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Oh, good Lord, had she made a total and utter fool of herself by asking him how he knew of a private terrace?
But which brother was he? Benedict. He had to be Benedict. Sophie sent a silent thank-you to Lady Whistledown, who’d  once written a column completely devoted to the task of telling the Bridgerton siblings apart. Benedict, she recalled, had  been singled out as the tallest.
The man who made her heart flip in triple time stood a good inch above his brother—
—who Sophie suddenly realized was looking at her quite intently.
“I see why you departed,” Colin said (for he must be Colin; he certainly wasn’t Gregory, who was only fourteen, and Anthony was married, so he wouldn’t care if Benedict fled the party and left him to fend off the debutantes by himself.) He looked at Benedict with a sly expression. “Might I request an introduction?”
Benedict raised a brow. “You can try your best, but I doubt you’ll meet with success. I haven’t learned her name yet myself.”
“You haven’t asked,” Sophie could not help pointing out.
“And would you tell me if I did?”
“I’d tell you something,” she returned.
“But not the truth.”
She shook her head. “This isn’t a night for truth.”
“My favorite kind of night,” Colin said in a jaunty voice.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Benedict asked. Colin shook his head. “I’m sure Mother would prefer that I be in the ballroom, but it’s not exactly a requirement.” “/require it,” Benedict returned. Sophie felt a giggle bubbling in her throat. “Very well,” Colin sighed. “I shall take myself off.” “Excellent,” Benedict said. “All alone, to face the ravenous wolves ...” “Wolves?” Sophie queried.
“Eligible young ladies,” Colin clarified. “A pack of ravenous wolves, the lot of them. Present company excluded, of course.”
Sophie thought it best not to point out that she was not an “eligible young lady” at all.
“My mother—” Colin began.
Benedict groaned.
“—would like nothing better than to see my dear elder brother married off.” He paused and pondered his words. “Except, perhaps, to see me married off.”
“If only to get you out of the house,” Benedict said dryly.
This time Sophie did giggle.
“But then again, he’s considerably more ancient,” Colin continued, “so perhaps we should send him to the gallows— er, altar first.”
“Do you have a point?’ Benedict growled.
“None whatsoever,” Colin admitted. “But then again, I rarely do.”
Benedict turned to Sophie. “He speaks the truth.”
“So then,” Colin said to Sophie with a grand flourish of his arm, “will you take pity on my poor, long-suffering mother and  chase my dear brother up the aisle?”
“Well, he hasn’t asked,” Sophie said, trying to join the humor of the moment.
“How much have you had to drink?” Benedict grumbled. “Me?” Sophie queried. “Him.”
“Nothing at all,” Colin said jovially, “but I’m thinking quite seriously of remedying that. In fact, it might be the only thing that  will make this eve bearable.”
“If the procurement of drink removes you from my presence,” Benedict said, “then it will certainly be the only thing that will make my night bearable as well.” Colin grinned, gave a jaunty salute, and was gone. “It’s nice to see two siblings who love  each other so well,” Sophie murmured.
Benedict, who had been staring somewhat menacingly at the doorway through which his brother had just disappeared,  snapped his attention back to her. “You call that love?”
Sophie thought of Rosamund and Posy, who were forever sniping at each other, and not in jest. “I do,” she said firmly. “It’s obvious you would lay your life down for him. And vice versa.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Benedict let out a beleaguered sigh, then ruined the effect by smiling. “Much as it pains me to admit it.” He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms and looking terribly sophisticated and urbane. “So tell me,” he said, “have you  any siblings?”
Sophie pondered that question for a moment, then gave a decisive, “No.”
One of his brows rose into a curiously arrogant arch. He cocked his head very slightly to the side as he said, “I find myself rather curious as to why it took you so long to determine the answer to that question. One would think the answer would be  an easy one to reach.”
Sophie looked away for a moment, not wanting him to see the pain that she knew must show in her eyes. She had always wanted a family. In fact, there was nothing in life she had ever wanted more. Her father had never recognized her as his daughter, even in private, and her mother had died at her birth. Araminta treated her like the plague, and Rosamund and  Posy had certainly never been sisters to her. Posy had occasionally been a friend, but even she spent most of the day  asking Sophie to mend her dress, or style her hair, or polish her shoes ...
And in all truth, even though Posy asked rather than ordered, as her sister and mother did, Sophie didn’t exactly have the option of saying no. “I am an only child,” Sophie finally said. “And that is all you’re going to say on the subject,” Benedict murmured.
“And that is all I’m going to say on the subject,” she agreed.