Chapter Text
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A groan left Anthony’s chest as he scrubbed a hand through his hair, his mother’s words still ringing in his ears. Her tone had been scornful, her words sharp as they had expertly cut to the bone of his insecurities.
“If your father was still here, Daphne would already have been matched. The man would have made an arrangement with an old friend. The man would have done what was now necessary…”
Her blade twisted once it had found its mark—a scar of self-doubt, faded from time but somehow still fresh with blood, “So you must ask yourself…are you merely an older brother, or are you the man of this house?”
They were a reminder of how she—how all of them really—viewed him; a poor excuse, a paltry imitation. Inexperienced. Inept. Unfit to—
“Why are you so distressed?” a voice huffed incredulously.
****
“Kate? Kate, dearest. Did you hear Lady Danbury?”
“Of course, Mama,” Kate hummed absent-mindedly in acknowledgment, not missing the pointed stare their host cast in her direction. In truth, she had hardly been listening at all. Instead, Kate had been distracted—rather suddenly—by a pair of dark brooding eyes across the dance floor. They were hooded under brows, twisted into a frankly impressive scowl, knitted together so severely that the tension formed a dimple between them. The look practically threatened to set aflame anyone that might deign to be in its owner’s path, yet Kate found herself curious about him. Wondering what could possibly have caused such a line to be chiseled into existence.
“It seems Viscount Bridgerton has caught your attention, Miss Sharma?” Lady Danbury said knowingly, her eyes trained on Kate. Mary and Edwina followed her line of sight, their curiosities clearly peaked at the gentleman to have caught Kate’s eye.
“Hardly,” Kate coughed, ignoring the way her cheeks burned from the pointed question, “I was simply considering the way the lanterns had illuminated the dancefloor.”
Lady Danbury scoffed, clearly undeterred by her falsehood, “The Viscount is in attendance chaperoning his younger sister, Miss Daphne Bridgerton. She is the eldest of the Bridgerton sisters and is his first sibling formally out in society. Lord Bridgerton has been quite supercilious in his scrutiny of her potential suitors thus far. I would suggest he might be a favorable addition to your dance card Miss Edwina, if for nothing but to drum up interest from other more well-disposed suitors. However, the gentleman is notorious in both his bachelorhood and his refusal to take to the floor.”
Kate found her gaze once again traveling to the man in question—Lord Bridgerton. There was, she could admit, something debonair, yet slightly unkempt about his appearance. The evidence of stubble on his chin, hair slightly mussed, the ruffles of his shirt sleeves peeking out from under his jacket. Despite having clearly fallen prey to one of the more egregious fashions of the period—Kate would never understand the masculine obsession with side whiskers—it could not be denied, Lord Bridgerton was indeed quite handsome.
She would not, however, divulge such an admission to her present company. Doing so would serve as nothing more than a distraction from her present task, of that Kate was certain.
Faintly, she registered Lady Danbury clear her throat. Signaling the arrival of another gentleman no doubt—perhaps one of the more ‘well-disposed’ suitors the dowager had spoken of for Edwina. But try as she might, Kate’s eyes remained affixed to the viscount’s countenance, something about him leaving her wholly unable to peel them away. Not, at least, before the deep umber of his gaze abruptly flashed in her direction.
The moment was subtle, nearly inconspicuous to those around them as their eyes caught—the viscount’s widening almost imperceptibly. There was something undeniable about the heat that seemed to flicker between them. Undeniable about the way it languidly traveled up the curve of Kate’s spine, causing gooseflesh to dot the nape of her neck, before peppering over the bare skin of her arms.
Almost immediately, Lord Bridgerton narrowed his eyes anew, his stare steadily boring into her.
The flames of the moment continued to lick unrelentingly at Kate’s insides. Leaving her to feel unmoored by the way the viscount’s nimble fingers wrapped around the bowl of his coupe glass, watching as he deliberately lifted it to his lips. Slowly he took a sip, gaze darkening unmistakably over the rim as it trailed down her physical form. Kate’s mouth went dry in response, the intensity of it all nearly toppling her off balance, causing her own lips to part, her tongue wetting them involuntarily as his stare threatened to turn her core molten with want.
But just as the moment had taken root, Lord Bridgerton’s eyes yanked away from her as Mary’s voice filled her ears, presenting her to the gentleman that had joined them.
“Please allow me to introduce my eldest, Miss Kate Sharma,” Mary supplied cooly. Her smile was pleasant but Kate could easily detect the stiffness of her Mama’s tone, no doubt unnerved after noticing her lack of concentration on the conversation at hand.
Kate shook her head slightly, “My apologies, for my indecent manners, Mr…?”
