But then their son had returned from his tour of Europe, and everything had changed. Phillip was constantly cornering her in the hall, and when his innuendo and suggestions were rebuffed, he’d grown more aggressive. Sophie had just started to think that maybe she ought to find employment elsewhere when Mr. and Mrs. Cavender had left for a week to visit Mrs. Cavender’s sister in Brighton, and Phillip had decided to throw a party for two dozen of his closest friends.
It had been difficult to avoid Phillip’s advances before, but at least Sophie had felt reasonably protected. Phillip would never dare attack her while his mother was in residence.
But with Mr. and Mrs. Cavender gone, Phillip seemed to think that he could do and take anything he wanted, and his friends were no better.
Sophie knew she should have left the grounds immediately, but Mrs. Cavender had treated her well, and she didn’t think it was polite to leave without giving two weeks’ notice. After two hours of being chased around the house, however, she decided that good manners were not worth her virtue, and so she’d told the (thankfully sympathetic) housekeeper that she could not stay, packed her meager belongings in one small bag, stolen down the side stairs, and let herself out. It was a two-mile hike into the village, but even in the dead of night, the road to town seemed infinitely safer than remaining at the Cavender home, and besides, she knew of a small inn where she could get a hot meal and a room for a reasonable price.
She’d just come ’round the house and had stepped onto the front drive, however, when she heard a raucous shout.
She looked up. Oh, blast. Phillip Cavender, looking even drunker and meaner than usual.
Sophie broke into a run, praying that alcohol had impaired Phillip’s coordination because she knew she could not match him for speed.
But her flight must have only served to excite him, because she heard him yell out with glee, then felt his footsteps rumbling on the ground, growing closer and closer until she felt his hand close round the back collar of her coat, jerking her to a halt.
Phillip laughed triumphantly, and Sophie had never been so terrified in her entire life.
“Look what I have here,” he cackled. “Little Miss Sophie. I shall have to introduce you to my friends.”
Sophie’s mouth went dry, and she wasn’t sure whether her heart started to beat double time or stopped altogether. “Let me go, Mr. Cavender,” she said in her sternest voice. She knew that he liked her helpless and pleading, and she refused to cater to his wishes.
“I don’t think so,” he said, turning her around so that she was forced to watch his lips stretch into a slippery smile. He turned his head to the side and called out, “Heasley! Fletcher! Look what I have here!”
Sophie watched with horror as two more men emerged from the shadows. From the looks of them, they were just as drunk, or maybe even more so, than Phillip.
“You always host the best parties,” one of them said in an oily voice.
Phillip puffed out with pride.
“Let me go!” Sophie said again.
Phillip grinned. “What do you think, boys? Should I do as the lady asks?”
“Hell, no!” came the reply from the younger of the two men.
“‘Lady,’” said the other—the same one who had told Phillip that he hosted the best parties, “might be a bit of a misnomer, don’t you think?”
“Quite right!” Phillip replied. “This one’s a housemaid, and as we all know, that breed is born to serve.” He gave Sophie a shove, pushing her toward one of his friends. “Here. Have a look at the goods.”
Sophie cried out as she was propelled forward, and she clutched tightly to her small bag. She was about to be raped; that much was clear. But her panicked mind wanted to hold on to some last shred of dignity, and she refused to allow these men to spill her every last belonging onto the cold ground.
The man who caught her fondled her roughly, then shoved her toward the third one. He’d just snaked his hand around her waist, when she heard someone yell out, “Cavender!”
Sophie shut her eyes in agony. A fourth man. Dear God, weren’t three enough?
“Bridgerton!” Phillip called out. “Come join us!”
Sophie’s eyes snapped open. Bridgerton?
A tall, powerfully built man emerged from the shadows, moving forward with easy, confident grace.
“What have we here?”
Dear God, she’d recognize that voice anywhere. She heard it often enough in her dreams.
It was Benedict Bridgerton. Her Prince Charming.
The night air was chilly, but Benedict found it refreshing after being forced to breathe the alcohol and tobacco fumes inside. The moon was nearly full, glowing round and fat, and a gentle breeze ruffled the leaves on the trees. All in all, it was an excellent night to leave a boring party and ride home.
