Work Text:
"Ms. Baek, are you going somewhere?"
Sophie groaned when Benedict appeared in front of her, leaning against the doorframe.
The usual lopsided smirk spread across his face as soon as she rolled her eyes. The fact that her annoyance amused him irritated her even more.
"I have a lot of laundry to do, Mr. Bridgerton, please move out of the way."
Benedict looked at the basket she was holding, then back up at her.
"It looks like quite a lot," he commented.
"It is," she responded flatly.
"It must be tiring."
"It is, Mr. Bridgerton."
Before Sophie could ask him again to step aside, Benedict leaned in and whispered:
"It doesn’t have to be that way for you,"
His tone was enticing, the same one that made her want to throw her arms around his neck. Whether to strangle him or kiss him was yet to be decided.
"Sophie, please," he whispered in her ear.
He was begging her. Had it really come to this? He was trying everything to make her give in. Sophie wondered if he was fully aware of how much his presence made her knees weak or if maybe... who was she kidding?
Of course, that devil knew!
Otherwise, he wouldn’t do it.
Sophie knew she was inexperienced in certain matters.
Seducing a man was something foreign to her, something she had never bothered to learn. But him, no doubt he was an expert, and had done it with many women before her, it was obvious, and Sophie hoped that some of them hadn’t been maids.
She mentally called herself a fool when her stomach twisted with jealousy.
"What are you thinking?" he asked.
He was too close. Dangerously close.
She thanked heaven that no one was around at that moment, or she would be in trouble.
Why couldn’t he understand that?
Why couldn’t he accept a simple ‘no’?
Sophie summoned all her strength to stand firm, but she couldn’t stop herself from swallowing. Suddenly, her throat felt very dry.
"Mr. Bridgerton—"
"Benedict. I’ve told you a thousand times to call me by my name."
She would never do that.
Or rather, she wouldn’t do it anymore. Calling him by his name would break down the wall she had built around herself to protect her from this feeling.
Now, deep inside her mind, a voice was urging her to let the laundry fall to the floor, throw herself into his arms, and beg him to take her home with him.
The temptation was strong.
Benedict Bridgerton had become her forbidden fruit, something she wanted to keep at a distance, but the mere thought of it truly being so pained her.
But the awareness of what might happen afterward—what their children might go through, her children—kept her from making any rash moves.
She wouldn’t make innocent children pay for her mistakes like her mother had done. Not because Sophie blamed her.
Now that she found herself in the same situation, she could understand why her mother had given in.
Had her father done the same as Benedict? Promised her mother a life of luxury, only to send her away once she was expecting Sophie? Could Benedict be capable of something like that?
Sophie was surprised by how easily she could tell herself no. She didn’t believe the Bridgertons were capable of such cruelty.
Not just Benedict himself—though the way he treated his family confirmed to her how kind and genuine his heart was—but also because she couldn’t see his family abandoning one of their own. After all, a child of hers, even if illegitimate, would still be their blood.
And Sophie didn’t believe Lady Bridgerton would be capable of abandoning her grandchild.
But perhaps she was just telling herself this to feel reassured.
She had no proof other than Benedict’s words, and even so, that didn’t mean they would be able to overlook something like this.
No, Sophie wouldn’t give in.
Sooner or later, he would get tired, she was sure of it. Just like he had gotten tired of the woman in silver.
It would hurt her, but at least it would free her.
And yet, the thought irritated her more than he was doing in that moment.
"Mr. Bridgerton," she emphasized, "I’ve already told you to let me pass. I have work to do." She cursed herself when she noticed how exasperated her tone sounded.
"And I don’t want you to," he replied, his gaze hardening.
But Sophie still saw that hint of pleading in his eyes.
"I don’t care what you want, I follow your mother’s orders, not yours." She responded firmly.
"I’m not talking about orders, Sophie," he shook his head, anger rising, "It bothers me to see you toiling away from morning till night! You could have a better life."
"You should have thought of that before bringing me here, and I wouldn’t call what your mother asks of me ‘toiling.’"
Oh, how she wanted to slap him.
It had been his idea to bring her to London, and now he complained about seeing her work in his mother’s house?
Lady Bridgerton was perhaps the best mistress any maid could have.
She was polite, kind, and treated her as if she were family.
She demanded nothing more than what Sophie was supposed to do and was paid for.
"I know very well that my mother is good to you, but it bothers me just to see you like this,"
He gestured at her uniform,
"Sophie, please. I can give you a better life, I want to take care of you…"
Benedict reached for her hand, but she pulled it back.
"Why do you have to be so stubborn?!"
"Ip dakchyeo utginsori hajima!"