The gentleman in question smiled at her brightly as he repeated, “Bridgerton, Colin Bridgerton,” tipping his head in salutation.
Of course. His charming smile, his slightly unkempt mop of brunette hair. Should have seen the warning signs, she thought wryly.
“A pleasure Mr. Bridgerton, are there others from your family in attendance?” Kate questioned demurely, obviously already aware of exactly which of Colin Bridgerton’s family members were there.
Lady Danbury emitted an audible sigh, clearly provoked by the inanity of Kate’s question, “As I just explained, Miss Sharma, Mr. Bridgerton is in attendance with his eldest brother, Lord Bridgerton, as well as his younger sister, Miss Daphne Bridgerton, and mother, Lady Bridgerton…” Kate did not miss how Colin’s mouth tugged up at the corner, clearly attempting to hide his amusement at the dowager’s frustration with her willful ignorance, as she continued, “Ah! In fact, here they come now.”
Something deep within Kate ached to see if they included the viscount, fighting—perhaps by sheer stubborn force of will—to not allow her line of sight to travel in the direction Lady Danbury had motioned her cane. They had yet to even speak, after all, she reminded herself and in truth, Kate detested the feeling for its absurdity, for its vulgarity. Viscount Bridgerton had no place among the intricate plans she had devised for their time in London.
Unwilling to subject herself to even the potential of being drawn in anew by the smolder of his gaze, Kate attempted to further her conversation—if not a little inelegantly—with the younger Mr. Bridgerton, “So many Bridgertons! It is a wonder Lady Bridgerton was able to keep track of you all.”
Colin opened his mouth to reply, but a gruff voice cut in sharply, “Our parents felt it would be of use to name us in alphabetical order. Quite helpful when one of us is noticeably absent, as my sister has been for much of the evening.”
Lord Bridgerton approached them, settling beside his brother with Lady Bridgerton on his arm. Despite her best efforts, Kate’s gaze shifted immediately, as if drawn to him by some unseen magnetic pull. He was even more striking up close, the muscular angle of his jaw conspicuously wrought with tension as his eyes searched the dancefloor.
“What my son means to say is that my eldest daughter seems to be enjoying herself so much that we have yet to—” Lady Bridgerton preened, “Ah! There she is now on the arm of the Duke of Hastings no less.”
Kate turned to see a petite young woman with ivory skin and strawberry blonde hair on the arm of a dashing gentleman of dark features and tall stature, his demeanor calm and collected as they strode toward the dancefloor. Her eyes flashed curiously back to Lord Bridgerton. The man was quite comically attempting—and obviously failing—to hide his ire behind the rim of his champagne glass. His glower remained impenetrable, causing displeasure to settle uneasily over the rest of the group.
Lady Bridgerton gave a nervous huff of laughter before she added, “The Duke is an old friend of my eldest son, is that not true, Anthony? The two attended Oxford together and—”
“Would you care for a dance?” Lord Bridgerton interrupted curtly, noticeably cutting off Lady Bridgerton’s remark.
Bemusedly, Kate blinked at the man before her, startled by the impulsivity of his question. Lord Bridgerton’s attention, however, was hardly focused in either of their directions, eyes instead trained unflinchingly upon his sister. The Duke seemed to have led her to the floor for a waltz and the two were gazing at one another rather besottedly. As Lord Bridgerton continued to glower at the duo, Kate could not help but notice how the expression caused the crease between his brows to deepen improbably further.
She stifled a laugh at the ridiculousness of his offer—clearly, the man had no actual interest in dancing, let alone the matter of who would serve as his partner. Even so, surely he had meant to ask Edwina and not her.
But then she felt it—the gentle, yet firm press of Edwina’s palm making contact with the small of her back. Inching her forward ever so slightly, the younger Sharma sister chuckled hesitantly, filling the awkward silence that had stretched over the group.
“Did you hear didi? The viscount asked if you’d like to dance,” she questioned, looking nervously from one eldest sibling to the other. Her eyes had grown wide and saucer-like, clearly daunted by Lord Bridgerton’s brash demeanor. Kate bit the inside of her cheek to keep her shoulders from shaking with mirth, keen to her sister’s rather obvious ploy to avoid a dance with the gentleman.
Shaking her head slightly, Kate recovered herself before she demurred, “Of course, my lord.”
The viscount’s hand was bare as it grasped her own, the heat of it palpable through the silken material of her gloves as he guided them toward the other couples already occupying the dancefloor. As the sweeping melody of the piece stretched between them, they began to turn in time with the music and Lady Danbury’s words echoed in her mind—the gentleman is notorious in his refusal to take to the floor. It was clear to Kate that despite Lord Bridgerton’s known aversion to dancing, he was quite well practiced in the art, as anyone of his stature would be. He was, however, far less adept at conversation, gaze remaining fixed on the younger Miss Bridgerton, hardly sparing Kate a glance as he inched them rather unsubtly towards the other couple.