But first things first. He had to find his host, go through the motions of thanking him for his hospitality, and inform him of his departure. As he reached the bottom step, he called out, “Cavender!”
“Over here!” came the reply, and Benedict turned his head to the right. Cavender was standing under a stately old elm with two other gentlemen. They appeared to be having a bit of fun with a housemaid, pushing her back and forth between them.
Benedict groaned. He was too far away to determine whether the housemaid was enjoying their attentions, and if she was not, then he was going to have to save her, which was not how he’d planned to spend his evening. He’d never been particularly enamored of playing the hero, but he had far too many younger sisters—four, to be precise—to ignore any female in distress.
“Ho there!” he called out as he ambled over, keeping his posture purposefully casual. It was always better to move slowly and assess the situation than it was to charge in blindly.
“Bridgerton!” Cavender called out. “Come join us!”
Benedict drew close just as one of the men snaked an arm around the young woman’s waist and pinned her to him, her back to his front. His other hand was on her bottom, squeezing and kneading.
Benedict brought his gaze to the maid’s eyes. They were huge and filled with terror, and she was looking at him as if he’d just dropped fully formed from the sky.
“What have we here?” he asked.
“Just a bit of sport,” Cavender chortled. “My parents were kind enough to hire this prime morsel as the upstairs maid.”
“She doesn’t appear to be enjoying your attentions,” Benedict said quietly.
“She likes it just fine,” Cavender replied with a grin. “Fine enough for me, anyway.”
“But not,” Benedict said, stepping forward, “for me.”
“You can have your turn with her,” Cavender said, ever jovial. “Just as soon as we’re through.”
“You misunderstand.”
There was a hard edge to Benedict’s voice, and the three men all froze, looking over at him with wary curiosity.
“Release the girl,” he said.
Still stunned by the sudden change of atmosphere, and with reflexes most likely dulled by alcohol, the man holding the girl did nothing.
“I don’t want to fight you,” Benedict said, crossing his arms, “but I will. And I can assure you that the three-to-one odds don’t frighten me.”
“Now, see here,” Cavender said angrily. “You can’t come here and order me about on my own property.”
“It’s your parents’ property,” Benedict pointed out, reminding them all that Cavender was still rather wet behind the ears.
“It’s my home,” Cavender shot back, “and she’s my maid. And she’ll do what I want.”
“I wasn’t aware that slavery was legal in this country,” Benedict murmured.
“She has to do what I say!”
“Does she?”
“I’ll fire her if she doesn’t.”
“Very well,” Benedict said with a tiny quirk of a smile. “Ask her then. Ask the girl if she wants to tup with all three of you. Because that is what you had i
n mind, isn’t it?”
Cavender sputtered as he fought for words.
“Ask her,” Benedict said again, grinning now, mostly because he knew his smile would infuriate the younger man. “And if she says no, you can fire her right here on the spot.”
“I’m not going to ask her,” Cavender whined.
“Well, then, you can’t really expect her to do it, can you?” Benedict looked at the girl. She was a fetching thing, with a short bob of light brown curls and eyes that loomed almost too large in her face. “Fine,” he said, sparing a brief glance back at Cavender. “I’ll ask her.”
The girl’s lips parted slightly, and Benedict had the oddest sensation that they had met before. But that was impossible, unless she’d worked for some other aristocratic family. And even then, he would have only seen her in passing. His taste in women had never run to housemaids, and in all truth, he tended not to notice them.
“Miss . . .” He frowned. “I say, what’s your name?”
“Sophie Beckett,” she gasped, sounding as if there were a very large frog caught in her throat.
“Miss Beckett,” he continued, “would you be so kind as to answer the following question?”
“No!” she burst out.
“You’re not going to answer?” he asked, his eyes amused.
“No, I do not want to tup with these three men!” The words practically exploded from her mouth.
“Well, that seems to settle that,” Benedict said. He glanced up at the man still holding her. “I suggest you release her so that Cavender here may relieve her of employment.”
“And where will she go?” Cavender sneered. “I can assure you she won’t work in this district again.”
Sophie turned to Benedict, wondering much the same thing.
Benedict gave a careless shrug. “I’ll find her a position in my mother’s household.” He looked over at her and raised a brow. “I assume that’s acceptable?”