine,” he said in a short voice. “Fine. Be my mistress, and have this.”

Sophie had just enough time to gasp before his lips descended on hers with a ferocity that turned her knees to water. It was like no kiss they’d ever shared, harsh with need, and laced

in a primitive dance of passion. His hands seemed to be everywhere, on her breasts, around her waist, even under her skirt. He touched and squeezed, caressed and stroked.

And all the while, he had her

finding the hollow at the base of her throat. “I want you right now. I want you here.”

“Benedict—”

“I want you in my bed,” he growled. “I want you

wicked, and she was weak, and she gave in to the moment, arching her neck to allow him greater access. His lips felt so good against her skin, sending shivers and tingles to the very center of her being. He made her long for him, long for all the things she couldn’t have, and curse the things she could.

And then somehow she was on the ground, and he was there with her, half-on and half-off of her body. He seemed so large, so powerful, and in that moment, so perfectly hers. A very small part of Sophie’s mind was still functioning, and she knew that she had to say no, had to put a stop to the madness,

She’d spent so long dreaming about him, trying desperately to remember the scent of his skin, the sound of his voice. There had been many nights when the fantasy of him had been all that had kept her company.

She had been living on dreams, and she wasn’t a woman for whom many

“Benedict,” she murmured, touching the crisp silkiness of his hair and pretending—pretending that he hadn’t just asked her to be his mistress, that she was someone else—anyone else.

the bastard daughter of a dead earl, with no means of support besides waiting on others.

squeezing the soft skin of her thigh. Years of hard work had made her lean, not fashionably curvy, but he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she could feel his heart begin to beat even more rapidly, hear his breath coming in hoarser gasps.

“Sophie, Sophie, Sophie,” he groaned, his lips moving frantically along her face until they found her mouth again. “I need you.” He pressed his hips hotly against hers. “Do you feel how I need you?”

need you, too,” she whispered. And she did. There was a fire burning within her that had been simmering quietly for years. The sight of him had ignited it anew, and his touch was like

going to burn this,” he grunted, his other hand relentlessly stroking the tender skin at the back of her knee. “I’ll dress you in silks, in satins.” He moved to her ear, nipping at

He’d managed to say the one thing that could remind her why she was here, why he was kissing her. It wasn’t love, or any of those tender emotions