Losing Our Control

by peepsinthechilipot

Summary:

Kate and Anthony still meet each other during the 1814 season, but with a few details changed: Anthony, set on remaining a bachelor for at least another year, has no interest in pursuing the diamond or any other woman he might be obliged to wed. When Violet invites every eligible young woman in London to Aubrey Hall for a getaway in the country, Anthony is determined that he will not engage. Until he meets Kate Sharma. The problem is, she hates him.

Takes a bit of canon from the show and a bit from the books. Rated M for later chapters

Chapter 1: Chapter 1

It is remarkable, Anthony Bridgerton thinks dryly to himself, how truly talented his mother is. 

Just two weeks earlier, he had been excited to escape the ridiculous pageantry of the London marriage mart and relax for a little while at Aubrey Hall. Expecting to spend time with his family, and, even better, perhaps have a bit of time to himself, he had acquiesced to Violet’s innocently-proposed "small dinner gathering". What started as a small dinner gathering became a ball, became a ball where seemingly every woman in London was invited, became the travesty now before him—dozens of families invited to stay in the guest rooms of Aubrey Hall for the next two weeks. Two weeks of Anthony’s already limited time spent in the freedom of the country, surrounded by the bittersweet memories this home brings back to him, wasted. Yes, he could only applaud the woman for her valiant efforts, even if they annoyed him to no end. 

He managed to elude his mother as their guests arrived in the afternoon, holed up in his office, claiming to have far too much work to do. Of course he did have work to do, but he could have carved out the time if he had so wished. But he did not wish. Because despite Violet’s rather brazen attempts at matchmaking, Anthony Bridgerton had no desire to marry.

Of course, the Viscount understood the responsibility he had been born into. Marry a woman of acceptable social status, sire an heir, pass on the title. But even as he approached his thirtieth birthday, he demanded at least one more year of freedom. 

It was no secret that Anthony had kept many mistresses in his day. The notorious Lady Whistledown had deemed him a “Capital-R Rake” a few printings ago, and though he found himself slightly annoyed by the moniker, he could not find it in his heart to disagree with the sentiment. His youth had brought an excess of women and drink. As he aged, he partook of both less, but learned how to enjoy them more. 

But then, Simon Hastings, his partner in roguishly charming crime, had gone and married his sister during last year’s season. And what was worse, Simon seemed to be enjoying himself. Marriage, it seemed, was inevitable. But, never one to shrink from a challenge, as his sister Daphne, his mother, and even Lady Whistledown herself seemed to descend upon him, asking incessantly when he would finally fulfill his duty as Viscount, he planted himself firmly and refused to budge. He would not marry this year, he told his family, patiently, if irritatedly. He needed more time.

Foolish of course, since he knew he was running out, but there it was: his desperate attempt at denying the reality of his own mortality. 

And yet, Violet persevered. Hence his current nightmarish situation. Anthony was standing off to the side of the ballroom at Aubrey Hall. Despite his cunning avoidance of the receiving line this afternoon, it had been impossible to talk his way out of the evening’s festivities. So here he was, a glass of lemonade in his hand (and a flask tucked into his breast pocket, a good portion of its contents having been emptied into this cup mere moments prior). Fulfilling my duty, he thinks sardonically, taking a large swig. 

“That must be some truly excellent lemonade,” a voice says from next to him, and Anthony rolls his eyes at his brother’s arrival.

“There would be no way to make it through this evening without lemonade,” he says pointedly, glancing over at Colin. 

“Don’t I know it,” Colin grumbles, taking a sip of his own spiked beverage. 

Suddenly, another figure bounds over, and they nod in greeting as Benedict joins their group. 

“My brothers imbibing without me?”

“Knowing you, you are likely two drinks ahead,” Colin comments.

“Yes, I have always excelled, haven’t I?” Benedict smiles, and Anthony grimaces. He loves his brothers, but their jocular attitude was interrupting the perfectly adequate scowl he had stitched across his face to discourage any young ladies or their mamas from approaching him. In fact, all three eligible Bridgerton men gathered in a clump was more likely than anything else to draw attention.

“Any of the lovely young ladies catch your interest, brother?” Benedict smirks, turning to face the room with an assessing eye. 

“I am tempted to take my horse back to London tonight,” Anthony grumbles. “It seems every eligible young lady will be at Aubrey Hall for the next two weeks. It must be so peaceful and quiet in the city right now. Instead, I am stuck in this ridiculous farce. In fact, I am hosting the farce.”

“You make it all sound so dreadfully exciting,” Colin puts in. “The dancing, the romance, you really must contain yourself Anthony, it’s embarrassing.”

“I saw you dancing with Penelope Featherington again. Should we expect the announcement any day now?” Anthony snaps. 

Colin’s face grows slightly more serious. Anthony hardly knew that was possible from his fun-loving brother. “We are friends, of course I danced with her. Is your goal to behave like such an ass that we leave you alone?”

“Is it working?” Anthony arches an eyebrow.

Benedict and Colin look at each other. “Yes,” Benedict says simply. “Must be off now, have a magical night, brother.”

Anthony makes a face at Benedict’s suggestive eyebrow wiggle, and returns to his lemonade, eyeing the door to the terrace as he does so. Looking around, he sees that his mother was distracted talking to—huh. Talking to two women he could not recall ever meeting before. Odd. He was sure Violet had made a point to introduce him to every eligible young woman in the entire country by this point. Violet held the arm of one of them, clearly the girl’s mother, and the two were engaged in what Anthony could only describe as conspiratorial whispers. The girl, for her part, was looking about the ballroom like she had never seen anything so spectacular in her short life. Her eyes were full of innocence and charm, and Anthony could not stop himself from rolling his eyes. 

“Bloody hell,” he mutters out loud to himself. He was surprised to hear a little snort in response. He looks around, only to discover a woman leaning against the wall a few feet away from him. He did not remember seeing anybody there before, and come to think of it he could not remember ever meeting this woman before in his life, but—

His train of thought went blank for a moment as he met her eyes. He felt drawn into them in a way he could not describe without growing ill thinking of Benedict’s silly poems. He took in the curve of her nose, tendrils of dark hair framing her face, the little pout on her lips, currently quirked up on one side, then tracing lower, her smooth skin, contrasted against her dress, a lovely deep yellow color, bolder than the more popular fabrics this season, down to the point where her skin met fabric and he could see the swell of her breast and—

Once again, his train of thought cuts off abruptly. This is rather ridiculous. So the woman standing in front of him is stunningly beautiful. So what? If she was a lady at this ball, it meant she was off-limits to him. He could not dally with anybody who might reasonably expect a proposal in return, no matter how tempting she may look. What he needs to focus on, he reminds himself, is something far more pressing than her beauty. 

“Did you just laugh?” he says, putting on the tone of an aristocrat, with the threatening edge he knows can make any woman avert their eyes. 

She does not avert her eyes. “Did you just swear?” she replies easily, sipping her lemonade. 

“You must be mistaken,” he snaps back, but he feels the edge waning, even fighting the urge to smile along with her. “Gentlemen do not swear in the presence of young ladies.”

She makes the little snort-like laughing sound again, and this time Anthony finds he cannot help but crack a smile. “Well, I am not that young.”

“Are you married?” The question pops out before he has time to think, and he finds himself unable to determine which answer he wishes to hear. He clears his throat. “Perhaps I know your—”

“I am not.”

He bites the inside of his lip to keep from smiling. “So not that young, not married, and yet I have never seen you before.”

“Perhaps you have simply not noticed me before.”

“Impossible,” Anthony says, fixing his eyes on her’s, and relishes the way her jaw clenches and she swallows hard. 

“You are awfully confident, my lord.”

“So you know who I am.”

“We are in your home, did you think there was anybody here who did not know who you were?” She smirks with the air of someone playing a game who just scored a point.

“I get the sense that if I asked for your name, you would not give it to me.”

She continues smirking, and he instinctually takes a step closer. “Where would be the fun in that?”

“Give me a hint at least.”

“Maybe I will,” she sighs mockingly, the smile still on her face. “If you deserve it. So far you have done nothing but swear in front of me and ask impertinent questions.”

Anthony fights the overwhelming urge to make a quip about the “If you deserve it” comment, about all the ways he might prove his worth to her, and instead says, “Well when you put it like that I can see how I did not make the strongest first impression.” He takes her hand in his and, tracing his thumb against the silky fabric of her glove, brushes an air-light kiss over her knuckles. He looks up at her through his eyelashes, and sees exactly what he knew he would: She is staring at him with her huge eyes somehow even wider, her mouth ever so slightly open. 

After a beat, he sees her brain process the situation, and she tugs her hand away, though not with much force. 

“And now you kiss my hand when we have still not been formally introduced,” she chides. “Even I know better than that kind of conduct, Viscount Bridgerton.”

“Even you?” he questions.

She pauses, seeming to consider, until she allows, “I am newly out in society.”

“I see. How old are you?”

“Six and twenty.”

She raises an eyebrow, like this information will cause some kind of reaction. When he merely hums disinterestedly, she glares, and he fights the urge to smirk.

“Do you not wonder why it took so long for me to come out in society?”

“Not especially.” She huffs, and he makes a condescending gesture for her to continue. “If you wish to tell me, though, I do not object to hearing it.” He knows it will infuriate her, and he is right. It seems there is no better way to get her to engage than to play to her competitive nature. How well he understands that.

“Oh no, you will not get information out of me that way, my lord.”

“What methods might bring me more success, then?” She gasps in outrage, and he breaks out into a genuine smile, holding out his hands before she has time to snap back at his innuendo. “Fine. I give in. I shall not pursue your identity further. But I must apologize for swearing in your presence, I had not realized there was anybody near me.”

“It is understandable, your brothers seem quite capable of taking up all of the attention everywhere they go,” she comments. 

“Ah, so you saw them too?” He looks out to the floor, finding his two brothers quickly, both engaging in dances with pretty girls. “Yes, they can be a couple of nuisances.”

There is a pause as he feels the woman’s eyes on the side of his face, and his skin grows hot. Good God, he hopes he is not blushing, how embarrassing. 

“You care for them.”

He considers the woman again, and sees something flicker in her eyes. Where previously she had been playful and witty, this is something real. 

“Deeply,” he says simply.  

She nods, and looks toward the floor. 

“They both seem to be enjoying themselves.”

“Yes, it is easy to enjoy yourself when you are drunk,” he says, once again not thinking. Then he groans and hides his face in his hands. “You must forgive my saying that, you seem to bring out in me something rather…”

“Improper?” She prompts, an impish grin on her face. He smirks and looks at her out of the corner of his eye. 

“Something like that.”

“You are forgiven.”

“It would be much easier to ask your forgiveness if I had a name.”

“You are not having a good time,” she says, and he blinks at the abrupt change in topic. 

He puts on a rakish smile. “I am having a better time now.”

She eyes him skeptically. “You forget I heard you with your brothers. You wanted to flee your own home for London not five minutes ago.”

Anthony knows he should not say it, he knows that, but cannot help himself, taking a step closer, to the point where it is almost improper. “Well, maybe I just needed a worthwhile distraction here in the country.”

She fixes him with a cold look, though he hopes he spies a flicker of exasperated fondness in her expression. “I will not be your latest conquest, Lord Bridgerton, if that is what you are thinking.”

“I wouldn't dream of it,” he murmurs, before grinning wickedly. “Well, that’s not true. But I would do no more than dream, I swear it. Not with a lady.”

“You do not know my rank,” she says, a challenge in her voice, and he raises an eyebrow. 

“Are you saying you are not of high birth?”

She opens her mouth, before she closes it again and exhales sharply, narrowing her eyes. “Nope. Not getting anything out of me.”

“Has anyone ever told you you are quite stubborn?” he drawls. 

“Yes,” she says stubbornly. 

“Ahh, well. Good.”

Their eyes lock together in another charged beat, and he feels as if this woman has drawn him into her magnetic orbit. It takes all his strength to wrench his eyes away, and he hears them both let out a breath. Finally he turns back to the floor and sighs. It is wrong of him to flirt with this woman in this way, but he cannot seem to help himself. Besides, if he wants to make sure she stays away, there is probably no better path than the truth. 

“To be honest with you, I really do despise this entire charade,” he says, waving his hand out in front of him. “If you are familiar with my reputation,”—he looks at her out of the corner of his eye and notices her glance down, flushed. He likes that look on her, he realizes, more than he cares to admit—”Then you must know my mother is dead set on me finding a wife this season. I am dead set on remaining a bachelor. I suppose we shall see who wins out in the end, but I do pride myself on having a rather strong will.”

“A rake set against marriage, how dreadfully predictable,” she comments, surveying the floor along with him. “Well, I cannot disagree with you about this ridiculous scene. It is all rather unseemly.” And yes, he has the strangest sense that this woman does understand him. He had hoped to scare her away, but on the contrary, he feels closer to her than ever.

“Yes, and my mother is absolutely shameless. Look at her now,” he gestures across the room, where his mother is still speaking with that same unknown mother and daughter. “I have never seen this young lady before in my life, and yet my mother has pulled her and her family out of some back alley to trek out to the country just to make me suffer through a dance, during which that young lady will no doubt tread on my toes to their breaking point. We will talk about the weather, and she will agree with everything I say and will contribute nothing intelligent of her own. The mamas, meanwhile, will scheme away, plotting the flower arrangements at the wedding and how many children we might be able to churn out before…”

Anthony trails off, realizing that the woman was not giving her delightful little snort-laugh at any of his words. When he turns slowly, he sees her looking at him with a stony face, any trace of humor gone. 

He blinks, and looks back at the mother and daughter. The young girl really is quite pretty, her smile is…and the curve of her nose is…exactly like the woman standing next to him now.

“Bloody hell,” Anthony mutters, unable to care that he is swearing in front of this woman again. 

“Indeed.”

“Miss, at the risk of repeating myself, I really must apologize. I never intended to insult your family, I am sorry at my implication that—”

“My mother is a greedy manipulator and my sister an airheaded chit?” she suggests, but the playful tone of their earlier banter is well and truly gone. “That was more than an implication, my lord. Oh look, here they come now.”

He whips his head around, and sure enough, Violet is marching toward him, with these two mystery women in tow. His brain feels like it is spinning out of control, and he turns back to the woman by his side, ready to apologize again, before Violet interrupts his scattered thoughts. 

“Anthony, I must introduce you to Lady Sharma!” Violet’s voice is pointed, and Anthony realizes she must know the name of the woman he just met, and must know that they have not been introduced, yet have been conversing on the side of the floor for the better part of ten minutes. 

“You must,” he says dazedly, eyes flitting between all four faces in front of him. 

“This is Lady Mary Sharma,” Violet gestures to the mother. “Her daughter, Miss Edwina Sharma, and Miss Kate Sharma, whose acquaintance it appears you have already made?”

“Hardly, Viscountess Bridgerton,” the woman next to him—Kate, his mind breathes in relief—says, her voice cold as ice. “Lord Bridgerton was simply remarking on the fine crowd you have assembled here tonight.”

“Thank you for the proper introduction, mother,” Anthony murmurs. “How lovely to meet you, Lady Sharma. Miss Sharma,” his eyes remain on Kate for a fraction of a second too long. “Miss Edwina,” he finally says, taking the youngest daughter’s hand and kissing her knuckles. The move is a reflex after having met so many debutantes, but he knows it is a mistake the moment he looks back at Kate and sees fire in her eyes, her fist clenched at her side. 

“I am afraid we cannot stay at the dance any longer, Lady Bridgerton,” Kate cuts in, crossing the circle to take Edwina’s hand. “I feel a headache coming on. Edwina, will you accompany me back to my room?”

“Of course, sister,” the girl chirps, looking back and forth between Kate and Anthony with a look of cautious intrigue. “It was an honor to meet you, Lord Bridgerton.”

“Likewise, Miss Edwina, you are entirely charming. Miss Sharma.” He pauses, trying to convey his apology through his eyes, to express how much he did not mean what he had said, how he regretted it the moment he said it, and besides, he had only said it to try to get Kate to laugh in the first place—but she is clearly not swayed. 

“You must excuse me, I am quite tired after the long trek out to the country,” she snaps, and turns with Edwina’s hand still clutched in hers. He watches her go, whispering into her sister’s ear, and he observes Edwina turn to look back at him, cautious intrigue now morphing into full-blown interest.

Violet smiles politely at Lady Sharma and loops her hand through Anthony’s arm, pulling him away from the mother. “I get the feeling,” she says quietly, “that your meeting with Miss Sharma was more eventful than she let on.”

He pauses, and considers his mother’s incessant matchmaking schemes, how she might cling to this hope with everything she has. It is one thing for her to throw women at him for whom he cares nothing about. But if she starts in on Miss Sharma, this enigmatic woman who makes his heart race, his face flush, even makes him apologize, and actually mean it —now that would be something he could not tolerate. He fixes his expression with an unaffected shrug. 

“Not especially.”

Chapter 2

“—He is quite the most rude, arrogant, pompous man I have had the displeasure of meeting, and that is saying something!”

Kate is well aware that she has been monologuing about Anthony Bridgerton for the past ten minutes, and if she did not possess that self-awareness, the amused (though increasingly bored) expression on Edwina’s face would have been enough to clue her in. 

“Yes, you’ve said as much, Didi.”

“You are not to go near him, do you understand?”

“You’ve said that, too.”

“But do you understand? ” 

Edwina sighs. “Yes, of course.” She opens her mouth to say something else, but then closes it again, and Kate narrows her eyes. 

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You were going to say something.”

“You’ve no proof.”

“Edwina.”

Again, her sister sighs. “Only that—well, from how you’ve described it, yes, he does sound rather arrogant, I grant you. But it sounds like, and don’t say anything until I’m done, it sounds like you were rather, well, enjoying him at first?”

Kate purses her lips. “A rake knows how to be charming, everybody knows that.”

“And you thought him handsome.”

“Anybody with eyes thinks he is handsome, Bon, that is the point. He thinks he can get away with anything simply because—”

“And you were making fun of the ton together.”

“Until he started making fun of you and Mary!” Kate shouts, not understanding how her younger sister is missing the point. Indeed, Edwina merely shrugs in response.

“He does not know us. Just as you do not know the society men you poke fun at when they call on me.”

Kate rolls her eyes but considers the words. Of course, nothing Edwina said was wrong. Fair and measured, as always, her younger sister had a habit of putting into perspective the things that made Kate roil with fury. But it is not enough to change her mind about Lord Bridgerton. Yes, the marriage mart is a ridiculous farce, and she has a grudging respect for the fact that he has no wish to participate. But to make fun of strangers is cruel. To insult Kate’s family, their origins and their intentions here at Aubrey Hall, is inexcusable. And to do it all with a (granted, charming) smile on his face—she could not forgive that. 

Even if she had, perhaps, found Lord Bridgerton rather pleasing upon first meeting, with his raised eyebrows and colorful language. Every other suitor was too nervous to behave like themselves around Kate; they tried to impress her, and by extension, impress Edwina. But with Lord Bridgerton, Kate had the distinct sense that he had been entirely himself, in all his rakish charm and his devotion to his family.

Kate’s heart flutters again as she remembers the moment he first smiled at her and she felt heat rise up her neck and something twist in gut, unleashing an oxymoronic kind of pleasant nausea. Or when she caught the far-off look on his face as he watched his brothers from the side of the ballroom, recognizing that expression from all the times she had watched Edwina from the sidelines—all the sacrifices she made to get their family back to England, to reconnect with Lady Danbury in order to be granted sponsorship, even to make the trek from their back alley all the way out to Aubrey Hall when Lady Bridgerton extended an invitation. 

Kate clenches her jaw. That Anthony had behaved honestly makes the whole situation even worse. He acted like himself, and who he was was cruel and rude. She turns her attention back to Edwina. 

“That is not the same thing at all. I poke fun at your suitors to test their mettle. You deserve the best, Bon. Lord Bridgerton made fun solely for his own amusement. He showed me his true colors soon enough. And he is certainly not the kind of man we should be associating with if we aim to find you a worthy husband.”

“I had no thought of attempting to make that man my husband,” Edwina comments dryly. 

“Well, good. Titles are not everything.”

“I know that.”

“Good.”

“Nor are startlingly good looks, I suppose.”

“Bon,” Kate warns. 

“I know, I know. I will not go near him. But suppose he tries to come near you again?”

Edwina throws herself down her bed, propping up her chin on her hand and grinning mischievously. Kate smiles faintly. Tonight in the ballroom, Edwina looked like a woman, but there are times when she still looks like a child, waiting for her older sister to tell her a bed-time story. 

Kate puts on an exaggerated frown, and Edwina giggles, rolling over on the bed. “He would not dare.”

---

The next morning, Kate takes breakfast in her room with Edwina. The two sisters laugh about the various men Edwina danced with the previous night, and Kate almost forgets about the man who is hosting this entire excursion. 

Almost. Because try as she might, Kate could not put Anthony out of her mind, frankly ever since Lady Danbury first pointed out the Viscount from across the room last night. First of all, the Bridgertons seemed blessed with an unfairly attractive genetic pool. But Anthony specifically had clearly spent years perfecting his brooding glare, his knowing smirk, and he carried himself with the confidence of a man who knew he could turn anybody before him to a quivering mess. For a brief moment from across the ballroom, Kate felt herself edging nearer to that messy state, watching him bickering fondly with one of his younger sisters. He had struck her as somewhat endearing, despite his haughty expression. 

Of course, within ten minutes, all his initial charms were gone, replaced with Kate’s utmost conviction that it had been a mistake to make the journey to Aubrey Hall at all, and Edwina’s chances would be much better with the intellectual types, who would not be caught dead at a gathering thrown by this insufferable man. 

“But how do you really feel about him?” Mary asks sarcastically as she straightens out Edwina’s dress. 

Kate rolls her eyes and moves for the door, but Mary’s hand shoots out. “Now, Kate. I trust I do not need to remind you that we are guests in this home. You are to be nothing but gracious and kind to our hosts, do you hear me?”

“You do not need to talk to me like I am a child, Mary.”

“So long as you remember not to act like one.”

Kate sighs and places her hand over Mary’s. “Of course. I will behave with the utmost of decorum.” She turns to walk out of the room, Edwina right behind her as she mutters under her breath, “so long as he does the same.”

Edwina stifles a giggle and Mary eyes them both warningly. 

By the time they descend, most of the other families staying at Aubrey Hall are gathered outside to enjoy the lovely summer day, engaged in lawn games or a walk through the gardens. There is a large tent set up to provide shade, and Mary points out Lady Danbury, perched on a large chair under the tent like a queen surveying her kingdom. Kate notices with a start that Violet Bridgerton is just to her left, and gathered around her are the many Bridgerton siblings, snacking and chatting away as they recline on a picnic blanket. Among them, of course, was Anthony, who had yet to notice her. For a moment, she thinks of turning around, or else pulling Edwina aside to take a turn about the grounds, but then she squares her shoulders. 

She is Kate Sharma. She does not hide from her problems. She faces them head on. And after she has done that, she steadfastly ignores them. 

“Ah, there they are now,” Lady Danbury calls, waving one graceful hand to beckon the Sharmas to her side. 

At that, Anthony’s head whips around, and at once Kate connects the dots, realizing they must have been talking about her family. She clenches her jaw. That man has no business discussing her, or even worse, Edwina or Mary. Even more irritatingly, the man springs to his feet, taking a step forward until he obviously thinks better of his movement, clears his throat, and takes a step back so that Lady Danbury and Violet will be the first to greet them. 

She notices out of the corner of her eye that the two brothers she had seen yesterday make confused eye contact for a moment, before looking back toward her with considerably more interest. She believes their names are Benedict and Colin, remembering what Lady Danbury told her about how the Bridgertons were named in alphabetical order, though for the life of her she has no idea which is which. 

Bridgertons!” Lady Danbury speaks loudly, stamping her cane into the picnic blanket, which produces no real sound, as she is simply tapping the grass, but got the other siblings’ attention nonetheless. “I would like to introduce you to the Sharma family. Though, of course, some of you have already made their acquaintance,” Danbury eyes Anthony, who clears his throat again. 

What on earth had they been discussing before they walked up? Had he been spreading lies about their financial status? Had he been telling tales about the brazen daughter who had allowed him to flirt with her and then turned on him in an instant? 

She realizes after a beat that she is staring (probably glaring) at the Viscount, only when his eyes fall on her expectantly. She blinks, and suddenly it becomes clear that Lady Danbury must have just formally introduced her. 

She curtsies politely, but the damage is done. She notices the corner of the Viscount’s mouth quirk up, and has the sudden sense that she has lost. She feels it even more acutely when she takes note of Benedict and Colin, now giving each other what could only be called devious smirks. Another genetic trait: that damn smirk. 

Lady Danbury hums, and Kate looks at the ground, a flush rising up her neck. “You already know the Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton, and the Viscount,” Lady Danbury announces, as the rest of the Bridgertons rise from the blanket. “I believe you have yet to be introduced to Misters Benedict and Colin Bridgerton,” Kate nods at them, making sure to note that the taller one is Benedict. “Miss Eloise, and Miss Francesca.” Kate nods at the two younger women; Eloise look to be about Edwina’s age. 

“My two youngest are off playing a game of…oh, something or other,” Violet says airily. “You will meet them later, I am sure. And my eldest daughter, the Duchess of Hastings, will arrive tomorrow morning.”

“She wouldn’t dare to miss the big game,” Eloise smirks.

“Eloise,” Violet says warningly. 

“Certainly not after her stunning defeat last year,” Colin puts in. 

“What game is this?” Kate asks, her curiosity winning out over her desire to escape Anthony's presence as soon as possible.

“Pall Mall,” a chorus of voices respond. 

“Pardon me?”

“It is a lawn game with its origins in France. It is a tremendous amount of fun. At least, it is when you’re winning, or when your opponents are losing,” Eloise says. 

“Though it is less fun when your siblings are cheating,” Benedict puts in. 

“I resent that,” Anthony says sharply, and Kate realizes it is the first time he has engaged in the conversation. 

“Resent away, dear brother, but do you deny it?”

“Cheating is a part of Bridgerton Pall Mall. Just because I am better at it than you—”

“I should not be surprised that the Viscount cheats.” It is not until the whole party turns to look at her that Kate realizes the words were her own. Her heart drops. Damn. She had been so sucked into the Bridgerton family banter that she had forgotten her place, and she certainly overstepped. 

“Kate!” Mary gasps. 

Kate clears her throat, scrambling for how she might salvage the situation. She meets Anthony’s eye for a brief moment, but when she sees the amusement dancing in them, she has to look away. Instead, she sees Colin positively beaming at her. “Only to say that it seems like the family is full of worthy players. One would have to be, um, crafty, in order to make it out on top.”

“I apologize for—” Mary begins, but Lord Bridgerton cuts her off with a wave of his arm. 

“Think nothing of it, Lady Sharma. My siblings have said far worse. Besides,” his eyes land on Kate again. “I cannot deny it. I do cheat, on occasion. Sometimes, it is the only way to guarantee a victory.”

“So victory is more important to you than anything else, Lord Bridgerton?” Kate snaps, once again unable to bite her tongue when she knows she ought to do so. “More important than your family’s well being?” She sees his eyes flare at that, and she smirks. At least it finally made him stop laughing at her. That was the sweetest victory.

“Yes, what of our well being, Anthony?” Benedict pouts, leaning his head on his brother’s shoulder. “Have you no heart?”

“Get off me,” Anthony brushes Benedict off, his eyes never leaving Kate. They burn with a fire she has not seen in them before. She could not help but be pleased with herself. And also, perhaps a little nervous. But after a beat, the fire dims. He clears his throat and forces a smile, the facade of a gentleman falling over his features once again. “That was not what I was saying at all, Miss Sharma. But as you seem intent on willfully misunderstanding me, I will not argue the point.”

Kate opens her mouth, ready to argue back, before realizing that to do so would prove his point. She snaps it shut again, and notices the fire flare up in his eyes once more, this time in a moment of smug triumph.

“Miss Sharma, Miss Edwina, you simply must join us for Pall Mall tomorrow!” Colin cries, breaking the silence that followed their little back-and-forth. 

“What?” Anthony says, rounding on his brother. “You barely even allowed Simon to join, and he is our brother.”

“And I am still not convinced dear Simon has what it takes to compete with the likes of this family,” Colin sniffs, before grinning wickedly. “But I do believe you have already proven your mettle, Miss Sharma. I can think of no worthier opponent. And of course, I know we would all love to get to know both Miss Sharmas better, as you will be guests in our home for the next two weeks.”

“I am certainly in need of people to talk to other than these idiots,” Eloise pipes in. “And Francesca. And Penelope, of course.”

“Oh, you are friends with Penelope Featherington?” Edwina asks. “I met her at the ball last night, she seems lovely.”

With that, Edwina and the two Bridgerton sisters settle back on the picnic blanket chatting away, while the mamas take their seats and Kate remains standing slightly awkwardly with the three Bridgerton brothers. She doesn't know why she chooses to stay standing when Edwina leaves her side, but just as she resolves to go sit down with the other ladies and remove herself from this potentially uncomfortable position, Colin speaks.

“So what say you, Miss Sharma? Will you join us for Pall Mall tomorrow?”

“I will have to confer with my sister, Mister Bridgerton. Edwina and I are so close, I am quite protective of her.” She glances at Anthony, who looks at the grass with interest. “I should hate to put her in a position she is uncomfortable with.”

“Are we Bridgertons such poor company?” Benedict asks jovially, and Kate smiles. On the contrary, the younger Bridgerton siblings strike her as entirely charming and amicable. 

“That remains to be seen,” she quips, looking again at Anthony (now staring somewhere off to the left) and back to Benedict. “But in truth, you have given me no pause,” she says, stressing the “you” a bit too much, and Anthony twitches. “Merely that while I know myself well enough to know I would enjoy a bit of—well, I want to say friendly competition, but that might be overstating things—Edwina is not as combative by nature.”

“You, Miss Sharma? Combative? I cannot imagine,” Anthony puts in, and Kate looks at him in surprise at the comment. 

“Well, I was not raised amongst the social elite of England, perhaps the back alleys I grew up in brought out my more pugnacious tendencies.”

The two brothers fail to stifle their shocked laughter at her words, while Anthony closes his eyes, pauses as if to steady himself, and then opens them. 

“Will you accompany me on a turn about the grounds, Miss Sharma.”

The words pose a question, but his tone leaves no room for dissent. Indeed, before she utters a word in response, he impatiently holds out his arm for her to take. She pauses, considering fighting him on this, but her curiosity once again wins out. Whatever this man thinks he can say to her in private that he cannot say in front of his brothers is sure to be amusing. And also probably infuriating. 

“Since you asked so nicely,” she simpers sarcastically, linking her hand through his arm, and feeling a spark of that increasingly-familiar tug in her belly, as she realizes this is the first time she has laid a hand on his person, even if it is through the fabric of her glove and his jacket.

“We’ll just stay here then!” Colin shouts at their retreating backs. 

Once they are out of earshot of his family, Kate waits for him to speak first. After a moment of silence, she exhales loudly, rolling her eyes. He looks over at her, and she fidgets with her glove, suddenly struck by the unnerving feeling that she is under observation, having all her weaknesses marked down in a ledger and stored away for future use. 

The first thing out of his mouth is, “I owe you another apology, Miss Sharma.”

“You have already apologized several times.”

“Yes, but you have not accepted.”

“Haven’t I?” she murmurs in a tone of surprise. 

“Sarcasm does not become you.”

“Ah, so I am ugly as well as poor.”

“That is not—!” His voice raises in an instant, and she smirks at the reaction. She knows she is willfully misunderstanding him, just as he had said, but it is endlessly fun to see him rise to the bait. “That is not what I meant at all,” he hisses between his teeth. “I am apologizing to you, yet again, for what I said about your family yesterday, and for whatever implications you have read into my words since then. However silly and unfounded they may be,” he adds, unable to help himself, and Kate huffs. He goes on before can can interrupt. “ And I am reminding you that I had no idea who you were when we spoke last night, least of all who your family was. I made a rude and thoughtless comment, and for that I am sorry, but I never intended to insult you or make any kind of judgment on your mother or sister.” He stops walking, and Kate is forced to stop with him, removing her arm from his as he turns to face her head-on. “But what’s more, I think you already knew all of that.”

“All of what?” she asks innocently, and his eyes widen in frustration. 

“Everything I just said! You know I did not intend to insult you, and yet you are standing there looking at me like—What must I do to earn your forgiveness?”

She blinks. “You did not intend to insult me, that much I can see is true, My Lord. But you did intend to insult. You looked at two strangers and you mocked them mercilessly. Whether or not they were my family is not what matters. You were cruel. And it revealed a most unattractive quality in you.”

She holds out her chin proudly, and turns to walk on while he keeps pace. “So you are saying you found more attractive qualities in me before the unfortunate end to the evening?”

There is that disorientingly pleasant sensation in the pit of her stomach again, and she looks over at him in shock, and is met with that rakish grin plastered on his face again. His footsteps and his words move quickly, like he is gearing up to talk circles around her. 

“Perhaps you’d like to share them? I can admit I noticed a few of your more pleasant attributes, if you’d rather I go first.”

“What are you doing?” she hisses. 

“Winning you over,” he smirks. “Is it working?”

“It is not.”

“Fine, then I’ll begin. Your eyes, for one thing—”

“Stop it!” she bursts out, drawing the attention of several of their fellow strollers. She glances around and lowers her voice. “Every word out of your mouth is a half-truth, and you will not be able to manipulate me. I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, but I am not playing along.”

“I rather think you are,” he responds, and his body sways ever so slightly closer. “At the very least, it seems you are playing Pall Mall with my family tomorrow.”

“That is not what I mean,” she groans. 

“Now you know how I feel when you twist my every word to see the worst in them.”

“I am playing a game with your family,” she allows. “I like your family, at least the little I have seen of them.”

“Ah. But you do not like me.”

She pauses. “No. I do not.”

“Because I spoke cruelly of strangers?”

“Yes.”

“You are lying.”

“Pardon me?”

“You say you are angry with me simply because I spoke cruelly, but that is not true, is it? Your pride is too wounded to admit that you took my words about your family to heart. I did not intend them maliciously, as you well know, but they hurt you, and now you are pretending like you are above it. But you will not be able to accept my apology until you admit that you were hurt in the first place. And that would require you to be vulnerable. And you never allow yourself to be vulnerable, do you?”

“You know all this, do you?”

“I do.”

“I see.” She sends him what she hopes is a disdainful look, but somehow she is certain he could hear her heart thudding in her chest at the stunning accuracy of his words, not to mention the physical proximity he had gained during his speech. “Just as I see that you are terrified of letting down your family, but instead of doing something to live up to their expectations, you dally about, playing into your reputation as a ‘Capital-R Rake’, hoping that one day both they and you will stop expecting you to make anything of yourself.”

His eyes turn hard as stone in an instant, and with that, she knows she has hit on truth. Or at least close to it.

“You don’t know anything about me or my family, Miss Sharma,” he speaks in an ice cold tone, his polite address so intimidating it sends a shiver down her spine. 

“I could say the same to you,” she hisses back. 

He tilts his head, his expression somehow entirely controlled and simultaneously bordering on predatory. She takes a step back without thinking. 

“There are a few things I know about you,” he murmurs, his eyes flickering to her lips. For a brief moment she does the same until she snaps her eyes back up, but the damage is done. She fell into his trap for just a second, and he noticed. “How your breathing quickens when I stand too near you,” he offers, his hands clasped innocently behind his back while his tongue darts out to wet his lips, a small movement that strikes Kate as perhaps the most obscene act she has ever witnessed.

“The fight or flight instinct, I suppose,” she quips, and his laugh does not reach his eyes. 

“How you have not been able to find the word to describe that twist in your stomach when we spar,” he responds. 

“Nausea was the first that came to me,” she spits back, and this time his laugh sounds more genuine. Then he raises a single eyebrow, as if he were inquiring about the weather. 

“How you thought about me last night.”

She fixes him with a cold glare and says with a voice far steadier than she feels, “I did not think of you last night.”

He hums absentmindedly, tilting his head and looking away. Then he looks back at her with an intensity that makes Kate feel truly, horrifyingly, weak in the knees. “Pity.”

She swallows, and realizes how dry her throat is, how dry her lips are, and when she licks them she sees his eyes follow the movement of her tongue. Now, that is interesting. 

“If this is your pathetic attempt at seduction, Lord Bridgerton, I rather think it may be backfiring on you.”

For a moment he is speechless, and pride surges through her chest. But his gaze turns smoldering again in a flash, and Kate feels like she is the prey as the lion closes in. 

“Miss Sharma, let me make one thing perfectly clear.” He pauses, and her breath stops, though she raises an eyebrow expectantly, as if to cover for the fact that her brain is short circuiting with every moment his dark eyes remain on her. “When I am seducing you, you will know it.”

The soft exhale escapes her lips without her permission. She covers for herself, however unsuccessfully, by glaring hard at him.

“Stay away from me and my family.”

“You are the one in my home. Why don’t you try staying away from me?” He says it like a challenge. 

“I will.”

“Ah.”

“I will.”

“I did not say anything to the contrary.”

“You thought it,” She accuses.

“Well,” he scratches behind his ear. “It is a bit difficult to believe, what with the rather close quarters of Aubrey Hall.”

“I am nothing if not determined.”

“That much is abundantly clear.”

He extends his arm to her. She looks back at the tent, and spots Edwina fully ensconced among the Bridgerton clan, all of them chatting and laughing away, giving no attention to Kate and Anthony. Well, except their mothers and Lady Danbury, who are sneaking periodic not-at-all-subtle glances their way. Seeing no way to snub him now without causing a scene, she takes his arm and keeps her eyes fixed ahead as they return to their families.

Notes:

Thanks for reading, please leave a comment to let me know what you think! They are always great motivation to keep writing!

This chapter was longer than I expected it to be, but when I put the Bridgertons and the Sharmas together, what can I say, the dialogue is too much fun. As you can tell, Edwina is not going to fall into all the Anthony-related nonsense from the show, and Anthony is being more upfront about his interest in Kate. I figure if he were still in rake era and not his "I need to find a wife because it is my duty" era when he met Kate, he would not bother trying to the hide the fact that he's over the top obsessed with her.

I'm planning to update every Saturday from here on out, so stay tuned! Also, you may notice the chapter count went up to 13--its all that damned dialogue. I blame Kate and Anthony.

Chapter 3

Alone in his office that evening, Anthony downs the remainder of his whisky in a single gulp. 

This had not been the plan. 

From the first moment Kate Sharma laughs and looks at him with those knowing, fiery eyes, Anthony feels adrift. When he spends the night tossing and turning, thinking of nothing but her smile, her retreating form as she storms away with her sister in tow, all the things he wishes he said instead of what he did, he knows the situation might be getting out of hand. 

The following morning, when he finds himself, against his better judgment, egging her on instead of playing the gentleman, desperate to rekindle that fire in her eyes and see what she might do next, see if she might react to him with even a fraction of the passion he instantaneously feels toward her, he strongly suspects he might be fucked.