The obvious lack of sincerity in his offer grated at Kate, and she found herself barely able to contain her eye roll at his actions when she pointedly offered, “You cannot be so concerned about the Duke of Hastings' intentions that you must chaperone your sister from the middle of the dancefloor, my lord.”
The viscount’s gaze snapped back towards her almost immediately, the muscle of his arm stiffening under her grasp as he held them upright. She felt his palm tighten against her back as he snapped, “Not that it is any of your business Miss…Sharma was it? But my sister is newly betrothed to another, she should hardly be flaunting the intentions of a duke, especially one with such a reputation as the Duke of Hastings.”
“Funny, Lady Bridgerton seemed quite pleased that Miss Bridgerton was on the arm of the Duke, in fact, she mentioned no such betrothal,” Kate replied coolly, eyes drawn to how his jaw twitched in response to her assertion.
“My m— Lady Bridgerton is not yet aware that it has taken place,” he bit out.
She fixed him with a pointed look, “I see…and who might the lucky gentleman be?”
“Nigel Berbrooke,” Lord Bridgerton replied tightly.
Kate felt her mouth drop open in response, “You cannot be serious.”
“Quite, Miss Sharma. Lord Berbrooke’s barony is over two hundred years old, his lineage is legitimate, he has had an excellent education, possesses no debts, never hurt an animal or a woman, and is even a decent shot…” he trailed off, voice betraying a hint of defeat as he added, “to speak strictly there’s nothing wrong with him.”
“Ah yes, the stuff of fairytales. Truly all that a lady might dream of in a match,” she quipped in reply, not caring to hide the disapproval in her tone. “And pray tell did that speech work on your sister when you no doubt informed her of the match?”
Lord Bridgerton seemed to falter a moment and it did not escape Kate how the carefully constructed facade of his mask slipped, a pained expression reflecting on his countenance. But again it was fleeting and the viscount steeled himself once more before murmuring, “She will adjust to the match in time.”
Kate snorted at that, her voice bitter with resentment, “Of course. A lady should always put aside her own future happiness in favor of adjusting.”
She could feel the heat of indignation rising in her cheeks as any feelings of attraction she had held previously for Lord Bridgerton seemed to evaporate entirely. The gall of this man to believe he could make such a decision without even speaking to his sister. Knowingly preventing her from a life of happiness, of love.
Love—it was all Kate wanted for Edwina and she could not comprehend how an elder sibling could make such an insupportable choice. Doing so was simply egregious and the thought only added to her growing ire.
“I do not know your circumstances, my lord, nor do I pretend to—” she hissed, fixing Lord Bridgerton with a pointed glare, “However, I do know what it means to be the eldest sibling, to bear the responsibility of your loved one’s well-being. And I know that it does not signify relegating your sister to a loveless future. I cannot believe you so cold-hearted that you would willfully choose to do so. If that is, in fact, the case, then I feel immensely sorry for each and every last one of your siblings.”
She was vaguely aware of how they had stopped moving with the music, of the mirror of their stances—chests rising and falling rapidly with the intensity of their exchange. The fury of Lord Bridgerton’s gaze was palpable, boring into her with renewed force as she pulled away from him, needing to remove herself from his presence before their disagreement turned unseemly.
But as she turned and attempted to locate her family among the members of the ton, Kate felt Lord Bridgerton’s hand grip her arm, the pads of his fingers searing the flesh of her bare skin with the force of it.
His voice was filled with animosity, the retort leaving him in a menacing whisper that needled at the back of her neck, “You are correct Miss Sharma, you do not know me, so I would suggest you not be so quick to judge the decisions I have made, nor assert that you would not do the exact same thing should it be required of you.”
Kate opened her mouth to reply, but Lord Bridgerton suddenly startled, seemingly taken aback by the threatening tone that had overtaken his demeanor. Swiftly releasing her arm, he straightened his spine before giving her a curt bow, “If you would excuse me, Miss Sharma, I must return to my family at once.”
****
“Why are you so distressed?”
Anthony haphazardly twisted his neck to locate the voice, glaring at its owner for daring to disrupt his personal soirée of self-pity.
Why was he so distressed?
Why was he so distressed?
