“No, the previous owner did,” he replied. “You should have seen his other house.”

A moment later they were out of the rain, and Benedict had hopped down and was unhitching the horses. He was wearing gloves, but they were completely sodden and slipping on the bridle, and so he peeled them off and flung them away. Sophie watched him as he went about his work. His fingers were wrinkled like prunes and trembling from the cold. “

Let me help,” she said, stepping forward.

“I can do it.”

“Of course you can,” she said placatingly, “but you can do it faster with my help.”

He turned, presumably to refuse her again, then doubled over as he was wracked by coughs. Sophie quickly rushed in and  led him to a nearby bench. “Sit down, please,” she implored him. “I’ll finish up the job.”

She thought he’d disagree, but this time he gave in. “I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “I—”

“There’s nothing to feel sorry about,” she said, making quick work of the job. Or as quick as she could; her fingers were still numb, and bits of her skin had turned white from having been wet for so long.

“Not very...” He coughed again, this one lower and deeper than before. “... gentlemanly of me.”

“Oh, I think I can forgive you this time, considering the way you saved me earlier this evening.” Sophie tried to give him a  jaunty smile, but for some reason it wobbled, and without warning she found herself inexplicably near tears. She turned  quickly away, not wanting him to see her face.

But he must have seen something, or maybe just sensed that something was wrong, because he called out, “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine!” she replied, but her voice came out strained and choked, and before she knew it, he was next to her, and she was  in his arms.

“It’s all right,” he said soothingly. “You’re safe now.”

The tears burst forth. She cried for what could have been her fate that evening, and she cried for what had been her fate for  the past nine years. She cried for the memory of when he’d held her in his arms at the masquerade, and she cried because  she was in his arms right now.

She cried because he was so damned nice, and even though he was clearly ill, even though she was, in his eyes, nothing but  a housemaid, he still wanted to care for her and protect her.

She cried because she hadn’t let herself cry in longer than she could remember, and she cried because she felt so alone.

And she cried because she’d been dreaming of him for so very long, and he hadn’t recognized her. It was probably best that  he did not, but her heart still ached from it.

Eventually her tears subsided, and he stepped back, touching her chin as he said, “Do you feel better now?”

She nodded, surprised that it was true.

“Good. You had a scare, and—” He jerked away from her, doubling over as he coughed.

“We really need to get you inside,” Sophie said, brushing away the last streaks of her tears. “Inside the house, that is.”

He nodded. “I’ll race you to the door.”

Her eyes widened in shock. She couldn’t believe that he had the spirit to make a joke of this, when he was obviously feeling  so poorly. But she wrapped the drawstring of her bag around her hands, hitched up her skirts, and ran for the front door to  the cottage. By the time she reached the steps, she was laughing from the exertion, giggling at the ridiculousness of running wildly to get out of the rain when she was already soaked to the bone.

Benedict had, not surprisingly, beaten her to the small portico. He might have been ill, but his legs were significantly longer  and stronger. When she skidded to a halt at his side, he was banging on the front door.

“Don’t you have a key?” Sophie yelled. The wind was still howling, making it difficult to be heard.

He shook his head. “I wasn’t planning on stopping here.”

“Do you think the caretakers will even hear you?”

“I bloody well hope so,” he muttered.

Sophie wiped away the rivulets of water running over her eyes and peeked in a nearby window. “It’s very dark,” she told him. “Do you think they might not be home?”

“I don’t know where else they’d be.”

“Shouldn’t there at least be a maid or a footman?”

Benedict shook his head. “I’m so rarely here it seemed foolish to hire a full staff. The maids only come in for the day.”

Sophie grimaced. “I’d suggest we look for an open window, but that’s rather unlikely in the rain.”

“Not necessary,” Benedict said grimly. “I know where the spare key is hidden.”

Sophie looked at him in surprise. “Why do you sound so glum about it?”

He coughed several times before answering, “Because it means I have to go back out into the bloody storm.”

Sophie knew he was truly reaching the end of his patience. He’d already sworn twice in front of her, and he didn’t seem the  sort to curse in front of a woman, even a mere housemaid.

“Wait here,” he ordered, and then before she could reply, he’d left the shelter of the portico and dashed away.

A few minutes later she heard a key turning in the lock and the front door swung open to reveal Benedict, holding a candle  and dripping all over the floor. “I don’t know where Mr. and Mrs. Crabtree are,” he said, his voice raspy from all his coughing, “but they’re definitely not here.”