Until just a few short hours ago, he had been fixed on his intention to avoid his mother’s matchmaking, and utterly sure in his conviction that he would spend what may be his final year as a bachelor enjoying the many benefits of single life. None of which, he reminds himself, include the amorous company of unmarried ladies within his social class. He may be widely accepted as a rake, but the title of “gentleman”, passed down from his father, still means something to him. 

Yet how could he claim to be a gentleman when he had spent the past day dwelling on the many ungentlemanly things he would like to do with Kate Sharma? Or, even worse, the things he had said to her face, about her family, about her feelings for him?

He sighs and pours another drink at the thought. 

He did make an effort, he reminds himself. He had apologized for his thoughtless words, and as for his analysis of Kate’s unwillingness to appear vulnerable, or his suspicion that she was not quite as unaffected by his presence as she argued, well, he is not convinced he was wrong in any of those claims. Even now, that thought ignites a flame of pride in his belly: the memory of her flushed cheeks when he said something improper, her wide eyes and soft exhale when he had towered over her (figuratively—in practice, he was only about an inch taller) and whispered “When I am seducing you, you will know it.”

He takes another gulp of his drink. Because the satisfaction of that memory is intrinsically linked with the memory of the words that spurred it on: “If this is your pathetic attempt at seduction, Lord Bridgerton, I rather think it may be backfiring on you.”

Kate Sharma had struck a bit too close for comfort with that line. 

Something else disconcerting about their rapport is the fact that, every time Kate scores a figurative point in their sparring, despite his every attempt to rein himself in, he feels the uncontrollable urge to escalate the competition and even the score. Which, if he is hoping to remain capable of calling himself a gentleman at the end of all this, he really must stop as soon as possible. 

With one final swig of his drink, he looks himself over in the mirror. It is nearly time to descend for the elaborate dinner Violet has planned for the evening. With the light warmth of the whiskey running through him, Anthony feels better prepared to meet Kate Sharma for battle once again. And this time, he will not allow himself to be pulled into her orbit. He will remain a gentleman, and this damned spark between them will be snuffed out before it has a chance to burn them both.

When he got downstairs, the back of his neck immediately grows warm, and he knows, without knowing how he knows, that Kate is looking at him. When his head turns about the room, however, he singles in on Miss Sharma quickly, who appears deep in conversation with Miss Edwina and Thomas Dorset of all people, somebody Anthony has not seen since his Oxford days. Her eyes are nowhere near him.

For a moment, Anthony thinks about going over there and interrupting the trio, but he takes a steadying breath. Kate vowed to stay away from him, and if she truly thinks she is up to the task, then so is he. 

“Thank God you’re finally here,” Eloise groans, suddenly at his elbow. “It’ll take some of mama’s attention off me.”

“Apologies for the delay, sister,” he grumbles. “Where is our dear mother now?”

Eloise points, and Anthony spots her across the room with Benedict’s arm in her grip, clearly tugging with all her strength to keep him at her side. 

“Poor man,” he sighs and Eloise snorts. The sound reminds him of someone else, and he finds his gaze drawn back to the Sharmas. Kate is laughing at something Dorset just said, a gloved hand placed daintily in front of her mouth. How did that silk feel against her lips, he wonders. What might it feel like running against his—

“Anthony?” Eloise’s voice rings out a little too loudly in his ear, and he shakes his head.

“Yes, what is it now?”

“I was just saying that I got the chance to speak with Edwina Sharma this afternoon. She is excellent, I am so glad mama found the Sharmas, otherwise the Featheringtons might be the only worthwhile guests at this ridiculous party.” Eloise pauses and scrunches up her nose. “Well, Penelope, at least.”

“Yes,” he says absentmindedly. 

“Edwina is quite intelligent,” Eloise comments, sipping her lemonade. “She had quite a bit to say about her elder sister.”

Anthony turns to look at his sister. She continues looking out across the ballroom, with a clearly forced expression of disinterest. 

“Did she?”

Eloise hums in agreement. 

After a beat of starring hard, Anthony prompts, “Well? What did she have to say?”

Eloise rolls her eyes. “It is unlike you to inquire after the young ladies of the ton, Anthony.”

“It is unlike you to give any interest to the petty gossip of debutantes, and yet here you are bringing it up,” he points out. 

“Oh I can hardly remember what Edwina said, I was just making conversation,” Eloise puts her hands up in a mock pose of innocence. “I just remember that it sounded like Miss Sharma had some rather colorful things to say about you , if you must know. Ah look, Edwina is waving us over.”

Sure enough, Edwina has located Eloise in the crowd and is smiling encouragingly, waving a delicate hand in their direction. For a moment before he turns to look at Edwina, Anthony feels that same heat on the back of his neck, but when he turns to look back at the trio, Kate is still deep in conversation with Dorset, without so much as a glance in his direction. 

Anthony loops his arm through Eloise’s, with perhaps a bit more force than necessary, and the two of them start toward the trio on the other side of the room. “I think you remember a bit more than that, dear sister,” he mutters.

“You vastly overestimate my interest in the long line of debutantes you offend with one pompous insult or another,” Eloise sneers back at him, and he scrunches up his face at her; if they hadn’t been in public, she probably would have stuck her tongue out at him.

Even when they reach the little group, Kate does not look over, even when Dorset clearly notices their presence. Only when Dorset actually says out loud, “Ah, Lord Bridgerton, Miss Bridgerton, lovely to see you both again,” does Kate glance in his direction, her face neutral. She smiles at Eloise and nods politely to him, an action which makes Anthony’s heart freeze. Ignoring him was one thing, but to be so cold and distant somehow makes him feel a foot shorter. 

“Dorset, Miss Sharma, Miss Edwina.” He nods at each of them. His gaze strays to Kate’s face for a fraction of a second too long, waiting for her to give some sign of annoyance, anger, attraction, anything. 

But nothing. And in that moment, Anthony is struck by a powerfully foolish notion.

He holds out the arm that Eloise is not currently holding. “Miss Edwina,” he repeats. “My sister seems to have made a fast friend with you. Won’t you accompany us into dinner?”

His eyes stay on Miss Edwina, though the sound of Kate’s soft scoff from next to him makes his lip quirk up. Finally, a reaction. 

Edwina’s eyes flicker between his arm and her sister, then back to him. “It would be my honor, Lord Bridgerton,” she says after a long beat, her eyes wide and innocent, which seems to be their perpetual state. He smiles as she loops her arms through his, and nods at Kate and Dorset (but really just Kate) as they turn and walk in the direction of the opulent dining room. He is pleased to see that Kate’s mask of neutrality is long gone, replaced with that familiar expression of disdain. He quirks a single eyebrow, and her jaw clenches in response. 

As he moves away, he hears Dorset extend a similar offer to Kate. His spine stiffens when she responds, “I would be delighted, Mister Dorset.” He does not dare turn around to look at her, but he is at least comforted that, as she speaks the words, she sounds ready to murder. 

Anthony takes his place at the head of the table, and as Edwina settles into the seat next to him, with Eloise just to her left, he surveys the room, feigning casual interest in where Miss Sharma has found her place. Some ugly monster rears up within him when he notes she is sitting with Dorset to her right and Benedict to her left. 

Despite how pleased he had been to see Kate angered by his invitation to Edwina, he finds he has nothing to say to Miss Sharma’s younger sister. After a few minutes of stilted small talk (the only notable takeaway is Edwina’s passing remark that Kate, like him, favors the country over the city), Edwina turns to engage Eloise, and the two of them chatter away about some pamphlet they had been reading earlier that day. The two girls pass most of the dinner in comfortable conversation.

Freed from the social obligation, Anthony sits mostly in silence, occasionally obliged to make a comment on the conversation around him, but more often than not attempting (and failing) to prevent his eyes from wandering down the table.

At first, he pretends that he simply wishes to take account of how every guest is enjoying the gathering at Aubrey Hall. But that is a lie, as he quickly admits to himself once his attention falls on Miss Sharma. He watches the way her fingers caress the stem of her wine glass, how her mouth wraps around small bites of food, observes the single strand of hair that continually falls loose from her updo no matter how many times she tries to tuck it back in. And of course, notes how pointedly she looks anywhere but at his end of the table.

He might be disgusted with his own besotted behavior, if he were not so frustrated with her pointed disregard.

Just as dessert is brought out, his eyes fall on her once again, and his grip tightens reflexively around his wine glass when he spots her giggling at something his brother has just murmured in her ear. He sees Benedict laugh too, before leaning in to whisper something else. Whatever he says spurs Kate to turn quickly, her eyes suddenly fixing on him. His heart drops for a moment, and Anthony scowls, looking away before his eyes dart back to Benedict, who is smirking at him. Even more infuriatingly, his brother has the nerve to wink as he continues speaking to Miss Sharma, who has still not turned away from Anthony, a curious little smile on her lips. His eyes shift back to her reluctantly, and he is surprised to see such a range of emotions on her face. The old familiar anger, amusement, even intrigue, but there is something more piercing in her gaze, as if she can plainly see every truth he has ever attempted to conceal.

It is unnerving, to say the least.

He matches her gaze, lifting his wine to his mouth and breathing in its scent, willing the alcohol to intoxicate him before Miss Sharma’s presence has the chance to do so. He sees her swallow and shake her head, before reaching for her own glass and taking a large gulp, finally looking over at Dorset and smiling a second too late at whatever he just said. 

Anthony covers his smirk with his glass. Seduction backfiring, indeed. Slowly, deliberately, he turns his attention back to Edwina who is, he realizes with surprise, already looking at him. 

“Are you enjoying the festivities at Aubrey Hall, Lord Bridgerton?” She prompts. “You have been quiet this evening."

Anthony blinks, taken aback that she has been paying attention to him at all, when his own attention has been half way across the room all night. “I was about to ask you the same question, Miss Edwina,” he deflects. “Frankly, after having spent as much time with my siblings as you have, I am surprised you have not fled the grounds already.”

“Your family is utterly charming,” she demurs. “Besides, I am no stranger to navigating siblings with, shall we say, spirited personalities.”

“I can imagine,” Anthony says, looking down the table and touching his pointer finger against the side of his mouth. Kate’s back stiffens. Her eyes shift toward him and Edwina for a fraction of a moment before returning to her dessert. 

In response, he leans closer to Edwina. Not so close as to be considered improper, but certainly closer than he need be in order to maintain the conversation. He tilts his head and fixes the younger Miss Sharma with the piercing gaze he knows (both from reading Lady Whistledown and first-person accounts from his mistresses over the years) can have quite an effect. The heat on the back of his neck tells him that his efforts are not in vain; he would bet his entire estate that Kate is glaring at him from across the table right now, though he does not dare to look. 

“I understand you grew up in India,” he says, and Edwina’s eyes continue flickering between his own gaze and looking down shyly. It is really too easy--she is playing directly into the scene he was hoping to create for Miss Sharma's benefit.

“Yes, I was born there. Kate left England when she was young, right after our father married my mother.”

“Lady Mary is not Miss Sharma’s mother?” Anthony asks, surprised. 

“She is her mother in every way except blood. Kate’s birth mother died when she was very young, so Mary is in essence the only mother she has ever known.” Edwina looks up at him, her eyes slightly colder than they had been a moment before. “I hope Kate will not be angry that I have told you this. I would not have said anything, except…”

“Except?” Anthony prompts.

Edwina pauses, considering her words carefully. “I hope you do not mind me speaking frankly, Lord Bridgerton. It seems my sister and I have come to different conclusions about your character.”

“Have you,” he murmurs, taking another sip of wine, trying hard not to show how impatient he is to hear what Edwina has to say. Whatever Kate has said of him in private could not be worse than what she has already said to his face, but he is still, masochistically, desperate to hear it.

“Yes. I admit, I tend to believe the best in people, and Kate…” she trails off. “Well, Kate has been correct in her analysis before. But I do not think she is this time.”

“I infer that is a great compliment to your faith in me,” Anthony says drily.

“It is.” Edwina’s eyes harden further, and he leans back slightly in his chair. “So I implore you, Lord Bridgerton, do not prove my optimism wrong.”

“I swear to you, I am not the man your sister has taken me to be,” he says, his tone more serious. For some reason, it feels critical that Edwina understand this point. 

“I do not think you are. Which is why I must wonder,” she glances down at the table, and then back to him, “Why you have gone out of your way tonight to antagonize my sister, once again?”

He blinked. “Miss Edwina—”

“I am not a fool, Lord Bridgerton, please do not take me for one.” Her tone is kind, but deadly serious. “You asked me to accompany you to dinner to vex her. I choose to believe you when you say you are a gentleman, so I will give you a piece of friendly advice. If you want to pursue Kate, you will have to switch to another tactic. And quickly. Because while I cannot claim to know everything that goes on in my sister’s mind, I know that using me as a pawn is the very last way to her heart. I imagine you can understand, being an older sibling yourself.”

He vaguely notices from the other side of the table that Violet has risen, signifying the end of the meal. He follows suit absentmindedly, still looking at Edwina with a furrowed brow. The other dinner guests all rise and start making their way out of the dining room.

“Your Lordship,” Edwina curtsies politely, her innocent face never betraying the fact that she has just rendered the Viscount utterly speechless. 

“Miss Edwina,” he says shortly. And with that, he turns on his heel and leaves the room as fast as his feet can carry him, suddenly desperate for a breath of fresh air. 

Notes:

Ha, remember when I said I would only update on Saturdays? That was hilarious of me. I tested positive a few days ago but have no symptoms, so there is truly nothing for me to do in my isolation except lose my mind and write fanfiction. I don't expect to update this frequently going forward, but for now, I will post when I can!

I know Kate and Anthony interactions this chapter are sparse, but don't worry, future chapters will more than make up for it ;)

Anybody know the Sondheim song referenced in the title?

Chapter 4

Kate watches Anthony retreat, her eyes flickering back and forth from him to where her sister remains at the far end of the table, face still as serene as ever. 

The dinner had been nearly unbearable. Not only had Anthony asked Edwina to accompany him, clearly only to vex her, but he proceeded to stare at Kate all evening. She had pointedly kept her own gaze averted, focusing instead on the amusing stories Benedict told her about their time growing up at Aubrey Hall. Still, she felt the heat of his eyes on her throughout the night, and could not help but squirm under its intensity. 

As Benedict and Thomas turn toward the smoking room, Benedict taps her lightly on the shoulder. 

“Miss Sharma,” he murmurs in her ear, and Kate is acutely aware of how similar he sounds to Anthony. The only difference is, when Benedict whispers in her ear, it does not send a shiver down her spine that settles at the apex of her legs. “Shall I accompany you to the drawing room?”

“No,” she says without thinking. “I need a breath of fresh air.”

“Ah, then should I fetch a lady to accompany you out to the grounds?”

“That is not necessary,” Kate smiles tightly. “I will be just a moment.”

“Of course.” He bows, the barest hint of a smile on his lips, and turns away to Dorset. 

It does occur to her, as she makes her way to the same doorway Anthony had disappeared through a moment before, that if she were to encounter him, she would feel no qualms with voicing her displeasure. But she is not actually seeking him out, of course. She is merely seeking the fresh air.

It would be easy to get lost in the many nooks and crannies of Aubrey Hall, Kate is confident, but luckily she spots a door on the left just a little ways down the hallway with the glow of moonlight shining through the glass panes. And there, silhouetted against the glow, is Anthony Bridgerton, overlooking the gardens. 

She pauses, her hand on the door handle. As much as he has been driving her crazy all night, the sight of him alone gives her pause. His face is in profile, and she can see his closed eyes, his expression almost peaceful. He takes a breath in and out, and she watches, inexplicably fascinated, as the muscles in his back relax. He looks tired, plain and simple.

In this light, he almost seems real, she thinks to herself, before shaking her head at what a silly notion it is. Of course he is real. And he owes her an explanation.

Her hand presses down on the handle. In an instant, his eyes open and shoulders tense again. He does not turn fully to face her, but somehow he knows. 

“Miss Sharma,” he says, with an ironic little smile playing on his lips. He flattens his hands over his coat, though it is not remotely out of place. 

“Lord Bridgerton,” she says sharply, closing the door behind her. 

“Have you taken a wrong turn on your way to the drawing room?”

“What the hell are you playing at?”

He turns at that, with an expression of surprise. 

“Pardon me?”

“You heard me the first time.”

“I believe I did, but I still do not understand the question.” He folds both hands behind his back, and takes a single step toward her. “We have not exchanged two words all night.”

“That is hardly material.”

“It is. You vowed to stay away from me and I have allowed you to do just that.” Another step, and Kate folds her arms protectively against her chest. His eyes flicker down her form, and Kate fights the urge to fidget under his scrutiny. “And yet you are the one who is now seeking me out. And without a chaperone, no less.”

“Because I demand an explanation,” she starts, before the second part of his sentiment sinks in. Yes, it is certainly improper that she has sought him out like this. Clearly she had not thought through her decision to pursue him outside.

Well, that was his fault too, she reasons, since her mind is in this foggy state of fury because of him. Regardless, she is certainly not going to be the first to back down. “And I did not think we required an audience,” she finishes lamely. He smiles disbelievingly and opens his mouth slightly. Kate’s eyes flicker down to notice his tongue poking out from the corner of his mouth, as if he is engaged in fierce concentration. She bites the inside of her lip, struggling to contain herself from telling him off for licking his lips, which, she can admit, would be a ridiculous thing to do. 

When she looks back at his eyes, they burn with a knowing smugness.

“An audience for what exactly? Your telling me my many faults, yet again?”

“I told you to stay away from my sister.”

His jaw clenches at that, and he glances over her shoulder at the house. “Miss Edwina did not seem to mind my company.”

“Edwina is far too polite to have turned down your invitation, however much she wanted to.”

“I think you underestimate your sister. In the brief time I spent with her, she seemed to have no trouble clearly stating her feelings.” He frowns a bit at his own words, and Kate once again bites the inside of her lip to stop herself from asking what they had discussed. He went on, “Might I be so bold as to suggest that you wanted her to turn me down, and are now projecting those feelings on to Miss Edwina?”

Oh God, that smug smirk, that upright posture with his hands folded carefully behind his back--he is so controlled, so intentionally intimidating, it fills Kate with the uncontrollable compulsion to win.

“I have made no secret of the fact that I want you to stay away from my sister, I admit, but I am not projecting anything. I know my sister much better than you do after an evening spent barely even speaking to her.”

He shrugs. “We spoke plenty.”

“Did you indeed?” She raises an eyebrow. “Then why did you spend all evening staring at me?”

He blinks, surprised that she had called out his behavior, before that disarming smirk returns. 

“Have you been watching me? I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be,” she snaps. “First you threaten to seduce me, then you attempt to get my sister alone, what am I supposed to think except—”

“Threaten to seduce you?” He repeats bemusedly. “Miss Sharma, you think me much more nefarious than I actually am.”

“Is that not exactly what you did this morning?” She challenges, shifting her weight to the other foot and cocking a hip.

“I believe what I said,” he sidles a bit closer, “is that when I am seducing you, you will know it.”

Her jaw snaps together. She thinks of all the stories Benedict had told her at dinner, of the young Bridgerton brood running around these very lawns, chased by their beloved father...at least, she assumes Anthony must have been a child at some point. At what point after acquiring the title of Viscount, she wonders, did the man before her learn how to make somebody feel they were looking directly at the sun in his presence? 

“I am not here to argue semantics,” she says through gritted teeth. 

“No?”

“I am here to implore you, yet again, to stay away from me and my family. Do not speak to my sister, do not speak to me, in fact, do not even look at me—”

“It seems my stares have quite an effect on you, Miss Sharma.” His tongue caresses her name, and Kate shakes her head, though she is not sure if it is at him or at herself. Focus, Kate. 

“They can be obnoxious, yes, when I am trying to make conversation.”

“So that is what this is about?” He cocks a brow. “My presence in the room distracted you from whatever inane conversation Mister Dorset and my brother were whispering in your ear and you choose to blame me for your own inability to focus?”

“Of course you are to blame!” She explodes, before taking a step back as a devilish grin spreads across his face. “That is not to say,” she clears her throat, “that I cannot focus, that is, that you are responsible for me being distracted. But rather,” she clears her throat again, and her hands ball into fists at the way his grin widens, “that I blame you for ruining this night, by going against what you knew were my express wishes when you invited Edwina in to dinner.” She pauses as the flush rises up her neck, expecting him to say something (he always has something to say), but he just keeps smirking at her, his hands still irritatingly linked behind his back, as if he is politely waiting for her to go on. “And by the way,” she says, because she cannot stand the silence, even as she feels her heart sink at the way his smile grows inexplicably bigger as she goes on, “I will have you know that your brother is an infinitely more charming conversationalist than you.” Another beat. “Especially right now. For God’s sake, say something, won’t you?”

He shrugs and holds his arms out wide. “What would you like me to say, Miss Sharma?" 

“What?”

“I fear the thoughts in my head would only make you more angry with me.”

Her face grows even hotter, and she wonders what the odds are of a brick falling on her head in this moment. It would be less painful than continuing to look at his stunning smile for another second.

“Everything you say angers me, Lord Bridgerton, but it has never stopped you from speaking before.”

“Then I might say,” he muses, “that I had no nefarious purpose, either for you or Miss Edwina, in asking her in to dinner, but the fact that it has made you seethe with jealousy can only be considered a fringe benefit.”

“I am not—” she starts out, but quickly reins herself in. The very last thing she needs is to give him more ammunition. Instead, she switches tactics, sneering at him. “What would I even have to be jealous of? As we have established, your attentions, however unwanted, were focused on me the entire evening. If anything, I am insulted on Edwina’s behalf.”

He looks at her skeptically, and even she has to admit (though, obviously, not out loud) that it is a weak argument. 

“Very well. I will apologize to Miss Edwina for my distraction if that is what you wish, now, if that is all you had to say…” he raised an eyebrow, gesturing at the door.

“You cannot just dismiss me,” she hisses. “You owe me an explanation.”

“Remind me, for what exactly?”

“Why did you ask Edwina to accompany you in? Why did you stare at me all night? Why are you behaving like this? Just to infuriate me?”

His eyes flare up for a moment before he says calmly, “That is about the sum of it, I think, yes. Now, it is my turn.”

“Excuse me?”

“You owe me an explanation as well.”

“For what, exactly?”

“Why did you seek me out here, tonight?” 

“To ask you that question. Obviously,” she says, but she knows it is not entirely true. In fact, she cannot say exactly why she sought him out. All she knows is that after than unending dinner, feeling the heat creeping under her skin, squirming in her seat at the mere prospect of being the object of such devoted attention, her body had demanded some kind of closure, some explanation that did not involve her lusting passionately after Anthony Bridgerton. Because from where she is standing now, that is the only interpretation she can come up with.

“I will ask again,” he murmurs, and she feels that delicious shiver down her spine that she had not felt with Benedict. “Why have you sought me out?”

“I told you.”

“You gave me one explanation,” he allows, and his eyes flicker over to the strand of hair that has been falling into her face all night. She fights the urge to tuck it behind her ear, certain that if she were to move now, this fragile quiet between them would shatter. And if it did…she could not bear to think too hard about what would happen if this tension ever snapped. 

“Are you saying I am a liar, Lord Bridgerton?”

“I would never dream of it,” he says quietly. “I believe you want to know why I was staring at you all evening. What I want to know is, what did you feel when I had my eyes on you?” Her breath catches, and she cannot take her eyes off him, as he sways to one side, and then the other, in an almost hypnotic motion. His voice drops somehow even lower as a hand reaches up to curl around her stray strand of hair. “What do you feel now?” His thumb grazes softly against her chin as he tucks the loose lock behind her ear, and goosebumps spring up on her skin in the wake of his fingertips. “Won’t you tell me?” He whispers, a desperate edge to his voice. 

She sways along with him for a beat, their eyes locked together, and the earth drops away around her. In that moment, he is the only real thing, the warmth in his gaze and his skin. And the most terrifying part is, she would swear he feels the same.

But then his eyes fall down to her lips, and he starts to lean in, and she remembers what this is. His words from earlier ring in her ears: “When I am seducing you, you will know it.”

She shoves against his chest, hard, and he takes a step back, looking as dazed as she felt.

“You!” she spits out, fighting the urge to break down crying then and there. Is this all a game to him? “How dare—I should have known it would be pointless to try to talk to you. I must take my leave, my lord.”

“Wait!” he calls out as she turns toward the house, and she does not know why he sounds so distressed. Hasn’t he gotten exactly what he wanted: Kate, to nearly make a fool out of herself?

“What now?” she hisses.

He hesitates, and she is not sure he even knows why he called out after her. “I am sorry that I—” He takes a deep breath, and Kate truly thinks for a moment that he is about to apologize for his conduct, until— “I still owe you a proper answer,” he says. “You demanded an explanation.”

“I think I have all the answers I need,” she says. “I can see clearly that this was your plan all along. To get me alone and—”

“No, no, that was not—” he groans frustratedly, and puts his head in his hands and shakes it slowly. He raises his head after a moment, looking as flustered and confused as she is as to how they keep ending up in these situations. “I do not know why I asked Edwina to dinner. I knew it would make you unhappy, and I did it anyway. I just…did it.”

“Ah, so it had nothing to do with me, you are simply so much of a rake that you acted on instinct?” She knows that is not quite true, but it is so easy to twist his words and wait for the reaction. 

Yes, and there it is—his eyes bug out, and she smirks at his look of absolute confusion. “Are you now offended that I did not intend to seduce you tonight?”

“First of all, you did not seduce me tonight,” she says, and he rolls his eyes. Admittedly, she almost did the same; this conversation had truly taken a ridiculous turn. What were they even fighting about at this point? She wasn’t sure, but she was going to have the last word. “Second of all, I have realized there is no point in asking you questions such as these, because I will only receive lies in return. I thought perhaps we understood each other enough that we could move beyond such attempts at deception. But I can see that such honest conversations are pointless, because there is nothing true about you, Lord Bridgerton.” 

“There is one thing,” he shoots back. 

“Oh good, enlighten me.”

“The fact that you, Miss Sharma,” his nostrils flare in indignation, and he speaks each word deliberately, “drive me absolutely mad.”

She stiffens. “Well. The feeling is mutual. Good night, my lord.”

And with that, she turns on her heel and re-enters Aubrey Hall. Once she is out of his sight, she leans against the wall and allows herself to breathe deeply, a single hand resting against her fluttering heart.

---

That night, Kate cannot sleep. In bed, she feels the ghost of Lord Bridgerton’s hand trace down her jaw, again and again, until the phantom touch makes it near impossible to lie still. Which is how she finds herself roaming the halls of Aubrey Hall. She knows there is a library somewhere around, and wonders if she might find a good book to put her to sleep. 

As she peers down the hallway she is pretty sure will lead her to the library, she sees a light on from a room off to the right. Pacing toward it, she pushes open the door, to find (who else? She thinks dryly to herself) Anthony sitting at a desk in what is clearly his office. 

He stands quickly, and she backs up into the shadows of the hallway. She cannot bear to face him now, not when thoughts of his touch have been plaguing her all night. 

“Miss Sharma." 

“I did not—I was looking for the library,” she says quietly, unwilling to disturb the silence of the room. He blinks, before a slow, tired smile creeps over his face, and she sighs out loud. For a moment, he had looked like a normal person: a tired, overworked, confused (if still startlingly handsome) Viscount, at work in his office. Now, he is a seducer once again.

“I thought we were beyond such feeble attempts at deception,” he teases lightly, quoting her from earlier, and she groans when he takes a step out from behind his desk.

“Don’t you ever stop?”

He smiles, but stops where he is, gesturing down the hall. “The library is two doors down, to the left.”

“Thank you,” she says with a finite tone.

She does not move. 

“Did you need something else?” he asks, not budging from where he stands. 

“No.”

Still, she does not move. 

He hums and leans against the back of his desk.

“You know, I might have misjudged you, Miss Sharma.”

“Might,” she says sarcastically. 

“All this time,” he presses on conversationally, “I have assumed you were so disturbed by my behavior because you did not understand your feelings. I assumed you were too innocent to comprehend what it was you craved from me, even when I could see arousal clear as day in your face when I—” he cuts himself off and tilts his head to the left, then the right, considering her. She takes an indignant step, ready to contradict whatever he says next. “But you are not nearly as ignorant of your own desires as these other debutantes, are you?” He asks softly. She takes another few steps toward him. He does not move from his desk, and she feels as if she is being lured in. In this moment, she cannot bring herself to care. “No, I now begin to suspect, this whole time, you knew exactly what you wanted from me.” She is now standing right in front of him, and when he rises off his desk, they are mere inches apart. “You just could not admit it.”

“I will when you do,” she taunts, and his eyes darken before her eyes. 

“I want you, Kate,” he whispers, hands snaking around her waist. “God, I want you so badly, you are all I can think of. My senses are overtaken by your scent,” he inhales deeply, nose pressed against her throat, “by the thought of what you must taste like, what you will sound like when I bring you over the edge. Do you know what it feels like, Kate, to have somebody kiss you, touch you, tease you, until you come undone? I can do that for you, Kate. I can make you feel so good.” His lips are ghosting all over her throat, her jaw, whispering such filthy words, and a moan escapes Kate’s lips when she feels his teeth nibble lightly at the shell of her ear.

He pulls back, and looks her dead in the eye. 

“You just need to tell me what you want.”

There is a charged pause, and Kate knows he will do nothing more until she asks for it. 

“I want you, Anthony,” she whispers, and his lips are devouring hers in an instant, every inch of his body pressing into hers. She deepens the kiss, pulling him nearer as if he is her oxygen. 

The seconds go so slowly, but everything seems to happen all at once. His hands cup her breasts and he moans into her mouth. She presses hard against him, tugs at his hair, and he lifts her like she weighs nothing, and settles her into a seated position on his desk, his hands roaming down to pull up the hem of her nightdress, his fingers tracing teasing patterns up and down her thighs as he continues to devour her lips, occasionally pausing to murmur sweet nothings against her skin, things like “you drive me mad”, or “so beautiful, so beautiful.” He works his way down her throat, biting and sucking at her skin as he goes. 

“God you smell so good, Kate, you taste so fucking good, already,” he groans at her collarbone, before dropping to his knees in front of her. Not until she actually sees him kneeling before her does she know how much she wants him. 

Her fingers thread through his hair as he bunches up the skirt of her nightdress and holds it at her stomach. 

“Hold this for me, will you,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss against her inner thigh. “I want to see your face when I finally taste you.”

She takes the skirts from him, her mind full of a loud buzzing sound, and she holds them so she can keep her eyes on his as his tongue finally finds her center, and she screams when he sucks lightly on her clit. She never knew it could feel like this. All the while, he is staring up at her, with that same heat in his eyes she saw all during dinner, only now he is devouring her instead of a five course meal. 

The time flies past her, and soon she feels a pressure building within her, and the hand that is threaded through his hair presses his face hard against her center, thrusting her hips up to meet his tongue as he licks expertly between her folds, one finger and then two entering her, pushing her further and further and building her higher and higher until—

Kate wakes up with a jolt. 

She breathes deeply, and looks around. She is alone, in her bed. She can feel the wetness pooled between her legs, can feel that same phantom touch still playing along the side of her jaw where Anthony had touched her just a couple hours before. The real Anthony, not the version of him she had been dreaming about with his head between her legs until two seconds ago. 

Her head drops down on the pillow and as she exhales unsteadily. Damn. That is so inconvenient. 

Notes:

Uh oh! It's everybody's favorite trope: THE SEX DREAM OF TRUTH!

Thank you to everybody who sent me good health and kind words--I am doing just fine and leave quarantine today! Your comments kept me going through my isolation!! <3

Still accepting guesses on the Sondheim song referenced in the title...

Chapter 5

Anthony does not sleep well that night. 

Memories of their argument in the gardens play in his mind on repeat, until he cannot bear it. The memory of Kate’s smirk, her too-knowing gaze as if she can see right through him, her pulse point beating wildly when he had grazed his fingers along her jaw…all of it proves highly distracting as he lies in bed that night, willing himself to sleep. 

When he finally does awake from the few hours of sleep he manages to gain, he puts his face in his hands when he remembers that his idiotic brothers have invited the Sharmas to join in their annual Pall Mall game today. Just what he needs: more of Kate Sharma, and her pointed remarks and glances, always hitting him closer to home than she could possibly conceive. 

He descends the stairs to the drawing room with a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach, mixed with a perverse sense of excitement at the prospect of seeing her again. 

Simon and Daphne had arrived at Aubrey Hall early that morning, and the two of them had already made themselves comfortable in the drawing room. When Anthony falls into a chair, his siblings nod their sleepy acknowledgement. All except Benedict, who manages to summon a knowing smirk at this hour in the morning. 

“And how was your night, brother?” he grins. 

“Why do you ask?” Anthony says sharply, and immediately regrets it as his tone draws the attention of everybody else in the room. Benedict’s eyes flare in mischief. 

“It is merely that I did not see you in the smoking room last night. Was it an early night for you? Or did Miss Sharma manage to track you down?”

Anthony pauses, his cup of tea at his lips. “We exchanged a few words. What of it?”

Benedict shrugs innocently. “Nothing. I ask because she seemed rather distracted last night.”

Anthony swallows hard as he sips his tea to stop himself from begging for more details. “You would have to ask her.”

“What’s this?” Daphne speaks up from the other side of the room. “Has Anthony caught the attention of some poor unsuspecting girl?”

“More like the other way around,” Colin snorts, and Anthony clenches his fingers around the scone in his hand, fighting the urge to throw it at his brother’s head. 

He clears his throat. “Miss Sharma is of no interest to you, Daph. The woman quite despises me, as a matter of fact, and I find her, irritating.”

For a brief moment, his mind flits to the image of Kate, swaying in time with him, leaning in as he gently touches his fingers along her jawline, her eyes dipping to his lips, and—

“Well, in that case, I am sure Miss Sharma and I shall be fast friends,” Simon puts in, and Anthony glares at him. 

“We shall find out soon enough. She and her sister are joining us for Pall Mall!” Benedict announces proudly, and both Simon and Daphne gasp (Simon’s slightly mocking in tone). 

“My goodness, you must be serious about her, Anthony,” Daphne comments. 

“I am nothing of the sort. Blame your brothers, they are the ones who invited them,” Anthony grumbles. 

“I cannot believe the Sharmas got an invite to the game when you had to stage a full family vote on whether to admit me,” Simon says, though he does not sound in the least bit angry. Amused, more than anything else. 

“What can we say, Kate Sharma just has that passion that you are unfortunately lacking,” Benedict says. 

“I am hardly lacking passion, ” Simon says, looping an arm around Daphne’s waist. “I just don’t choose to exert it on silly lawn games.”

On that note, Daphne dips to place a kiss on her husband’s lips, and all her siblings look away in disgust. 

The Bridgertons continue in their typical fashion of family bickering as they head out to the gardens for Pall Mall. Most of the other guests have either dispersed to explore the grounds, or have left the premises for a day trip into Kent. 

“But where are these Sharma sisters we have heard so much about?” Daphne asks, and Colin motions toward the grand doors of Aubrey Hall. Sure enough, there are Kate and Edwina, descending the stairs into the gardens, Kate’s arm wrapped tightly around Edwina’s waist as she murmurs something quietly to her sister. Anthony tries to act as if he barely notices their presence, but his gaze persistently returns to Kate, whose eyes remain steadfastly far away from him, looking about in seemingly every other direction. Finally, Edwina shakes her head and says something pointedly to Kate, who in turn deflates, and both sisters turn toward the playing field. Mary follows a few feet behind them as she makes her way toward Violet and Lady Danbury, who have already settled under the tent to observe the game. 

Edwina curtsies politely to the family as Eloise loops her arm through Edwina’s and pulls her aside. No doubt Eloise is filling Edwina with conspiratorial ideas of how to sabotage the other Bridgertons in the game to come. 

Kate, meanwhile, hangs back, an uncharacteristically awkward air about her as she shifts her attention to the playing field, still refusing to even look his way. 

Unable to resist such easy bait, Anthony takes a step toward her. 

“Your first time?” he teases lightly, and is surprised to see how she twitches at his words, looking up toward him for a moment before her face falls back down toward the grass. He frowns. It is unlike her to avoid a fight. When she says nothing, he clarifies, “on the Pall Mall field, I mean.”

“Oh.” She sounds relieved. “Yes.”

“Well, not to worry, we will explain all the rules before we begin.” He smirks, tilting his head but still unable to catch her eye. “Though that is not to say we will take it easy on you once play commences.”

She flushes at his words, and his brow furrows at the reaction, though her biting response, “I assure you I will be in no need of anybody’s coddling,” does return him to some sense of normalcy.

“I do not doubt you are perfectly capable of handling yourself,” he says, his voice sounding gravely even to his ears. 

She clears her throat in response. Just as it appears she might say something back, Daphne bounces up. 

“Hello, you must be Kate! I’ve heard so much about you,” she says brightly, and Kate blinks in surprise. “I am Daphne, the fourth-born Bridgerton. Over there is my husband, the Duke of Hastings.”

“Your Grace,” Kate curtsies politely. “Lovely to make your acquaintance. Kate Sharma.”

“Yes, I know,” Daphne says, sounding impatient. “I hear you are our greatest hope of finally bringing down Anthony this year.”

Kate coughs in response to that, and Anthony grinds his teeth, tempted to pull his sister away from Kate before any more damage can be done. 

“I do not—that is, Your Grace—” Anthony’s eyes hone in on the flush creeping up Kate’s neck, and he finds he cannot look away, utterly transfixed.

“Please, call me Daphne,” she waves. “Now, you have never played Pall Mall before, I understand it?”

“No, Your—Daphne,” Kate says. 

“Well not to worry, it is hardly difficult to understand, come let me walk you through the rules. Anthony, if you will excuse us,” Daphne says primly, looping her arm through Kate’s, who stays focused on Daphne’s profile as the two women walk across the field together. 

“What are you thinking?” A voice hisses in his ear, and Anthony shakes his head, trying to force from his mind the fascinating and entirely inapropriate images Kate’s collarbones conjure within him. “Letting her go off like that with Daph?” Anthony turns to discover Simon hovering over his shoulder. 

“Well I hardly had any choice in the matter, did I?” He mutters. “I should ask you why you are not better at controlling your wife.”

“Yes, because controlling Daphne has always worked out so well for both of us,” Simon rolls his eyes. “I am merely saying, who knows what stories she may be telling to this woman you are courting—”

“I am not courting Miss Sharma,” Anthony says sharply, and Simon puts up his hands in defense. 

“Easy, Ant, don’t shoot,” he teases, and Anthony glares. “It sounded from Benedict and Colin that you two were engaged in some kind of battle of the wits?”

“You should know better than to listen to everything those two fools tell you,” Anthony grumbles. “Any battle between us, rest assured, has nothing to do with courtship.”

No? Says a devilish voice within Anthony. Then what is it to do with? A few particularly indelicate images from his earlier daydream float by in his mind.

