He advanced on her. “Who are you?” She backed up another step. “Sophia Beckett.” “Who are you?” “I’ve been a servant since I was fourteen.” “And who were you before that?” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “A bastard.” “Whose bastard?” “Does it matter?” His stance grew more belligerent. “It matters to me.” Sophie felt herself deflate. She hadn’t expected him to ignore the duties of his birth and actually marry someone like her, but she’d hoped he wouldn’t care quite that much. “Who were your parents?” Benedict persisted. “No one you know.” “Who were your parents?” he roared. “The Earl of
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