Perhaps it was because his sister was—rightfully—livid with him for signing her life away to Nigel Berbrooke, a feckless, halfwit of a suitor. Perhaps it was that, in truth, he would have never done such a thing if he was not constantly berated by his mother for failing at his duties, his responsibilities. For failing to appropriately fill the impossibly large boots left behind by his father. Or perhaps, it was that no matter the amount of ire and vitriol either of them directed at him, it would never come close to breaching the walls of his own self-loathing.
No, he had forever trapped himself in a prison of his own making in that respect.
The rustling of a skirt nearby disturbed the spiral of his thoughts, as he looked around once more in the darkness. His gaze fell upon stockinged feet, their owner nimbly discarding her slippers on a bench nearby as she let out a sigh of relief that was downright obscene in nature. Anthony’s gaze shifted as it followed the line of silken material, traveling up long legs that disappeared—rather too soon, some animalistic part of his brain supplied—under delicately adorned silver skirts. But when his gaze met the owner of the legs in question, Anthony’s expression turned pained anew, an even louder groan escaping forth from his lungs as he ground out one word from behind clenched teeth.
“You.”
“Yes me, my lord. I believe it is a public space is it not? Or does your viscounty also extend to the stone benches of Vauxhall Gardens?” Miss Sharma quipped, letting out an annoyed little huff as her hand unthinkingly massaged the ball of her ankle through those damnable stockings.
As if all sense had left him, the image of stripping them from her one by one with his teeth flashed through Anthony’s mind.
It did not, however, excuse that the woman in question was indisputably irritating, clearly unperturbed by both being alone in his presence and the distaste that was coming off him in waves. Still, Anthony was aware of it, could feel as it awakened and yawned within him—the slow thrum of arousal that stretched to fill his veins. It was a decidedly horrifying realization—damn his traitorous biology—and yet Anthony found his mouth opening involuntarily to continue the dance of words occurring between them.
“Must you always.”
“Must I always?” Miss Sharma’s eyes narrowed at him, as she slipped her shoes back over her toes with a grimace, “Please, do enlighten me with what you mean to insinuate, my lord.”
“You have been like this since we took to the dancefloor earlier! Obstinate, inflexible, unwilling to yield to good plain common sense,” Anthony retorted. He could feel it slipping, the masked demeanor he so meticulously kept in place, all because this singular woman seemed to ignite some baser part of his instincts. This was all the more evident by the way that at present moment, he had begun to grow painfully hard against his breeches.
“Ah, so you have known me for the better part of an hour and that is your opinion of me? Thank you, my lord, for explaining so fully,” she hissed in return.
“Would you care to provide me with a different one?” Anthony smirked, “Here you are, a lady, alone with a strange man and not the slightest bit concerned. That seems quite lacking in common sense to me, Miss Sharma.”
Her gaze shifted imperceptibly at that, Anthony noticed, not to observe that they were, in fact, quite alone, but instead to take in his lips as they uttered her name. Something about it possessed his tongue to dart out, leaving a glistening sheen along the seam of them.
Voice wavering only slightly, Miss Sharma asked, “Does it, my lord? I myself feel quite unconcerned.”
Unwittingly, Anthony rose to his feet. There was something so infuriating about the woman’s demeanor. How she flouted the rules of society, treating them as though they did not signify. The very same rules that he had lived the last decade of his life completely bound to, day in and day out.
It was, in short, incredibly maddening. And yet, she…Miss Sharma…was positively intoxicating to him.
Before he could do much of anything to catch himself, Anthony was stalking towards her. Reveling in how the moonlight illuminated her seated figure. It exposed a flush that had crept across the tops of her breasts, no doubt evidence of how she too was struggling to maintain the cool facade of her demeanor. Their eyes met, the magnetism of the pull between them only intensifying as he came to hover over her. Miss Sharma’s chin lifted proudly so she could meet his gaze, her knuckles wrought with tension as they gripped the stone surface beneath her. Mouth parted slightly, a frustrated pant escaped her lips as she glared up at him, daring him to speak.
Anthony felt his cock twitch at the sight.
As if possessed by some otherworldly spirit, he bent at the waist and leaned towards her, practically invading her space as he placed a hand against the bench, just shy of her own. His face settled mere inches from hers and Anthony barely recognized his voice, low and menacing as he rasped, “You are lucky, Miss Sharma, that I am a gentleman.”
“Are you, Lord Bridgerton? A gentleman?”
The challenge in her voice was clear, marked by the brow she raised as the air went static between them. And somehow, all common sense seemed to indeed have left Anthony’s brain, because before he had well and truly considered the consequences of it, their mouths collided.