Luckily, his stream of conscience is cut off by the Sharmas, Daphne, and Eloise all returning to the fold. Right. Those images have no place in his plans. He will be a perfect gentleman to Miss Sharma, and at the end of this silly gathering at Aubrey Hall, Anthony will return to London, visit the local brothel, put such fantasies out of mind, and continue happily through his final year of bachelorhood.

“I do believe we are ready to begin,” Daphne announces.

“The rules seem straightforward enough,” says Edwina. 

“Yes,” Kate agrees. “Do everything to destroy your opponent, being the leading objective.”

“You will be a magnificent player, Miss Sharma,” Benedict grins. “I believe you have earned the right of first mallet.” He takes an ostentatious step backward, and Kate considers the choices before her, picking one at random.

Just like that, all vows of gentlemanly behavior go out the window, as a primal voice snarls from within him. 

Oh. Fuck. No. 

“The mallet of death,” Eloise gasps, her tone deadly serious. All Bridgerton eyes fall on Anthony, and Kate looks to her left and right, and follows their gaze, finally meeting his eyes.

"You put her up to this," he says through gritted teeth, his eyes not leaving Kate.

"I did no such thing!" Daphne proclaims, understanding the remark is intended for her.

“Oh,” Kate says, her confused expression sharpening devilishly, and Anthony has to bite his lip to keep from doing something stupid. “Is this one yours?”

“Not at all, you’re welcome to it,” Anthony replies quickly, hoping his voice comes off as breezy, while his eyes slip down to the mallet currently held in Kate’s firm grasp. If there were ever a more apt metaphor…

“You threatened to beat me last time I touched that mallet,” Colin says. 

“You exaggerate,” Anthony snaps. 

“Are you the superstitious sort?” Kate asks, raising an eyebrow. “I know some men cannot perform without their usual tools. Like a child, with a blanket.”

Anthony clenches his jaw. This is torture. The woman has been sent here to torture him. 

“You will find I am more than capable of performing with any tools at my disposal,” he responds, and Kate’s eyes dip down to the ground for a brief second before returning to his. “And you can be assured, I will win, just as I have for the past three years running.”

“Three years ago hardly counts,” Daphne argues. “He took me out at the shins with that thing.” She gestures to the mallet in Kate’s hands. 

“Anthony!” Simon gasps mockingly. “I ought to challenge you to a duel for that kind of unsportsmanlike behavior toward my wife!”

Colin and Benedict snicker at that, while Daphne glares at her husband, unamused. 

“She was not your wife then, Hastings, and I have told you a million times, Daph, that was an accident.” 

“Yes well, I suppose we will finally see how you fare without the mallet of death,” Daphne says, gesturing for Edwina to pick next. She selects the blue mallet, and the other Bridgertons descend on the pile. By the time Anthony grabs one, all that is left is the pink mallet.

“That is fine,” he says stiffly. “I can perform with this as well as any other.” He looks pointedly at Kate, though deflates when he sees that she is not looking his way, even as a faint blush creeps up her neck again. He forces his eyes away from the intriguing sight. There is only one thing that should be on his mind now, and that is Pall Mall.

As the game begins, it is immediately clear that Kate is a natural. Not only is she an exceptionally good shot, but she has a natural instinct for the Bridgerton bloodthirst. In her first hit, she knocks Colin out of his place, and in her second she does the same to Benedict. 

Luckily, Anthony claimed a lead so early that her alarming aim need not concern him too much. That is, until most of the players find themselves clustered around the particularly trickily-placed fourth wicket. 

“Who the hell even placed this one?” Eloise grumbles, glaring after her ball as it sails away. The wicket is sandwiched directly between several bushes at the top of a steep hill, a spot which requires an expert hand. Hit too hard, and your ball gets carried away down the hill. Too soft, and your ball is stuck just in front of the wicket, with another player sure to knock you out of place before your next turn. 

“I did,” Colin says proudly. “Rather clever, no?”

Anthony rolls his eyes and lines up his shot…and groans. His ball lands just in front of the wicket but does not make it through. 

Next to take their turn is Kate, naturally. 

“If you hit it gently, you might knock both our balls through the wicket,” Anthony suggests, circling around the wicket to stand behind her. Her shoulders tense, and his breath hitches when his eyes fall down to her flushed chest as it rises and falls rapidly from the game’s exertion.

“If you hit hard, you will knock him back to the first wicket,” Colin smirks.

“But you will probably knock yourself back as you do so,” Simon points out.

“I say make the sacrifice,” Eloise says. “We can’t let Anthony win again this year, Kate, we just can’t. He’ll be just unbearable, you can’t imagine.”

“Miss Sharma will do what she feels is the most strategic move for her own game.” Anthony glares at his siblings, before peering over Kate’s shoulder, his eyes fixed on the side of her face. He sees her inhale through her nose and close her eyes, before he adds, “She is far too sensible to risk her own position simply to bring me down.”

At that, Kate’s eyes flare, and she turns to look at him, forcing him to take a step back in alarm. 

“You do not know me so well as you think you do, Lord Bridgerton,” she says pointedly, and twisting up her face in concentration, whacks her ball as hard as she can, knocking his clear off its path, and sending them both tumbling down the hill back in the direction they just came from.

“Ah, rotten luck, brother,” Benedict shrugs. “But an excellent play, Miss Sharma.”

“Thank you, Mister Bridgerton,” Kate beams, and Anthony nearly growls at the sunny look exchanged between Kate and his brother. It is one thing for her to lure him into her orbit with her every word and action, but does she have to win over his siblings as she does so?

“I suppose we will see the two of you in a round…or a few,” Daphne says over her shoulder, marching after her own ball, which she has just successfully hit through the wicket. 

With that, Anthony meets Kate’s eye. He gestures for her to go first, and she quickly steps ahead of him, lifting her skirts a few inches to watch her feet as she descends the steep incline. His eyes follow the sight of her exposed ankles before he scrunches up his face in concentration. Pathetic, Anthony, you are pathetic. 

Once they reach their balls, which have fallen just a few feet apart from each other, they can no longer see the rest of the players. 

Perfect, Anthony thinks bitterly. More alone time with the bane of my existence. And the object of all my desires.

He turns his attention to Kate, who he notices again, is not looking his way, but instead at a point a few feet to his right. 

“Your turn, my lord,” she says shortly. 

He takes his shot, and his ball climbs up the hill. 

Kate follows suit, landing a few feet behind him. 

“You are uncharacteristically quiet today, Miss Sharma,” he cannot stop the words escaping his mouth, the urge to spar with her too powerful.

“And what should you like me to talk about? The weather?”

“I’m sure you can think of more stimulating conversation topics than that,” he teases. Her back stiffens at his loosely disguised innuendo. 

“I am sure I can too,” she shot back, before biting her lip in a most enticing fashion. “But I do not exist solely for your amusement.”

He leans on his mallet, and scrutinizes her as she puts her hands behind her back and fidgets back and forth between her feet, her eyes staying on her own ball. “You certainly do not,” he allows, “though I can assure you, you do far more than amuse.”

She looks up at him, and he blinks in shock at what he sees in her eyes, plain as the day: desire. 

“It is your turn again,” she says through gritted teeth. After a beat, he looks back to his ball, and hits it hard with no particular goal in sight. 

His mind is racing all the while. There is no point denying it: he wants her, badly. Does that look in her eye mean she wants him the same way? Not against her will or understanding, but actively, passionately, desires him? Why now? Why in this moment? Or perhaps he had read the signs wrong, or she is feeling the desire for somebody else.

His eyes stay trained on her as she bends over her mallet, eyes fixed on her ball and its trajectory, before letting swing. He allows his gaze to roam over to the gentle curves of her body, the long folds of her skirts, and without his permission, his brain is now full of the image of the curve and shape of her legs…

It is not until that moment that he realizes Kate Sharma must have very long legs indeed. 

She turns back to him just as he swallows this newly-acquired knowledge. Suddenly, his throat is quite dry. 

“You are doing it again,” she sighs, and its exasperated quality absurdly conjured the memory of the governess he used to have a crush on back in the nursery. 

“What?”

“Looking at me.”

He cocks his head, holds her eyes with his own, and prays she will not look away again. Not when her eyes offer an ideal glimpse into her inner turmoil. He can see arousal, shame, desire, even amusement, all there, dancing just out of reach. He has the urge to cradle her head in his hand until the secrets of her eyes reveal themselves to him. But of course, that would be insane. 

“Well, since you never actually told me how exactly it was that I was looking at you that bothered you so, you can see why it is very difficult for me to stop such behavior.”

He knows the comment will irritate her, and it does not disappoint. She huffs, but does not look away. She is too proud to look away. He knows the feeling. 

“You look at me like you are imagining…” She starts off strong, but fades out. 

He quirks a brow. “I imagine a great many things, Miss Sharma, especially when it comes to you,” he grins lecherously, moving forward to meet her near the spot where their balls are almost touching. “You will have to be more specific.”

She breathes deeply, holding his eyes stubbornly, and appears resolved. “Like you are imagining the kinds of depraved acts you know you would never have a chance to try with me in a million years.”

His blood runs cold. She is not wrong, and she reminds him of the reason why he cannot continue down this path; she is a lady, and he is a gentleman. No matter how much he enjoys flirting and teasing, that is all this can ever be. If he tries anything inappropriate, if he lets himself indulge in the fantasies that have been playing through his mind for the past few days, he will be lost. Not only to matrimony, but to himself. He cannot give himself to her. Not to somebody who he could actually…

He gives a small shake of his head. Now is certainly not the time to entertain that train of thought.

Yet with all that being said, he also cannot let her comment go, not when there is a battle to be won.

“Not in a million years,” he repeats idly, stepping up to take his shot, and his ball nearly makes it to the top of the hill this time. “Is that so?”

“It is,” she says, turning to her own ball, and on a loud exhale, she whacks it…to the very top of the hill, back by the bushes where the fourth wicket resides. She grins and starts off toward it, but Anthony grabs her hand before she can get far. He nearly lets go when a pulse of electricity runs through him at the contact, but he holds on for dear life, and feels her grip tighten around his instinctively. She looks at him in shock, and standing this close he could see her pupils blown wide. He nearly groans out loud. Does she have any idea what she is doing to me? 

“I think you overestimate your ability to resist your own desires,” he breaths, inhaling through his nose as he allows himself to be as close to her as he has ever been, and here in the gardens, he realizes the scent that has been haunting him since the night they met: lilies. The woman smells like lilies, and in that moment it is as though Anthony has discovered his own personal aphrodisiac. 

“You think you know my desires,” she whispers back, her voice uneven, and her words caught between the cadence of a question and a statement of fact. 

“I know your desires more intimately than you,” he murmurs with confidence. 

She scoffs and steps back. “I can assure you, I know exactly what I want.” His heart skips a beat. “Can the same be said for you, Lord Bridgerton?”

Yes , a voice in his mind moans, but she has already turned to march up the hill. Clearly she intended her question to be a rhetorical one.

Anthony hits his ball quickly and follows close on her heels. 

“You know, I realize now I might have misjudged you, Miss Sharma.” 

“Might have,” she rolls her eyes, before something stops her dead in her tracks. She peers back at him. “How did you—?”

He furrows his brow, confused, but sees that same desire still written all over her face. If anything, it grows more palpable the longer she looks at him. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” she shakes her head, and continues up the hill, and he eyes her disbelievingly. In fact, he suspects that whatever she stopped herself from saying is likely of the utmost interest to him.

They glance down to find themselves in much the same position they had been before—his ball is right in front of the wicket, with hers poised to either make or break them both. He looks back at her, and he can sense that she too understood the situation, in both its literal and symbolic function; they are dancing around in circles, playing the same moves over and over. Would she keep them in their old patterns, or would something finally change?

“Your choice, once again,” he murmurs in her ear. 

He swears she almost sways back to meet his body, and he allows himself the indulgence of breathing in that sweet scent of lilies once more, his nose settling a few inches from her neck. Now that he has placed the scent, he simply cannot get enough. 

“You said you misjudged me,” she says quietly, taking him off guard. “What did you mean?”

He racks his mind for whatever he had been saying a moment ago, before the smell of Kate’s neck and the look of lust in her eyes took over his every thought. “I meant that I assumed you were like the other debutants my mother throws my way, totally unaware of the ways of the world, or your own desires. But that is not you at all. In fact, I believe you when you say you know exactly what you want. I fear you just cannot admit what it is.”

She turns on him, her lips just a few inches from his own, and his eyes flicker down, his heart beating wildly at her proximity, at the wild look on her face, angry before it fades to something more vulnerable. 

“That is…uncanny.” Her eyes scan his entire body as if searching for clues, and he wonders if this is what an ant under a magnifying glass feels like, as the heat builds and builds. He shifts his weight to the other foot.

“So you agree with my analysis?”

“I…oh. No!” She shakes her head a beat late. “No, of course I do not. You, as always, presume to know me while jumping to entirely false conclusions.”

The words come out stilted, as if she is reading them from a page but has not had time to process their meaning. She is evidently distracted, and Anthony feels absurdly jealous of whatever thought is tearing her away from the present moment, as she refocuses her attention on her ball.

“I think we are beyond such attempts at deception, aren’t we, Miss Sharma?”

Anthony speaks softly from his place behind her, his breath falling on the back of her neck. He hopes she will recognize her own words from the day before; he has certainly not stopped thinking about them. He closes his eyes for a moment and allows himself the indulgence of breathing in her scent again. 

When he opens them, he notes with an unexpected sense of resentment that Kate’s eyes have also closed, and the faint flush still lingers on her chest. 

“Your thoughts are elsewhere, I see,” he murmurs, praying she does not notice the tremor in his voice betraying just how much he craves to know every thought running through her mind. 

“Don’t you ever stop?” she breathes out, opening her eyes slowly. 

“That remains to be seen.”

She takes a slow breath, and swings her mallet out. Her ball nudges his through the wicket, her own following right behind. Surprised, she lets out a delighted shriek jumping up and down. As he steps back, he immediately misses her closeness. 

“I did it!” she smiles at him, and his heart stutters at her plain delight. Perhaps he ought to let her win more often, if it brings out this kind of joy.

He scratches behind his ear, suddenly uncomfortable. It is one thing to react to the lust in Kate’s eyes, but something else entirely to react to her display of pure happiness. Whatever this feelings curling in his chest is, it is something new.

Glancing over to where the rest of his family huddles around the second-to-last wicket, he grinds his teeth, not sure whether he is more frustrated that he will not win this year, or that being in Kate Sharma’s presence makes it difficult for him to care. 

“You are welcome, by the way,” she sing-songs, pulling his attention back her way. 

“Ah yes, where are my manners?” He says absentmindedly, considering the ball she has pushed through. “Thank you for your assistance.”

“Yes, you were rather hopeless without me, weren’t you?” This confident, smug side of Kate has a grin pulling at the edge of his mouth before he can stop it.

“Of course, that was a one time thing. On the Pall Mall field, it is every man for himself,” he says, trying to regain a jovial tone as his heart beats too rapidly in his chest, and they start after their balls.

“You Bridgertons seem set on making this all so competitive, but as far as I can tell, there are some activities that are far better suited to partners.”

He would not have thought twice about her words had she not said them with such a sly smile on her face. It immediately catches his attention. Something new, indeed.

He clears his throat. “And you think Pall Mall would be better suited to pairs?”

“Among other things,” she says, blinking up at him with an innocent expression that could only be described as seductive. 

“Such as?” His voice sounds huskier than intended, and Kate hums in response, taking a step closer to him. He blinks, before he realizes she only moved so as to line up her next shot. He steps back, stumbling slightly as he lets his eyes graze over her body again. There is a low buzzing between his ears.

“Surely you can use your imagination?” She raises an eyebrow, and hits her ball, which gets her very close to the next wicket. 

Anthony swallows. 

“I’d rather hear your own thoughts on the matter.”

“I’m sure you would,” she says, her voice light as a laugh, and in that moment he knows that she knows exactly what she is doing. 

“Miss Sharma,” he says gruffly, “this is really not—”

“No, it is not,” she nods sympathetically. “Not the time or place, you are too right. But I must admit, Lord Bridgerton, it does feel good to beat you at your own game.”

Before he can say anything, she is walking after her own ball. He hits his quickly, and Kate has to jump to get out of its way as it barrels toward her own, and—knocks it several feet off its desired path. 

“That was rude,” she frowns after her ball. 

“You think this is a game to me?”

“I am reasonably confident everything is a game to you.”

His nostrils flare, and he fights the urge to scream. But instead he says, “Games can be an excellent way to pass the time, if you pick the right partner.”

“I am afraid I have better ways to pass the time, Lord Bridgerton, so we will have to leave these ridiculous games in our dreams where they belong, and try to behave like civilized adults around one another. Do you think you can do that?” she asks him patronizingly, but her intended effect is lost, since his brain had stopped processing her words a few seconds prior. 

“Our dreams?”

She freezes, and the confidence of a moment ago seems to wane, but after a moment she sticks her chin out proudly. “What?”

“You said our dreams, ‘we will leave these ridiculous games in our dreams’,” he repeats back, processing his words as he says them out loud. Her lips part and her eyes flicker away, and instinctively he knows that he has her. 

“I said your dreams, you clearly only heard what you wanted—”

“Have you dreamt of me, Kate?” His voice comes out low. 

That familiar flush creeps up from below her the neckline of dress, her cheeks darkening ever so slightly, and he is sure it was the most arousing sight he has ever laid eyes on. His cock seems to agree with him, twitching as she looks at him with shock and heat in her eyes, and suddenly her inability to meet his glance earlier that day makes more sense. 

She shakes her head ever so slightly, though he is not sure she is fully aware of the movement. Her mouth opens, but no words come out. The buzzing between his ears grows louder.

“Did you dream of me last night?” he asks, stepping forward. He wishes he could will himself back to the teasing tone from before, but his voice is gravelly, awed. The thought that the woman before him wants him, wants him enough for her body to subconsciously populate her mind with images of them, together—she had been right before, he decides. This is not a game anymore. 

“Lord Bridgerton,” she begins. Her voice sounds steady, but fragile, like it might break at any moment. 

But he never learns what she was about to say, because at that moment, a loud commotion erupts off to their left, and they both turn to see Daphne jumping up and down in joy as the other Bridgertons express their displeasure with her victory. 

As soon as he returns his gaze to Kate, she is already off in a blur, grabbing her ball and her mallet and walking as quickly as she could without full-out running toward his siblings. He lingers back, trying to force his mind toward more innocent thoughts before venturing back to the group. But it is a fool’s errand. His thoughts of Miss Sharma are apparently incapable of being innocent. 

At least it is gratifying to know that she may suffer from the same affliction.

And despite everything he knows to be true—that he is a gentleman and Kate a lady, that he cannot seek out anything untoward with a woman of high birth, that this is a dangerous path they have found themselves on—he follows after her, the sense that something has changed irrevocably lingering in Kate’s wake, as strong as the fragrance of lilies.

Notes:

Nothing I love more than these two horny idiots just talking for 5k words. Let me know what you think in the comments! It always makes me happy to know that my self-indulgent ramblings are also making other people happy <3

Also, forget anything I've ever said about having a posting schedule. This fic is operating on its own timeline and I just have to step back and let it happen.

Chapter 6

Kate Sharma is not one to run away from her problems. Really, she is not. When something bothers her, she comes out and says it, and she does something about it. (Too often, she probably does not think through the consequences of doing so, such as the multiple occasions when she has semi-accidentally mocked Edwina’s suitors to their faces.) When her father died, she screamed and cried into her pillow almost every night, but in the morning, she put on a brave face for Edwina and Mary. She managed her grief privately, and she did what needed to be done for her family. Everything in Kate’s life, even something as monumental as the crushing weight of grief, could be compartmentalized and managed with a rational hand. 

Except, it would seem, Anthony Bridgerton. 

Something had shifted between them during the Pall Mall game, she knows. After going through the same tug-of-war every time they sparred, something finally changed yesterday on that field. The attraction between them had been named, it burned like a flame, and clearly neither of them had control over it. And not having control is not something Kate is comfortable with. 

For that reason, after the Pall Mall game ends, Kate does everything she can to avoid the Viscount. She is crafty about her avoidance. She does not outwardly turn away from Anthony any time she sees him, which she has learned is certain to call his attention and beg for some kind of retaliation. Instead, she refuses to put herself in a position where she might see him in the first place. When she is obligated to come down to dinner that night, she arrives as late as possible without being rude, which of course pushes her to a seat far away from Anthony, as all the other young ladies have angled to get as close as possible. 

And if she feels his eyes burning on her throughout the night, no she does not.

At dinner, she casually mentions that she has a headache, laying the groundwork for her escape. When dinner is over, she inserts herself into Edwina's conversation, using the gaggle of ladies as a conversational shield and nodding in vigorous agreement with whatever her sister is saying. She stays in the drawing room just long enough to hear that the men are planning a hunting trip for the following day, and excuses herself, claiming her head is still killing her. She closes her chamber door and does not open it again until the next morning.

Several hours after the sun has risen, she watches from her window as the hunting party makes their way out of Aubrey Hall and over the western hill, her eyes tracking the figure of the man who has once again occupied her waking and sleeping mind, his dream-persona seemingly emboldened to try his hands at even more wickedly pleasurable pursuits, taking on the salacious words of both her own imagination and the all-too-real Viscount. 

Watching him go, she wonders for the millionth time how it was that the real Anthony had managed to recite the words of his dream-self during the Pall Mall match. The best theory she has been able to come up with is mind-reading—rather far-fetched. But she prefers it to the disturbing alternative: that her unconscious mind was somehow able to know his words before he said them. The only other option is that it was a random coincidence, which once again evokes the sense that she lacks control, a disorienting sensation, to say the least. 

Whatever the explanation for his uncanny repetitions during the game, it just makes her more furious at him and embarrassed with herself. Perhaps if his behavior had not consistently reminded her of the obscene images her sleeping mind had conjured, she would not have ended up in the undignified position of avoiding eye contact with the man for fear of giving him any more ammunition. 

Once the men are safely out of eyesight, she descends the stairs, already fully dressed, as she has been for hours. 

She quickly locates her sister, along with Eloise and Penelope outside on the lawn. Hyacinth and Gregory are playing some game with blocks at the picnic blanket next to them. 

“You slept late, Didi,” Edwina comments. “In fact, you just missed the hunting party.” There is nothing in her tone that implies suspicion, but still Kate flushes under her sister’s close eye. 

“Did I? Well, I look forward to hearing how they fared,” she says, sipping some of the revolting tea that had been set out on the table. 

“It is a shame you could not accompany them,” Edwina says. “I know how you miss hunting since we have arrived in London.”

Eloise eyes Kate with interest. “Do you hunt too? Good God, Kate, is there anything you cannot do?”

Kate looks down and shakes her head at the compliment, noting with some pleasure that Eloise has taken it upon herself to call Kate by her given name. It feels nice to have a new friend who she is not related to. “Many things.” Talk to your brother without making a fool out of myself, for one.

“Well, anyway, it would not matter if you had wanted to attend. It is not considered proper for young ladies to hunt.” Eloise rolls her eyes as she says it.

Edwina giggles. “I think it is safe to say both you and my sister do not give much credence to what is considered proper.”

Armed with the comforting knowledge that the Viscount is out of the house, Kate finds herself more at ease than she has been since arriving at Aubrey Hall. She falls into easy conversation with the other young women as they poke fun at the other guests, wonder aloud what will be served at dinner tonight, who will get a bit too tipsy, harmless gossip of the like. It feels good to not think too hard for a while, to not have the overwhelming sense that she is being observed, studied, as she always does in Anthony’s presence. 

Penelope asks who everybody wants to dance with at the ball set to be held on the final night in the country. Eloise scoffs while Edwina eagerly names off several young men.

Edwina then looks at her slyly. “And what about you, Didi?” 

“I will be on the side of the ballroom watching your suitors to make sure they don’t try anything untoward while they dance with you,” Kate laughs. 

“What, no gentlemen have caught your eye since arriving at Aubrey Hall?” Penelope asks. “I find that hard to believe.”

Kate glances at Eloise, who is looking down at her fingernails in a very pointed attempt to look disinterested, and Kate nearly rolls her eyes.

“I am here to help Edwina find a husband.”

“That is not what I asked,” Penelope sing-songs under her breath. 

Thankfully, Kate is spared further interrogation by Hyacinth’s voice. 

“Miss Sharma?” 

Kate turns, and smiles at the way the youngest Bridgerton stands with her hands folded behind her back, her chin turned up proudly. If Kate were to allow herself to think about the Viscount, she would say that Hyacinth’s posture almost reminds her of him. 

But of course she is not allowing herself to think about him, so the point is moot. 

“Yes, Miss Bridgerton?”

“Will you teach me how to play Pall Mall?” She speaks with such confidence, as if she already assumes the answer will be yes. Now, that definitely reminds Kate of her older brother. 

Kate glances at Gregory, looking on eagerly, and then at Eloise. “Surely your siblings have—”

“No,” Eloise says sharply. “We have not, and we shall not. No Bridgerton under the age of 18 is allowed to play.”

“But not even learn how to play?”

“They might use our strategies against us once they are old enough,” Eloise says conspiratorially. Kate almost laughs, but bites her tongue, as Eloise is clearly not joking.

“We would never!” Hyacinth exclaims, and even Kate does not quite believe her. 

Still, Kate turns to Eloise with what she hopes is a sympathetic expression. “Would you be mortally offended if I gave them some of my own strategies?”

“Seeing as they were not winning strategies, by all means,” Eloise says, her voice issuing a challenge. Kate narrows her eyes and looks back to Hyacinth.

“Yes, Miss Bridgerton, I will teach you,” Kate smiles. “Edwina, will you be my co-instructor?”

“But of course,” Edwina says, getting up. “Though I should warn you, my strategies were even less successful than Kate’s. My sister may not have won, but at least she bested an opponent.”

“That is perfect!” Hyacinth grins. “I heard all about the game, and I want to learn how to beat Anthony.”

Kate laughs out loud. “Now in that goal, I can certainly offer some assistance.”

With Edwina’s assistance, they set up a Pall Mall course, and take turns whacking their balls this way and that. In the end, there is very little instructional value to the activity, but Hyacinth and Gregory are clearly so overjoyed to be included that it does not matter. After a while, even the more reserved Francesca, not yet out in society, asks if she can join them, saying with a small grin that she will finally be included in the game next year and could do with the extra practice. 

A small twinge in Kate’s gut reminds her that she herself will not be present for next year’s game, and thus not able to see the stupid look on the Bridgerton brothers’ faces when Francesca shows up prepared to take no prisoners. Kate will instead have to settle for the image in her head now. 

Though both Eloise and Daphne clearly disapprove of the edification of the younger siblings, neither can not stop themselves from making little comments from the sidelines. “Don’t hold your mallet like that Gregory, think of it as an extension of your arm, not a hammer!” “You’ve got to give it a little more than that Frannie, the boys’ll eat you alive if you don’t strengthen up before next year.”

Hyacinth is a natural, nearly as cut-throat an opponent as Anthony. She has an instinctive understanding of when it is worthwhile to sabotage an opponent and when she needs to focus on her own game. Gregory mostly wanders this way and that, whacking any ball he happens upon, while Francesca seems to find the whole scene a bit embarrassing (though not so much that she does not heed her sisters’ advice to put some more muscle behind her hits).

They are not playing with any established order of wickets, or order of turns, or any rules at all really, so it is not possible to determine winners and losers. But after what must have been several hours spent on the Pall Mall field (interspersed with some rests in the shade with lemonade and sandwiches), the lesson seems to near its natural conclusion. 

“No! One more round, please!” Hyacinth pleads over Kate’s exasperated sigh. This girl is clearly able to talk her family into giving her just about anything she wants. 

“Fine,” Kate accedes. “One more wicket, and then you’re going in to wash up.”

“Hey!” A voice from across the lawn shouts, and Kate looks over to see the hunting party returning on horseback, three figures pulling ahead of the pack to trot toward their party as quickly as possible. “What do you think you’re doing?” Kate immediately recognizes the voice as Anthony’s. 

“Enjoying an afternoon with your charming siblings,” Kate smiles, and the three youngest Bridgertons put on identical grins, which, she is forced to admit, more closely evoke something devilish than angelic.

“You are conspiring against us!” Colin says, aghast, hopping down from his horse, as his brothers do the same. “They are not allowed to play before they are eighteen.”

“Daphne, you allowed this?” Anthony barks over at the ladies in the shade. 

Daphne lifts her shoulders. “Between Kate and Hyacinth, I found it impossible to talk them out of it.” Simon follows behind the other Bridgerton men, hopping off his horse and dropping into the seat next to his wife with an amused expression on his face. 

“I’ve been keeping notes on their respective strategies so I will remember how to beat them when the time comes,” Eloise calls out, waving her notebook in the air. When Benedict moves to grab it from her, she snatches it away. “They are private notes, obviously.”

“Kate, you said we could play one more round!” Hyacinth pouts, drawing everyone’s attention back toward the playing field. 

“Under no circumstances,” Anthony says sharply. “This underhanded sabotage ends now.”

“Your sister wishes to play a game so that she can emulate you and your siblings, my lord. You would deny her this wish?”

Anthony rounds on Kate, taking in her too-innocent expression, and Kate notices how his jaw clenches. So caught up in the competition of the moment, it is not until she meets his eye that Kate remembers the last words they had exchanged, and what she had accidentally confessed...

It is evident as his expression falters and he lets out an inadvertent cough that he is remembering the same thing. 

“I—of course I would not,” he sighs, and Kate smirks. She has a very strong feeling she knows exactly where Hyacinth’s inability to hear the word “no” comes from. 

“I thought not,” she nods, and turns back to the field, pulling her eyes away from him and steadfastly ignoring the looks exchanged between his older siblings. “Now, where were we?”

The rest of the family remains to watch the rest of the "lesson", no doubt hoping to catch some glimpses of the strategies Eloise has spent the afternoon recording. Kate does her best to jump back into the carefree feelings she had possessed just a few minutes before as she moves about the field with the young Bridgertons and Edwina, but it is harder now that she can feel a pair of eyes on her all the while. 

Anthony’s gaze is hot against her skin, just as it had been a few nights ago as he watched her from down the dinner table, but somehow, the heat is not unwelcome anymore. It is as though, in coming out and admitting to the existence of some spark between them, some of their antagonism has dissipated, leaving only magnetism in its place. 

“Yes! I win!” Hyacinth shouts, jumping up and down. 

“You do not win,” Gregory and Kate say at the same time, Gregory with a petulant shout and Kate with a sigh. 

“We were not playing to win, there was not even a course set up,” Kate says. She does so under the guise of an instructor, but in truth, she is reluctant to admit defeat, even in this educational setting.

“But I hit my ball through the last wicket first,” Hyacinth points out, as if she is explaining to a simpleton. “That is how you win Pall Mall.”

“But we were not—”

“You would deny her this?” Anthony murmurs just loud enough for Kate to hear, and she fights the urge to roll her eyes. 

“Fine,” Kate smiles tightly, giving up. “You win.”

“But Kate!” Gregory whines. 

“And so does Gregory,” she adds. “And Francesca, and Edwina.”

“I do not care if I win,” Edwina comments.

“Fine, not Edwina,” Kate amends. “All Bridgerton children win.”

“At seventeen I am hardly a child,” Francesca points out, a faint smile playing on her lips. 

“All Bridgerton children and young adults—”

“I should not be counted in the same group as Gregory,” Hyacinth scoffs. 

“All Bridgertons with names starting F through H won today,” Kate says definitively, in a tone that does not allow for further disruptions. “Now, all Bridgertons with names starting F through H should go wash up before dinner unless they want to see all Sharmas with names starting with the letter K get very cross indeed.”

The youngest siblings thank her for teaching them as they turn toward the house, a proud tilt to their chins and that familiar Bridgerton smirk plastered across their faces. 

“Don’t think you get to count that as a proper Pall Mall win, though,” Colin calls after them, and when they do not respond, Colin, Benedict, and Eloise take off after them, devolving into a vague shouting match. Kate watches after them, a smile playing at her lips.

“You are good with them,” his voice comes from behind her. She is not surprised; she already noted that he remained behind, could feel his eyes still on her. 

“I have had lots of experience,”she says, looking fondly at Edwina, who has settled into a seat next to the Hastings. She clears her throat. “Not as much as you, though, I daresay.”

She turns to look at him, and nearly takes a step back. There is a warmth in his gaze—not a heat, as had been the case nearly every other time she had caught him looking at her, but indeed a warmth, somehow soft and safe, despite her knowledge that this man is anything but those qualities.

“One sibling or seven, it is still a rare quality to be so patient with a child. You talk to them like they are people.”

“They are people.”

“I know that.”

She blinks slowly, and looks away from him, smoothing down her dress. Her eyes land on the wickets and she jumps at the opportunity for something to do with her hands other than fidget.

“Your siblings are lovely, Lord Bridgerton,” she says as she leans down to yank up a wicket, not wanting to look him in the eye as she adds, “It is a credit to both your mother and your father. And, I take it, you.”

Kate can practically feel Anthony stiffen, and she straightens up to look at him, unable to hide her curiosity. She had known before she arrived at Aubrey Hall that the former Viscount had died tragically young, and she knew his death would have affected all of the children. But as the day had passed with all of his younger siblings, she could not ignore how much they all talked about Anthony: Anthony once did this or Anthony showed me how to do that . It is one thing that he had taken on the role of Viscount, but it became apparent to Kate today that he must have also taken on the role of father. She wishes that the version of Anthony his siblings adore is the version he shows the world, rather than the role of the flirtatious, irritating man he so often plays. 

Well, not that that man does not have his charms as well. 

He clears his throat and bends to retrieve a wicket. “I take it you are now on a first name basis with my siblings,” he says, and the fact that he does not address her former comment does not go unnoticed, but she does not press the subject.

“How could I not be, having shared such an intense afternoon of Pall Mall with them.”

She looks over at him and sees amusement in his guarded eyes. 

“I could argue that you and I shared such an afternoon yesterday, and yet we are not on a first name basis.”

She allows herself a small smile. “That would be entirely inappropriate, Lord Bridgerton,” she says pointedly. “Though, of course, it has not stopped you from claiming such a privilege.”

“Only once.”

His voice is low, in the exact same register that he had spoken the words now ringing in, she is sure, both of their ears: Have you dreamt of me, Kate?

She straightens, having plucked up the last wicket, and looks at him head-on. “Once was enough.”

He reaches out his hand, offering to take the wickets from her. As she places them in his open palm, his fingers chase after hers, and she feels a spark of electricity between them. “And was it just once that you dreamt of me?” he asks quietly. She takes a deep breath, tearing her hand away from his. He does not wait for an answer, his voice dead serious, even desperate, as he goes on, “Did he call you Kate, too?”

Her eyes flicker over his shoulder where their sisters and the Duke are engaged in conversation. Throwing caution to the wind, she says quietly, “He did.”

Anthony breathes in hard through his nose, a soft growl escaping his lips on the exhale. Somehow, it is the most erotic sound Kate has ever heard. 

“Do you have any idea how it has tortured me?” He says in a gravelly voice. “To know that while we are sleeping under the same roof, you are dreaming of me, imagining all of those, what was your phrase, depraved acts you and I may perform?”

“I never told you what I dreamed about ,” she argues, but her voice is as shaky as his. “Of course you assume it is scandalous, but for all you know we were…playing chess.”

He eyes her skeptically. “Were we?”

“No.”

His jaw clenches. “As I said, torture.”

Feeling emboldened, she steps forward, her fingers lingering over his wrist, both of them still clutching the wickets, and says tauntingly, “Don’t worry, you seemed to be enjoying yourself in the dream.”

He growls out, “Kate—”

“And what does she call you?” she asks, her voice low. “When you are alone at night, under the same roof as me, imagining what you would do if we were together?”

She watches, fascinated, as his Adam’s Apple bobs at his throat, and he opens his mouth for a moment as if he is about to argue, before he shuts it tight. She can certainly understand the instinct; it is hard to break when arguing comes so naturally to them. But clearly she had not been alone when she had felt the rules of their game shift on that Pall Mall field, because he does not attempt to argue.

 Instead he says in a controlled voice, “Anthony. Among other things.”

She hums and tilts her head ever so slightly, pleased to see how his head moves with hers. It carries a similar sense to looking in a mirror. “I wonder…” she starts, not even sure how the sentence will end. She wonders many, many things about him. 

“Kate!” Edwina’s voice carries over the Viscount’s shoulder, and she takes a step back, pulling her hand away from the wickets and herself out of their spell. She studies his closed eyes and furrowed brow as he also shakes himself free. When his eyes open, they are guarded once more, and she is sure hers must be too.

“Yes, Edwina?” She calls back, her voice only betraying a hint of unsteadiness as her shoulder brushes past him. Her skin burns at the contact.

“I am returning to the house to freshen up before dinner, won’t you join me?” Edwina asks, her tone pointed.

“Yes, of course,” she says distractedly.

As they walk toward the house, Edwina mentions something about “you and the Viscount seem to be able to be in each others’ presence without screaming, that must be a sign of improvement,” but Kate is only half-listening, too attuned to the hairs rising on the back of her neck. As they near the doors, she dares a glance back, and sure enough finds his eyes fixed on her, even as he engages in conversation with Daphne and Simon. 

She cannot tell what is more disarming about his gaze: the heat, or the warmth.

Notes:

This is a bit of a filler chapter, but in the end I really enjoy this moment between them and Kate bonding with the family. Let me know what you think! <3

As a little teaser for the next chapter.....are those.....storm clouds I spot on the horizon?

Chapter 7

Yet again, Anthony cannot sleep.

He might blame it on the storm raging outside his window, but that would be dishonest. It is Kate Sharma, again, who is responsible for his insomnia. It had been one thing when he could blame his distraction on lust, but the images now populating his mind are disturbingly wholesome: Kate, laughing with Eloise; Kate, kneeling down to look Hyacinth and Gregory in the eye as she spoke to them; Kate, teasing Edwina at dinner that night.

Anthony rolls over in frustration, though he is not sure whether it is with himself or with her. Why, after the endless intense moments the two of them have exchanged, is it these innocent images of Kate that make flames lick at the edges of his mind, fill his ears with that quiet buzzing sound, compel him toward her like a gravitational pull?

A crack of thunder fills his room as if in answer to the question, and he sits up. He is unable to just lie there thinking about her for another moment. He needs to do something, get his mind elsewhere. There is a pile of work sitting on his desk downstairs, he remembers. Perhaps that will serve as a worthy distraction.

Descending the stairs, he rubs his eyes when he sees a light in the room directly across from his office: the library. Did somebody leave a candle burning in a room filled with paper? He rolls his eyes, making a note to chastise one or all of his siblings the next morning, far and away the most likely culprits.

He opens the door, looking around. There is a candle resting on a table near the large windows, currently being barraged with rain, but nobody to be found. Moving toward the candle and just about to blow it out, he freezes. There is a soft noise coming from somewhere in the room.

“Is somebody there?” He calls out sharply.

There is no response, but the noise, like heavy breathing, continues.

