“A Bridgerton!” she trilled. “I’d recognize that chestnut hair anywhere. Which are you? No, don’t say. Let me guess. You’re not the viscount, because I just saw him. You must be Number Two or Number Three.” Benedict eyed her coolly. “Which one? Number Two or Number Three?” “Two,” he bit off. She clapped her hands together. “That’s what I thought! Oh, I must find Portia. I told her you were Number Two—” Benedict, he nearly growled. “—but she said, no, he’s the younger one, but I—”