(Shut up! Don’t be ridiculous!)
Sophie covered her mouth with her hand.
It had come out so naturally that she hadn’t even realized she had switched languages.
Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
She hadn’t confused the languages since she was a child, and she cursed herself for addressing him in such a disrespectful way. Even though Benedict probably had no idea what she had just said. And when she looked back up at him, it was confirmed.
She almost laughed.
She hadn’t seen him blush since that time in his room, at ‘My Cottage,’ when she asked him about the chamber pot.
His mouth was half open, eyes wide.
He was so still that Sophie worried for a moment she might have given him a heart attack.
She had to hold back a smile.
It felt nice to be one step ahead of him for once, to have the upper hand.
"Can I pass now?" she ventured, motioning for him to move.
Perhaps she had bewitched him because, in fact, he stepped aside.
Sophie walked away with a little smirk.
Unaware that he was still watching her as if a goddess had just crossed his path.
But aside from that, he hadn’t moved an inch.
He could have sworn his brain had just melted down.
What had she said?
He needed to know!
He didn’t actually care about the meaning. And judging by the tone she had used, he didn’t think it had been kind.
Had she insulted him?
Then why did he feel like he was on fire?
The thought of Sophie cursing him in her native language made his heart race in a way he hadn’t expected. She had already had that effect on him before, hell, he had kissed her. But this.
This was the final blow.
Benedict shook his head, trying to snap out of the trance that woman had put him in.
Everything had been nothing short of…
Adorable?
Yes.
Exciting?
Certainly.
Especially judging by how his ears were burning.
Astonishing?
More than ever.
He was convinced that Sophie couldn’t make him want her more than she did every time she walked into a room.
But apparently, he had been wrong.
At that moment, Anthony’s words echoed in his mind.
Those from when, a few weeks ago, he had confessed how struck he had been when he first heard Kate speak in Hindi.
And how envious he had felt, during their stay in India, seeing that everyone else could understand what his wife was saying except for him.
That, along with the arrival of Edmund, had pushed his brother to learn his wife’s native language.
And apparently, that seemed to please his sister-in-law, judging by the way she smiled when the two of them practiced together.
There was something almost poetic about those moments; it seemed like the two of them were cut off from the world.
Or rather, as if they had created one just for themselves.
And for the first time, Benedict wanted to know what that felt like.
"Brother?"
Eloise’s voice broke him out of his thoughts.
He turned in the direction where Sophie had been just a few minutes before.
How long had he been standing still?
"Are you alright?" she asked, trying to suppress the smirk on her face.
"Splendidly, sister," he replied, clearing his throat,
"Never been better," he added, placing his hands behind his back.
"Good to know," Eloise said, taking a step to leave when he stopped her.
"Eloise… um… do you happen to know…"
Benedict glanced down, aware of the mocking look that was about to form on his sister’s face.
"Someone who can teach me Korean?"
Eloise crossed her arms, looking at him with that knowing expression.
"You could ask Sophie," she said with a sly smile before heading up the stairs.
"Say it again, I don’t think I understood it properly."
Sophie laughed when her husband asked her the same thing once more.
By now, she was sure he had already understood it. He was just pretending not to, to make her repeat herself.
"You’re a very distracted student, Benedict Bridgerton," she teased him, picking a strawberry from the basket and offering it to him.
Benedict accepted it, opening his mouth as soon as she placed the fruit in front of him. He took a few seconds to chew before replying,
"I have a very captivating teacher," he said with a grin. Sophie smiled, placing a kiss on his lips, savouring the taste of the juice left on them.
"But apparently not a very effective one," she said after breaking the kiss.
"Try saying it again, maybe this time I’ll understand," he said, putting his hands on her hips.
Sophie took a deep breath and cupped his face in her hands.
"Follow my lips, alright?"
He nodded.
"Sa…"
She began, waiting for him to repeat.
"Sa…"
"…Rang…"
Benedict chuckled softly.
"...Rang..."
"…Hae…" she continued, her thumb brushing along his lips.
"…Hae…" he repeated, his breath beginning to quicken.
"…yo."
Sophie finished, locking her gaze with his, seeing how he was hanging on her every word, his blue eyes lost in hers.
Since that day in the hallway, she had discovered how fascinated Benedict was when she spoke her native language, and she had learned to use it to her advantage.
”Sa-rang-hae-yo." her husband murmured, leaning his face closer to hers, their mouths almost touching.
"Exactly." Sophie whispered before he kissed her again.
In the heat of the moment, she found herself lying back on the picnic blanket, with him pressing kisses wherever he could find exposed skin, murmuring those words between each touch.
Never before had her mother tongue felt so sweet.
(I love you)