Suddenly, a bolt of lightning lights up the room, and he takes in the rather magnificent view of the library illuminated by the storm for a brief moment. A second later, a roll of thunder cracks through the air, and the sound changes. The breath quickens, and a soft moan echoes from close to the ground.

His eyes follow the noise, tracing it to a table across the room, as far from the windows as possible, and…

And he sees Kate, curled up into a ball underneath the table, her mouth pressed to her knees, a far-off look in her eyes.

“Kate,” he breathes, and rushes over to her, kneeling down and placing a hand on her knee. It is clear she had not even processed his presence until he makes physical contact, and she jumps at the touch. He moves his hand back instinctively, and takes in the fear in her eyes.

“Shh, I’m here, it’s just me, you’re okay,” he says quietly, raising up a hand so she can see what he is doing as he places it on her leg again. “You’re okay,” he repeats, though he is not convinced she hears anything he says. “You’re okay.”

As he speaks, he crouches lower and wedges himself under the table along with her, one arm extending over her shoulders and rubbing her arm, the other still tracing soft patterns along her knee.

(It is not until later that he will replay this moment over and over again, remembering the skin her nightdress had exposed, the feel of her soft shoulder under his palm. At that moment, all he can think of is her state of mind, and pulling her out of it, back to him.)

“Kate, just breathe, okay? Look at me,” he says, and she looks up. He is relieved to see that her eyes are slightly sharper than they had been a minute ago, like she is regaining some sense of her surroundings. “You’ll get through this. You just keep looking at me, just keep breathing, in and out, Kate, in and out.”

He keeps up a steady stream of words, hoping that they help to ground her in reality, not whatever dark place her mind has fallen. He cannot remember the last time he felt horror like the kind that struck through his heart when he had processed what was going on, that Kate was in unfathomable pain in front of his eyes, and he was utterly powerless to do anything to stop it…In fact, there is only one other time he can think of, and he prefers not to think of it when he can...

“You’re okay, Kate, you’re going to be okay,” he says softly, needing to hear the words himself just as much, if not more.

As her breathing begins to even out, another bolt of lightning illuminates the room, and she ducks her head into his shoulder, bracing for what will come next. When the thunder sounds, he feels her whole body tense under his touch, and her hand seeks out his and holds on for dear life.

Despite the horror of the situation, Anthony senses a flame alight in his belly, and his arm tightens around her shoulder, proud when he feels her breathe out heavily and relax ever so slightly at the touch.

The stream of comforting words continues until her breathing has evened out again, however long that takes; Anthony has lost all sense of time. The patter of rain on the window seems to be easing up, and Kate eventually lifts her head from his shoulder.

“You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re…”

“I’m okay,” she says quietly, her voice still shaking slightly. The hand that has been gripped in his palm reaches up, and traces a line down his jaw distractedly, and Anthony feels certain that her touch must be leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

“Will you talk about something else?” she asks softly. “Anything else.”

“Yes, yes of course,” he shakes his head and clears his throat. Now is not the time for such thoughts, even if she seems to be doing a bit better, able to speak in full sentences at least, which is an improvement. “Let’s see, what should I talk about?”

“Talk about this place. Aubrey Hall.” Her voice is steadier, but still quiet.

Anthony pauses. “Well, the Bridgertons have lived in Aubrey Hall for centuries. My great-great, um, I think another great-grandfather acquired the property when—”

“No, I mean for you. What is this place to you?”

He pauses again, his heart beating too fast, but he wills himself to push on, for Kate.

“It is my home,” he says quietly. “I grew up here.” When she says nothing, he knows he is meant to keep talking, to fill the silence as he had been doing all night with sweet words of comfort, only now he is thinking about what he is saying, choosing his words carefully, as he always does when he talks about his family. “When I was younger, we spent most of our time at Aubrey Hall. My mother and father quite preferred the freedom of the country. And so did I, and all my siblings.”

“You do not come here often anymore?” She asks it like a question, but clearly already knows the answer. He swallows.

“No. Since my father died, we spend most of our time in London. There are too many memories here, for my mother.” He pauses, and the volume of what he does not say seems to echo between them for a moment. “So we just come for certain special occasions. And, of course, to play our annual game of Pall Mall,” he smiles tightly. Her fingers find the edge of his jaw again, and he feels his facial muscles twitch and then relax as he turns his head to look her in the eye. There is so much understanding there, as though she could look into his eyes and read every unsaid word like a book.

“My father never returned to the house my mother died in,” she says quietly. “We sold it shortly after, or so I was told, and we moved somewhere else. And then his work took him overseas, and there was never a reason for us to return to this country.”

“Until now,” he adds, wondering if she might offer more information about her father, her life back in India, the reason she is here now, anything, but is too scared to ask outright.

“Yes, until now,” she says, looking away from him, and he feels the loss. “I would have happily never returned, if it were not for Edwina.”

“She longed to come back to England?”

“Edwina was born in India,” Kate explains. “She wanted to experience the social season, and we needed to—” she cuts herself off abruptly, closes her eyes, and breathes in and out. He notices the sound of the rain has now faded to a gentle patter.

“Your siblings love it here. Especially little Hyacinth.”

He does not comment on the change in topic. “All the youngest, especially her and Gregory, they do not have the bittersweet memories the rest of us do.” Kate’s eyes are back on him, and he again finds himself saying more than he intended. “Our mother was pregnant with Hyacinth when he died, so she never knew him.”

His heart sinks as he says the words. It is hardly new information, but to say it out loud makes the whole thing feel that much more tragic. And reminds him of how cowardly he is, to stay away from this place just because he is haunted by the memories of Edmund, when it could be so much worse, when he could have never had the memories at all, and how dare he deprive Hyacinth of that connection to her father—

“She adores you, Anthony,” Kate says, and her words bring him back to the present.

He reaches for her hand without thinking, and feels her fingers close firmly around his.

“I am a pale imitation,” he says bitterly. “He always knew what to say, how to make you feel…loved,” he whispers out the last word like it is something dirty. “I do not have that gift. And Hyacinth—”

“You are the only father she has ever known. Of course, you both wish wish that was not the case, but she loves you like you do him. You must see that,” her voice urges him, and he smiles, but shakes his head slightly.

“She will never know what she is missing.”

“Mary is not my birth mother,” Kate points out. “I wish I knew the woman who gave me life, but it does not change how I feel for Mary. She is my mother, in every way that matters.”

“When did she—” he starts, but cuts himself off. “Forgive me, it is not my place.”

“When I was three,” Kate says, and Anthony breathes a sigh of relief that she has responded even though he gave her an easy out. He feels less alone when she talks, like there is somebody who might—if not understand, at least relate to what he feels every time he thinks about his father. “I don’t remember her at all, but my father once told me…” she pauses, and the silence lingers over them, the rain now reduced to a light drizzle. “That she died during a thunderstorm. And, apparently, I was there.”

“Kate,” he breathes, as the entire evening clicks into place. “I am so, so sorry.”

“I can’t remember her, but the fear from that night has stayed with me my entire life.” She shakes her head. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

“No,” he agrees, tightening his arm around her. “It is not fair.”

“How did he die?” She asks after a long beat, and he takes a breath. If she can be honest with him, so can he.

“He was stung by a bee,” he says, a bitter laugh in his voice.

“My lord?”

“I know, it sounds quite ridiculous, but…” He shrugs, swallowing hard. “He was stung by a bee, and he died. I was eighteen. I was…with him, at the time.”

“Anthony, I am so sorry, that is horrible.”

“To see a grown man felled by such a small creature,” he goes on, the words seemingly pouring from him without permission. “It was…humbling, to say the least.” He is not sure he had ever actually told anybody the story—people in his life either already knew or found out through gossip. 

“I cannot imagine.”

He closes his eyes. “I think you are closer to being able to imagine than most people in this world.”

“We are quite the pair, aren’t we?” she laughs, and the sound makes his heart soar. “Eldest siblings attempting to play a role we will never be able to fill.”

“No wonder we disliked each other immediately,” he jokes. “We hit a bit too close to home.”

She shakes her head thoughtfully. “No, that’s not it. It was not mutual, I disliked you.” Her teasing tone lets him know it is okay to throw his head back and laugh.

“Let me guess, the way you see it, I liked you because I, ever the egotist, saw myself in you and found something quite appealing.”

“You said it, not me,” she shrugs, and he grins back.

“You might be onto something,” he concedes, and figuring that now they are back to their old teasing ways, it might be safe to play along. “So I assume we should not attempt to analyze what it might say about your ego that you saw something of yourself in me and then dreamed of me?”

She eyes him, but there is that glint of amusement. “Certainly not, my lord.”

“Anthony.” He does not know why it is so important to him to hear his name on her lips again, but it is. There is a long, charged beat, in which she holds his eye, but he refuses to shrink under her scrutiny. 

Finally, she nods. “Fine. Certainly we will not be analyzing that, Anthony.”

“Am I never to get even a scrap of information?” he groans. “You tease me with this so-called dream, and yet won’t do me the kindness of giving me something, anything to picture the events that unfolded.”

“I have already told you a few pieces of information."

"What was that?"

"We were not playing chess. And you called me Kate."

"Ah, I'm was hoping for something more..." His words trail off, but her playful glare tells him she understood the message perfectly.

"I would think your imagination needs no supplements.”

“It certainly does not,” he looks her up and down, in their crouched position, for the first time realizing that his hand is still tracing patterns on her bare shoulder and knee, where her nightgown has ridden up. “But to know what your imagination generates left to its own devices, that is what intrigues me.”

She pauses, heat and mirth in her eyes. 

But then she looks down, following his gaze, and clearly also takes in the intimate way he is touching her. Her shoulder shrinks away from his arm, and like that, the spell is broken.

He clears his throat and removes his hands from her body.

“Why were you in the library to begin with?” 

“The rain was keeping me up, and I hoped a book might distract me,” she says. “Then the lightning started once I got down here and, well, I don’t remember much else until you.”

“I’m so sorry you were alone, Kate,” he says softly.

She looks up, and in a quick motion takes his hand in hers. “I was not.”

The moment passes between them, and after a beat she retracts her hand again, her fingers lingering on his palm as he pulls away. “But I think I am prepared to return.”

“Does that mean I might finally crawl out from under this table?” he smirks, and she pushes her shoulder against his.

He clambers out, and reaches down to help her up. They both stretch their legs for a moment.

Then their eyes find each other again, and he knows the evening is not yet over, can feel the sense of incompleteness in the air.

“I can show you back to your chambers, if you cannot remember the way,” he offers, simply to fill the silence. Her gaze is penetrating, and he shifts slightly from foot to foot.

“That could cause quite the scandal, could it not?”

“So could our being alone in the library at all hours of the night,” he points out, and she hums in agreement.

“I remember the way back to my chambers, worry not,” she says, and she tilts her head, considering. He waits for her to say anything, but then raises an eyebrow.

“Well then. Was there something else?”

“You know,” she says, taking a step toward him, and his eyes widen in surprise. “This shares certain similarities to my dream.”

His throat goes dry. “Does it?”

She hums again, and takes another step. He allows himself to look her up and down: he takes in the sheer fabric of her nightgown, her bare arms and the low cut of the garment, leaving little to the imagination, and yet, everything that he has been imagining for the past few nights is still carefully covered from view.

“It was late at night. We were in your office, though, not the library.”

“Were we?” His voice sounds strange to his own ears, too deep.

“We were,” she affirms, eyes teasing. He swallows.

“And then?”

“Is that not enough fodder for your imagination?” she asks.

“It is more than enough,” he murmurs, his gaze darkening. “Yet I get the sense that there is something else you wish to say.”

“You are the one who asked for more details. I was simply trying to express my gratitude to you for your kindness tonight,” she says.

“Well, you’re very welcome, Kate,” he replies, his tongue caressing her name. “But at this point, you should know better than to start something you can’t finish.”

She pauses, her eyes flickering to his lips, and then back up to his eyes, and he knows what is about to happen an instant before it happens, feels his abdomen clench in anticipation.

“Who says I can’t finish it?” she says, a challenge in her voice, and in an instant her lips are on his, and he finds himself frozen in place as Kate’s hand immediately threads itself through his hair, pulling him further into her orbit.

It only takes a moment for him to shake himself into action, wrapping an arm around her body and cradling her jaw, angling his mouth against hers and deepening the kiss. She lets out a soft moan and opens her mouth to his, and he feels himself melt into her for a moment.

And as fast as the kiss starts, it is over. Kate freezes under his touch, and after a beat pushes against his chest. It is not a hard movement, but gets the point across well enough that it is time for the kiss to end. Anthony blinks and takes another step back just to be safe, trying to resist the temptation to reach out for her again. He breaths deep and dares to look up at her through hooded eyelids, only to see her with two fingers against her lips and her eyes blown wide with some combination of panic and arousal.

“Kate,” he starts, not sure what words will come out next.

She shakes her head. “Goodnight, my lord,” she says, and turns to the door. He knows better than to chase after her in this moment, certain it will only scare her further.

But she stops at the doorway and looks back for a brief moment, and he can breath again when she says, “And, thank you.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but she is gone before he can. He closes his eyes and takes another steadying breath, though it does absolutely nothing to calm him.

Her scent still lingers over him like the memory of some long-ago dream, and it crosses his mind for a bizarre moment that perhaps they knew each other in another lifetime. Now more than ever, he can feel a magnetic force drawing them together. Yet he watches her disappear, using up every ounce of his strength to force himself not to follow.

Notes:

Huh, the chapter count went up again, wouldya look at that.

They finally kissed!! Hurray!! But do not fear, still so much idiocy and unresolved tension coming your way.

I drew a little bit of dialogue directly from the library scenes in both the book and show, but for the most part just let the conversation unfold however felt right for my iterations of the characters. Hope you enjoyed <3

Chapter 8

Notes:

A/N: I don’t normally do notes at the beginning of the chapter, but I think this is useful information to have before reading: Siena will appear in this and the next chapter—while she was Anthony’s mistress for a little while in the not-too-distant-past in this fic, it was just about sex and never carried all the baggage/heartbreak from season 1. (Think more of his minor relationship with Maria Rosso in the book.) That should be helpful context in understanding how they both feel seeing one another again!

oK without further ado I believe I promised more tension and miscommunication so here ya go enjoyyyy

The next day, Kate is more than content to once again avoid Anthony. Not because she does not feel the familiar magnetic pull toward him, but because the well-practiced practical side of her mind knows this is how it has to be.

Admittedly, that magnetic pull is stronger than ever. As she passes the day studiously avoiding the Viscount’s presence, it does occur to her that it is simply not in her nature to stay away from him. If she listened to her bodily instincts, they might still be in the library together, huddled under a table, even long after the storm ended and the sun rose. But after what had passed between them last night, the way they had opened up to one another, the way he had comforted her during the storm, the way she had leaned in and kissed him (and yes, she could admit it to herself and absolutely nobody else, she had kissed him, not the other way around—despite a lot of arrogant talk, she is confident that he would have never crossed that line without her express permission, and oh, had she given her permission last night), she fully understood for the first time how dangerous it might be to adhere to the proximity her body craved.

It had been a moment of temporary insanity for them both, she had decided the night before, as she stared wide-eyed at the ceiling of her bedchambers. The vulnerability brought on by the storm was to blame. It had given them both leave to act on their baser instincts, but if they had been thinking with reasonable minds, they would have never actually allowed themselves to indulge.

At best, the kiss is doomed to make all their further interactions at Aubrey Hall unbearably awkward. At worst, any rumor about it might oblige them to marry. And she knows with utmost clarity, from Lady Whistledown and the man himself on the very first night they met, that he has no intentions of proposing to anybody this season, least of all the less popular sister from a family of no meaningful influence or wealth. 

And Kate, she reminds herself, also has no intentions to marry. She returned to England for Edwina’s benefit, and will leave as soon as the matter of Edwina’s marriage is settled. So it is for the best that they make a mutual decision not to talk about the kiss. Or even to talk to each other. Yes, it is the only sensible choice.

How very like Anthony to contradict the sensible choice. 

Because here she is, pretending to listen to the idle gossip of the ladies of the ton as the party gathers before dinner, but all she can feel is his eyes on her. 

She fights the urge to glare at him across the room, to communicate with her eyes, This is not our agreement. You cannot look at me like that, especially not now that I know what your lips feel like against mine. Because of course, to throw him such a look would negate the entire purpose of her ignoring him in the first place. So she presses on, trying to train her attention on whatever Miss Goring is saying now. 

“It is quite a coup for the Viscountess to have secured her presence tonight,” Miss Goring says. “She only returned from Italy last month, I believe this is her first performance back in England.”

“Yes, well,” Cressida simpers, “it could not have been that difficult to convince Siena Rosso to make an appearance at Aubrey Hall.”

 Kate notices that Daphne’s back stiffens, and she looks at the Duchess questioningly.

“Our mother is nothing if not a most determined hostess,” Daphne smiles, refusing to meet her eye. “She demands the best of the best, and that is Miss Rosso.”

“Yes, I heard she has the most exquisite voice,” Edwina pipes in. “Though I know the palace is soon to be entertaining another soprano, I believe her name is Giana, oh Giana something…”

One of the other young ladies supplies the last name, which starts them off on a conversation about the various operas and opera singers they most enjoy. Opera had never been of great interest to Kate, but she listens patiently, taking note of the fact that Edwina is now avoiding her eye as well. 

A few minutes later, the Viscountess declares it time for dinner. Kate grabs Edwina’s arm as soon as the other ladies are out of earshot. 

“Eddie,” she whispers, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Edwina says, in a high pitch. 

“Do not lie to me, you have been acting strange all night. You will not even meet my eye now.”

Edwina sighs and looks up. “Fine. I heard something about Siena Rosso, is all, from Eloise.”

Kate raises an eyebrow. “What does Siena Rosso have to do with me?”

“Well,” Edwina fidgets, “not you, persay, it is just that—”

“If it isn’t the lovely Sharma sisters!” comes a loud voice from behind them, and the two sisters turn to see the beaming faces of Colin and Benedict Bridgerton. 

Kate widens her eyes at Edwina, urging her to continue, but Edwina just shrugs helplessly and whispers, “later.” Then she turns back to the approaching men and curtsies. 

“Miss Edwina, you must allow me to accompany you into dinner, if you are not already engaged,” Benedict smiles charmingly, and Edwina lowers her eyes demurely. 

“It would be my pleasure, Mr. Bridgerton.”

Benedict throws a little wink at Kate as he takes her sister’s arm, and Kate can do nothing but roll her eyes while biting the inside of her lips to keep from smiling. Bridgerton men apparently share their incorrigibility, but at least on the younger brothers she finds it less aggravating. Or enticing. 

“Why Miss Sharma, it feels positively ages since we have last spent time in each others’ company,” Colin declares. 

“I believe it has been but three days since our time together on the Pall Mall field.”

“Just as I said—ages.”

“I do not believe I have ever met a man with a shorter attention span, Colin Bridgerton,” Kate says affectionately. 

“I will take that as a compliment, seeing as I don’t remember what you were talking about. Will you do me the honor?” He extends his arm, and she takes it without hesitating.

“And what have you found for entertainment in my long absence from your day-to-day life, Miss Sharma?”

“Nothing,” she sighs, though her heart thuds in her chest. Anthony would never have been so foolish as to tell his brothers about their rendezvous…would he? “I just stare out my window, longingly, and cry out, ‘oh where is Colin, my life is so dreadfully dull without him’.”

“I have to imagine that is how everybody comports themselves when I am out of the room. It’s a very sad state of affairs, really.”

Colin pulls out a chair and gestures for Kate to sit, which she does while continuing to laugh. His good humor is infectious, and Kate cannot help but play along with his lighthearted banter.

“If only there were more of you to go around,” she shrugs, as he settles into the chair next to her.

“I’ve always thought that would be to the world’s benefit. Then again, I suppose I do have brothers. They’ll always do in a pinch, if you can’t have the real thing,” he smirks, looking just a bit too satisfied. 

Kate glances away from him at the plate in front of her, and only then does she realize where Colin had maneuvered them; she is sitting right between Colin and the head of the table. The seat that would, no doubt, be reserved for the Viscount. 

Indeed, as she glances up, her brain still processing how Colin has pulled this off without her realizing, she is met with Anthony’s sharp eyes, a glint of amusement and irritation in them at what he must have overheard from her and Colin. The breath leaves her lungs in that moment, and she glares back at Colin, accusation written all over her face. 

From the cheeky wink he throws her before immediately engaging the person to his left in conversation, he knows exactly what he has done. 

Kate fixes her eyes on her plate, fighting the instinct to simply get up and hide in her chambers for the rest of the evening. She can do this. Just because last night had been a mistake does not mean they cannot converse like adults. 

Though, she supposes, they have never been capable of it before. But no time like the present. 

“Have you had an enjoyable evening, Lord Bridgerton?” she says, directing her question to her wine glass. 

There is a pause, and Kate is sure her neck will soon start cramping with the effort it takes to stop herself from looking at him. 

“In truth, Miss Sharma, it has been a rather dull day,” he murmurs, his words silky smooth, and she can feel them practically caress down her spine.

“I am sorry to hear that.” 

Another beat, as Kate studies her salad fork. 

“And yourself? I trust Aubrey Hall remains to your liking?”

“Quite,” she responds stiffly.

A servant comes around from her left shoulder to pour soup in her bowl, forcing her to lean slightly to the right, just a few inches closer to the Viscount, but enough to take in his scent, the same smell of scotch and aged leather that had overwhelmed her as they sat wrapped around one another last night. 

She senses rather than sees him stiffen at her close proximity, and the moment the servant leans away she snaps back upright. 

“I am glad. And what did you find to entertain yourself today?”

She tries to focus on anything but the smooth velvet of his voice, how he makes such an innocent question sound salacious. She eyes her soup spoon with interest. 

“I walked about the grounds, mostly, with Edwina and your sisters. Among others.”

“Ah yes that’s right, Daphne mentioned. It must be why I did not see you.”

“Ladies are hardly invited to play in the billiards room,” she scoffs, before realizing her mistake. She does not look over to see his smirk, her eyes landing about six inches to the left of his ear, but she is positive that it is spreading across his lips, as she adds, “or whatever you found to amuse yourself today.”

“I spent a great deal of it playing billiards with my brothers, you were correct in your initial, ah, guess.” His emphasis on the last word, the smile in his voice, the utter confidence that he exudes, knowing she had been tracking his whereabouts all day, it is almost too much to bear. 

But bear it she does, sipping her soup. 

“Although,” he adds, his body angling toward hers, drawing her into a conversation she refuses to be part of. “There are many rooms in Aubrey Hall, but I have never known you to be hesitant in exploring them.”

Her jaw clenches, and she lets out a great sigh to steady herself. “Well, my Lord, we all must obey societal rules of decorum at some time or another.”

His body leans ever so slightly closer to hers, and she can feel the heat radiating off of him, sparking between them. “I confess, I do not agree with you there.”

“How surprising,” she snorts, willing them to fall into their familiar antagonism. “You disagree with me. Lady Whistledown will not believe her ears when she gets a hold of this—"

“Kate,” he says, his tone now entirely serious, the words escaping his lips as if he cannot stop them. “We should talk. Not here, but—”

“About what, Lord Bridgerton?” she says, looking up to meet his eyes, and something within her sighs out finally as her gaze finds his own. He is looking at her with such a quiet intensity she is certain somebody at the table will call them on it, will declare (and rightly so) Anthony Bridgerton’s very existence in her presence a scandal of monumental proportions. 

His eyes narrow, and he lets out a disbelieving grunt. “Do not feign ignorance, Miss Sharma,” he says, his voice positively smoldering, emphasizing the proper address as she had done for his title.

“Then do not break our agreement.”

“What agreement?” He sounds genuinely confused, and she scoffs.

“To forget the subject that you are attempting to discuss,” she says in a clipped voice, hyper-aware of the curious look a woman—some society mother—across the table is giving them, even as they strain to keep their voices low. 

He leans back, considering her, and she wonders if it is possible to actually melt under a gaze. 

“I recall no such agreement.”

“Perhaps it was unspoken, but I believed it was mutually understood.”

“Typically things must be spoken in order to be understood.”

“Well then, I’ll say it now: nothing happened.”

His mouth opens in disbelief. Kate nods, not sure if to him or herself. 

“It was temporary insanity.”

“Temporary insanity?” he hisses, before straightening up, clearly also noticing the woman next to him attempting to eavesdrop. 

“We should not discuss this here.”

“—That is exactly what I was trying to say earlier, if we could find a moment in private—”

“Nothing would come of that.”

He eyes her as he takes a vicious bite of something or other; Kate has barely registered the dinner on their plates. 

He chews slowly, and after he swallows, takes a large sip of his wine. He seems to calm himself as he does so, and when he speaks again his voice is even, calculated. 

“What do you want to come of it?”

Kate blinks. 

“Nothing can. Come of it.”

“You’ve said, but that is not what I asked.”

“What exactly are you asking, then?”

“Put quite simply, I am asking you, Miss Sharma, what you want.” His voice reaches a dangerously low register, and she feels her abdomen clench in response. 

For a moment she just blinks at him. 

“Come now, you told me once before that you knew exactly what you wanted.” His deep voice is one of the practiced seducer, but damn, it works. It works its way beneath her skin, and Kate flushes to remember the times they had exchanged this phrase at the Pall Mall game, in her waking life and her dream. The dream had clearly been a sign from her subconscious, trying to alert her of the dangerous path she was headed down, but she had been too stubborn to heed the warnings, and look where that got her: being seduced by the most notorious rake in London.

“I am simply asking you to articulate the matter at hand,” he goes on, “For the sake of clarity.”

She grips her knife, pondering what the reaction might be if she were to stab the Viscount during dinner. Not to kill, obviously, but enough to make him stop speaking in that condescending tone that, inexplicably, makes her feel all wobbly inside. 

“Kate,” he says again, his voice full of quiet urgency. “I—” he pauses, and she studies him, the downcast eyes, the deep breath, the small shake of his head. She wants to know what he stops himself from saying. Then again, she can hardly ask him, not when she has no intention of answering his question. 

Because the answer would be to confess that she wants him, in every possible sense. But her desires do not matter. They are untenable. 

“Kate,” he repeats, steadier.

“I want,” she says lightly, pausing to consider what words will come next. She knows she must walk an impossible line: not give away too much, not allow herself to be vulnerable like she had been last night, but not lie to the man before her. After everything he had shared with her, he deserves better than that, he deserves…

“What was that, Miss Sharma?” Colin turns to her, his mouth full of food. The image ought to disgust her, but she can only let out a snort of amusement and relief at his intervention. “You want the potatoes?”

“Yes, desperately,” she says, failing to hide her laugh at the situation as Colin nods amiably and passes the platter in her direction. 

A servant quickly ducks between her and the Viscount to grab the plate and spoon some potatoes onto her plate, effectively destroying the tension that had been ever-building between them. 

“How extremely thoughtful of you, Colin,” Anthony bites out, his voice laced with venom. Colin simply continues to smile, as if he is utterly oblivious to his brother’s tone (though Kate suspects, once again, that he sees much more than he lets on). 

Colin hums in agreement, before leaning in with an innocent little grin. “I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything.”

Kate brings her wine glass to her lips to keep her smile from showing. The way the Bridgerton family interacts is eternally more charming than it ought to be. “Nothing of any import.”

Anthony scoffs.

“I think you hurt his feelings,” Colin observes, the grin not fading as his brother stares daggers.

Kate pauses, considering Colin’s words. Is it possible that she would actually be able to hurt the Viscount, the man who always seems so above her, like he can read every thought that crosses her mind, like he is in perfect control? That version of him that his siblings talked about, that she had met for a moment in the library last night, is that the true Anthony? She isn’t even sure if she wants it to be true; it was much easier back before she thought he might be a real person with human emotions. 

“You know how we can get. One of us is always bound to get hurt, in the end,” Kate directs it to Colin, trying to keep her tone light, but she hears the hitch in her throat, and she feels the tension tighten off to her right, even as she does not look at the Viscount's reaction to her words. 

“At least there were no Pall Mall mallets involved this time,” Colin carries on jocularly. 

“Yes, thank goodness for that,” Anthony says, his voice closed off, his expression enigmatic. 

“Indeed,” she smiles. “But enough about such unpleasantness. Your sisters have been telling me a bit about your travels, Mr. Bridgerton. You must tell me all about them.”

“I will, but I have only been to the continent. In return, you must tell me all about your time in India.”

They continue to make easy conversation throughout dinner, Anthony even joining in occasionally. Kate, too aware of his every move, clocks each time he looks at her and each time he looks away. She feels a twinge in her gut when she realizes he is making a point not to study her too closely, as he has done so often before. 

He is giving her the room she asked for, she realizes. He does not make any allusions to their kiss, their connection. He is pretending like it did not happen. Just as she wants.

And yet it feels…bad. There is no other word for it. She feels childish to admit it, but dammit, she realizes during dinner just how much she wants the man’s attention, and when she does not have it, she senses herself on the verge of doing something reckless, just to get a reaction. 

“Welcomed guests!” Violet speaks out from the other head of the table, thankfully distracting Kate from her sickeningly petulant thoughts. “We invite you all to join us for an evening of music with the incomparable Siena Rosso, just returned from a starring tour around Italy!”

The crowd starts to move toward the doors, and Kate suddenly finds a hand before her, Anthony already risen from his seat. “Miss Sharma. Will you do me the honor of accompanying me into the concert?” He says, and Kate takes his hand, standing up from her seat. She breathes a quiet sigh of relief when her skin touches his, however innocent the touch may be. After an evening spent living in both fear and anticipation of what he will do next, craving his eyes, his skin on hers, it is all she can do to murmur back, “It would be my pleasure, my lord.”

“Excellent,” he says, smiling that genuine grin that makes her feel like she’s missed a step going down the stairs. 

“I see you are abandoning me, Miss Sharma,” Colin says from her side. 

“I cannot help that you did not ask me first,” she shrugs. “I’m sure you will be able to find another young lady to entertain for the evening.”

“Yes, well. To what might have been.” Colin winks, taking her other hand and bringing his mouth down to kiss it, before turning away. 

She glances over to see a clear expression of irritation on Anthony’s face. 

“Is something the matter, Viscount Bridgerton?”

“My brother seems to feel free to act quite liberally around you.”

“Hush, he is sweet,” she says, batting a hand against his arm. “And harmless,” she adds with emphasis. 

“Better harmless than somebody who will hurt you, in the end,” he says, his eyes staring into hers with a breathtaking intensity.

Kate holds his gaze. “Sometimes the pain can be worth it. Sometimes.” His eyes darken before her, and slowly she extricates her arm from his, her breathing unsteady. “I must tell my sister I will be sitting with you during the concert. I’ll find you there.”

He nods, heat still radiating between them, and turns sharply to find their seats. 

Kate spins about, and quickly locates Edwina on the other side of the room, in conversation with Mary.

“Oh Kate, isn’t it lovely, Mr. Bagwell asked me to accompany him to the concert!” Edwina says happily as Kate approaches, and she nods vaguely, before snapping her attention back to her sister. 

“Wait, who? Mr. Bagwell?” 

“I met him on our first night here, he is lovely. A scholar.”

“Well, I will have to meet him soon. I cannot believe I haven't met him yet, there are only so many people here at Aubrey Hall.” She looks back at the doors Anthony had just disappeared through. 

“Yes well,” Edwina rolls her eyes. “You’ve been distracted.”

“Hmm?” Kate says, turning back. 

“She asked if you would join us and Mr. Bagwell in the concert room,” Mary says, giving a hard glance to Edwina. 

“Oh. Well, I would, Bon, of course, but, well, Lord Bridgerton asked me to accompany him.”

Kate tries to make it sound nonchalant, like she thinks nothing of the invitation, which of course only makes her delivery sound that much more suspicious. 

“Kate, that is wonderful! I am glad you’re finally putting your differences aside!” Mary remarks happily, pulling Kate into a hug, which Kate returns awkwardly. 

Over Mary’s shoulder, she catches Edwina’s eye. She is smiling, but there is something else there, the same look of concern that had passed over her face earlier in the evening when they were chatting with the other ladies. Kate had been so distracted with the Viscount that she had almost forgotten Edwina promised to tell her something about Miss Rosso before dinner.

Mary passes them, likely off to find their seats with Mr. Bagwell. Edwina’s face brightens, but Kate can tell it is forced. 

“That sounds lovely, Didi.”

Kate narrows her eyes. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do not pretend like you don’t remember our conversation before dinner. You have been keeping something from me all night, something about Siena Rosso, isn’t it?”

“I do not know—”

“You cannot lie to me, Bon, I know you too well. What is it?” A long beat. “Tell me, please.”

Edwina sighs, pulling Kate closer in. “I do not want it to change your impression of what is happening here.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“I—Kate, I know you may not believe me, but I always suspected the Viscount cared more for you than he let on.”

Kate clears her throat. 

“I am glad you are spending more time together, I think he is good for you, truly. And vice versa, from what I gather from Eloise.”

“What does Eloise have to say on the matter?” 

Edwina’s eyes shift away. “Well that’s just it. Eloise was telling me some things about Lord Bridgerton. From before we arrived in London. She mentioned that,” Edwina clears her throat awkwardly. “Well, it is not a well-kept secret that Lord Bridgerton has kept mistresses in the past. And it would seem, that his last mistress was, um, Siena Rosso.”

Kate’s blood freezes, all her worst nightmares coming true. 

Of course this means nothing to him. Perhaps he hoped to use her to make Miss Rosso jealous. Or maybe he simply does not care about either of them; his life moves constantly from one woman to the next, so why should he bother to feel ashamed of his past affairs? And indeed, why should he? There is nothing between him and Kate, clearly, or else he would have had the decency to at least give her fair warning about what she was heading into.

Edwina’s eyes widen and she starts speaking quickly. “But Didi, that was all over more than a year ago, before she left for Italy. I don’t think it was serious, and to watch him with you, he is so devoted, so attentive, there is nothing to worry about, I just didn’t want you to be left unaware tonight.”

But despite Edwina’s attempt at calming words, Kate spirals. Everybody in the ton must know; the affair had been before the Sharma's arrival. When they see Kate on Anthony’s arm in the concert, they will laugh at her, at the silly spinster Kate Sharma, who actually believed for a moment that that look in Anthony Bridgerton’s eye might mean something more than a well-practiced seduction method. 

“Do not worry, Bon. I am glad you told me,” Kate says, her voice shockingly even. 

It is at that moment that Benedict Bridgerton appears at their side. 

“Ladies, most of the party has already taken their seats, may I accompany you in?”

“Thank you Mr. Bridgerton, but I need to go meet my mother and Mr. Bagwell,” Edwina smiles, curtsying and turning away. 

Benedict turns to her, an affable smile on his face. “And you, Miss Sharma? Do not tell me you too have a gentleman awaiting your arrival?”

The grin makes Kate suspect he already knows the answer, knows his brother is in there, waiting for her right now. His look of surprise when she says, “Mr. Bridgerton, I would be honored to join you for the concert,” confirms it. 

“Oh. Well, then, shall we?” He says, recovering from the surprise quickly, and offering an arm. Kate accepts it and proceeds into the room, all the while very aware that Benedict keeps his curious gaze trained on her. 

He brings her to the front row, which had been neatly arranged into a U shape surrounding the elevated platform where Miss Rosso will soon perform. It seems many of the seats had been reserved for the host family, for as Kate and Benedict find their places on the far edge, Kate feels eyes on her from across the way. Sure enough, she looks up to find Anthony staring at her from the other side of the curved front row, a look of confusion and hurt on his face. 

Her heart sinks, but she stiffens her shoulders and fixes him with a cold glare before returning her attention to Benedict. Who, it appears, has caught in the entire interaction, and even the empty seat next to Anthony. 

“I believe you lied to me when you said nobody was expecting you, Miss Sharma,” he murmurs in her ear, and Kate gives a stiff smile. 

“I did not lie. I just omitted certain key details,” she says. “Something your family seems quite adept at.”

“Oh, Anthony,” Benedict groans, rubbing his fingers at his temples. “What has he done this time?”

The answer presents itself with ironic alacrity, as Miss Rosso takes to the stage to a resounding round of applause. Kate claps politely, focusing her attention steadfastly on the woman before her. 

She is beautiful, that is impossible to deny. And when she opens her mouth to sing, the entire room falls silent with a kind of awe. 

Siena Rosso is the kind of woman who could command the attention of an entire room. 

Kate, she thinks to herself in a horribly self-pitying tone, is the kind of woman who trails along behind her sister. 

Something Kate shared with Miss Rosso, however, is that they both clearly lust after Anthony Bridgerton. It does not escape Kate’s notice, as she keeps her eyes so firmly on the opera singer, that Miss Rosso in turn keeps her gaze almost exclusively on the Viscount, seemingly singing every sultry and stunning line directly to him.

Nor did it escape Kate’s notice (not to mention her pride) that Anthony in turn does not remove his eyes from Kate. 

At first, it is a game, pretending like she does not notice his attention. 

After Miss Rosso’s first song, it becomes a challenge. Kate will not allow herself to wilt under his heat. She fights the urge to shift her weight, to fan herself, even to scratch her nose, anything that might hint she is in the remotest bit affected by his unyielding attention, which she worries might actually bore a hole through her. The room is so still and quiet around her, she is certain that the slightest movement will bring it all tumbling down around her. 

After the next song, she cannot fight temptation any longer. Once Siena is in the middle of her heartbreaking aria, and Kate is sure there is not a single eye anywhere in the room looking at anybody but Miss Rosso (well, except the eyes directly across the way from her), she dares to return his gaze. 

Sparks fly as their eyes meet. Kate sinks deeper into her chair, as if he is pinning her down with his own two hands. She sees his back stiffen, his gaze darken. It is anger and aggravation and arousal, even some amusement. As if to say, You think sitting with my brother will shield you? You truly think there is anywhere you could go where you would not feel what you do to me? Where your own desires would not overwhelm all your senses?

Kate feels that familiar swirling in her lower abdomen, meets his hot gaze and thinks of his lips on hers last night, then the scene from her dream in which his lips find somewhere lower to worship with attention, and she shifts ever so slightly in her seat, hoping to create some friction between her legs. She clocks the subtle smirk that crops up on Anthony’s mouth, like he knows exactly what she is doing. 

As if to confirm her suspicion, his tongue darts out to oh-so-lightly swipe around his lips, before biting down softly on his bottom lip. 

She might burst into flames there in the concert hall. She wrenches her eyes away from him just in time to realize it is time to applaud, though she had not been listening at all. She claps a few times, before she stands suddenly, not even sure where she is going. She just knows she cannot stay here, cannot bear this tension in a room full of other people just waiting for a tasty morsel of gossip. 

“Are you well, Miss Sharma?” Benedict asks, standing too. 

“Quite,” she breathes out. “I just got a bit light headed. I think I should lie down. I am sorry to cut the evening short, give my regards to Miss Rosso.”

Kate does not need to look over her shoulder to know Anthony watches her every move as she retreats.