The kiss was searing. Their teeth clashing and tongues tangling wildly, as if a continuation of the barbs they had spent the better part of the evening trading. Not even with Siena did Anthony believe he had experienced such a kiss. It was only as he gathered Miss Sharma’s skirt and pressed the heel of his hand to her cunt, causing her to let out a sharp keen, did Anthony realize what he had done, wrenching himself away from her as he gritted out, “Miss Sharma, I will stop.”
Clearly never one to be deterred, the maddening woman chased his lips, stealing the air from his lungs as she gasped against his mouth, “Do not stop.”
Anthony made a strangled noise at the back of his throat, before protesting, “I do not even know your given name!”
Miss Sharma tightened the hand that was currently carding through his overgrown curls, tugging slightly as her lips grazed the shell of his ear, “Kathani if you would like to be formal about it. Kate would do as well.”
“But— But you are a lady.” It was a weak protest at best on his part, they both knew it.
“Actually technically I am not, Lady Mary is not my biological mother so—”
“Kathani…” Anthony interrupted, his voice desperate, embarrassingly close to pleading with her.
To stop..? To continue..? For what, he truly did not know.
“Lord Bridgerton,” she replied confidently, her jaw firm and unyielding to his concerns. And it was at that moment Anthony simply knew. No matter how much he protested, no matter how he made excuses regarding society or their respective sexes, it was all in vain.
He was completely and wholly at her mercy.
And so, when Kate finally stood, leveling their lines of sight before tugging him to her by the lapel of his jacket…all Anthony could do was let her.
Let her lips hungrily claim his own anew, leaving him gasping into her mouth as he thrust an arm out behind them, waving it around wildly for purchase on anything that might keep them upright. Let her fingernails rake against the base of his skull as she then pulled them backward, towards the nearest hedge until her back made contact with an overgrown trellis.
She smelled heavenly and Anthony found himself nearly forgetting their precarious surroundings as he peppered kisses down the column of her throat, aching to move lower. To mouth at the bare skin along the neckline of her bosom, desperate to inhale the bouquet of flesh that awaited him at the apex of her long, stockinged legs.
Her slender fingers continued to wind their way through unruly curls as he clutched her to him, lips latching on to a spot just below the sharp cut of her jaw, the repercussions of leaving a mark upon her skin entirely inconsequential.
“My lord, please, someone could see us,” Miss Sharma’s voice cut through the haze of her scent, pleading and breathless. Some far away part of Anthony’s brain fumbled for reason, for the gentlemanly thing to do—their location was less than ideal and truly anyone could stumble upon them—but like a man possessed Anthony was compelled to continue his exploration of the expanse of her skin. The slide of his tongue, of his mouth as it sealed kiss after kiss against soft bronzed flesh.
“Anthony,” Kate gasped again more pointedly, her voice ragged. There was a tugging sensation at the base of his skull, and Anthony found his gaze lifting involuntarily. He took in the sight of the woman before him—panting, looking down at him with wide eyes, their darkened centers blown. He reveled in the sight, how her need for him was entirely undisguised, feeling emboldened from the effect of his lips against her skin.
But somehow it wasn’t enough.
“The dark walk…” he rasped against the swell of her breast, “…it is not so far away.” Anthony’s hand ghosted up her form, fingers splaying over her rib cage as their pads pressed into silken fabric and he searchingly thumbed for the peak of her nipple. He worked it free from her stays, the movement causing them to loosen and slip lower against her figure.
“Then why is it…” Kate gasped, her hand grabbing a fistful of his disheveled hair, hauling his lips against hers as his fingers tugged desperately at the neckline of her gown.
“That we….” She continued her onslaught, crushing their lips together harshly, holding him soundly against her, deft fingers continuing to knot at his hair. Anthony let out a yelp of surprise as he felt her teeth sink into his bottom lip, the painful sensation catching him off guard, quickly soothed by the way her tongue laved at the aching flesh, the faintest hint of something metallic peppering his own. The sensation was wet and full of wanting, a promise of more as she all but teased against his mouth, “are still…here.”
Anthony let out a frustrated growl, as the tension of desire and his own eristic nature warred within him. Even as arousal coursed through his veins he felt the pull to spar with this indomitable woman, leaning back with every intent to do so until he took in the sight of her, her coiffeur slightly undone, her almost completely exposed bosom rapidly rising and falling against her rumpled neckline. Miss Sharma was nearing the image of a lady utterly ruined and Anthony, despite all his honor, his duty, and in truth against his better judgment, wanted rather desperately to be the cause of such a transgression.
Wrapping his hand around the delicate curve of her wrist, Anthony was keenly aware of the way her pulse thumped under the pad of his thumb as he muttered, “Follow me.”
Kate let out a startled gasp as he tugged her roughly after him, the dark maze of the gardens swallowing them as they ventured toward the northern edge.