Free An Offer from a Gentleman with 2nd Epilogue by Julia Quinn

silver gown would make her an easy target.
    Sophie kept shoving people out of her way. At least half of them didn’t seem to notice; probably too drunk. “Excuse me,” she muttered, elbowing Julius Caesar in the ribs. “Beg pardon,” came out more like a grunt; that was when Cleopatra stepped on her toe.
    â€œExcuse me, I—” And then the breath was quite literally sucked out of her, because she found herself face-to-face with Araminta.
    Or rather, face to mask. Sophie was still disguised. But if anyone could recognize her, it would be Araminta. And—
    â€œWatch where you’re going,” Araminta said haughtily. Then, while Sophie stood openmouthed, she swished her Queen Elizabeth skirts and swept away.
    Araminta hadn’t recognized her! If Sophie hadn’t been so frantic about getting out of Bridgerton House before Benedict caught up with her, she would have laughed with delight.
    Sophie glanced desperately behind her. Benedict had spotted her and was pushing his way through the crowd with considerably more efficiency than she had done. With an audible gulp and renewed energy, she pushed forth, almost knocking two Grecian goddesses to the ground before finally reaching the far door.
    She looked behind her just long enough to see that Benedict had been waylaid by some elderly lady with a cane, thenran out of the building and around front, where the Penwood carriage was waiting, just as Mrs. Gibbons had said it would.
    â€œGo, go, go!” Sophie shouted frantically to the driver.
    And she was gone.

Chapter 4
    More than one masquerade attendee has reported to This Author that Benedict Bridgerton was seen in the company of an unknown lady dressed in a silver gown.
    Try as she might, This Author has been completely unable to discern the mystery lady’s identity. And if This Author cannot uncover the truth, you may be assured that her identity is a well-kept secret indeed.
    L ADY W HISTLEDOWN’S S OCIETY P APERS , 7 J UNE 1815
    S he was gone.
    Benedict stood on the pavement in front of Bridgerton House, surveying the street. All of Grosvenor Square was a mad crush of carriages. She could be in any one of them, just sitting there on the cobbles, trying to escape the traffic. Or she could be in one of the three carriages that had just escaped the tangle and rolled around the corner.
    Either way, she was gone.
    He was half-ready to strangle Lady Danbury, who’d jammed her cane onto his toe and insisted upon giving him her opinion on most of the partygoers’ costumes. By the time he’d managed to free himself, his mystery lady had disappeared through the ballroom’s side door.
    And he knew that she had no intention of letting him see her again.
    Benedict let out a low and rather viciously uttered curse. With all the ladies his mother had trotted out before him—and there had been many—he’d never once felt the same soul-searing connection that had burned between him and the lady in silver. From the moment he’d seen her—no, from the moment before he’d seen her, when he’d only just felt her presence, the air had been alive, crackling with tension and excitement. And he’d been alive, too—alive in a way he hadn’t felt for years, as if everything were suddenly new and sparkling and full of passion and dreams.
    And yet . . .
    Benedict cursed again, this time with a touch of regret.
    And yet he didn’t even know the color of her eyes.
    They definitely hadn’t been brown. Of that much he was positive. But in the dim light of the candled night, he’d been unable to discern whether they were blue or green. Or hazel or gray. And for some reason he found this the most upsetting. It ate at him, leaving a burning, hungry sensation in the pit of his stomach.
    They said eyes were the windows to the soul. If he’d truly found the woman of his dreams, the one with whom he could finally imagine a family and a future,