Notes:

One of my fav romance tropes is an Age of Innocence-esque tense moment in a crowded theater, and I was always a little sad that Anthony and Siena got that in season 1 but not Anthony and Kate, even though they have so many other tense moments across crowded rooms. So, I fixed it!

Please comment if you feel comfortable doing so, it ALWAYS brings a smile to my face to hear your thoughts about a chapter, and always makes writing the next one easier!

Chapter 9

Her feet carry her out of the room, down the hall, and through the first door she can find. 

She slams it shut and leans against the solid door, closing her eyes and scrunching up her face in concentration. Why can he always reduce her to this? Her stomach full of butterflies, her mouth too dry, her mind a pile of mush, playing the image of his tongue dancing against his lips over and over—it is pathetic, is what it is. 

She opens her eyes and curses out loud at the sight that greets her. It is a large office, with intricate furniture made of dark woods and leathers. It can only belong to the Viscount.

Of course her feet carried her into his office, the one place in this house sure to conjure even more illicit images than the one he just created in that concert. 

From what she remembers of her dream—and while she remembers him quite clearly, the setting grows foggier the harder she tries to picture it—she had hit it pretty spot on. There is the solid wooden desk he had pressed her up against, had lifted her to sit on while he kneeled in front of her and pushed her skirt up her legs... 

She traces her hand along the edge of the desk absentmindedly, needing to feel proof that it is real, proof that this is his real office, not some fantasy her mind has fabricated. 

Suddenly, horribly, she wonders whether he ever had Miss Rosso in this room, or anywhere in Aubrey Hall. For the past week, Kate has grown accustomed to the expansive grounds, with each room in the house full of memories of Anthony. But for him, this is just one week among countless spent in this place. The rooms are full of memories of his father, his family, and yes, perhaps even his mistresses.

Once Edwina is married and Kate is gone, she wonders if he will ever walk into the library and think about the young woman with whom he sheltered under a table and held until the storm passed.

A sound behind her rouses her from this train of thought, and Kate sighs resignedly when she hears the click of the door. 

There is only one person so presumptuous as to close the door behind them. 

“I wish to be left alone,” she says, gripping his desk tightly.

“Then I suggest you find your own office,” Anthony replies. “Kate, look at me.”

She snorts. “I am not one of your servants, Lord Bridgerton, you cannot give me orders.”

“I am not giving you orders, I am asking—”

“—of course you are—”

“—that you look at me while we discuss whatever you clearly wish to talk about.”

She turns on him, mouth agape, but clenches her jaw tight when she notices the triumphant gleam in his eye. He has gotten his way by annoying her to the point that she turned to face him.

“You are unbelievable,” she fumes. “You are the one who tried to talk to me about…” she fades off and looks away at his single raised brow; if she hopes not to be derailed by the word ‘kiss’, she cannot be making eye contact with him when she says it. “...about our kiss at dinner even as I told you it necessitated no further conversation, and now you have followed me into this room even as I tell you I wish to be left alone, and you insist that I want to talk?”

“Ah yes, the kiss, we should talk about that too. But I am referring to whatever made you act so immaturely in the concert just now.”

“I was not—!” 

“Kate,” he says, a dangerous warning in his voice that almost gave her pause. Almost.

Instead she spits out, “Anthony?”

Heat flares in his eyes. “Why did you abandon your place at my side?”

The way he phrases the question makes something catch in her throat, but she pushes it aside, and shrugs in faux-nonchalance. “I did not think you required my presence. You have many other options for company here, I am sure.”

“What does that—?”

“You should go back to the concert. Miss Rosso especially must be mourning your absence.”

In a split second, his face falls from aggravation to quiet comprehension. He takes a step back, schooling his expression into one of neutrality.

“I assure you, she does not.”

“Oh please, she looked at nobody but you all evening.”

“Did she?” he asks, and he sounds genuinely bemused. “I did not notice.”

“I can assure you it is true. So if that changes your plans for the evening—”

“I did not notice because I could only look at you, Kate.”

She sighs, silently wishing her name on his lips did not send a jolt through her entire nervous system every time. 

“I know that too. As, I am sure, does Miss Rosso and the entire audience. You were not subtle.”

“I was not trying to be subtle.” His face is still carefully controlled, but there is heat behind his eyes. 

“Well, congratulations, you succeeded.”

“You never answered my question. Why did you sit next to my brother instead of me?”

Kate glares at him. “I think you know that answer.”

He hesitates, then speaks cautiously. “Kate, I do not know what version of gossip you heard, but I can tell you plainly there has been nothing between me and Miss Rosso for years. And even then, she was…we never truly cared for one another, we were each a means to an end for the other.”

She straightens her back. “That is, in essence, what I gathered.”

“You are a smart woman, Kate,” he says, his voice gentle, and she clenches her fists at her side. “It cannot have been news to you that I have had mistresses.”

“It was not.”

He shakes his head in exasperation. “Then what is it that angered you so?”

This is it, she thinks, the time to be brave, to be honest. “You did not tell me.” He opens his mouth, but she carries on. “You invited me into the concert, without telling me. The entire ton knew she was your mistress, and they would have seen me with you. You nearly let me walk into that situation entirely in the dark. It would have been humiliating.”

“Kate,” he breathes. “It was never my intention—that is, I would never have allowed you to be humiliated. Please believe me when I tell you it had not even occurred to me that there might be gossip over her presence tonight. I was far too…consumed with thoughts of you to think about what entertainment my mother had scheduled. I did not think—”

“You did not.”

A beat, then: “I am sorry.”

She considers him for a moment, and decides she does not want to carry on fighting about this. Still, an uneasy feeling lingers at the center of her chest, and a voice in the back of her mind urges her to say more, to continue to speak honestly with him. But she pushes it down. This is not the proper time. Perhaps, there will never be a proper time. “It is fine, Anthony. I believe you meant no harm. Besides, you do not owe me anything.”

Taking a step forward carefully, he murmurs, “I do not think that is true.”

“But it is true. We are not courting, we do not owe anything to each other.” She can hear the lie in her voice.

He arches an aristocratic brow. “Is that so? Is that why you opted to sit next to my brother instead of me? Because we don’t owe each other anything?”

She crosses her arms. “I sat next to Benedict because he asked me.”

“So did I.”

“He asked me last, and he did not neglect to tell me about any relevant mistresses when he did so. At least, to my knowledge.”

“Ah.” Now both eyebrows shoot up in mock consideration. “So it had nothing to do with wanting to make me jealous?”

“I—”

“Of course not, seeing as I mean nothing to you, why would you care if I was jealous?” Kate swallows at his harsh tone.

“I never said that you mean nothing to me, stop putting words in my mouth,” she says defiantly. “Only that I do not expect anything from you. We are, well, friends, sort of. Almost. Sometimes.” She gets quieter on each word, hearing how inadequate they sound to her own ears but unable to break from his penetrating gaze, and unwilling to back down. 

“Friends?” he says skeptically, stepping forward, and she maneuvers herself behind one of the large leather chairs. His stare sears into her as he smirks at her attempt to put distance between them, and he leans forward on each arm of the chair until she can smell the wine on his breath and her head spins. “Do you kiss all of your friends?”

“I, that was—” She balls her fists up in frustration. “It was my way of thanking you for your kindness, something I clearly should know better than to do, but—”

“And when you dreamed of me?” he murmurs. “Of the two of us in this room, acting on our most carnal instincts, was that an act of friendship too?”

“That was—”

Her words catch in her throat when his hand rises up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers skimming the back of her neck. Every nerve is tuned into his movements as he takes a step around the chair until he is standing mere inches in front of her. He whispers into her ear, “I have wanted to touch you all night, Kate. I have done nothing but relive the memory of your taste, your scent, the feeling of your body against mine, since last night.” He leans back just a fraction to look her in the eye. “Tell me that you do not want me, that you have not been thinking about me in exactly the same way, and I will walk away.”

Kate swallows around the dead words in her throat. She shakes her head, her mouth opening to say something, anything, but still, silence hovers between them. 

Until his lips crash into hers. Anthony’s movements are desperate, even clumsy, his hands traversing her jaw, then the back of her head to pull her deeper into the kiss, then down to her arms, pinning his body against hers. One rough hand caresses back up her body until it cups the side of her breast, and Kate moans. He lets out a low growl and steps away. 

“I will stop,” he says, his tone somewhere between a threat and a vow. 

“Do not stop,” Kate breathes, stepping forward, this time bringing her own hands to the back of his neck, pulling him into her orbit.

Everything falls into place, she realizes, when she has her hands on his body. 

“I will stop.” He lacks conviction this time, but he still leans away from her halfheartedly, his eyes closed as if being in such close physical proximity to her actually pains him. 

“Do. Not. Stop.”

At that, his eyes crack open, and there is that devilish smile tugging at the side of his lips. 

And she knows with intimate understanding what he must be feeling; it is the same feeling she has whenever she catches his heated gaze across a crowded room. It is the thrill of desire, and being desired in turn. 

Kate does not think she will ever tire of the feeling. 

His lips are back on hers, and they clutch at each other, caught in a frenzied vortex of movement. It seems as though he is trying to memorize every curve of her body with his hands, as she tries to determine exactly how hard she needs to pull at his hair to get him to let out an audible groan that she can feel rumble against her lips, but not so hard that he actually breaks away from her mouth. 

All of the tension, all of the anger, all the fear of what will come after this moment, all of it is poured into this kiss.

Anthony’s hands wrap around her body to hoist her up and drop her, none too gently, on his desk. 

“This was my dream,” Kate whispers, kissing her way across his jaw to his ear. “Exactly like this, right here.”

He lets out a strangled groan, and his hand grabs at the hem of her dress, yanking it up in a mad rush before proceeding to take his sweet time running his hands over her thighs. His fingers alternate between teasing her with feather-light touches and pressing into her flesh so hard she thinks she might have bruises the next day. 

“Oh, God,” she gasps as his fingers dance along the inside of her thigh, just out of reach from where she needs him.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispers against the side of her mouth. He whispers it over and over as he kisses his way down her chest, yanking at her dress enough to allow her breasts to spill out of the low-cut corset, and then placing feather-light kisses on what felt like every inch of her exposed skin. Satisfied with the gasping state his ministrations have reduced her to, his tongue peeks out to lick circles around one nipple. After a beat in which her hands scramble to grip his shoulders, his back, anything, he brings his lips down to suckle lightly. When his teeth graze over the sensitive flesh, Kate arches her back and cries out. Smiling lazily, he turns his attentions to the other side.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” Anthony murmurs against her skin.

“I’m starting to get some idea,” she laughs breathily as his fingers grip her waist, tickling her lightly, and she yanks on his hair just enough to elicit that delicious moan. 

“Minx,” he growls.

“Rake.”

“Seductress.”

“Anthony.”

His gaze shoot up to hers, and her hand falls from his hair to the side of his face. He leans into her touch, closing his eyes, and in that moment, he is so beautiful that it actually takes her breath away. But she summons her words and with as much strength as she can muster, she says, “I need you.”

He smiles against her hand and places a soft kiss on her palm, before taking the hand in his and sinking to his knees. She does not need him to speak when he gathers her skirts, taking them from him silently, remembering exactly how this played out in her dream, and yet knowing it will be infinitely better this time. Because it already is. Because it is really him. Because it is her and Anthony, together, and nothing else will ever compare.

His fingers trace light patterns against her stockings, up to her thighs. When he finds the edge of her undergarments, he looks up at her, questioning. In reply, she sits up on her arms to help him pull the soft fabric down her body, all without saying a word, his eyes fixed on her flushed face with a kind of awe. 

When he bends his head to leave a trail of kisses along her thigh, Kate watches as if from outside her own body as her hands ball into fists, wrinkling her skirts, focusing only on the sensation of Anthony’s lips on her skin. His tongue finally darts out to lick between her folds, and she cannot stifle her gasp. She can feel his lips curve up to form a soft smile against her skin. When he sucks gently on her clit, her hips buck up instinctively and her skirt slips out of one of her hands. She slams her palm against her mouth to stop a scream from escaping, suddenly remembering they are a few doors away from a room full of concert-going guests.

He pauses what he is doing to look up at her, and she is struck by the image of Anthony Bridgerton, his mouth covered in her essence, his cheeks reddened, his hair mused—it feels like looking straight into the sun. He reaches up and she removes her hand from her mouth and puts it in his. He brings their joined hands down, and he maneuvers her palm so it is pressed against her own bare hip, and his hand pressed down on top of hers. Her skin burns where their hands meet. 

He returns to the apex of her legs, sucking and licking and nibbling her flesh to the point where she cannot think straight. Long after all thoughts that are not of his mouth have left her mind, his other hand trails a light path up her thigh and finally finds her center. His eyes look up at her again, a desperate question hidden in their depths, and she shifts her hand under his just enough to caress his wrist with her thumb, trying to indicate her answer without words (a necessity, since she cannot seem to form words at the moment), that she wants this as much as he does. It is the only sign he needs before he pushes a finger into her folds. His tongue and lips and teeth never wavering in their attention, she feels the tension in her core swirl and build out of control as he inserts a second finger, stroking her walls to find the most sinful angle. 

She tries to buck her hips again, but his hand presses down hard against her own, keeping her in place. He looks up at her, his lips sucking teasingly against her clit, and shakes his head the smallest amount. That smug glint in his eye makes Kate’s teeth clamp down on her lower lip to stop herself from shouting out in pleasure or irritation, she is not sure which. 

Instead, he nudges her leg, and she understands his intention immediately; she lifts it to rest on top of his shoulder, granting him easier access to plunge his tongue deep into her slick folds. 

He builds her up slowly, taking his time to alternate between circling her clit with his tongue and licking firm stripes through her folds, before his thumb finds her most sensitive spot and his tongue and fingers delve deep into her body. She comes undone all at once, her world crumbling around her, and all that is left is Anthony, between her legs, Anthony, holding her hand, Anthony. 

He stays between her legs as she comes down from her orgasm. After her breathing returns to a normal rhythm, he cleans her up gently, neither of them saying a word. Kate is terrified that the moment they speak, the spell will be broken, and the reality of their impossible situation will set in again. For now, she feels like she is flying, and she never wants to come down. 

But as she pulls her undergarments back up her legs, a little wobbly as she stands, she realizes she forgot something important. 

“Did you…?”

She gestures down to the prominent bulge in his trousers, and he lets out a strained chuckle. 

“I will later.”

“But should I—?”

“No,” he says, holding her face in his hands, and pressing a soft kiss against her lips. She moans against his mouth when she realizes that he smells different now—because he smells like her . She feels the smile on his lips, and suspects he knows exactly what she is thinking. Her cheeks burn. It is silly that this is what makes her blush, after everything, but there it is. “You are incredible, Kate. Believe me, you gave me everything I wanted tonight.”

Her eyes flicker down to his lips, and she attacks again, this time with greater force, her tongue working its way deeper into his mouth, desperate to taste him, to taste herself on him. After a brief moment, she pulls herself back, and asks the question burning in her throat. “Tonight?”

He looks deep into her eyes, and she thinks he must be looking for something in particular. She doesn’t know what it is. “Do you want more than tonight?” he asks, his tone guarded, unreadable.

“I…” she trails off. It is one thing to tell him how she wants his body, but quite another to tell him how she wants…him. Everything he is. And it is now quite clear to her that is exactly what she wants. Even though neither of them want to marry, even though she plans to leave the country imminently…still, if she were going to stay for anything, anyone, she knows now it would be him. And she knows she can never tell him. 

So instead she says, “Do you?”

She could kick herself for her cowardice, but her heart leaps when he replies, “I want anything you want to give me, Kate.”

Everything. I want to give you everything. 

“Can I come to you later tonight?” 

And her heart breaks. Of course, it would remain a secret affair, carried out under the cover of dark. Of course, he only meant sex. Why should that be a surprise? He wants everything she wants to give him, as long as they are on the same page about the fact that this could be nothing more than physical. 

She nods, feeling slightly dizzy. “Yes.”

He exhales as if he has been holding his breath and throws her a genuine smile that makes her weak at the knees. “Good.”

Wordlessly, she turns to leave, looking back at him as she opens the door, to see two fingers tracing slowly against his lips, still curved into an absentminded smile. His cheeks are flushed, and despite the countless emotions swirling within her, bliss pushes its way to the surface. She can be happy with having this part of him, she decides, even if it will never be more than this.

Feeling suddenly confident again now that she has come to that decision, she leaves him with a tiny smile and shuts the door to his office, leaning up against it for a brief second to steady her heart rate before she returns to the party.

They must have been in the office longer than she thought, because when she emerges, the concert is clearly over, many guests making their way up the stairs to their bedchambers. Kate does not see her family anywhere. Edwina and Mary must have assumed that she returned to rest in her room when she left the concert, she realizes, and turns to run up the stairs so she can say goodnight to them and avoid any suspicion. 

But as she moves toward the staircase, her eyes fall into the concert room, where Siena Rosso is chatting away with the man who accompanied her on the piano during some of her songs. He makes a remark with a little smirk on his face, and she laughs in response, but Kate can spot a false smile a mile away. The man turns his attention elsewhere, and in that moment Siena looks up and meets Kate’s eye, and the woman’s mask falls, replaced with something genuine: curiosity.

“You must be the young lady who was so moved by my performance she had to go lie down for a while,” Siena says, and Kate lets out a nervous laugh. 

“Kate Sharma,” she curtsies. “It was a pleasure to hear you sing, Miss Rosso.”

“Siena,” the woman corrects, giving a small curtsy in return, but the motion looks odd on her, as if she has to force herself to remember to do it. Kate can certainly relate to that. 

“Siena,” Kate says. “I’m sorry I had to leave early, I…” she grasps for anything to say, and lands on something mostly accurate. “I was feeling slightly dizzy. I can assure you, it had nothing to do with your lovely voice.”

“Perhaps it had more to do with the attention of a certain Viscount?” Siena says with a sly tone, and Kate freezes. 

“I, I don’t know what you—”

“The Viscount Bridgerton, he could not take his eyes off of you tonight, Miss Sharma,” Siena says casually, as if she is discussing the weather. 

“Kate, please, and that is not true.”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“I—no! I am merely saying—”

“I am teasing you, Kate,” Siena smiles. She is all playfulness, and Kate cannot help but crack a smile back at her. Kate wonders briefly if in another life they would be friends, until Siena says, “Truly, I am glad he found somebody.”

Kate chews her lip for a moment, deciding what she will say next to avoid giving anything away, when Siena cuts in. “I hope I do not overstep.”

“Not at all, I appreciate your straightforwardness,” Kate assures her. “Not a quality you find in too many members of the ton.”

Siena laughs, and it sounds like wind-chimes. “I seem to remember something like that. I must admit I am glad to have been away for so long.”

“Why did you leave?” Kate asks, unable to hold back her curiosity. 

Siena pauses and considers her, a hint of hesitancy in her eyes. “I trust you have heard some word about the last time I was in London.”

“A word or two,” Kate says sardonically. 

“Good. Well, not good , but I didn’t want to accidentally—” Siena stops herself and shakes her head. “I did not leave because of the Viscount. But after things were over between us, there was not much reason for me to stay. Or money, for that matter,” she adds with a wry smile.

“What was he like?” Kate asks, against her better judgment. “When you knew him?”

Siena pauses again, and takes in Kate like she is searching for clues in some great mystery. Seemingly satisfied with what she finds, she responds, “He was everything I am sure he still is. Handsome, with a good heart and quick wit. But he was a child. He did not know what he wanted, or how to get it. He had a lot of growing up to do, and so did I.” After a beat, she adds with a shrug, “It was, well, it was convenient for both of us. And then eventually it wasn’t.”

Kate nods, hoping her face remains neutral while her heart beats through her chest.

Everything Siena said about Anthony, his charm and wit, not knowing what he wants, them being a convenience for one another, it is all true of her own entanglement with the Viscount now. 

Can I come to you tonight? His words ring in her ear, and she wishes she could make the sound stop. She is a convenience to him, nothing more. He does not know what he wants, but she is something to bide the time while he figures it out. He had not grown at all in Siena's absence, had he? 

She realizes Siena is still talking, and tunes back in to hear her say, “...more happy, even. I didn’t know he was capable of that.” Kate smiles shakily. “I suspect it has a great deal to do with you, if his behavior tonight was any indication,” Siena adds, taking Kate’s hand in her own. Kate thinks of Anthony leaning into her hand earlier that night with his eyes closed, and fights the urge to shut her own eyes in agony. 

“And what about you?” Kate says, changing the subject and forcing the image from her mind. “Are you happy now?”

Siena smiles. “I believe I am.”

“I am glad. And I hope I will have the chance to hear you sing again soon. Next time, I promise, I will stay through the whole concert.”

“Perhaps you will come hear me sing when you are wed,” Siena suggests. 

“I do not—” but Kate cuts herself off. She does not need to give the entire story of her intentions to return to India to this woman who—despite their peculiar connection—is a virtual stranger. “Perhaps. Have a good evening, Siena.”

When Kate hears a quiet knock on her bedchamber door later that night, she stares at the ceiling. When she hears the knob turn a bit only for the turner to find the door locked, she rolls over and stares out the window. She listens to footsteps retreating.

She can still hear them echoing in her mind hours later, as she finally falls into a restless sleep.

Notes:

...please don't hate me.

Still a few speedbumps on the way to happily ever after, but at least they got it on in his office and it wasn't even a dream!

As always, I love your comments, your predictions, your reactions to cunnilingus in the study, your expletives at these fools and their inability to have a real conversation, etc. <3

Chapter 10

“Brother, would you please stop doing that or shall I call for the doctor?”

Anthony glances over at Daphne. As he does so, he realizes his hand has been tapping against the wood of the side table for an indeterminate amount of time, while his eyes have been trained on the door. 

All morning long, he has watched guest after guest traipse through the drawing room, gossiping over their breakfast before departing to make themselves at home in his home. Every guest, it seems, except the one he most wants to see. Even Edwina and Mary had made an appearance—and Anthony was a bit concerned that he may have alarmed Mary when he asked after Kate with such urgency. 

“I checked in on her, but she was not yet awake,” Edwina had told him casually, before making her way to the other side of the room to enjoy her breakfast alongside Eloise. 

Now the other two Sharmas are long gone from the room, his pocket watch is nearing noon, and still, there is no sign of Kate. 

“A doctor will not be necessary,” he says, throwing Daphne what he hopes looks like a smile but probably resembles a grimace. He pulls his hand back from the table and locks his fingers together. Then, his eyes return to the door. 

“For God’s sake, just go find her!” Eloise shouts, not looking up from her book. “You’re making me anxious even when you aren’t imitating a woodpecker.”

“But why would I leave when I’m having such a lovely breakfast with my family?” Anthony snaps back sarcastically. 

“You are not having breakfast with your family,” Daphne points out. “Most of them have left the room, because they have other errands to run, or people to talk to, or your presence is causing them too much stress.”

He looks around and notices for the first time that, sure enough, Eloise and Daphne are the only two siblings left in the room. Even his mother must have snuck out while he was distracted. 

“Well, since I am such unpleasant company,” he rises, and just as he does so, the door opens, and his eyes fly up. 

Sure enough, there is Kate, standing in the doorway, looking like she is torn between taking another step and fleeing Aubrey Hall altogether. Not an entirely flattering reaction, considering their last encounter…

But Anthony cannot let himself think about that now, nor can he think about the silence on the other side of Kate’s door last night, nor of the words he had run through in his mind over and over before he arrived at her door. He had planned to apologize for taking liberties, and to promise her that he would make things right. He had maneuvered the darkened halls of Aubrey Hall with his heart beating at twice its usual rate, his fingers curling around the small box in his pocket, and the small voice at the back of his mind insisting that, even though this had never been his intention for the season, perhaps it was for the best. Now that he had actually touched Kate Sharma, he knew with far too much clarity that he would never get her out of his system. Better they be in a loveless, if passionate, marriage than face the prospect of never being with her again. 

And, even as he traversed the hallways with the intention of procuring a wife, he was certain it would be loveless. It would need to be. Knowing what he knows about how love can wound and destroy, there can be no other way. He refuses wholeheartedly to hurt Kate how his family had been hurt by Edmund’s death.

Perhaps it is for the best that he has the excuse of having taken liberties with her as the reason for his proposal. It feels safe to hide behind social obligation, when the alternative is too frightening for words. And besides, knowing Kate’s general inclination to believe the worst in others (or at least, in him), his mind is already full of the argument ahead of him. He suspects that, just as she was prepared to ignore their kiss, she will have talked herself out of acknowledging their tryst. But he will convince her to see reason. With a smirk on his face, he thinks that he will even take some pleasure in convincing Kate that marriage is the only option before them. 

Only he does not get the chance. When he reaches her door, he finds it locked. He could knock louder, or call to her, since he is certain she must be awake on the other side, but he dares not risk waking up any of the other guests in the hallways. So, with a sinking heart, he slinks back to his room.

All night, his mind fills with the various scenarios of why Kate might have barred her door. He knows that, as a man of honor, he should have proposed on the spot that night in his office, but he had needed some time to settle his thoughts, hell, just to find his parents’ old engagement ring. But perhaps she did not trust his intentions. To be fair, she had plenty of reasons to be skeptical. 

Or maybe she had fallen ill, he thinks wildly, trying to come up with alternative explanations and avoid spiraling (though it is already too late for that). 

But no, the next morning, as Kate finally walks through the door at noon, she seems perfectly healthy. Healthy, if a bit tired, and beyond uncomfortable, if the look on her face as she steps into the room is any indication. 

“Kate!” Daphne greets her. “I am so glad you are here, we were beginning to worry we might need to send a search party.”

Kate smiles, but seems at a loss for words. Finally she shrugs, her eyes fixed on Daphne. “I am here.”

“I hope you slept well?” Daphne inquires. 

“Yes, very,” Kate says, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Anthony follows the movement with his eyes, and can spot the lie a mile away. 

“You must be starved, you slept so late,” Eloise puts in. 

“No, not really,” Kate says, and her stomach growls as if to prove her words false. 

“Please, have something to eat,” Daphne says. “The food is pretty well picked over, but we still have scones and some fruit I think, and we can call for more tea.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Kate says, scrunching up her face, and picking up a scone without looking at it. She takes a large bite and chews as fast as she can without drawing attention.

“It’s really no trouble.”

“No, really, I should find my family.”

“Lady Mary and Miss Edwina went into town,” Daphne says, ringing the bell to summon a servant. One appears almost instantly. “Tea for Miss Sharma, please.”

“They went to town?” Kate repeats dumbfoundedly. For the briefest second she looks over at Anthony as if to confirm this information; he raises an eyebrow and she looks away again in an instant, her jaw clenching. She looks…hurt. His fingers resume their tapping pattern. 

Of course she is hurt, he reminds himself, trying to keep his internal monologue reasonable. She must think he is the worst kind of man, but soon she will understand. Once they are engaged, all will be resolved. They will be free to be with each other as much as they want, but they will not be burdened with the questions of love that other couples in the ton face. If anything, he reasons, a practical woman like Kate will rejoice at having the complex question of marriage resolved so efficiently. 

But the less reasonable side of his brain crosses its arms in defiance, sticking its petulant tongue out in Miss Sharma’s direction. If anybody deserves to feel hurt right now, it is him. He was the one who had been left standing in the hallway like a fool, the one left sitting by himself at the concert last night. He knew enough of women to know that she had enjoyed every moment of their encounter last night, so what could possibly have changed in their brief time away from one another? If it was so easy for her to lock him out, what must she truly think of him?

He recalls his words last night. I want anything you want to give me. Maybe this is just her way of saying that she wants nothing from him. His entire body grows heavy and tired at the thought. 

“They will be back in a few hours,” Daphne assures her. “Please sit.”

Her tone does not leave room for disagreement, so Anthony suddenly finds Kate directly across from him, and he cannot tear his eyes away. How odd, how quickly this woman became the center of his world, he thinks in passing. And yet, she is. Being with her, as difficult as it may be, feels as easy as breathing. Being a brother, being a son, being the Viscount—it never came naturally to him. But with Kate, it is as if his world fell into place. 

What a damn shame she clearly does not feel the same. 

“What are your plans for the day, Kate?” Daphne asks. 

“What little is left of it now that you are awake, that is,” Eloise says.

“I am not sure yet,” Kate responds, smoothing down her dress. 

“I see,” Daphne says, and looks pointedly at Anthony. In turn, he merely shrugs at her, and he is sure Kate clocks the interaction. What is he supposed to do, force the woman to spend time with him? His hand reaches for the box, still in his pocket. He will pick his moment with care. He will not obligate her to be alone with him again. Certainly, to attempt to do so would only scare her off. He will wait until the moment presents itself, and then, finally then, he will make her understand his intentions. 

His sister coughs, and it brings him out of his spell. He watches the Duchess thrumb her fingers impatiently against the side of her chair, looking back and forth between him and Kate, before she clears her throat, and he sees something in her eyes shift. He recognizes that look from his sister's face that day on the dueling field, or any time they play Pall Mall; it is the look of resolve. 

“Eloise, do you know where our other brothers have gotten off to?” Daphne asks. 

“I believe they were going to fence,” Eloise says, nose still in her book. 

“Ah, it is a lovely day to watch them in a match,” Daphne simpers, and Eloise looks up in alarm, then understanding.

She closes the book and stands abruptly. “You are very correct, Daphne. I should track them down. Perhaps they will even allow me to join in for a bout or two.”

“Under no circumstances, Eloise,” Anthony says sharply, but it is too late—she is gone. 

He dares another glance at Kate, just to see if she has picked up on what is going on. It seems she has, from the way her glare falls on Daphne. At least it is not on him, for once. 

An uncomfortable quiet falls over the three of them, tension building all the time. 

Naturally, Daphne breaks the silence. “I believe I saw Miss Edwina being accompanied into town by some young gentleman, but his face was unknown to me. Do you know who it may be?”

He watches Kate’s shoulders tighten up to her ears. "I would guess a Mister Bagwell.”

“Bagwell?” Two voices speak in unison, Daphne’s of confusion, Anthony’s of surprised delight. 

“You know him?” Kate asks him, forgetting to feel awkward, and Anthony’s heart thrills when she looks at him with those wide, curious eyes. He forces himself to keep looking at her, even as a swirling tension begins in his abdomen. What a mess this entire situation is. 

“I went to Oxford with him. Lovely man. I mean a bit…”

“What?” she responds impatiently. 

“Just odd, I suppose. Very absorbed in his books. But truly, as excellent of a character as I have known.”

Kate nods, and he notes with a surge of pride that she seems to relax a bit. 

“Why have I never met him?” Daphne asks. 

“He is not in London much. His family owns a small estate some hour’s ride from here.”

“Not to mention your mother seems to have quite the extensive guest list, it would be hard to know everybody,” Kate says. 

“Quite,” he agrees, glad that she is speaking to him, even if it is not what they ought to be discussing…and there is that tension building once again, with all of the words he wishes to say but cannot.

He waits for his moment. 

After another beat of silence, Daphne stands abruptly, and Anthony stands with her. It seems his moment might come sooner than expected, though not without some interference from the Bridgertons.

“Where is that tea?” she asks nobody in particular, and turns for the door. “I will go check on it.”

“Daphne, please,” Kate says, her voice rising in alarm. “I do not want tea, it is fine.”

“Still, I don’t know how the message could have gotten lost,” she waves her hand, brushing Kate off. “I’ll be back in just a moment.”

And Daphne is out of the room, leaving the door open just the smallest amount that it might be considered acceptable to leave the two of them alone. 

The air in the room is stifling. He returns his gaze to her, and finds her looking over at him as if assessing a jungle cat about to pounce. And truthfully, it is really not fair for her to be sitting there, looking so beautiful and kissable, when she rejected him mere hours ago. But no use thinking about that now. He will ensure right now that she sees him for the man of honor he is.

“Kate,” he starts.

“Anthony,” she says, her voice softer than he expected. 

“You must forgive my sister for her behavior, but I am glad it gives us the opportunity to speak.” His hands dig into his pockets, fingering the small box absentmindedly. 

“Yes.”

“I knocked on your door last night.”

Kate takes a deep breath and exhales, “I know.”

“You were awake.” He was already certain of this information, but it is helpful to have confirmation. 

“I was.”

He pauses, considering what to say next. Why? Do you not want me? Are you disgusted with me? Can you forgive me? Will you marry me?

But before he speaks, she rushes out the words, “Anthony. I am sorry, truly I am. I did not plan to…” she swallows around her words, and her lip quivers somewhere between a wry smile and a grimace. “But, something happens to my brain when I am with you. And when I was alone again, I realized how untenable this entire situation is. But what happened last night…It can never happen again. Do you understand?”

“I know, I behaved abominably. Believe me when I say that is not how I expected us to—”

“Then how did you expect us to, Lord Bridgerton?” she snaps, and his mouth hangs open for a beat. Her brow furrows, and sadness is visible behind her eyes, maybe even pity. It makes him feel ill to see that look on her face, to think of her pity directed at him. Her tone is more gentle when she adds, “We are lucky we were not discovered, especially considering our lack of subtlety in leaving the performance at the same time. We cannot put ourselves in a position where we might be forced to…”

“To marry?” he says quietly, his fingers freezing around the ring box. It is all hanging in this moment. His heart is screaming at him to pull out the box, to ask her to marry him, to make clear that despite what she must think, he will spend his life proving himself to her.

But he does not listen to his heart. Instead, he voices the question he simply must hear an answer to before anything else. “Is that what you are afraid of?”

She swallows, blinking at him, and opens her mouth, before finally the quiet words come out: “I would be a fool not to be.” She throws her hands up in exasperation, and her voice rises in pitch. “You do not want to get married!” She gesticulates wildly at him, and then toward herself. “And nor do I! I have plans, Lord Bridgerton. I am to return to India as soon as Edwina is wed. I have a life waiting for me there.”

There is a long silence, as Anthony slowly pulls his hands out of his pockets, leaving the ring box behind. She is right, of course. She has a life outside of Aubrey Hall. it is almost impossible to fathom, since he has only even known her here, and yet it feels like he has known her forever, but it is true. He straightens his posture and fights the urge to sink his head into his hands under the impossible weight of it all. If he does not marry her, he has no right to ever call himself a gentleman again. If he does, he will steal from her her dream of independence, and in doing so will make miserable the woman he spends every waking (and sleeping) moment thinking about. Not to mention the mess that he might make of both their lives if he were to go and fall in love with her. There is no way out that does not make him want to put his head through a wall. 

But perhaps the most horrifying thought is that last night, he had memorized the taste of her on his tongue, and if she refuses him now, he may die never being with her again.

His heart sinks at the idea that this may be the end of it. He blinks, and tries to come up with a new plan of attack. If she will not hear a proposal, there has to be another way to keep her from running away. 

Finally, an idea strikes him. An idea that sends a shiver down his spine, equally disgusted with himself and fascinated by what might happen if he proceeds with this plan. 

She is convinced he is the worst kind of rake. Even on his worst day, he never seduced an unmarried lady of the ton. But, he thinks grimly, he supposes there is a first time for everything. 

Instead of denying her words, he puts on a sly smirk that feels wrong on his lips. “That is true enough. But it is likely to be some time before Edwina marries.”

She furrows her brow. “What does that have to do with anything?”

He takes a step toward where she is still seated in her chair. “You must need some entertainment to fill the time. I am simply volunteering.”

She rolls her eyes and looks away, a flush creeping up her neck as she crosses one leg over the other. “You are not being serious.” 

“But what if I am?”

“Somebody would find out,” she shoots back, her eyes wide in surprise that she even has to say it. “Of course somebody would find out. Somebody will notice if we keep disappearing together. Lady Whistledown might notice, and then everybody will know, and then we will be forced to…”

“Marry?” He says, noting the sharp tone his word takes on, and he exhales, forcing himself to remain calm, slow, lazily seductive. That is the only way this will work. Anything more earnest, and she will run. “Not necessarily. We can practice the art of subtlety.”

 Must I remind you that we are watched constantly?”

“We are alone now,” he points out. 

“Somehow, I don’t think Daphne was leaving the room to allow you privacy to have your wicked way with me,” she replies, and he swallows, disguising his desire to scream with a little laugh. 

“Perhaps not, but I’m improvising.” If only she knew how accurate those words were.

He sidles up closer to her, and even though this act, pretending like he only wants her for her body, is the most dishonest he has been to her yet, it does feel damn good to be so close to her again, close enough to smell that intoxicating scent of lilies she carries with her everywhere. Memories of the sweet smells, the sounds she made when he buried his face between her legs the night before flood his mind, and he inhales sharply just as she breathes out. They move in tandem, as always. 

“You should stop.”

“You did not want me to stop last night.” 

Throwing caution to the wind, he lowers himself to his knees. He does not know what his next move will be; surely he is not insane enough to devour her again here in the drawing room, with the door cracked open and a sister who may return at any moment…is he? But regardless of what he will do next, the move has the desired effect, as Kate shifts in her seat, watching him with a slightly gaping mouth as he inches closer, reaching his hands out toward either arm on the chair—and then she springs up, bursting past his arm and walking briskly to the other side of the room.

“Us women, you know, we can be fickle.”

There is something in her eye, some glint that she does not want him to see, and that must be why she seems to be looking everywhere except into his eyes.

He chuckles, getting up off his knees slowly and crossing his hands politely behind his back. That move was clearly too overt. He will need to be more subtle, to seduce her so that she can hardly even tell it is happening.

“What happened? What changed last night?” he challenges, hoping to lure her back out with their familiar antagonism. 

“I came to my senses, that is all that changed,” she hisses. “Neither of us wish to marry, and if we continue down this path, at some point, something will happen that we cannot take back, we will be forced into it, and you will—we will make each other miserable.”

He refuses to believe that she thinks that is true. Kate may be infuriating, but a life with her would hardly be miserable. The word that comes to mind is…interesting. Yes, a life with Kate Sharma would always be eventful, he is sure of that. But maybe she would be miserable, a voice in his head points out. She wants to return to her home and live out her life in freedom, would you take that away from her? Of course not. 

“I do not believe we would be destined to be found out. As I said, I can be subtle. And it is clear that you want me.” She exhales but does not speak, so he presses on. “I can make you feel pleasures you’ve never dreamed of, Kate, I promise you,” his eyes rove up and down her form, and he notes with satisfaction that she licks her lips.

The space between them shrinks when he steps forward, his hands still firmly clasped behind his back. He studies her watching him, the way her eyes widen at his proximity, looking at him with what he can easily identify as desire. He bites his tongue to stop from saying anything else, about how all he can think about is her, not just her body, but her laugh, her quick remarks, wondering how she will challenge him next.

She closes her eyes for a moment, then opens them with renewed vigor. “That is not the only reason we might become obligated.”

He furrows his brow. “What we did last night, you know, would not be able to result in a child.”

Her eyes flash with a passionate rage. “I know how children are made, Anthony, I am not some green girl!”

“Forgive me,” he puts his hands up. “Many young women raised in society are not told—”

“But I was not raised in this society, was I?” She raises an eyebrow.

“No, you were not,” he concedes. A jealous snarl rears up in the back of his mind, and he cannot believe the thought has not occurred to him before, but he tries to put on an aloof tone when he asks, “Have you ever had a lover before?”

