“Sophie! My God, are you well?” His hands reached through the bars, cupping her cheeks. His lips found hers; the kiss was not one of passion but of terror and relief.
“I am a countess!” Araminta hissed. “And I am more popular,” Lady Bridgerton returned, the snide words so out of character that both Benedict’s and Sophie’s mouths dropped open.
“But one of the things I love best,” he continued, “is the fact that you know yourself. You know who you are, and what you value. You have principles, Sophie, and you stick by them.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “That is so rare.”
“In the back. We can’t see them from here.” He chewed thoughtfully. “But we could from my studio.” For about two seconds neither moved. But only two seconds.