“And what if I have?” she challenges, her back straightening.

“Nothing, it is entirely your business,” he says, taking a step back and trying to control the monster threatening to burst forth, the animalistic urge to make sure no man touches her, looks at her again. “Though I may call you a bit of a hypocrite for your jealousy over Miss Rosso last night, when you are not even willing to provide me with the same honesty.”

Yes, that is the way to deflect—bait her. It has always worked before, and this is no exception. 

“I was not jealous, Anthony, I was—I will not have this same argument with you again. And fine, since you ask, no I never had a lover, but there was a man I knew in the Maharaja’s court, who certainly expressed interest. I made a point to understand what exactly he was proposing."

“I see,” he says, and his voice sounds cold even to his ears. This was not the plan. The plan was to seduce her, not get bogged down in images of her with other men, with men who she might spend time with when she returns to India, with men who she might one day see fit to marry, men who were not him.

“There is no need to be jealous, Anthony. Nothing happened, not really, and it was a long time ago.”

“Jealous,” he scoffs, and the tiny quirk in her lip lifts to a full smile.

“Yes, Anthony, jealous. What would you call the emotion you are experiencing right now?” She asks patronizingly. 

“Certainly not jealousy. I feel pride, if anything. I know now that I am the only man who has ever brought your body to its exquisite peak, that is plenty to be proud of, wouldn’t you agree?” Her eye flash again, and this time he is sure her desire must be eating her alive if she does not slap him or respond to that, so he pushes his luck further, leaning down to meet her eyes, a mere inch away now. “Besides, you have made clear there is no chance for a repeat of the events of last night. Why do you care what I am feeling?”

She laughs out loud, but the sound is lower than it had been. “I don’t care, really, I just like to watch you squirm.” Her voice soft and seductive to his ears, and for a moment he forgets that he is the one doing the seducing here. 

He leans to the side just a bit, so that he is now whispering in her ear. “I’m sure you can think of a few more creative ways of making me squirm, Kate.”

She rolls her eyes, but already he can see what will happen. They will dance around each other, exchanging barbs and flirtations, until the steady dam of control breaks, and spills over them both. It is the same dance they have done a thousand times now, they have the steps memorized, and he knows with utter certainty that neither of them can help themselves. 

He doesn’t know if that knowledge breaks his heart or mends it. 

“I’m sure I can, but I’m not certain you would be able to handle it,” she whispers back. 

“That sounds like a challenge, Miss Sharma, and one I promise you I will rise to.” He steps forward to murmur the words against her collarbone, as his tongue dips out to taste her salty sweet skin. He is close enough now that he knows she is able to feel how literal his words are, and he can see her throat working, watching in fascination as the muscles contract, and he sucks gently on her skin, eliciting a small moan from her. 

“Just as you promised you would be victorious at Pall Mall?” she jokes breathlessly, her hands hanging loose at her sides as if she does not know whether to use them to push him away or pull him closer. “Your words mean nothing to me.”

“I happen to have first hand experience that tells me my words have quite the effect on you,” he nips at the side of her neck, recalling the night before, all the sweet nothings he had murmured against her thigh, her clit, and the grip of her fingers in his hair. “But if my words cannot satisfy you,” he pauses to kiss her deeply, and her hand immediately rises to thread into his hair, holding on for dear life, and apparently she has made her decision. After a beat, they break apart, and, breathing heavily, he adds, “my actions will.”

She looks up at him through her eyelashes, her face clouded with lust, and he lets himself smirk. He has won this round, he knows, but for the first time, he wishes he did not have to try to win with her. Just once, he wishes they could be on the same team. 

But a sound coming from outside the still slightly-ajar door wakes him from his current train of thought, and Kate jumps away from him, turning to look out the window. At the same time, he sits, crossing his legs carefully in an attempt to look casual rather than aroused, and takes a deep breath as he flattens his hair. 

“Apologies,” Daphne says as she breezes back into the room. “I had no idea boiling water could be so time consuming. Your tea, Kate.”

“Thank you,” Kate grimaces, lifting the teapot and pouring herself a cup.

Daphne looks back and forth between her and Anthony for a moment, before her face falls. She glares at Anthony with the same expression as when he and Benedict beheaded one of her dolls when they were little. Surprisingly, Daphne has rarely been one for anger; much worse, her face is all disappointment, like he has let her down by not immediately asking Miss Sharma for her hand. No thought, of course, he thinks bitterly, for the fact that Kate would never say yes even if I did ask. The tiny ring box feels heavy in his pocket. 

But there are still more pressing matters than Daphne’s disappointment. The taste of Kate’s lips on his, for one, the lingering scent of lilies, and making sure that he could be with her again, alone, as soon as possible. 

He stands up abruptly. “I must get some work done before dinner.”

“You spent all morning just waiting around in the drawing room and now you must get back to work?” Daphne says skeptically, and Kate eyes him with poorly-disguised amusement.

“Fine, next time I will not keep you company,” he snarks. 

“I was keeping you company!” Daphne declares indignantly. 

“Whatever you say, sister. I will see you at dinner. If anybody needs me,” he pauses, not daring to be so bold as to make eye contact with Kate, but allowing the words to linger in the room, “I will be in my study.”

He nods to them both, and, in the brief moment he lets his eyes fall on Miss Sharma, he knows he has won this battle, but his chances in the war look grim. Still, another moment alone with Kate, a moment right now in which they do not need to worry about the future, that was all he needed.

He tells himself that over and over, as he retreats to his study and throws the ring box carelessly into a drawer of his desk and awaits her arrival.

Notes:

I know, I know, the friends with benefits trope in Regency is unrealistic and Anthony is a gentleman and Kate is a lady and they would never—I know. But….what if they did tho? These are the big questions that keep me up at night.

Also in case anybody is wondering, the title is a lyric from A Weekend in the Country from A Little Night Music, a bangin’ Sondheim classic that gives Aubrey Hall energy.

Thank you for reading and commenting, the response to this fic continues to blow me away. More nonsense coming soon <3 Also might have to publish a silly little modern AU two-shot that came to me while I was delayed for a flight yesterday, stay tuned.

Chapter 11

The days that follow fly by in a haze of dizzying debauchery and deceit. Kate and Anthony find secluded moments in his office, in the library late at night, even, during one particularly risky rendezvous, in the gardens, tucked away on a bench hidden by tall hedges. When they are not sneaking time to be alone together, the Sharmas are very often in the presence of the Bridgertons, and Kate spends more and more time with all of his siblings, who seem to have collectively decided to take her and Edwina under their wings. 

It is, when Kate really lets herself think about it (which is not often), the happiest she has ever been. Mary and Edwina have always been enough for her, but the allure of a big family enraptures Kate. She finds she is never prouder than when she throws in a barb to match the other Bridgertons’ constant teasing, never felt more herself than when she gets caught up in a conversation about women's rights with Eloise, or painting with Benedict.

And then, there is Anthony. After so much time spent believing the worst in him, Kate allows herself, finally, to see the best. Despite the fears Siena Rosso had inadvertently stoked within her—the painful prospect of being nothing but a convenience to him—, he is such a devoted presence, such a (though his ego would burst if she ever said it out loud) heartstoppingly attentive lover, that she finds she is able to force her fears from her mind, at least for a while. And a little while is all she needs. He tells her she is the most beautiful woman in the world, and on his lips, she actually believes it.

That first afternoon when she sought him out in his office after he made his scandalous offer, they had decided together that they would never do anything that might risk a pregnancy, but past that rule, Kate enjoys exploring the many methods for making the Viscount squirm, among many other actions. And he, she is certain, takes just as much pleasure in testing her reactions to his devoted ministrations. Life at Aubrey Hall feels disconnected from the rest of her reality, and for the first time, Kate allows herself to take this moment to simply feel happy.

The only twinge in Kate’s mind is the knowledge that once the visit to Aubrey Hall ends in a few short days, so will this temporary bliss. Between their vigorous—and frankly, inventive—bouts of lovemaking, she and Anthony talk. She tells him about her parents, and about her dreams for Edwina, her insecurities as the forgotten elder sibling. He in turns tells him about his family, his father, his fears of not living up to Edmund’s legacy.

The only thing they never talk about is the future. 

Kate can admit that she is mostly to blame for that avoidance. As she grows closer to his siblings, and finds that being with him is easier than breathing, whenever she thinks about a week from now when they will go their separate ways, it feels impossible to breathe. So any time he cautiously alludes to the future of Aubrey Hall, or the pressure his mother places on him to marry, Kate nods in understanding, and tries not to speak for fear her voice will crack. 

Of course, by any reasonable societal standards, she knows she ought to be outraged that he has not proposed. She is essentially his mistress in everything except name, certainly not a position becoming of a proper lady. But then, Kate never felt much kinship to these subjective social practices. In fact, she reminds herself, it had been that very disdain for “proper” society that had united her and Anthony at that very first dance. Besides, whenever she is in his presence, she cannot bring herself to feel anything other than utterly satisfied to spend the time they have together.

Of course, they dare not tell any of their family members, even Edwina, but that made it that much easier. When it was just the two of them, they did not need to justify their behavior to anybody else. 

Not to say that the families did not have their suspicions. The amount of hints dropped under the breaths of various Bridgertons left her in little doubt that the family knew something was going on between them, but she suspected any of them would have cold fainted if they had the remotest clue of the true extent of the relationship. If passing remarks from Edwina were any indication, it seemed that both families had concluded that they were courting and trying to keep matters private, which while unprecedented, was not cause for particular gossip.

Come the end of the Aubrey Hall visit, when they would break things off, the families would simply conclude that the courtship had ended. If anything, it suited their needs perfectly. The assumption that they were courting gave them a perfect excuse for taking a long walk or sitting next to each other at dinner, without drawing scandalized attention to themselves, and it allowed them to live in this moment instead of fixating on the future.

Well, mostly. Whenever the future did creep up into the back of her mind as she held Anthony in her arms or let her mind wander during restless nights, her heart breaks over and over again. So Kate simply does not let herself think about the future.

 

---

 

When Anthony thinks about the future, his heart shatters. And he finds he can think about little but the future, these days.

Every time he sees the looks on his family’s faces ranging from amused to thrilled to disgusted, every time he holds Kate in his arms and inhales her lily-fresh scent, every time he opens up to her in a way he never thought he would be able to put into words, his heart breaks. 

That is not to say he is not happy. No, being with Kate Sharma proves itself to be an exercise in duality. He has never been happier, and he has never been more miserable. He has never felt more himself, and he has never felt less sure of his place in this world. Everything he had once believed to be true is coming apart at the seams, and the only true thing he can cling to is Kate. 

And in his prouder moments, he thinks perhaps she feels the same way with him. In the few days of their affair, for lack of a better term (and Anthony has racked his brain for any other word that might suffice), Kate had opened up to him about her life. They laugh like old friends and kiss like lovers who had long ago memorized each others’ every quirk, yet are discovering each other for the first time. 

But then, there is the creeping shame. Not only that he had cowardly backed down from his plan to propose—the ring still sat untouched in one of his desk drawers, as he had been unable to bring himself to even look at it after his and Kate’s second rendezvous and his less-than-honorable alternative proposition—for fear of rejection. Not only that he would never again be able to truthfully call himself a gentleman. Not only the fact that a large part of him has firmly decided that if the condition is he gets to be with Kate, he does not care if he gets to call himself a gentleman or not.

No. Now there is also the matter of his family. 

He cannot bear the looks Daphne throws at him any time she is in the same room as him, as if she somehow knows exactly what he is doing without any proof. So, leaning into his steadily growing pile of cowardly choices, he does everything he can to avoid being found alone with his eldest sister. He does not want to hear the lecture he knows she must have prepared on the tip of her tongue, because there is nothing she could possibly say to him about his behavior that he does not already know.

When he sees the hope in his mother’s eye, or the exasperated amusement in Benedict’s, or the joy in Hyacinth’s, it instills that familiar sense of shame, so as a general rule, he avoids being alone with anybody except Kate. If he was not with Kate, he was by himself, and if neither of those could be arranged, he tried to surround himself with as much of the family as possible so that none of them could find a moment to speak to him privately. Still, his family was persistent. Anthony dodged teasing remarks from Simon and his sisters, knowing glances from Daphne and his mother, and tried his best to brush it off any time he was faced with an accusation that an argument with Kate left him grinning like a schoolboy (patently false, he was sure).

The system, as tenuous as it was, was working for now. And if he pushed down his shame, he could focus on how lovely it was to spend time with his family and the Sharmas, instead of focusing on the guilt that the families would not become united, all thanks to his cowardice and, quite frankly, Kate’s stubbornness. 

Of course, while they spent plenty of time as a group, nobody knew what they did to each other when they were alone: the countless ways he had found to make her scream his name (well, that is not entirely true—by his count the number was 26, so far), the feeling of her hands, sure and steady, against his skin, touching him, her mouth wrapped around him, how she felt coming undone around his fingers…needless to say, nobody else was privy to that aspect of their relationship.

And there was the contradiction of Anthony's present existence. Despite the cloud of the future hanging over their heads, he could not remember ever feeling so blissfully happy in his adult life. Every moment spent with Kate felt like he was exactly where he belonged. He had never truly felt comfortable in the Viscount title, always felt as if he were wearing his father’s clothes and playing dress-up, but when Kate seductively whispers “Viscount Bridgerton” in his ear, he thinks perhaps the title might suit him after all. 

He has that very thought as they lie together on the carpet of the library one night, breathing heavily and wrapped up in each others’ arms. He always prefers their nighttime rendezvous to the daytime trysts; it was much easier to get Kate out of her nightwear than those ridiculous corsets. It is regrettable that they have never enjoyed each other in a proper bed, but Kate insisted early on that it was more likely one of them would be caught sneaking into the wrong bedroom than if they met at a third location. In the library or his office, they could lock the door, and if somebody did happen to find them wandering the halls at night, they would have a reasonable explanation as to why they had been walking about. Kate is, of course, ever-practical.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Viscount Bridgerton,” Kate pants, kissing his shoulder, and he runs his hand through her hair, pulling her in for a lengthy kiss. 

“I could say the same about you, Miss Sharma,” he says. 

“No, I’ve always been this good,” she teases, running a finger down his chest. “But you, you’ve really stepped up.”

“Hush, you,” he grumbles, kissing his way down her neck. “I’ll show you ‘steps up’...”

“Stop!” she laughs, pushing lightly against him, and he breaks away with a pout. “The sun will be rising soon, and the servants will be up.”

He groans. “Of course, you’re right.”

“Oh my God, say that again, will you?” she says, putting on seductive eyes. Not that she really has to try; everything she does entices him. 

He kisses her, and she smiles. “No really, say it again, it’s working for me.”

He leans in to purr in her ear, “You’re right, Kate.”

She moans ecstatically, and they both break out giggling, holding each other as their bodies shake.  She has opened up to him so much in the past few days, it feels miraculous to watch her willingness to play, to be entirely herself.

“You are ridiculous,” he says, grinning.

“Don’t pretend you don’t love it,” she laughs back, and he smiles, closing the distance between their mouths again.

It is not until his lips are devouring hers that he truly hears her words. 

He freezes, just for a moment, but he can immediately feel her go still beneath him, and suddenly their lips feel cold and hard against each other. He leans back, and her eyes are staring into his with such intensity, a questions written across the furrow of her brow, and he knows what he should say, what, if he's honest, he has felt since the moment they met. 

But there are her words ringing through his head. You do not want to get married! And nor do I! I have plans, Lord Bridgerton.

If they cannot be together, then what is the point in saying those words and making the ending that much harder for both of them? There is no point. To confess his true feelings now would be selfish. 

So instead, he shifts back on his arm and gives her a shaky smile. “But truly, you were right. We should be getting back to our rooms.” He pretends he does not notice the moment that just passed between them, the word that for some reason he simply could not force past his lips. In truth, this goes far beyond the simple fear of rejection: This is the fear of destruction. He knows what love can do to people, how it can break them, destroy them, leave them an empty shell of who they were. He could never, in a million years, risk destroying Kate. He would not. 

But even so, he fears he already has done so, as he watches her face fall, before she puts on a soft, understanding smile that breaks his heart more than he knew was possible. “Yes,” she says quietly, looking away. “I am always right.”

“I never said always,” he jokes, but the words sound hollow to his ears. He is trying to maintain their usual banter, but, just as he felt after the Pall Mall game, the ground beneath them has shifted, and suddenly, their old tricks won’t work anymore. In an instant, this thing between them is sour, dishonest, incomplete. And he feels helpless to stop it, helpless as she nods at him, trying to smile, but he can see her eyes glistening as she rises and gets dressed to leave. The room stays silent, suddenly bereft of their familiar laughs and murmurs. 

Back in the safety of his own room, Anthony truly considers running away: taking the carriage back to London,and making up some half-assed excuse as to why he cannot see off the guests when they leave in just a few short days. He could do it, he knows, and perhaps he could even make it through the rest of the season without seeing Kate Sharma again. 

But that thought alone is enough to strengthen his resolve to stay. No matter how much it hurts, it cannot be worse than not being with her, even from afar. 

So with his heart ready to beat out of his chest, he makes his way down to breakfast. When he opens the drawing room door, he is greeted to the sight of several guests, all three Sharmas included, milling about the drawing room. Kate is settled in on the couch, next to Edwina and Eloise. Benedict and Hyacinth are sat across from them in the throes of an intense chess match.

“Good morning, brother!” Hyacinth chirps. “Up for a game of chess?”

“Excuse me, I am right here,” Benedict says indignantly, taking one of her pawns as if to prove a point. 

Hyacinth rolls her eyes. “Fine. Anthony, you can play the winner.” Leaning over to the women on the couch, she whispers, “I’ll win.”

“Just for that, I’m going to win extra hard.”

“No you’re not,” Hyacinth sing-songs, moving a piece. “Check.”

Benedict moves a piece quickly, and Hyacinth smirks as she takes her turn. “Check.”

Anthony blinks, the boisterous joy of the scene such a far cry from his current emotions that he feels his eyes need to take a moment to adjust. His gaze floats over to Kate when he hears the familiar sound of that snort she makes when she is trying to hold back laughter. She quickly covers her mouth with one hand when Benedict turns on her in mock-anger, though his expression is still one of vague amusement. 

“Something to say on the matter, Miss Sharma?” Benedict challenges.

“Of course not,” she says, her smile still covered with her hand, and Anthony has the overwhelming urge to lift her hand away from her mouth and trace his own fingers around the edge of her lips. 

Instead, he picks up a scone from the breakfast table, watching the interaction between Kate and his brother with feigned disinterest. 

“I am glad, considering you helped her cheat earlier,” Benedict snaps, his attention back on the game. “I know she maneuvered the board when you distracted me with your questions.”

“Do you always accuse all of your siblings of cheating whenever you are losing, Mister Bridgerton?” Kate shoots back, a little smile still on her lips as she lowers her hand. 

He pauses as if to consider that question, then throws her a winning grin. “You know, perhaps I do. But that is only because the only way they could beat me is by cheating.”

“Whatever you say, brother,” Hyacinth rolls her eyes, and moves her queen. “Check mate.”

“How did you—!” he exclaims, pretending to look under the table for some hidden device that helped Hyacinth cheat, smiling all the while. To the untrained observer, it might seem that Benedict is incapable of bad moods, though Anthony knows from personal experience that is not the case. His brother possesses a depth Anthony himself has never quite been able to comprehend, but Benedict always managed to show a sunny exterior to the world, shining his light on everybody around him. It was one of the things Anthony loved most about his brother. 

Except now, seeing Benedict's light shining on Kate, seeing Kate beam at his brother with that faraway look in her eye, remembering the tears in her eyes mere hours, tears that Anthony's behavior had inspired, he was not so sure he likes this quality about Benedict as much as he used to. A ridiculous, completely unfounded reaction, his brain told him sensibly, but it did not quell the wave of irrational jealousy cresting within his chest, all at the mere fact that Kate was capable of looking at somebody else, let alone his brother, with that fond expression. 

“Well, good game, I suppose,” Benedict sniffs, holding a hand out, and Hyacinth shakes it decidedly, before she turns to Anthony. 

“Anthony, your turn!”

“Lucky me,” he grumbles, and kicks himself when he notices how Hyacinth’s face falls a fraction of an inch, before she perks up again. Apparently today is the day he hurts everybody he cares about.

“Afraid I’ll beat you too?”

“Yes, petrified,” he says, sitting down at Benedict’s recently-vacated seat and trying to give his sister his full attention, instead of letting his gaze wander in Kate’s direction again. 

But he fails miserably when Benedict stands at her side and offers her his hand. 

“Shall we, Miss Sharma?”

Kate takes his grasp readily, smiling with an ease Anthony had to work for a week to evoke from her. 

“Where are you going?” Anthony asks before he can control himself. 

Benedict glances over at him, that familiar mirth in his eyes, and it fills Anthony with an inexplicable rage. “Miss Sharma distracted me from the game with all her talk of painting. We are off to try our hand at some landscapes in the gardens.”

Anthony looks at Kate, who has an unreadable expression on her face as she meets his gaze with trepidation. 

“You paint?” he asks quietly. 

She shrugs. “I dabble.”

“I did not know.”

“I do not tell you everything.”

There is a loaded pause. While Anthony is passingly aware that their siblings watch the exchange, it truly feels like they are the only two in the room. But a second later, Kate shakes her head and plasters on a false smile, her eyes flashing him a careful warning. “Best of luck to you, Lord Bridgerton, you will need it.”

And she leaves the room on his brother’s arm. 

He tries his best to focus on the game before him, but he fails miserably. Hyacinth, ever-devious, still manages to drag his failure out for an agonizing hour. All the while, his mind is fixed on Kate and Benedict together in the gardens, on the words he should have said to her that morning, or better yet the words he should have said days ago.

As Hyacinth crows over her victory, Anthony glances toward the door. 

“Do you fancy a stroll through the gardens?” A quiet voice says beside him, and he whips around to find Edwina giving him a knowing look. 

He stands abruptly. “I—If you will accompany me Miss Edwina, I would be honored.”

She simply nods, placing her arm in his. 

They walk outside in silence, and Anthony knows she is watching him as he glances around the gardens, not bothering to feign subtlety in his search.

“You seem distracted, my lord.”

“Do I?” he says.

“You do. Would it have anything to do with why my sister has barely spoken to me for the past few days?”

He blinks and looks over at Edwina. “I am sure I cannot speak on Miss Sharma’s behalf. I am sorry if things are changed between you two.”

“I know my sister well enough to know that sometimes she simply wants to be left alone for a little while. But this feels different.”

There is a beat, and they are both waiting for the other to say something. He clears his throat. “As I said, I cannot—”

“Speak on her behalf, of course,” Edwina says, her gaze frighteningly fixed.

“I am sure it is just a passing mood.” He looks up and finally finds Kate and Benedict, set up with easels on the other side of this lawn, with Violet and Mary milling about the nearby gardens, acting as half-hearted chaperones. “Perhaps it has already lifted. My brother has a gift for bringing out the best in people.”

Edwina laughs. “You make it sound as if that is a horrible quality.”

“Do I?” He asks again, distractedly, as he watches Kate throw her head back laughing at something Benedict just said. His brother, in response, quirks an eyebrow and leans in toward her. Kate leans back, and Anthony focuses on her mouth, hoping he might be able to read her lips, though he knows the effort is pointless. Suddenly, the turn in conversation looks quite serious, and he feels like an intruder on his own lands. When they both look up, he notes the flush on Kate’s neck, and her eyes flicker toward him and her sister, just for a brief moment, giving them a casual smile in greeting, but there is some secret buried in her eyes when she meets his gaze.

Anthony struggles to breath. This cannot be happening. It is one thing that he might be forced to give her up, to never see her again, but it is something else entirely to face the prospect that she might indeed marry somebody, just not him. And God forbid it would actually be his brother, that they would be forced to see each other at family occasions, that he would be forced to call her sister, forced to be uncle to her children.

He makes his way across the lawn, forcing himself to not move too quickly and leave Edwina trailing behind him. As he watches Kate blink in surprise at something Benedict has said, a soft smile on her lips, Anthony subconsciously tightens his grip on Edwina’s arm. 

The younger Miss Sharma looks up at him in surprise, tapping his forearm gently, until he realizes what he has done and lets go. She nods and turns back to the artists. 

“Are you speechless at the beauty of your own art, Didi?” Edwina teases, coming up beside her sister. 

“Something like that,” Kate murmurs, still looking at Benedict with a lingering question in her eye, but Benedict is focused entirely on his canvas, making a sweeping gesture before he rises.

“There, it is finished,” he declares. Anthony, fighting the urge to hit his brother, steps up to look at the canvas. Benedict has painted a beautiful landscape of Aubrey Hall’s gardens, their father’s lilac bushes at the foreground. 

Then, his eyes shift to Kate’s canvas. A far less finished work, she has marked outlined the landscape surrounding Aubrey Hall. Off to the right, she has painted a few small figures on the lawns, so far in the distance he cannot make out who they are supposed to be, but he has a guess when he sees mallets painted in several of their grasps. 

“Is that Pall Mall?” he laughs, against his will. 

She looks at him in indignation. “Is something funny about that?”

“Not at all, it is, well, it is very nice,” he says. It is marvelous. It is his family, and he wants to thank her for capturing their world with such beauty. But no, instead he says, “it is very nice,” as if he is talking about the weather. 

“Thank you,” she responds, her face unreadable, and she turns away. 

“You truly have the artist’s eye, Miss Sharma,” Benedict says fondly, looking over her shoulder at the painting, and he points to one of the figures. “That one is Daphne, can’t you tell?”

“I can,” is all Anthony replies. 

Benedict looks back at Anthony with his brow furrowed, looking at him like he is waiting for him to say something else. When Anthony just shrugs helplessly, he rises. “Yes, well, it has been a lovely afternoon. I suspect every afternoon in your company would be lovely, Miss Sharma.”

Kate smirks at his brother, and Anthony watches in horror as Benedict scoops up her hand and kisses it, Kate making that too-familiar face where she bites the inside of her lip to keep herself from smiling. 

This is a nightmare, this has to be a nightmare. 

Benedict stands and lifts his canvas. “I should wash up before luncheon,” he comments. 

“I will accompany you back to the house, I am quite in need of some rest before this evening,” Edwina says. 

They both nod their goodbyes, Benedict’s eyes lingering on Kate a fraction too long. 

“You’ll think about what I said, won’t you?” he asks in a low voice, and Anthony’s head snaps over to Kate, who glares at his brother, though there is no malice behind her eyes. 

“I will try very hard not too,” she says, her eyes narrowing. 

“I would expect nothing less,” Benedict laughs, before turning to Anthony. “Brother,” he nods, and his brow furrows again, before he moves across the lawn. 

There is a beat, as Anthony lingers behind Kate, eyes fixed on Benedict’s retreating form. A moment later, she stands up too. 

“I should return to the house as well,” she says hurriedly, moving to collect her paints. 

“What did he want you to think about?” Anthony asks sharply. 

Kate looks at him out of the side of her eye. “Why do you care?”

“Humor me.”

“It is between Benedict and me,” she says, her tone evasive, and his heart beats faster. If it meant nothing to her, she would just come out and say it, wouldn’t she?

He is looking at her with such intensity that she snaps her head up to look at him pointedly. “It is really none of your business.”

“It is my business, as the head of the family, if my brother has declared his intentions.”

Kate’s mouth gapes open, before she lets out a disbelieving laugh. “And who, exactly, are you thinking he intends to marry?”

“That is what I am trying to ascertain.”

“If I did not know any better, Viscount Bridgerton,” she says, her mouth curved but her entire expression perplexed, “I might call you jealous.”

He steps forward, getting too close to her for a moment, before moving past her and grabbing her canvas off the easel absentmindedly. “Perhaps I am. Would that displease you?”

Her breath leaves her lungs as his hot gaze pins her in place. His eyes, he is sure, are begging for an answer to his question. Begging, selfishly, for her to be honest where he cannot be.

“I…I suppose it would not,” she says defiantly. 

A lazy smile spreads across his lips, one which he hopes disguises his true fear and paranoia. “Because I was, you know, jealous. Watching him whisper into your ear, make you smile, it drove me mad.”

“Well,” she flips her braid over one shoulder, picking up the easel and grabbing the canvas out of his hands with surprising force. “A bit of humility is good for the soul, my lord. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

He watches her go in alarm. That cannot possibly the end of what she has to say on the matter. She cannot possibly be satisfied with dismissing him thusly, before they’ve had a chance to properly fight about nothing, or perhaps even to find their way back to his office…

“So he did not say anything untoward?” Anthony says, following after her. 

She rolls her eyes. “Are you hoping to defend my honor now? How ironic.”

“Kate—”

“Lord Bridgerton,” she snaps quietly. “We are in public, so before you say anything we will both have reason to regret, I wish you would let me return to the house and freshen up before dinner.”

He studies her expression, looking for some hint that she means something more with her words, but finds nothing. 

“Will you meet me this afternoon?” he asks, a hint of desperation audible in his voice. He selfishly needed to know that she still wanted to be with him, selfishly needed to hear the words come out of her mouth.  

“I am very tired, I should rest before dinner,” she says, turning back to the house and continuing at a brisk pace. 

“Have I done something to offend you?” he says, knowing the answer is yes, remembering all too clearly the look of hurt that flashed across her face that morning when she had uttered the word “love” and his entire body had shut down. 

“Of course not, you no longer have the power to offend me,” she says breezily, and his back stiffens. 

“What does that mean?”

“It means I have given up on expecting you to be anybody else but who you are.”

“And who I am displeases you?”

Her eyes look up toward the sky then back down. “Not strictly speaking,” she says carefully. “But you have your limitations, as do we all.”

“Oh good, do tell, what are my limitations?”

“You will start a fight over lies before you will actually dare to say anything true.”

That hits him like a punch to the gut and he stops in place. 

“That sounds a bit like the pot calling the kettle black, Miss Sharma.”

“Oh?” She wheels around to face him. 

“You come to me every night, and yet you refuse to say we are courting in public. I try to talk about life after Aubrey Hall, and you shut down. What is that if not another form of deception?”

She cocks her head, and hisses furiously, “What would you have me do, have it published in Lady Whistledown that I am your mistress?”

“You are not—”

“Am I not?” she raises an eyebrow. “My situation seems strikingly similar to Miss Rosso’s a year ago. I meet you, under cover of night, behind closed doors, because you need me, but you still cannot say what it is that you want.”

“I know exactly what I want,” he growls, stepping closer, and she raises her chin. 

“Oh yes? And what is that, exactly, apart from my body?”

His words freeze on the tip of his tongue, and he braces himself to go on, to finally, finally say what has been gnawing at him for days, but she rolls her eyes when he pauses. “Exactly. That is all this is. And I deserve more.”

“And you think my brother can offer it to you?” He hates himself for the words, but the cold glare she fixes him with is punishment enough for his immaturity. 

“Your brother is kind, he thinks of the world outside of himself. Why should that not be enough for me?”

“I think of only myself, is that what you are saying?”

“You use me, you snap at your siblings, you turn on your own brother the moment you feel a hint of jealousy, that strikes me as the behavior of a man who considers himself the center of the world.”

Steam practically pours out of his ears. He had thought Kate was the only person in the world who could see his devotion to his family, and now she is standing there, saying this. If she can't see the good in him, maybe there really is none.

“Well,” he retorts, “once again we have that in common.”

“Excuse me?”

“You talk endlessly of Edwina, of her suitors and making sure she finds a love match, and yet when a man finally gives you the time of day you forget all about her.” The words are cruel, beyond cruel, but they pour out of his mouth anyway. “She told me you have barely spoken to her for these past few days. It is a good thing no man has asked you to marry him, or you may have abandoned your family long ago.”

He would rather tear his heart out of his own chest than look at her with that expression on her face for another instant. But there she stands, looking as hurt and as vulnerable as he has ever seen her, and here he stands, unmoving, his hands clasped behind his back.

He knows in that moment she will never forgive him. And he will never be deserving of forgiveness. 

She shakes her head slowly, then nods, as if to herself, as if to say, naturally. As if she had always been expecting this of him, was just waiting for the moment that he would prove her right. 

The moment lasts for an eternity, and he feels the ground slipping under his feet once again; there will be no going back from this. And he knows it is true when she turns her cold eyes on him.

“You stand in this place and you speak this way to me. Imagine if your father could see you now. Imagine his disappointment.”

Anthony steps back in shock. The words hang out in front of him, pointed as sharp as spears. She knows exactly where to stab to wound him most, just as he does for her, and here they stand, bleeding out on the lawns on Aubrey Hall. 

The silence seems to last an eternity as their stares bore into one another in rage. Finally, she closes her eyes, and her whole body deflates; it looks like she has truly given up.

She turns on her heel to walk into the house. He does not follow her.

Notes:

I really don't know how this chapter got so long but...here we are.

A part of me wanted to pause for a couple chapters and just let them be sluts, but then another part of me felt like it made the story lag. At some point down the line, perhaps I will go back and write a one-shot about their friends with benefits era, who knows!

I normally don't do a mix of Kate and Anthony POVs in a given chapter, but I thought it was important to give you a bit of Kate's perspective on the situation at the beginning of the chapter, so you can understand where she's at as the events unfold. I also really did wrestle with how their conflict would play out in this chapter. I debated putting the bee sting in, but ultimately I decided that for Anthony in the book and show, the bee sting is a catalyst for him to understand something about his feelings for Kate. For the version of Anthony I have written, he already understands his feelings very clearly, he just can't own up to them. Somehow the versions of these characters I have written are even more emotionally unavailable than book/show Kate and Anthony, so it felt more in keeping with their style that the conflict would culminate in a horrible fight in which they say cruel things to each other instead of saying how they feel. I know that they both end up saying really awful things to each other and it is sad to read, but the truth is that they understand each other so well, there is nobody in the world who is more capable of inflicting pain, and that's what they do this chapter.

Shoutout to @Jam_and_butterfly whose comment on the last chapter perfectly predicted exactly what was going to happen here.

Only 3 more chapters for a happily ever after, how are they gonna get themselves out of this pickle...

Chapter 12

They do not speak again all day. Alone in her room that night, Kate feels physically sick. She misses his warm arms around her, misses his smile, misses the time in her life, just earlier than morning, when she had never heard him speak so cruelly to her, when she had never seen his face after she spoke so cruelly to him. The damned spark between them had built until there was nothing for it to do but burn them. And it had. And it left Kate scarred and alone in her bed. 

She has breakfast in her room the next morning. Edwina stays with her. They talk about Mister Bagwell, the likelihood that he will travel to London to see Edwina after the visit to Aubrey Hall is over, and the latest gossip Mary had gleaned from Lady Danbury. Everything but the elephant in the room. 

Once all the food and tea is gone, Edwina lounges back on Kate’s bed. 

“Kate?”

“Yes, Bon?” Kate lies down next to her and closes her eyes. Maybe she can just sleep away the next two days and never leave her room until it is time to return to London.

“Are you going to talk to him today?”

“Who,” Kate says, but there is no question in her voice, just cold resignation. 

“Lord Bridgerton.”

“No.”

“Didi—”

“He does not want to talk to me.”

“I do not think that is true.”

“I do not want to talk to him.”

“Okay,” Edwina nods. 

Kate opens her eyes, embarrassed to feel them burning. Edwina is leaning up, looking at her with a careful, worried expression, and the moment she sees her sister looking so concerned, Kate bursts into tears. 

“Didi…” Edwina consoles, rubbing a hand on Kate’s shoulders. Kate leans into the touch and lets herself sob into her sister’s arms. For a few horrible, miraculous minutes, Kate feels like a child, and truly lets herself go. Edwina does not say anything, just holds her, and Kate is grateful.

After a few minutes, Kate pulls herself into a halfway seated position. She rubs her nose, and looks up at Edwina, and feels her stomach turn in a somersault at the words she knows she needs to say next.

“Edwina…did you think I had abandoned you?” 

“Kate,” Edwina whispers. “Of course I do not think that. Why would you say that?”

“Anthony—Lord Bridgerton,” Kate cuts herself off, but the pitying look on Edwina’s face at her misguided attempt at concealment gives her the strength to be braver. “Anthony said that you told him that I had not been around much since we, since I…”

She trails off. She may be brave enough to admit she and the Viscount were on a first-name basis, but she could not yet look her sister in the eye and tell her everything she and Anthony had been up to in the past few days.

Luckily, she does not need to. Edwina covers her hand in her own. “I did say something like that,” she admits, and Kate sniffles. “But not as a bad thing! I was just trying to tell him that you…and I never intended for it to be construed…I thought it was just a private conversation…” Edwina trails off too. “He is rather vexing, isn’t he?”

Kate chokes out a strangled laugh. “That is an understatement.” There is a long pause, then Kate sniffles again. “But you know that I never would, don’t you?”

Edwina gives her a watery smile. “Of course.”

“You come first, always. I’m sorry that I let myself be distracted from that, but it will not happen again.”

Kate lowers her eyes when Edwina tightens her grip on her hands. “Kate, no, that mustn’t be what you take away from this!”

“What else can I possibly conclude?” Kate furrows her brow. “I focused on myself and it brought me this. I will never be that selfish again, I promise you.”

“You could not be selfish if you tried, Didi,” Edwina laughs. “You are not crying in my arms because you took too much for yourself. You are crying because you did not take enough.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Look,” Edwina straightens up, and Kate follows suit, entirely confused. “I do not know what has passed between you and the Viscount. And whatever he did to make you cry, he will rue the day, I will make sure of it. But, even if I do not know what passed between you, I do know you, Kate. And I know you are very bad at admitting what you want. You think wanting things makes you selfish, but it doesn’t. It makes you strong.”

Kate blinks back her tears. There it is again, that word that has haunted her weeks at Aubrey Hall. Want. It had been so simple when they were able to convince each other that all they wanted was a physical release from the tension building between them. But what truly plagues her is the knowledge that she wants so, so much more than that. She wants everything he can give her, and perhaps even moreso, she wants him to want everything from her in return. She wants somebody to lean on, to match her round for round, step for step, and who comes back to her at the end of it, always. She wants somebody to protect, and somebody to protect her. And God help her—after every unforgivable thing they have said to one another, all the ways they have lied and manipulated and tormented and teased and listened and seen each other—she wants that person to be Anthony. 

“When did you get so smart?” Kate says quietly, running her thumbs under her eyes to sweep away the tears. 

Edwina gives her a jokingly-affronted look. “I have always been smart, Kate.”

Kate sighs. “I know, Bon.”

“Do you love him?”

Kate flinches. She looks up at her sister, and for the first time truly does not feel like the elder sibling between them. She does not say anything, but the gentle look Edwina gives her indicates that her face speaks the words her mouth cannot. 

“You should speak to him. Before we leave.”

“I know, Bon,” Kate repeats.

“Will you?”

Kate smiles waterily. “I don’t know. But I will try.”

But apparently, she will not try today. Because when they finally leave Kate’s bedroom, they find that many men, including the three elder Bridgertons, have just left on a hunt. 

“Another hunt,” Eloise grumbles. “Do men have nothing better to do than try to kill helpless animals?”

“Weren’t you begging Benedict to invite you along?” Hyacinth chirps from the corner of the drawing room where she is now playing chess with Gregory (and winning handily) as Francesca looks on in quiet contemplation. 

“Well, it can hardly be very difficult. If Colin can do it, why can’t I?”

The afternoon melts into evening. Eventually Daphne and the other matrons join their little group—Daphne and Violet have been busy with preparations for the ball that will be held on the guests’ last night at Aubrey Hall. Every time Kate remembers that the last night is tomorrow, she feels a swarm of butterflies swirl in her stomach. Whatever she is going to say, she needs to say it fast. 

But when the men return from the hunt, she knows she cannot. One glance at a disgruntled Anthony as he tromps into the room with an uncharacteristically irritated Benedict in his wake, and she loses all the nerve she had built up. Simon and Colin follow close behind, both looking vaguely bemused. 

“Good God Anthony, were you trying to outrun the devil?” Colin directs at his brother’s turned back. Anthony is busy fixing himself a drink. 

“It was starting to rain, I wanted to get home before we got ourselves trapped in the woods. You should be glad I hurried us along.” Anthony throws back a large gulp of whisky, his eyes trained ahead of him. 

“Your horse would certainly not thank you, poor thing,” Simon says, going over to greet Daphne with a soft kiss on the forehead. Kate watches the tender interaction quietly, before turning her attention back to Anthony, as he slams the now-empty glass down. 

“I need to get ready for dinner,” he says shortly, and leaves the room without so much as a glance in her direction. Kate closes her eyes for a brief moment, before opening them with resolve. Kate’s gaze darts toward Benedict, who is nursing his own drink and looking after his brother with a roll of his eyes. She stands and straightens out her dress before making her way over to Benedict. 

“You must have outrun the rain entirely, we have not had any at the house yet,” she says. 

“Or Anthony was such an arse the rain decided it wanted to stay away from him,” Benedict mumbles, before glancing apologetically at Kate, who brushes off his language with a wave of her hand. He looks out the window and his brow furrows. “No, I can see the clouds. It’s on its way.”

Kate follows the direction of his eye and a shiver rolls down her spine. The clouds on the horizon are menacing indeed.

“Have you talked to him yet?” Benedict asks brusquely, pulling Kate out of her fixation on the impending storm. 

“No,” she says quietly. 

She has not allowed herself to think about what Benedict said to her the day before as they sat together painting; her fight with Anthony had followed immediately after that conversation, and thinking about it was too painful. But she does so now, with Benedict’s piercing gaze on her. 

---

“Ah, and here comes my diligent brother now.”

“And Edwina, I see.”

“Never thought I’d live to see the day Anthony willingly lost any game.”

“What do you mean?”

“How quickly do you think he must have thrown that game of chess just to come out here and make sure we are up to nothing improper?” Benedict waggles his eyebrows at her and she laughs out loud. 

“The Viscount’s losses are none of my business.”

He pauses to consider that, eyes still focused on the painting before him. “I think he would like them to be your business.”

“Mister Bridgerton—”

“Benedict, please. Has he told you?”

“About what?”

“Our father.”

Kate stills her paintbrush, and looks at Benedict, then out at Anthony, who is halfway across the lawn, murmuring something to Edwina. 

“Yes. I am sorry for your loss, for your entire family.”

“He died here, did he tell you that?” Benedict’s voice is rough, as he gestures around the very garden they are sitting in. “Anthony held him in his arms.”

“I—” Kate is stunned into silence. “I did not know it was here.”

“It is one of the reasons we visit Aubrey Hall so infrequently. The memories, they are very difficult, especially for Anthony. In my experience, he is more inclined to run from his grief than face it head on. And I do not say that disparagingly, I just mean that—”

“I understand.”

Benedict looks at her. “I know you do, Kate.”

He leans forward and she mirrors his movement. Whatever he is saying to her, she knows it is important. “But I think some new memories here would do him good.”

Kate does not speak, bites her tongue to keep anything incriminating from coming out. 

Benedict goes on, his eyes steady on her. “He will run, if you give him the chance.” Kate swallows. “I’m begging you Kate, because I worry he won’t. Don’t let him push you away.”

---

Back in the drawing room, Benedict’s demeanor is different than it was just a day before. Then, he was open, pleading. Now, he is annoyed. 

“Did you not listen to me at all?”

“Excuse me?” 

“I told you—”

“I remember what you told me,” Kate bristles, angry at Benedict, angry at Anthony, furious at herself for what she said to Anthony about his father mere moments after having heard Benedict's speech, simply because she had been hurt, and she knew it would hurt him in return. “But as you say, your brother’s ability to make an arse of himself knows no bounds.”

“So you’re just giving up on him?” 

Benedict’s tone is harsh, and Kate takes a step back in surprise, then looks him hard in the eyes. “No. He may be giving up on me.”

Benedict closes his eyes and groans in frustration. “He is certainly not, that is the problem. And he’s taking it out on me.”

“I am sorry about that. He seems to have it in his head that we are…”

Benedict glares at her, as if that fact is somehow her fault. Granted, it mostly is. It had not been her plan, but in the end she had gone out of her way to avoid disabusing Anthony of his jealous notions. “You could show me you are sorry by talking to him.”

“You saw him storm out of here. He clearly does not want to talk to me.”

Benedict rubs a hand against his forehead. “You two are infuriatingly alike, do you know that?”

Kate huffs. “I need to prepare for dinner.”

“Ah yes, where have I heard that one before?” he says quietly as she turns, and she glares back at him, but does not dignify it with a response. 

She does feel guilt at the thought that the usually affable Benedict had been driven to such frustration by Anthony, who was, inarguably, in a bad mood because of her. But the guilt was not enough to break her silence. And it clearly was not enough for Anthony, who spends the entire dinner sitting at the head of the table with his arms crossed, speaking not a word to anybody. His eyes may occasionally stray her way, but they are guarded, not the softly seductive piercing gaze he had fixed her with so many times before. 

Kate, in turn, speaks hardly a word at dinner, her mind torn between only two topics: Anthony and the rain.

The light patter against the windows lasts all through dinner, but luckily, the thunder and lighting remain at bay. When she excuses herself early from the after-dinner festivities, she runs up the stairs. The rain is getting heavier, but she manages to tuck herself into bed long before the thunder starts, so she is sure that she will not disturb Edwina, Mary, or the maids with her terror. 

Several hours pass, the rain hard against the window, but still, the thunder holds off. Anxiety eats away at her, as she waits patiently; she cannot possibly go to sleep when she knows she might be woken at any moment by a crackling roll of thunder, so she is forced to wait. 

And finally, at what must be well past midnight, it begins. 

Her body curls up in terror at the first streak of lightning that bursts first against her wall, and her head is under the blanket by the time the answering thunder rumbles through the air. She breaths deeply, in and out, in and out, you’re okay, you’re okay, just keep breathing Kate, in and out, in and out, I’m here, we’re okay…

She does not know how long she chants Anthony’s familiar words of comfort inside her mind, but when she closes her eyes tight and pictures his face saying these words, she can regain some small sense of her surroundings again, can see things other than the lightning illuminating her eyelids, hear things other than the growling thunder—

In that moment, she hears a knock at the door. 

“Edwina?” She whispers out, poking her head out from under the sheet. “Is that you?”

She breathes deep, hoping her sister will not be able to tell the distress she is in, though she knows it is unlikely.

But when the door opens, it is not Edwina at all. 

“Anthony,” she breathes out. 

“Kate, are you—” He moves toward her but stops speaking, freezes, and his hands ball up at his sides, and even from here, as the lightning illuminates the room, she can see his knuckles turning white. “Kate, can I…”

It seems he cannot barely put the words together, his panicked eyes darting from her to the windows, where the rain is still beating relentlessly. 

She feels tears threaten to burst from her again, and she blinks hard as another bolt of lightning illuminates his face, and his expression comes into view: utterly helpless, anguished, fearful, longing. She is not sure if the look on his face or the storm is more upsetting.

The hurtful words they exchanged a day before fly from her mind, and all she can see is Anthony, standing in front of her, and she knows she cannot do this without him, even if she is not sure what ‘this’ is. “Will you just hold me?” she breathes out. 

He closes the door and crosses the room in a few long strides, his arms around her in an instant. “I’m here, Kate, I’ve got you, breathe for me, Kate, you’re okay, I’ve got you,” he whispers, and the gentle words continue to wash over her as the rain beats on. 

She keeps her eyes closed, just breathing in and out, allowing herself to be enveloped by his scent, and she feels her heart rate even out the more she focuses only on his scent, the warmth of his arms, the rise and fall of his own chest against her back as he holds her there, breathing with her as they wait for the storm to pass.

Eventually his words of comfort drift away, but he remains wrapped around her, and she makes no move to extricate herself. She finds she simply cannot budge. She thinks of two magnets when they finally find each other, and cannot imagine a force strong enough in this world to tear them apart (except perhaps their own stupidity).

They breathe together for a long time, listening to the rain start to ebb, as the thunder comes less and less frequently. He nuzzles his face into the back of her neck and presses his lips under her ear. “My beautiful Kate,” he whispers, and she is not sure if he even realizes what he is saying, but she allows herself a wet smile. His words ring true. She is his, in every way she can imagine. And when she is with him, she feels beautiful.

Every part of her body is screaming at her to let this moment last, to savor the unreality for as long as possible, because even as she knows that she has found the person she cannot bear to part from, it is painfully possible that this will be the last night they spend together. There is still so much that remains unsaid.

And for that reason, she knows they cannot live in this blissful silence forever. Eventually, she whispers into the darkness, “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” he says horsely. “I’ve done nothing to deserve it.”

“You helped me.”

“I hurt you.” His voice breaks, and she squeezes her hand around his, where it rests gently against her forearm. 

“I hurt you, too.”

“You were justified, after what I—”

“Anthony.” A beat of silence, and she hears him inhale slowly, his exhale ghosting over the back of her neck. “We don’t need to...”

“Actually, I think we do,” he says, his voice hitching, as if he is just figuring out that it is true as he says it.

She breathes deeply and squeezes his hand again, signifying this conversation needs to happen face-to-face. He reads her body movement immediately, and they rise as one. He moves back as if to give her space, but she shakes her head slowly, holding fast to his hand and tugging him forward so they are sitting facing each other, knees brushing.

She takes in his appearance for the first time. He is dressed in a billowy shirt, which remains untucked from a loose-fitting pair of trousers. 

“You sleep in trousers?” She whispers. Not because she is worried they will be overheard, but because she feels somehow ashamed that they could have been so intimate with each other so many times, and yet she doesn’t know something as simple as what he sleeps in. 

“No, ah,” he glances away, and even in the dark she sees a faint blush rise to his cheeks. “I normally don’t wear anything when I sleep. I put them on when I came to find you.”

“How did you know?”

He lifts his shoulders. “The thunder.”

“I mean, how did you know where I was? I was in the library last time.”

“I did not know, I was just in my room and then I heard the thunder, and I knew that I couldn’t…let you be alone. My feet took me here.”

She looks down at her own feet in response. Her magnet metaphor seems more apt than ever.

“Kate.” His hand hovers over hers, and she turns her palm up to grasp his. “I am so, so sorry. For everything I have done to hurt you, intentionally, and inadvertently. I know words are not enough, but I need to say them anyway. I need you to feel that they are true. I am so sorry. I will never hurt you like that again.”

She takes a deep breath, and tries to imbue every word with meaning, hoping he will believe her when she responds, “I forgive you, Anthony.” 

But she must not have achieved her goal, by the lingering mixture of relief and guilt on his face, or he is so dead-set on believing himself irredeemable that nothing she could say will convince him otherwise. 

“I am sorry too,” she says quietly, and he shakes his head but says nothing. “I hate myself for saying what I did about your father, for not being able to be honest with you, for using your own brother...I know how important your family is to you, and I used it against you. I wanted to hurt you, and I will never be able to take it back. And for that I will always be so sorry.”

“It is forgiven, Kate. Of course, I could never stay angry with you,” he breathes out, and she lets out a little nervous burst of laughter. He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Well, I could easily stay angry with you, but not over that. Not when I used you how I did, you were right to—”

“Do not say I was in the right!” she bursts out, but tries to keep her voice low. “I was using you, too, and I lashed out, same as you.”

“It is different, I should not have been so selfish, I should not have abused my power—”

“You think you have power over me?” She quirks an eyebrow, and he smiles against his will, shaking his head. 

“Of course, I do not. I have been yours since the moment we met. I can see that clearly now.”

Her heart skips a beat. “Anthony, do not say that to me. Please, do not lie to me about something like that.”

His eyes bore into her own, and he squeezes her hand, inching closer to her. “I am sorry if you do not want to hear this, but I am saying it because I am done lying. I cannot lie to you a moment longer. Kate, I love you. I have loved you since the moment you laughed at me in that ballroom. You woke me up from the lie I was living for so long, telling myself I wanted to remain unmarried, to remain detached. And at every turn, you have forced me to acknowledge the truth, about myself, my feelings, my duty to my family and the title my father left to me. Even when I thought I could deny my feelings, when I was so scared and lashed out, you found a way of bringing the truth out. And I love you for it, Kate. I love you for how you love your family, and how you seem to love mine, and how you argue with me, and drive me crazy, and how you make me a better version of myself. I cannot lie and tell myself it is just about the attraction, or the passion. It is all those things, but it is so much more. I love you for everything you are.”

She lets out the breath she has been holding for nearly his entire speech. Their eyes, locked together the entire time, finally break apart as she looks down just long enough for her fingers to flex around his, and she holds their clasped hands against her knees. 

“Anthony, I…” she trails off, tears in the corner of her eyes. She had spent so much time wishing for him to say these words, hoping helplessly for the confirmation that her feelings were reciprocated, and pushing those feelings down as far as they could go when she feared they were not. To hear them now, like this, expressed with such earnestness, with no hidden agenda except the pursuit of honesty…after an already emotionally taxing night—and days, and weeks, in fact—it is just too much to take in all at once. But she wants to try. She looks up to meet his eye, willing herself to remember everything about this moment for the rest of her life. The exact way his hair is falling across his forehead, the pressure of his fingers interlaced with hers, her feet growing slightly numb under her folded legs, and the open relief written across his eyes at having finally told her this monumental truth. 

“You do not have to say anything,” he says after a long beat. Her eyes widen; apparently he has taken her silence as an indication that his feelings were not reciprocated. But even as he says it, his smile does not fall from his lips. She is absurdly jealous at his easy joy, the joy that comes from saying something that has been bottled up for so long, damn the consequences. She refuses to stay jealous any longer.

“But I do. In fact, it is unthinkable that I could go another moment without telling you that I love you, too.” His smile grows inexplicably bigger and finally lets herself join him in his happiness, letting truth spill out of her and feeling the freedom her words granted wash over her. “In every picture I had of my life, I never thought that this, that you, would happen. And when you did, I came up with a million reasons to not believe it. I looked for the worst in you and in myself, because I was so terrified of seeing the best. I couldn’t bear to think about a future with you because I thought allowing myself to believe in it would be selfish, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle it when it was taken away from me. But it took my sister, well, it took both of our families to finally show me that I deserve to fight for what I want.” She cradles his cheek in her palm and leans her forehead against his. “And what I want is you. What I love is you, Anthony."

They kiss, and she knows that this is what it feels like to come home.

Notes:

:)

I couldn't let the angst last too long. Hope you enjoyed them finally telling each other the truth, I know I did. <3 More very soon. Things are wrapping up, but there is still much more to be said...

(In the mean time, I have also started posting a modern AU that is simply for fun and vibes, pls check out Back and Forth (from New York) if you're looking for a break from the angst and dramatic love confessions.)

Chapter 13

Notes:

This is just smut, enjoy ya filthy animals ;) Turns out they're both a little bit kinky, who knew?? (everyone)

They talk for what must be hours, trying to make up for the the days of silence with words, words, sweet nothings and confessions, the fears they have kept to themselves all this time, teasings and little arguments that get resolved in kisses and the quiet whisper of “I love you.” Both of them say the phrase with more frequency in the ensuing hours than perhaps ever before in their lives, but each time, it never fails to send a thrill up the spine, to hear the words on their own lips, or on the other’s.

Feeling brave in his arms, she asks him what will happen next, and he merely gives her a confused look. 

“This was not what we had planned for the future," she clarifies. "You certainly did not intend for this to happen."

“And what is ‘this’, again?”

“You love me, you fool.”

“Ah, that.”

“Yes. And you said you did not intend to—”

“As a general policy, perhaps we should just forget anything I said before.”

“I am not going to let you off that easily.” 

He rests his lips against her undone hair and whispers, “Don’t hold it against me.” His hand, snaked around her waist and holding her body tightly against his, squeezes, and she gasps when she feels his cock twitch against her back. “Or maybe, you should hold it against me,” he smirks, his voice rough to her ears.

She lets out a loud breath and tries to get some distance by wiggling away without actually extracting herself from his arms, which seems to have the opposite (though not wholly undesired) effect when he lets out a startled grunt. “Are you trying to distract me?" She frowns. 

“Is it working?” His tongue finds the shell of her ear. 

She snorts. “Please.”

“Mmm, that word sounds good on your lips.” His fingers trail a sinful line to her thigh, balling up her nightgown in his fist and pulling the hem up her leg tantalizingly slowly. 

“Anthony.”

“That one does too, but go back again, to the begging.”

“I was not—”

“Not yet, you weren’t. But give me time, and I think you’ll find I can elicit most any reaction.”

“Anthony Bridgerton,” she says, trying to keep the laugh out of her voice. “The only thing you are eliciting is anger.”

He throws his innocent eyes at her, which she knows from experience are always precursors to some devilish behavior. The hem of her dress has reached the top of her leg, his hands teasing patterns along her skin so close but so far from where she needs him. 

“Shall we test that theory?”

And before she has time to react, he presses her hips gently down toward the bed and simultaneously pulls himself up so he is straddling her. His fingers dig into the flesh of her thighs, bunching her nightdress up at her waist. Her body buzzes with anticipation, her hands anchoring themselves instinctively against his knees. 

“Anger, you said?” he asks, conversationally, as his thumb finds her clit and circles slowly. 

“Anthony…”

He tuts slowly, his finger dipping lower, and she feels her juices leak onto his hand. “That doesn’t sound very angry to me.”

“I’ll show you anger,” she grits out, twisting her hips underneath him, attempting to take pleasure for herself, but his legs stay firmly in place at either side of her body, which gives her very little maneuvering room. 

Well, there are worse places to be trapped. 

“I don’t think anger feels like this,” he says, and his finger dips inside of her, already slick and welcoming to the intrusion. Her hips buck up of their own volition, but he pulls back just a bit to keep herself from taking his entire finger in, and returns to circling her entrance with one finger, his thumb back at her clit. 

“You’re an arse.”

“You want me.” He says it like it is something sacred. 

Her eyes light up with fire. “You want me.”

“Oh, that was never in question,” he says mildly, and she has to roll her eyes at that. 

“Wasn’t it?”

He lets out a sardonic chuckle, and it is like there is some joke lingering in his brain that she is not privy to. But all he says is, “No, it was not.”

His other hand, meanwhile, is undoing the laces that keep the bodice of her nightgown up. As the laces come undone, her breasts fall free, and she watches as his lips part, his tongue peeking out as he stares at her, like a starved man. She is certain she will never get tired of the effect the Viscount's undivided attention has on her.

After a beat of stillness, his eyes find hers again, and he holds contact as he leans down to bring one of her nipples into his mouth. His tongue swirls deliciously around her breast until the peak hardens. His teeth scrape against the sensitive skin and she lets out a surprised yelp. As he switches his attention to the other breast, his fingers continue caressing between her legs, shifting from light touches to a few hard thrusts to a gentle circling motion again. Her body never knows what to expect next, and it is as though every nerve ending is set aflame in anticipation. 

“Oh, God,” she moans out. 

“You are so beautiful Kate,” he murmurs against her skin, his tongue tracing the underside of one breasts.

“I love you.” She is rewarded for her words with a hard thrust of his finger inside of her. “I love you,” she gasps. Two fingers this time. “Anthony, I love you so much, please—oh!” Three fingers now, pushing into her over and over at a fantastically punishing pace, his thumb rubbing at her clit, playing her like a musical instrument, and all too soon she feels a familiar tightening in the core of her stomach. His teeth scrape again against her hardened nipple before his lips wrap around her to suckle, and she comes undone around his fingers. Her nails dig semi-circles into his back, which, she notices as she starts to come down from her bliss, is still tragically clothed. 

He sits up and her fingers gravitate toward the buttons of his shirt. He glances down in amusement as she begins to undress him, and she realizes, as the lazy thrusts start again, that his fingers are still inside of her. “Anthony,” she breathes out, pushing at the fabric of his shirt, which he readily shrugs off. “I need you.”

“You have me,” he whispers, and their lips meet in a soft kiss. 

“No, I mean I need you.”

“Kate,” he says softly. “You don’t need to give me anything. Just to hold you tonight is enough for me.”

“It is not enough for me!” she declares, fire in her eyes as she tries to sit up as much as she can, and in doing so feels his fingers, still slick with her essence, slide out of her body. Sitting up also pushes her dress further off her shoulders, now just a scrap of fabric floating across her midriff. “First you refuse to answer my question about our future,” her heart skips a beat at the phrase our future, realizing that those words might actually mean something real now, but she presses on. “Now you won’t even take me when I am specifically requesting it.”

In a low voice, he says, “I did not refuse to answer your question, I just hadn’t gotten to it yet.”

She raises an eyebrow. “So then?”

“You asked what would happen next, as this is not the future we had planned,” he muses, and his arms circle around her back in her semi-sitting position, holding her close as he whispers his words. “I have given the matter a great deal of thought. And I have come to the conclusion that, well, I love you.” He pauses. “And you love me?” There is some question in his voice, like he still cannot quite believe it, despite how many times she has said it tonight. 

She nods. “And I love you.”

“So, with your permission, I will court you.”

She lets her eyes travel down their bodies, nearly joined at the hips, with only the thin fabric of his trousers separating them. 

“Well, you’re ahead of schedule,” she says dryly, and he laughs against her neck, his teeth ghosting over her collarbone. “What next?” She asks, her voice lower than a whisper. 

He looks up at her. “Next, after both of our families have given their approval, I will ask you to marry me.”

Her smile threatens to split her face in two, and she cradles his cheeks in both her hands. He smiles back at her, and everything ceases but the warmth in his eyes. They kiss, and after a long moment, he pulls back. “And you will say…?”

She pretends to consider, though the smile is still plastered across her face. “That depends, will you get down on your knees?”

He recaptures her lips with a hungry growl. “Infuriating woman. Regardless, when you say yes—”

“—if I say yes—”

“— when you say yes, I will personally appeal to the Queen to ensure the ceremony can take place as soon as possible.”

“Does your word carry a great deal of weight with the Queen?” She asks, raising a brow, and he furrows his.

“Well…”

“Hmm. Perhaps we ought to let your mother and Lady Danbury handle the license.”

“I am fully capable of procuring my own marriage license.”

“I have complete faith,” she says patronizingly. “I only mean that perhaps your mother could play the role of diplomat with a slightly surer hand.”

“I am diplomatic!” he exclaims, before taking a calming breath and shaking his head at her, throwing her a dark look that that goes straight to the apex of her legs. His hand slides down to her exposed belly, tracing across her skin in light patterns. “How do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Make me feel, I don’t know, distracted, out of control.”

“The feeling is entirely mutual,” she groans, as his fingers trail down to where their hips meet.

“Well, I hear one is supposed to share everything with one’s spouse.”

“You forget you have not actually asked me to be your wife yet, not officially, and I have not said yes.”

“Haven’t I?” He muses. “That was an oversight. I’ve been meaning to for, oh, at least the past week.”

Her mouth opens. “You, wait, what?”

His fingers pause in their ministrations and he scratches his chin absentmindedly with the other hand. “Yes. Since that first night in my office.”

“You—what? Were you ever going to tell me about this little plan of yours?”

“You left very few opportunities, Kate,” he says, trying to sound condescending but unable to disguise the delighted laugh in his voice. 

“So now you’re blaming me for the fact that I didn’t simply intuit that you wanted to propose?”

“We were having an affair, it was the only gentlemanly thing to do—”

“—I would not have married you because it was the proper thing to do, I would have married you because I loved you—”

“—A fact which you failed to mention to me at any point, I might add.”

She crosses her arms. “I could say the same about you.”

He pauses and considers that. “I think we’ve maybe set a record for how many ways two people can muck up their own lives.”

“We are still in the process of setting the record. You have still failed to issue a formal proposal.”

“Well I can hardly do that now, the ring is downstairs, unless you want me to leave and go get it—”

“You had a ring? ”

“Yes, obviously, I was planning to propose,” he looks at her like she must be mad. “Besides, clearly the fact that I have not formally proposed is not as much of an issue as you make it out to be. You are the one who was practically begging me to have my wicked way with you a few moments ago.” At that, his thumb resumes its light circles around her clit. 

“I was certainly not begging,” she says, pretending she is indignant instead of horribly aroused by the way his fingers dance across her skin.

“As I said, just give me time.”

“I do not beg, Anthony,” she says, seriously, hoping her tone will impress the truth upon him. 

“I think we both know that is not true.” The smirk in his shaky voice makes her flush, thinking back to their many escapades around Aubrey Hall. 

“Well then, I do not beg anymore,” she amends. She kisses his throat, and feels him swallow against her lips. “Certainly not when I know now that you will give yourself to me so freely.” 

He scoffs, but does not press the topic. “You would not ask me to make love to you if you did not intend to marry me, you are far too logical for that.”

“You forget I have behaved in some overtly illogical ways these past few weeks.”

“I have certainly not forgotten,” he says with a raised brow. “But still, you never asked for my cock.”

Her eyes go wide as he pushes a finger inside of her. Her channel is still dripping from her last orgasm, her muscles clenching around his digit.

“Does that word scandalize you, Kathani?” he whispers in her ear, and she swallows hard. She had told him her full name several days ago, but had not heard it on his lips since then. 

She shakes her head, trying to snap out of her distraction. “It takes a great deal more than a word to scandalize me, Lord Bridgerton. I seem to recall your cock in my mouth just a few days ago. And you, begging for release. You, spilling your seed down my throat.” She whispers the words seductively, and smirks when he lets out an involuntary moan, watches in fascination as his cheeks grow a shade pinker and he thrusts his hips down toward her, his crotch still tragically contained by his trousers. 

“What a filthy mouth you have, Kate Sharma.”

“Does it scandalize you?”

“Hardly.”

“Hmm. It might. You don’t even know the half of it yet.”

“I’ll learn.”

“Perhaps. But I have been told I can be a demanding instructor.”

“I’m an excellent pupil.”

“That I know all too well.”

As they talk, he fucks his fingers into her, building her closer and closer to the edge. 

It occurs to her that, if they were to pick up this conversation and drop it into one of the countless arguments they have had, on the Pall Mall field or a dinner party or a dance, the words would not have felt out of place. It was as if every battle of words they had ever exchanged was leading them here, to each other, to this bliss.

His tongue pulls her out of her train of thought as it trails down the side of her neck, and his lips close around her pulse point, sucking hard. 

“Anthony,” she moans, and suddenly remembers the secret weapon she had discovered a minute earlier. “I love you,” she says, breathless. When she feels his smile curve against her skin, she knows exactly how to get what she needs. “I love you,” she says again, and notices that his fingers thrust harder at the words. “I love you, I love you,” she chants softly, and he laves his tongue over the spot on her neck he has just finished sucking, his fingers continuing to work between her legs, building her up, and just as she can feel a second wave of pleasure about to crest within her, his touch slows and then stops entirely.

She opens her eyes to meet his smug gaze. “You are the devil incarnate.”

His lips twitch. “I adore you, Kate.”

“You’ve a funny way of showing it, now, if you don’t get me off right now, and I mean right now, I will—”

“Do you want to cum around my fingers?” he asks, his voice sin. “Or my cock?”

Her mouth goes dry, and all thoughts leave her head. Even after spending days exploring each other’s bodies, finding all the creative ways they could make the other squirm, this is new territory. It solidified the fact that their former pact, to not do anything that might risk a pregnancy, was no longer a consideration. There was no doubt of what their future would hold, so why put it off?

“Your cock,” she says, her voice surprisingly confident to her own ears. 

His lip quirks up. 

“As you wish.”

He sets to work unbuttoning his pants, finally abandoning his place on top of her just long enough to shuffle out of the garment. She takes the moment to finally push her already-discarded nightdress off her body entirely, and when she looks back, Anthony is naked before her. 

The sight is not new, but the knowledge of what they are about to do makes her heart thud in her chest. His lips are swollen, his hair is a mess, and he looks utterly magnificent. 

She blinks with the impossible realization that he is hers.

Wordlessly, for once, he crawls over her body, his lips starting at her knee, and mouthing lightly up her skin, up, up, to place a feather light kiss on her mound, his tongue darting between her folds briefly, but he continues his path upward; there will be time for that, and lots of it, but now, she needs to have him, all of him, and he needs the same. His lips are on her belly now, kissing her soft skin, and then her ribcage, then a pause to pay each breast its due attention. Then up her neck, and finally, his lips are against hers again.

They kiss softly, and she feels him settle between her thighs. She grinds her hips up to meet his, letting out a small noise that, under different circumstances, might have made her feel embarrassed, but when Anthony moans so loudly at the feeling of her drenched folds against his cock, she determines that of the many emotions she is feeling right now, none of them are shame.

But he waits until she stills her hips and lowers them back to the mattress, and their eyes meet, fire burning within them, as he leans down to kiss her again. His hips shift against hers, and she can feel his hardness sliding against her slit. She is already so wet she knows, despite his significant size, that he will fit. Somehow, she is sure he will fit perfectly, and her lower muscles clench in anticipation. Her eyes flutter shut and his lips curve into a soft smile against hers.

“Beg.”

She looks up so quickly he needs to move his head up an inch to avoid her chin hitting him square in the nose. 

“Excuse me?”

“Beg,” he repeats simply, his eyes hot against hers. He moves his hips in such a way that she has no choice but to throw her head back and bite her lip to keep from making any incriminating noises. 

“You are the worst,” she sighs disbelievingly, not meaning a word of it. he knows as well as she does that this is a game they've played many times; they know the moves by heart, even if the stakes feel infinitely higher now. Her teeth remain attached to her lip as his fingers work a devious pattern down her body.

With a gravely voice that sends a new wave of arousal to her core, he says, “I told you I would be content with simply holding you in my arms. You are the one insisting.” He thrusts forward just an inch, enough for his length to work its way between her slick folds, but still, her walls clench, needing more, and her fingernails scrape down his back, hard. He groans, nipping at her lip even as her teeth still dig into its flesh. “I am a weak man when it comes to you. I think you know I have never been good at hiding my desires.”

She scrapes her nails down his back again, slowly this time, feels his back arch as the motion pushes his hips further toward her pelvis, and she smirks, squirming beneath him for good measure. He gives her a dark look and shifts back just a bit, though she can see how his teeth are gritted in the effort to restrain himself. “And what I desire is to hear, from your own lips, how much you want me, too. Want me to bury myself in you,” he pushes himself forward and back in a fluid motion, teasing her entrance, “to fill you,” the same motion again, “to make you mine, as I have been yours from the moment we met.” His eyes are dark and serious, and she looks at him, her mouth slightly agape, as his thumb finally traces a path back down to her clit and, in one quick motion, swipes a circle around her sensitive flesh.

“Please,” she breathes out, her eyes still locked on his. “I need you Anthony, please, I need you inside of me now, I—”

He kisses her, hard, and finally, pushes his length inside of her. She gasps against his lips, but he goes slowly, thrusting a few times until she is adjusted to the size of him. Her muscles contract around him, and she watches in fascination as his jaw clenches repeatedly and he inhales deeply through his nose. She had thought she knew everything his body could do to hers but this was something new. There was an ache between her legs, somehow a mixture of pain and pleasure, and she knew right away, could feel as he moved against her wetness, as his finger continued teasing at her clit, that they fit perfectly together.

“Kate. Are you okay?” He asks her, his voice gentle and his eyes probing hers as if to weed out any trace of a lie. 

“I—” she tries, but loses her voice and starts again after a deep breath. “I will be. Please, Anthony, I need you to move.”

It feels so, so good to finally say her desires out loud.

“Yes,” he breathes out, and she is not sure he even knows he said the word as he starts thrusting into her. After another minute to adjust to the feeling, Kate starts to lift her hips to meet him, her eyes fixed on the place where their bodies meet, watching as more and more of him disappears inside of her body. Finally, she pushes her hips up and her eyes go wide as he finally pushes himself in to the hilt, and she gasps. She is so full of him, too full, but she needs more. 

His eyes had fluttered shut, a moaned, “Kate” still on his lips, so he is distracted as she drops her hips down against the bed, gasping at the sudden loss of his length, but maneuvers her leg around his thigh. He opens his eyes, feeling the shift beneath him, but before he can figure out what is going on, she pulls her legs down hard, and he tumbles to the side. In an instant she heaves herself up, her muscles sorer than she had realized, and clambers on top of him. 

Anthony watches her maneuver in awe, as if her awkward movement is the most graceful sight he has ever beheld, and his hands migrate to her hips as she settles at the base of his stomach. “I love you,” he says, a hint of amazed laughter in his voice.

She smiles, her eyes alight with the joy of realizing that she had successfully gained the upper hand, that despite this being a new experience for her, she was more than capable of holding her own, just as she had in any other of their encounters. 

Yes, she could admit that, even as they bathed in the glory of their love, the urge to compete was alive and well. 

And it was that urge that spurred her to shift her hips so her entrance rests just against the tip of his cock, lean down to press her smile against his lips, and whisper, “Beg.”

A breathless laugh bubbles up from his lungs. “You are the most amazing woman I have ever met.” 

“That’s lovely of you to say, but it doesn’t sound like begging, exactly.”

“Please,” he moans out readily as she grinds herself down just a bit, his fingers digging into the side of her hips, and she is acutely aware that it would be more than easy for him to push her body down on top of him, but he gives her this, just as she gave to him a moment before, both instinctually sensing when the other needs to feel in control, or when they need to lose it entirely. “Please, Kate, I need you to ride me, take your pleasure from me, please, God, Kate, I’ll do anything.”

Satisfied, she lowers her body down inch by inch, a loud moan escaping her as she does so. This sensation is something new altogether. The angle presses him deep inside of her, and she swears she can feel him in her belly. It is a painful sensation, fuller than before, and yet more in control of the pleasure. She lowers herself slowly until their hips lock together. 

They breath there for a long moment, holding each other, until he breathes out a quiet, “please.”

“I like how that word sounds on your lips,” she grins, and raises herself up and down. This time, the pain ebbs ever so slightly, making room for more pleasure. She does it again, and the pain ebbs further. 

One of her hands moves down to find her clit, but she discovers that she lacks the strength to push herself up again without both arms. She tries to remove her hand, but he catches her wrist. 

“You focus on that,” he says, placing her hand in his and maneuvering her finger so it is again pressed against her clit. “I’ll take care of you.” His hands return to her hips and he lifts her body up, her thighs straining to assist him. 

And after that, there are no more words, just the sound of their bodies working together, their heavy breaths and moans. Her other hand works its way into his hair and he turns to kiss her wrist before looking back up at her, his eyes full of love and awe, and she knows her eyes must look the same. After a few minutes, she knows she is close again, can feel the familiar coil winding up within her. She knows from the look in his eye, the way that his grip tightens and he thrusts up to meet her body with frantic force, that he must be close too.

“Anthony, I—”

“Let go, Kate, let go for me.” She can hear the grit in his jaw as he says it, and she knows he is holding back.

“Wait, I—only with you.”

His eyes bore into hers and there is a joyous pain there. 

“I can’t, not until—”

“I’ll marry you, Anthony, please, I need you, I need you to—” she is cut off by her own climax cresting over her. She cries out, and as he holds her body down, pressed up against his hips, he explodes inside of her.

Her brain is in a fog, but all she can think of is how good this feels, how right this is. 

They take several minutes to come down from the high, breathing deeply into each other, Kate collapsed on top of him. Every inch of her body is exhausted, and she knows sleep will overcome her very soon, but she wants to take in everything about this moment before that happens. 

Finally, he lifts her gently, and his softened cock slips out of her slick folds, and he sets her down at his side, enveloping her in his arms. She can feel his essence leaking out of her, and she lets out a deep breath. Of course, somewhere in her head she had known from the moment they had confessed their love that this would happen, that she would marry him and eventually have his children, but she had not been expecting the idea to feel so…comforting. They are not even married yet, but she already knows, knows with a certainty she has never experienced before, that nothing could separate them now.

Blinking away that thought, she lets herself focus on the moment, feels his arms moving around her. She realizes he is grabbing his own shirt, discarded to the left, and proceeds to clean her body of the various fluids that have accumulated between her legs. She looks down and notices with surprise that, among the fluids, is a bit of blood.

“Oh,” is all she says, and he looks up from his focused task to her eyes. 

“Kate, I am so sorry, I should never—”

“No,” she says, fiercer than she meant to. “I mean, just, don’t be sorry, don’t ever be sorry. That was, you were, perfect.” She holds his face in her hand, and he smiles, his eyes still betraying a certain amount of guilt. 

“You are perfect. How do you feel?”

She pauses, checking in with her own body to make sure her answer is honest. “Sore. And like I could sleep for a day. But, happy.”

“Happy?”

“Ridiculously happy,” she smiles. “I love you.”

He grins back. “I love you too. I’ll never get tired of saying that.”

“There’s a few things you’ll never get tired of,” she says absentmindedly, lying down and allowing her eyes to finally drift shut.

“Making innuendos even as you are half asleep, I really am rubbing off on you.”

She opens one eye and arches an eyebrow at him in response. His grin widens. “Incorrigible woman.”

“You make it too easy.”

There is a beat. 

“Do you want me to stay?”

At that she opens her eyes fully. 

“Of course I want you to stay, are you mad?”

“I’ll need to leave before the maids come, I wasn’t sure if you would want—”

“I’m going to need to explain the sheets to the maids anyway,” she points out. 

“Damn, the sheets, I should change the sheets.”

“That’s going to be pretty difficult for you since I plan on falling asleep on top of them within the next 30 seconds,” she says, grabbing his hand and pulling him back down to the bed. “Besides, do you even know how to make a bed?” 

“I—” but that question stumps him. “I have a vague sense.”

“Mhm. Go to sleep now, Anthony.”

He finally lays down behind her, and his arms wrap around her again. 

After another moment of silence, during which she can practically feel the urge to get another quip in radiating off of him, he finally murmurs against her neck, “Was that one of the depraved acts I would never in a million years have a chance to try with you?”

She laughs out loud, honestly having forgotten that particular comment during the Pall Mall game until right now. How gratifying to know it had stayed with him. 

You haven’t seen depraved yet, my love,” she sighs. “But I suppose we will have time. Not a million years, but time.”

“Time is all I need with you. I never want to spend another night apart.”

She pauses, and cradles his arms in hers, pulling him closer around her and burying her back against him. “Promise me I won’t wake up tomorrow and this will have all been a dream?”

She can feel his chest constrict for a moment, until finally he breathes freely again. “I promise.”

Notes:

I truly cannot stop them from flirting constantly even when they're fucking idk what to tell you but I hope you enjoyed!

We're so close to the end now I'm starting to feel lost and confused :,( But I promise, the last chapter holds many an overdue moment and lots of family fun...

I am still working on part 2 of my modern au flight fic, but if you have any other prompts/ideas send em my way because I'm gonna need something to fill the void after this--and come be friends w me on my newly-created twitter @peepsinthechili !

Chapter 14

As ever, Anthony finds Kate’s eyes across the room. But for perhaps the first time, the response it evokes is not one of frustration, or isolated longing—on the contrary, when he meets her eye, a calm comes over him, and he remembers that he is not alone.

Somehow, impossibly, he knows that he will never be alone again.

He clears his throat. “I am sure you have gathered that I asked you all to be here for a reason.”

“Asked is a very generous term,” Eloise comments. 

“Insisted is closer,” Daphne nods.

“Demanded would be more correct,” Colin puts in. 

“Threatened-on-pain-of-death is most accurate,” Benedict says. 

Anthony clenches his fists at his side, and again he looks to Kate, who is sitting on a couch across the room. Her eyes struggle to hide her amusement with his family’s antics, and her gaze holds him steady. He hears the echo of her words, whispered for his ears only as they had entered the room a minute before: Be patient, my love. 

He takes a deep breath. For Kate, for this moment, he can be patient. To a certain extent. 

They had stayed up so late talking, that they only got about an hour of sleep together before Anthony had to leave to avoid being found in Kate’s room; despite their impending engagement, they concluded that might be a scandal too far, even for them. He had argued again that he ought to help her remake the bed before he left, but she insisted that she would tell the maids she had started her monthly, and no further questions would be asked, before promptly pushing him off the bed. 

They had mutually agreed that they ought to tell both of their families together. After so many hours spent talking in detail about their feelings for each other, he simply could not stand the prospect of answering all the questions his mother and each individual sibling would undoubtedly have, and he strongly suspected Kate felt the same way. 

Another thing they have in common: when it comes time for a decision to be made, they both want to get it over with as quickly and efficiently as possible.

He had barely seen Kate during the day; she had slept until late morning (at least, he prayed she had actually gotten some rest), and had spent her afternoon working on the painting she had started of Aubrey Hall several days earlier. It had taken everything in him not to join her on the other side of the field as he enjoyed an afternoon picnic with his younger siblings, reveling in the glory of one of their final summer days spent in the country. But Kate had been chatting quietly with Edwina, and he got the distinct sense that she needed a bit of time alone with her sister. So, begrudgingly, he had kept his distance from his (for-all-intents-and-purposes) fiancée for one day longer. Very soon, he knew, there would be no need to ever spend a day apart again. 

But before the dance tonight, there came this: telling the families. He had asked (no matter what the other Bridgertons might suggest, his tone had been perfectly polite and not at all threatening) that his mother, siblings, and Simon gather several doors down from the ballroom. Kate, meanwhile, had quietly assembled the Sharmas and Lady Danbury. Kate now sat next to Edwina across the room from him, with Lady Mary and Danbury standing behind them, that light still dancing in her eyes as she watches him expectantly.

The room is filled with a buzzing anticipation as Anthony clears his throat again. 

“As I was saying, there is a reason I have gathered you here.”

“Are you planning on getting to the point before the dancing begins, Lord Bridgerton?” Lady Danbury says cooly, though her eyes are alight with mischief. “Or shall we all be stuck in this room until morning?”

Anthony’s jaw clenches and he makes the mistake of glancing over at his mother, who is looking up at him with such hopeful, sparkling eyes. With that expression, he decides firmly that he cannot drag this on for another moment; he needs to be put out of his misery. 

“Very well,” he snaps. “Miss Sharma and I have decided to get married, if you must know.”

An oppressive quiet falls over the room, and again Anthony looks at Kate, who appears to be biting her lip to keep herself from smiling. Whether at the content of his declaration or the acerbic manner of his delivery, he is not certain. 

A moment later, a din of noise explodes. There are calls of “Congratulations!” and “Welcome to the family!” and he is almost certain he sees Eloise look skyward and mouth Thank God. His brothers are pulling him into a hug while he sees his mother doing the same to the Sharmas, and he cannot take his eyes off Kate, who beams embarrassedly through the whole display of attention. Slowly, he works his way through the crowd of family and congratulations to her side, and feels himself relax once he is there. 

“This is wonderful news!” Daphne exclaims as the initial shock of celebration subsides. “But I must say, rather sudden. Last night, it did not seem…that is, when did the two of you come to this decision?”

“Last night.”

“This morning,” Kate says at the same time.

Anthony fights to keep himself from pinching the bridge of his nose at the misstep. Mary and Violet look between them in alarm, and Anthony quickly attempts to fix their mistake.

“What I meant was early this morning,” he says smoothly. “The sun was not fully risen yet at the time that we spoke, so I was confused.”

“I am sure you were,” Lady Danbury eyes him knowingly. 

“But Kate, you slept so late,” Hyacinth points out, and Anthony suddenly wishes the younger siblings had not been invited. “When did Anthony even have time to propose?”

“I…” Kate swallows, and now it is Anthony’s turn to look at her with amused expectation. “I woke up as the sun was rising, and wanted some tea. Lord Bridgerton was there and we spoke. Then, I went back to bed.” She clears her throat.

“Woke up, had tea, got engaged, went back to bed,” Colin lists off, counting the steps on his fingers as a secret smile spreads across his face. “You had a very active morning, Kate.”

“Quite,” she eyes her future brother-in-law coldly, and Anthony feels a small thrill at the thought that soon she will be by his side, another set of eyes to keep watch over any and all wayward siblings. 

“Oh well,” Violet cuts in, and her tone indicates to all older Bridgertons that the time for their teasing is not in front of the younger siblings. “It hardly matters what the timeline was.” (The look she throws at Anthony would beg to differ, and he knows she is not done with this line of questioning yet.) “The important thing is that you are engaged! I am so thrilled to welcome you to our family, Kate, and your entire family!” Violet beams at the other Sharmas, and Anthony notices for the first time that Edwina’s smile is not quite as large as that of every other person in the room. 

But the thought is quickly pushed from his mind as Kate flushes at Violet’s kind words and his mother takes his future wife’s hands in hers. “Thank you Lady Bridgerton, you are too kind.”

“Violet, I insist,” his mother replies, and Kate smiles. 

“Violet. I am,” she glances at Anthony, and he feels her intake of breath even as they stand several feet apart, “so grateful to you, and so happy to be joining your family. There is much we must talk about before the wedding.”

“Ah, the wedding,” Lady Danbury interjects. “And is there a date that you have in mind for this wedding?”

“I sent the request for a license ahead today,” Anthony says. “And I plan to meet with the Queen when I arrive in London in two days' time.”

“So quickly?” Mary asks, worried. “Would it not be more prudent to wait? You have not been publicly courting.”

Eloise snorts. “Haven’t they, in their way?”

“Eloise!” Violet and Anthony speak at the same time. 

She shrugs. “I just mean, once the people at this party get back to London, I don’t think anybody will be exactly surprised. You may have not formally announced your intentions, but you have done everything that is expected of courting couples. You promenaded, you met each other’s families, you sat next to each other at dinner and exchanged inane conversation, presumably you will dance together tonight.” She shrugs again. “I don’t see what else they expect.”

“I agree with Eloise,” Kate says, her tone confident. “The two weeks we have spent here is a perfectly respectable courtship.”

Anthony glances at his mother, who is nodding in agreement, looking at him with that look again, that look that says she strongly suspects a short engagement is prudent for several other practical reasons. Well, she’s not wrong.

“By my count, it has primarily been two weeks of arguments and competition in lawn games,” Benedict comments, and Anthony watches Kate scrunch up her face at him. A day ago, a jealous monster might have reared up inside of him, but now, the interaction simply makes him feel like he is glowing, to see how comfortable Kate is with his family. He had never given much thought at all to who might become the next Viscountess, but now, seeing her with his family, it is clearly impossible that the title could have been borne by anybody but Kate.

“Seeing as Lord Bridgerton and I have no plans to fight any less when we are wed, it should make no difference,” Kate says primly. 

“Well, we might fight a bit less,” Anthony says.

“I highly doubt it,” Kate replies.

“Come now—”

“You are right,” Simon interjects. “Nothing will change, so why bother with the semantics of courtship versus engagement.”

“My thoughts precisely, thank you Hastings,” Anthony says, gesturing to Simon in victory. 

“Congratulations, mate,” Simon pulls him into a hug and whispers just loud enough for him to hear, “Though if I catch wind of an alternate reason for a rushed engagement, I’ll see you at dawn.”

Anthony cuffs him behind the ear. 

“We wanted you all to know, but we ask that you keep it to yourselves tonight. We will make the announcement when we are back in London,” Anthony says firmly. “No need to disrupt this lovely dance you have planned, mother.” 

Violet smiles, but he can tell that she knows there is another reason for the delay in a public announcement.

And she is correct. Anthony has spent the past few minutes studying Kate who, for all her grace and expressions of happiness, is evidently exhausted at putting on the show of soon-to-be-Viscountess. He will not subject her to any more of this tonight. Not when this is to be the first night they spend as a betrothed couple. He wants her memory of tonight to be one of joy, not social obligation and anxiety. 

With that in mind, he moves the rest of the party toward the door. Violet urges the youngest three off to bed, and they each take a turn hugging Anthony and Kate before they go. 

“Welcome to the family, Kate,” Frannie gives a small smile. “I know they’re a lot. But I know you can handle yourself.”

“And if I can’t, I’ll have you there to help me,” Kate grins. 

“Does this mean we’ll be allowed to join in Pall Mall next year?” Gregory asks excitedly.

Kate glances at Anthony, who scowls. “There may not be enough mallets,” she says placatingly. “But what if you help consult me on my game?”

“That would be cheating,” Colin pipes in, overhearing. “And quite against the rules.”

“We’ll talk,” Kate whispers and winks at Gregory as he leaves, and Anthony watches a pink blush spread across his youngest brother's cheeks.

“Stop charming the Bridgertons,” Anthony murmurs in her ear. 

“I can’t help it,” she whispers back, as Hyacinth marches up.

“I am very happy you’re going to marry Anthony,” she says matter-of-factly. “It will be like having two mothers.”

He hears Kate’s sharp intake of breath. His hand migrates to Kate’s back, and she leans into his touch, both of them fighting to maintain a semi-proper distance. After a moment, she says simply, “I—I very much hope it will. Thank you, Hyacinth.”

The youngest all scurry away upstairs, the rest of the family makes their way to the ballroom, and Anthony keeps his hand firmly on Kate’s back, guiding her toward the festivities. 

“You know what this reminds me of?” he murmurs as they take their place at the edge of the dance floor. 

“The night we met, I presume.”

“Am I already that predictable?”

“I’m afraid so,” she sighs. “Are you still thinking of fleeing for London tonight?”

He gently takes her hand in his, pulling her toward him by just an inch. “A team of horses could not drag me from your side tonight.”

“And here I thought rakes set against marriage bent over backward to avoid being caught in the company of eligible debutantes.”

“What can I say, I am a changed man,” he leaned fractionally closer, his breath hot against her cheek. “And you, Kathani Sharma, are no debutante.”

He watches in fascination as a shiver goes down her spine, before his eyes fall down to where their hands meet, and his thumb traces over the wrist where her dance card is tied. 

“A fact which is entirely your own doing,” she murmurs back, her eyes following the caress of his thumb. 

“I’ll take that blame with honor.”

“How surprising. Now, are you going to ask me to dance?” She asks quietly, and there is still tension behind the words, even though she must know the answer. He looks up to meet her eyes, his hand still on her wrist. 

“Are you going to say yes?”

She nods, the corner of her mouth quivering. “Eloise seems to think it would be appropriate.”

“In that case…” Without another word, he takes the small pencil tied to her wrist and writes “A. Bridgerton” on the first line. He steps away and offers her his hand, which she takes readily, her warm palm fitting against his perfectly. 

For the first time, they take to the dance floor. 

It is a waltz, a fact for which Anthony is eternally grateful; if he had to let go of her long enough to share her with other partners in a lively country dance, he does not know what he would do. He watches one of her hands wrap around his, while the other migrates up to his shoulder, and he pulls her in, just a bit closer than is customary. 

She inhales as he shifts toward her. “Careful now, Viscount Bridgerton, people might talk.”

“Let them,” he shrugs, and she smiles lightly. 

“For once, I agree.”

“Can I get that in writing?”

“Hush. Are you going to keep chattering or let me enjoy my first dance with my fiancé?”

“I don’t see why I can’t do both,” he grins. “Though, I am not technically your fiancé yet.”

She moved back an inch, but did not miss a step. “Excuse me? According to whom?”

“Me, and I should know.”

“I think I am the one who should know, seeing as we just told our families we were engaged, and I accepted your proposal last night,” she replies indignantly.

“Or was it this morning?” He teases, and she is clearly unamused at the reference to their earlier misstep.

“Anthony.”

“Kate?”

“Be serious.”

“I am being serious. I never formally proposed.”

“What are you talking about, of course you did, I was there —”

“I said that I had been planning to propose to you for days. I said that I would court you and seek both our families’ permission, and then ask you to marry me. You are the one who freely offered your ready acceptance in the midst of a bout of passion,” he purrs, but she fixes him with an expression of irritated exasperation.

“Well, we certainly seem to have our families’ permission now.”

“Very true. If anything, my family likes you more than me.”

“That is not true, Anthony,” she admonishes, her tone turning serious. “You must know how much they love you.”

“I know that they tolerate me.”

“They do much more than that!” she exclaims. “I do not think you realize—” she takes a steadying breath, and his grip tightens against the small of her back. “I will never be able to apologize enough for the cruel things I said to you.”

“We have already discussed this,” he says quietly. “There is nothing to apologize for, and you said nothing worse than I.”

“But I must,” she says fiercely. “Because I know what they mean to you, and I cannot have you thinking for another moment that you do not mean just as much to all of them. They may not always be outwardly appreciative of everything you do, but they love you unconditionally, Anthony, just as you will always love them, and your father. And if he could see you…” her eyes look away seem to glass over. “I never knew Edmund Bridgerton, but I know that he would be proud of you. Of the man you are today.”

He looks at her, hard, and waits until she finally returns his gaze, giving her the time she needs to blink away the tears. Admittedly, he does the same. “Standing up here with you,” he says softly, “for the first time in my life, I think perhaps you are right.”

“I will spend my life proving it to you,” she says, strength back in her voice. 

“Just as I will spend mine proving to you that you are worthy of all of the love in the world, all of the love that I have for you.”

He feels her intake of breath against the hand cradling her back. She blinks hard again, before allowing herself a small smirk. 

“Well, at least you will if you ever get around to proposing to me.” 

“Ah, yes. I really should get on with that, shouldn’t I?” He says, as if it has only just occurred to him, and she nods condescendingly. 

“If you plan to go before the queen in two days’ time, you are running on a tight schedule.”

“Well, then,” he spins her as the song comes to an end. “Is this the public spectacle you imagined for the event?” And he moves to lower himself to one knee, before she grabs his hands and yanks him up again, hard. He chuckles. He would never actually propose to her in such a public setting, but teasing her never gets old. 

“If you propose in front of all these people, I swear I will say no, and I will not change my answer,” she hisses between clenched teeth. 

He smirks. “Then I will have to reconsider my plan of attack.”

“Is marriage so dangerous that you must frame it as a military occasion?” She rolls her eyes. 

“I am not certain. We have never been married before. We might turn London to rubble.”

“You know,” she turns to him as he escorts her off the dance floor. “It has just occurred to me that we have only ever known each other here at Aubrey Hall. Isn’t that strange? It feels…”

“Like a lifetime,” he finishes as she trails off. “It feels like I’ve known you forever. Yes, I quite understand. Do you worry you will grow bored of me when we are back in London?”

She gives him an exasperated look. “You are many things, Anthony Bridgerton, but none of them are boring.”

“Oh yes? And what are some of my other more desirable qualities?” He takes a not-too-innocent step forward, and she lays a not-too-innocent hand against his cravat.

“That mouth of yours, for one,” she whispers close to his ear, her eyes flicking down to his lips. “It is distracting.”

“Is it?” He feels his heart stutter in his chest as her fingers drop down to intertwine with his.

“Quite. And these hands of yours,” her thumb traces each fingertip, and he swallows hard. “You have a talent, Lord Bridgerton, there is no denying.”

“I do strive to please,” he murmurs. 

“Mmm, I know that you do,” she laughs, and the sound is deep, gravely, and he nearly kisses her right there. But when she takes a step back, he forces a breath full of lily-less air into his lungs. 

“Minx,” he grumbles. 

“I remind you again that we are in public,” she says lightly, examining one of her gloves. “Later, when we are in private, I will allow you to return my praise, and perhaps even offer up this formal proposal you speak so much about.”

“Oh, you will allow me to propose?”

“Yes,” she replies simply. “And if it is very good, I might even say yes.”

“No, no,” he steps away, wagging a finger at her. “You already said yes, it is on the record, you can’t take it back now.”

“I said yes to a proposal that apparently never happened!” She shrugs. “It is null and void. And as you said, the circumstances were coercive.”

“I don’t believe I said that. What I said was the acceptance was offered in a fit of passion as you—”

“Again, a public setting!” she hisses between her teeth. “You are impossible. I am going to get some lemonade. I will see you again after we are married, if then.” The fact that she is biting her lip to keep from smiling does not help to convince him of her argument.

She turns on her heel and marches off toward the lemonade table, leaving him laughing in her wake. He considers throwing one more rejoinder after her, but noting the audience of overt stares they have collected during their admittedly overt bout of flirtation, he decides against it. He will get the last word later, when they are in private, and that is what counts. 

“If this is the kind of sickening display I can expect from you two,” he hears a voice from behind, and immediately recognizes it as Benedict’s, “then I regret ever encouraging you in the first place.”

Anthony eyes him skeptically. 

“Did you encourage me? I mostly remember you telling me what an arse I was on yesterday’s hunt.”

“That is because you were behaving like an arse,” Benedict says, raising his wine to his lips and quirking a brow, as if waiting for Anthony to disagree. But he cannot, so he looks back after Kate instead. “I suppose Kate was so stubborn when I spoke to her about the matter that I could not envision you being any more receptive.”

Anthony whips his head back to look at Benedict. 

“When did you speak to Kate about our relationship?”

“A couple days ago. When we were painting. And, again yesterday,” he winces, “sort of.”

Anthony’s mind flashes back to the exchange he had witnessed between Kate and Benedict from across the lawn, the one that had made Kate grow quiet and serious as she looked at him. His ensuing behavior had been so despicable that he had nearly forgotten what spurred it on in the first place.

“What did you say to her?” he questions, his tone sharp, and he actually has to remind himself that she has already agreed to marry him, that whatever his brother said could not have possibly made matters between them any worse than he had done all by himself. 

Benedict pretends to contemplate the question, taking another sip. “I believe I told her that you were an idiot and that you have a habit of running away from the things that are good for you.” He takes another long swig before adding, “So if she was really foolish enough to want to be with you she’d better hold on tight.” He glances sideways at Anthony. “I may have said a couple of nice things about you too, but I don’t know if you deserve to hear those.”

Anthony blinks, and looks down at his shoes, then back up at the room.

“I should apologize for the way I’ve treated you these past few days,” Anthony grunts, not looking directly at his brother. “I didn’t know how to say how I felt to you or Kate, and I was jealous that your connection with her seemed so easy, and scared that I had messed up so badly, that she would…”

Benedict lets out a laugh. Anthony allows himself to look over at him, and he can see the moment his brother registers the genuine vulnerability in his words. Benedict’s smile softens. “That was never on the table, brother. There is a reason my relationship with Kate comes so easily. From the moment I met her, Miss Sharma has felt like, well, like a sister,” his smile widens. “And I have a lot of those, so I should know how it feels.”

“I know that,” Anthony says, “And I think I even knew it before, I just couldn’t bear the thought that she might,” he struggles to put each word in front of the other, “be near me, and yet not be with me. That she might leave me when I’d only just found her. I took that fear out on you. I am sorry.”

Benedict claps him on the back, and they exchange a beat of silence. For a brief moment, Anthony would swear that he can almost feel their father there with them, wordless, but present, as he always is in this house. 

“You deserve happiness, brother. I am glad you have found it.”

“Seems almost impossible, doesn’t it?” Anthony muses, his eyes finding Kate, who is speaking with Edwina at the lemonade table. She looks up as if she can feel his gaze on her, and smiles that heartstopping smile, which Anthony feels jolt through his nervous system. 

“No,” Benedict says softly. “It is entirely probable.”

Anthony clears his throat and looks back at his brother. “And what about you? Now that I am out of the way, mother will certainly turn her attention to her second born.”

“Mother has been trying to get me married off since I was out of leading strings,” Benedict rolls his eyes. “No, I do not foresee wedding bells in my future any time soon.”

“I have found you can never predict these things. You might meet them tonight.”

Benedict looks skeptically at Anthony, before his eyes flicker to the door, and Anthony spies something different within his brother’s eyes, some kind of longing, but for what he cannot say. “No, brother,” Benedict says, taking another drink. “This is your story, not mine.”

“It could be, you are as deserving of happiness as I—”

“Good God, not even married yet and you’re as bad as mother,” Benedict groans. 

Anthony puts his arms up in self-defense. “Forgive me, we’ll say no more on the subject.”

“Let’s just focus on getting you down the aisle first, yes?” Benedict quirks a brow. “By the way, you should know that Simon has already asked me to be his second if it should come to a duel, and I said yes, so you’ll be stuck with Colin I’m afraid.”

Anthony turns on his brother. “Hey, no word of that matter to Kate, right?”

Benedict chuckles. “I’ll say nothing, I swear, but if you think Kate doesn’t have ways of finding out on her own, then you clearly do not know her.”

“What doesn’t Lord Bridgerton know about me?” Kate’s voice materializes at his side. 

“Nothing!” The two brothers say in unison, jumping at her sudden appearance, and turning to see her approaching arm-in-arm with Edwina. 

“Why don’t I believe that?” she muses. 

“I can’t think of a reason,” Benedict says breezily. “A dance, Miss Sharma?”

“I would be delighted,” Kate grins. 

“Excuse me, but I believe the lady is spoken for,” Anthony cuts in, taking her other hand. “You will find my name on her dance card.” 

“Only for the first dance, my lord,” Kate says, lifting her hand out of his to gesture the dance card at him. “Besides, you will see it simply says “A. Bridgerton”, and technically…”

She trails off as Benedict gently takes up the pencil to write “B. Bridgerton” on the second line. “I am a Bridgerton as well,” he finishes the sentence. “Besides, it would draw too much attention if you dance every dance together. You are hoping to at least finish off the night without causing a scandal of monumental propositions, are you not?”

“We’ll see where the evening takes us,” Kate smirks, and Benedict eyes her. 

“You’re worse than him sometimes, do you know that?”

“Take that back!” she says in mock anger. 

“If you’re hoping to avoid scandal, we’ll need to keep you two in separate rooms, I think,” Edwina puts in, and Anthony glances at her in surprise. Those were the first words she had spoken in his vicinity all night. She looks at him and sips her lemonade, holding his eye. “If not separate counties,” she adds. 

“Oh, Miss Edwina, you will fit in marvelously with our family,” Benedict grins, and Anthony clears his throat as Kate moves toward the dance floor with his brother, leaving him alone with Edwina. He notes the raised eyebrows Kate throws at her sister as she goes, but he knows better than to try to guess at the inner workings of their sibling-y communication style. 

Besides, it seems he will know what is on Edwina’s mind in short order, with or without Kate’s intervention. 

“Lord Bridgerton,” she says, her eyes sharp even as her signature smile remains plastered over her face. “I must tell you that I am very happy you and my sister were able to work out your differences. Kate’s happiness is the most important thing in the world to me, and it is clear that you make her happy. In fact, as I believe you remember, it was clear to me long before Kate herself knew it.”

He cleared his throat again, not sure what else to do. “Thank you, Miss Edwina,” he says, looking at her curiously, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “And I hope you know that I love Kate, with everything I have, inadequate as that may be, and I will dedicate the rest of my life to her love and happiness.”

Edwina’s eyes seem to soften a bit at that, and he breathes easier knowing he said something right. 

“It should go without saying, but I am glad you said it anyway,” she replies, and then her gaze grows colder again. “Because that has not always been the case, has it?”

“Miss Edwina, I don’t…”

“I mean that your outlook, of dedicating yourself to her happiness, it is a newly-discovered attitude, is it not?”

“I—”

“Because, Lord Bridgerton, I once told you that I held a higher opinion of you than my sister did, that I believed her first impression of you as a rude and manipulative rake to be false,” Edwina’s voice is sugary sweet, and Anthony feels himself shrinking under her every word. “And yet not two days ago, my sister was crying because of something you said to her.”

Anthony lets out a short exhale. “Miss Edwina, I should offer you—”

“An explanation?” she says. “There is no need. Kate tells me that the two of you have already spoken about the matter extensively, and if she has seen fit to accept your proposal, then I cannot demand any further explanation. Kate is almost always an excellent judge of character.” She turns to face him head-on. “But I will admit that what hurts me the most is that you used my own words, words I spoke to you in confidence, because I trusted you, against her. I told you that she had been distancing herself from me, and you used that information as a weapon to hurt her. Can you offer me an explanation for that, Lord Bridgerton?”

He pauses, and allows her words to wash over him. It is clear this has been weighing on Edwina, and he is glad that she has said it now, instead of waiting and allowing it to sour their relationship as brother and sister in the years to come. Still, the harsh truth of her words stings. 

“An apology,” he replies softly. “I was going to offer you an apology, not merely an explanation. I have been so worried about how I hurt Kate, that I forgot how much it hurts to watch the people you love be hurt. There is no excuse for what I said to her, or how I betrayed your trust. I can only promise you that I will spend the rest of my days protecting Kate from hurt. I will never willingly inflict it again. And if I do,” he adds after a long pause, “I encourage, no, I insist, that you take whatever grizzly vengeance you may be able to mastermind, as I have no doubt you are fully capable.”

“Do not flatter me, my lord,” she says primly, though her voice is slightly gentler. “But yes, there are several compelling methods that have already occurred to me.”

“I have no doubt,” he says, and means it. It is never a wise move to underestimate the bookworms; his sister Eloise is proof enough of that. “And I do hope that, given enough time, I will be able to regain your trust,” he adds. “I know that will come with actions, not words, but I do intend to earn it back. I know you mean everything to Kate. And that means, you mean everything to me, too.”

Edwina smiles that infectious smile of hers, and Anthony cannot help but return it. “I believe you,” she says simply, and her attention shifts to the dance floor. Anthony does the same. “Kate loves you, and she is rarely wrong.”

Anthony’s heart stutters to hear Edwina speak the words so casually, even though Kate had repeated them so many times the night before. His eyes fix on Kate, on her easy smile as she converses with Benedict and the little overwrought bows they give each other as the dance comes to a close. 

“Very rarely,” he chuckles. 

---

“So, no desire to run, yet?” Benedict asks Kate as their dance begins, pulling her attention away from Anthony and Edwina, who remain together on the side of the dance floor. After her extended conversation with her younger sister in the gardens this afternoon, she suspects there are some words that will need to be exchanged between them sooner rather than later.

She laughs, looking back to her partner. “First you tell me not to let him run away, now you practically dare me to do so?”

“Not daring,” he says, jutting out a lip. “Just asking.”

“No. No desire to run.”

“Well, it’s only been a day. Give it time.”

She raises an eyebrow. "You tease him, but I can see the truth of you, Benedict Bridgerton. You adore him as much as all of your other siblings.”

“I do,” he admits freely. “But there is no fun in just going around telling somebody how much you love them all the time.”

She hums her acknowledgement, and her eyes trail back to Anthony, deep in conversation with her sister. The two people she loves more than anybody in the world. She is not certain she would fully agree with Benedict. 

God, what a sentimental sap she has become. 

“Careful with those doe eyes, they are almost as bad as Anthony’s,” Benedict’s voice rings in her ear, and she shakes her head clear. 

“Apologies, you’ll have to bear with me. Honeymoon phase, and all that.”

“How many times will I have to remind the two of you that you are not actually married yet?”

She shrugs as he turns her around in a spin. “A few more, at least.”

He rolls his eyes, but the smile on his face remains. “Fine, I will admit to you here, and I will deny it if you tell Anthony,” he warns, “that I could not be happier to see him happy.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

“I mean it, Kate,” Benedict says. “Somehow it feels like there is life in Aubrey Hall again, for the first time since our father died. Thank you, for that.”

Words fail her, so she simply blinks. He does the same, and then that smile of his is back. It is always this way with the Bridgertons, and she suspects it always will be; a moment of emotional honesty, followed by a joke to laugh it off. It is a system that works very well for her own purposes, so she cannot complain. 

“But I reiterate, it has only been a day. Give it a bit more time. Just wait until you see us play Pall Mall again.”

“I have already seen you play Pall Mall,” she reminds him. “It cannot get worse than that.”

“Oh, but it can,” he says warningly. “When you played, you were a guest. We were on our best behavior. The next time you play, it will be with family.”

“I shall have to prepare myself.”

“Don’t joke,” he says as the music winds down. “Do you have any idea what you are in for?”

She gives a deep curtsy and he bows, taking her hand. “I believe I do, as a matter of fact,” she says primly, and he leads her back toward Anthony and Edwina. “And don’t think for a moment that just because I’m marrying him he will ever hold the Mallet of Death again.”

“You say that now,” Benedict warns, as they near their siblings. “But you mustn’t let your guard down. He’ll act when you’re least expecting it.”

“What is this about?” Anthony interrupts as they near them. Kate ignores it, and turns to Benedict. 

“Not to worry, I am always expecting it,” she smiles, and Benedict nods. 

Kate eyes Edwina, who nods imperceptibly back, and Kate feels her heart grow lighter. Whatever they had discussed, Edwina seems pleased with the result. 

Edwina and Benedict soon excuse themselves (Edwina to meet Mr. Bagwell for a dance, and Benedict to get away from “this disgusting display”), and Kate and Anthony are left alone again. 

“I will have to make sure to meet that Bagwell tonight,” Kate frowns after her sister. 

“You haven’t met him yet?” 

“Not properly. I have been somewhat distracted since arriving here.”

“Ah. Well, I can vouch for the man, if it’s any help.”

“It is,” she smiles softly, “but I still need to meet him for myself. I have a reputation as the scary old spinster sister to maintain.”

“'Sister' is the only accurate word in that phrase.”

She looks affronted. “Are you saying I’m not scary?”

“Okay fine, two accurate words.”

“I don’t know, 'spinster' doesn’t seem too far off track either.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Kate, we are engaged—”

“Engaged without a proposal, whoever heard of such a thing,” she scoffs, before looking at her dance card and the “A. Bridgerton” and “B. Bridgerton” scrawled across it with an expression of mock-consideration on her face. “Speaking of, I ought to cast a wider net, oughtn’t I? I wonder if I could find Colin, then my dance card would read like the world’s most repetitive multiple choice question.”

“You’re very entertaining, Miss Sharma,” Anthony smiles tightly, before taking her wrist in his hands, allowing himself the indulgence of feeling her pulse beat against his fingertips, as he scrawls “A. Bridgerton” in a much larger font across the remaining few lines on the card. 

She frowns at the card. “That is not very sportsmanlike of you.”

“You will find I am a rather terrible sport,” he says slyly, taking her hand in his and pulling her in a fraction of an inch. “But now that I have the rest of your evening reserved, I am not sure I want to spend all of it dancing.”

“No?” She muses quietly. “Pray tell, what else did you have in mind?”

He pauses, glancing around. People notice their behavior, certainly, but she cannot find it within herself to care what they might be whispering. This is between only her and Anthony. Nothing else matters.

“Meet me in the garden in ten minutes, and I will show you,” he murmurs. 

She swallows, biting the inside of her lip. “That’s very forward of you.”

He shrugs and takes a step back, feigning nonchalance. “It is your choice to make, Miss Sharma.”

“I’ll consider it,” she says, tilting her head and turning away quickly so her smile does not have time to split her face while she is still facing his direction.

He disappears from the room rather quickly after that, which is probably for the best. She knows that, even if they are going to announce their engagement in two days, this is risky behavior. Then again, their behavior for the past week can only be considered risky. But still, they can hardly be seen leaving the ballroom together. Even the most dense members of the ton might notice that.

Ten minutes later, she is sitting in the gardens, having excused herself from a conversation with Eloise and Penelope as Eloise dropped hint after hint about her and Anthony’s engagement, each less subtle than the last. (Kate glares at her future sister as she leaves; if she carries on like this, the news will appear in Lady Whistledown before they have the chance to make a public announcement.) 

She sits on the very bench the two of them had found a, ahem, private moment together a few days prior. Just as Kate touches her palm against the cold stone and briefly indulges in the memory of that same stone scraping the back of her neck as Anthony disappeared beneath her skirts—then he is there again, sitting next to her. 

“Lost in thought?” he asks softly, his voice low and teasing. 

She inhales deeply, welcoming his warmth back into her surroundings. They have been separated only ten minutes, and apparently she has been holding her breath the whole time. 

“Memories,” she replies, and his hand migrates over to rest on top of hers. 

He lifts it gently to his lips. “Good ones, I hope?” He asks against her skin.

“The best.” She chews the inside of her lip as that familiar heat rushes up her neck and to her cheeks. His other hand finds her chin, and his soft nudge is all she needs to lean forward and press her lips against his. 

Ah, yes. That is what breathing felt like. She had almost forgotten. 

“What will we do when we aren’t living in the same house?” she muses, her lips still ghosting along his. Without her needing to say it out loud, he understands exactly what she means: they cannot be without each other for ten minutes, how could they last an entire night?

“I am attempting to minimize the time spent in that unfortunate limbo to the best of my ability,” he replies, his mouth moving across her cheek to her ear. “I told you I did not want to spend another night apart, and I intend to make good on that.”

She leans back and blinks. “Even when we return to London? It will be much harder to sneak around.”

“Precisely why I would like this wedding to occur as soon as possible,” he growls out. “And in the mean time, I am not above breaking and entering.”

Her mouth drops open in mock surprise. “Into Lady Danbury’s house? She’d throw you out the window herself.”

He smirks. “Then it is a good thing I am spry.”

She sighs exasperatedly, but then her expression turns serious as she remembers something she needed to get an answer about. “Anthony, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course, my love.” Her lip twitches at the term of endearment. 

“What were you and Benedict talking about earlier? Something that I didn’t know about you?”

He seems to rack his brain for a moment, then realizes what she is referring to. “I meant something I would tell you,” he clarifies, frowning. 

“Anthony, you said spouses are supposed to share everything. How can I say yes to a proposal if I don’t know about whatever you were discussing?”

“You have already said yes,” he grits out, for what he suspects will not be the last time. 

“Won’t you tell me, my love?” She asks, sliding an inch toward him on the bench until their thighs are pressing together. Taking a long inhale through his nose, he leans back in reaction, his face conflicted. 

“You are not playing fair,” he groans. 

“I am not,” she concedes, touching her fingertips against his temple. “Tell me.”

He closes his eyes. “It’s silly, really. He was referring to the time I dueled with Simon.”

“Dueled? Properly dueled?”

He nods. “Guns drawn and everything.”

She leans back, and her eyes harden. “You’re an idiot.”

He shrugs. “I cannot disagree with you. But as you can see, all worked out in the end.”

“That is not the point, Anthony, you could have been killed!”

“Actually Simon ended up refusing to shoot so I could not—”

“Or you could have killed a man!”

“But I did not, so—”

“No thanks to yourself, I’m sure. Who put a stop to it? It was Daphne, wasn’t it?”

Heaving a deep sigh, he rests back on his hand and puts on a cold look of displeasure. “This is not the discussion I planned on having when I asked you to meet me out here.”

“Oh? Was there another story of you behaving like an idiot that you wanted to share?”

“Really, nothing happened, there’s no need—”

“--But I think there is a need! When I am considering marrying a man who is prepared to simply throw his life away, I think there is quite a need to ask some follow up questions.”

He pauses, taking a calming breath. “There are many things about that statement I could stop to delve deeper into, but I will choose the most pressing; I will remind you again that you are not considering marrying me, we are already engaged. We have announced it to our families. You have accepted.”

“And you have still not proposed,” she adds, crossing her arms, and he stands up in frustration. 

“What do you think I am trying to do?” He exclaims, digging his hands into his pockets and then shoving something into her hands. “Here.”

She takes up the ring box and opens it. Her lips twitch and she snaps it shut again. 

“Yes,” she says softly. 

“You know,” he says, pacing in front of her. “I was trying to work my way into saying everything I know I’m supposed to say in this situation, about how you have become the center of my world, I cannot imagine life without you. But how very like you, Kathani, to not even let me get the words out, it is truly the most aggravating—”

“I said yes, I will marry you,” she says a bit louder and he pauses in his pacing. 

“Did you?” He asks, a small smile breaking over his face. “My apologies, I missed it entirely.”

“It sounds like you had a lot to get off your chest, please, go on if you must—”

Her words are cut off as his arms scoop her up from the bench and he wraps himself around her, his hands holding the sides her face firmly as he presses his lips into hers, and she giggles against his mouth. 

“No really, if you had a whole speech prepared—”

“No speech,” he mumbles. “I love you. That’s all I needed to say.”

“I love you, too.”

Their foreheads touch, and they just hold each other, framed by the moonlight. 

“And I promise, I will never challenge Simon to another duel.”

“You challenged him?” Her eyes, a mere inch from his, are fiery.

“It was the gentlemanly thing to do! Do not start again. What I mean is, I will never do anything that might jeopardize what we have again. You, our family, you are everything. I will stay by your side for as long as I am able. As long as you will have me.”

She runs her fingers through his hair, sweeping it out of his face and looking at him with those wide, honest eyes. 

“I will always want you. And I will be right here, with you, for the rest of my life. We have time.”

He breathes deeply, and cherishes the feeling of her warm breath on his face as their lips meet in a soft kiss. After the endless complications of the past two weeks, it all comes down to this moment, so beautifully simple. 

“Yes, we do.”

Notes:

That's it! It's over! I am in a state of shock!

Thank you all so much for reading and for your supportive comments over the past few weeks <3 It has been a long time since I jumped into a fandom with both feet like this, but your welcoming kindness has meant everything to me, and I had such a wonderful time writing this story.

I am going to have a hard time leaving this story behind, but please find me here or on twitter if you have any writing prompts for these two; I will never get enough of them!

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Losing Our Control universe