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Anthony Bridgerton is a great catch. The Ton’s most eligible bachelor, indeed. You’ve danced with him quite a few times; he has even called on you at your home. He’s handsome, certainly, intelligent, and engaging. He seems eager to pursue you, your mother beyond keen about the match, and you have no objections to him, as such, so you allow it.
But… he’s not the Bridgerton man that has haunted your dreams for the last year. The one you feel watching you at every event, the one you want to know - what makes him tick, what he loves, what keeps him awake at night, what makes him laugh, how his skin tastes. A hum in your chest that wars with your brain, wanting you to walk over to him, cling to him, beg him to kiss you. It’s the strangest, most powerful compulsion.
Sadly, he has never pursued you; he just lurks in the shadows watching you all this time. An observance so intense it feels like a heated blanket you wear. But lately, with Anthony's pursuit, he seems to dislike you or perhaps just your closeness to Anthony. Every time you are in Anthony’s orbit, he looks like he is chewing glass.
“Does your brother hate the idea of us?” You ask Anthony as he spins you around the dancefloor of the illustrious Bridgerton Ball. Feigning ignorance about your deepest wish to know what those looks mean.
“Whyever would you think that, Miss Y/l/n?” He seems baffled by your question.
“He’s looking at us right now,” you point out, and as Anthony whirls around, you watch him look over and frown.
“I’m not certain that look is directed at us,” he placates.
“It’s the third time he has done this, my lord. At different balls. I can only think he hates me, dislikes me as a match for his older brother, perhaps?” You offer, knowing you are manipulating him to get the clarity about the man’s true feelings that you desperately seek.
“My brother is nothing of that sort,” he dismisses “it must be something else. I shall talk to him when our dance is over, but Miss Y/l/n, I am certain you have nothing to be concerned over. You are quite delightful,” he assures with easy flattery as the dance ends. He bows, kisses your hand and agrees to meet you later for another dance.
——
“Brother, a word?” Anthony raises his eyebrow with a flick of his wrist. “Quickly,” he adds rather testily when the man in question just shrugs.
He trails after Anthony somewhat reluctantly, akin to a toddler being dragged somewhere they do not want to go but have no say.
They end up in Anthony’s study. By instinct, Anthony pours two brandies, handing one to his younger brother.
“Benedict, what’s troubling you?”
“You dragged me here to ask that vague of a question?” The man scoffs, the irritation in his voice evident.
“Well, I hardly took you away from a situation you were enjoying,” Anthony fires back, “your face was like thunder out there. To the point that others commented about it to me. So yes. I ask again, what is troubling you?”
“Who?”
“Who what?”
“Who commented on my face?”
“Well, if you must know, it was Miss y/l/n. She is quite convinced you must hate her for the way you were staring daggers at her.”
Benedict scoffs.
“Well, do you? Is there something you need to say? I don’t believe you suddenly wish to judge what match I make, so there must be another reason. Out with it,” he lectures.
“You don’t deserve her,” Benedict mutters almost silently.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” Anthony challenges, raising an eyebrow.
“I said, ‘nothing whatsoever’. As in, I have nothing to say to that.”
Anthony narrows his eyes, knowing that’s not the truth or what Benedict said under his breath.
“Benedict. Brother. I’m worried about you,” Anthony opines, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “You seem so despondent lately. Like you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. Why are you burdening yourself so?”
“It’s not a choice,” Benedict grouses, draining the brandy Anthony gave him. “Love is never a choice; I wish that it were.”
Anthony freezes. “Love?” You are in love?”
“I might as well not be for all the grief and misfortune it brings. But yes, If you must know, I’m in love, and I’m miserable.” He cuts.
“Now, I’m no expert at affairs of the heart, but even I know that’s the exact opposite of how it should feel,” Anthony states.
“Not when it’s misguided or inappropriate. I can never act on how I feel due to… circumstances. So forgive me, brother, the latitude of not always being the carefree person I used to be, that I wish I still was,” his voice biting, fueled by raw emotion, not bitter cynicism.
“So let me get this straight. You’re in love, but it’s inappropriate, and you cannot act on it because this person is off-limits to you. Brother, did you fall for a married lady?” Anthony guesses.
Benedict laughs cynically. “That would actually be preferable to this nightmare.”
“Just tell me. You’re my brother,” Anthony sighs, resigned.
“It’s Miss Y/l/n”, he exhales, screwing up his face and looking heavenwards, awaiting harsh judgment.
There is none. Just silence for a few moments, so Benedict peeks an eye and lowers his head.
“Why didn’t you say something before now?” Anthony exhales; he seems neither mad nor sad. Just neutral. “I’m your brother, for god’s sake. I would never have pursued her if you'd just told me.”
“Oh, it’s that simple, is it?” Benedict rolls his eyes, “it’s just so easy to approach someone, my own brother, and say, like some child, don’t pursue this person I have affection for them? That’s patently absurd,” his frustration manifesting in holding his body rigid, locking his knees, fingers flexing. “I should never have said anything!” He suddenly outbursts, seemingly embarrassed and angry he had admitted something he now regrets.
“Benedict I….” Anthony begins
“Don’t”, Benedict cuts in with a bitter tone, “spare me the big brother lecture.”
—-
You have your next dance but barely heed the man’s presence, your mind absorbed by watching Anthony order his younger brother from the room.
You burn to know what they are talking about, where they went.
“Miss Y/l/n?” a voice cuts into your thoughts, “have you heard a word I’ve said?” The tone is disdainful.
You shake your head. “Very sorry, my lord. I umm have taken quite unwell,” you lie. “Perhaps we could stop dancing? It is making me quite dizzy.”
With a flurry of apologies, the man takes pity on you and stops dancing and assists you by grabbing a refreshment.
“Thank you so much. This is indeed helping, but I fear not as much as I’d like. Please excuse me; I must retire for the evening.”
You bustle from the room, headed in the same direction as Anthony and his brother. You still can feel the intensity of his gaze from earlier, like a flame across your skin.
As you round a corner into a quieter part of the house, one you probably shouldn't be in, you hear a familiar voice and stop short.
“...It’s not that. I just want you to tell me the truth” Anthony’s voice is muffled through a wooden door but unmistakable. Suddenly your heart is pounding. You’re almost certain you know who he is talking to.
"What do you want me to say?” Comes the reply, and your breathing stops. It’s him. Benedict.
“That my thoughts are always of her? For God's sake, Anthony! You want me to approach you and say, ‘the lady you're courting looks at me, and my heart pounds’”
Your thoughts are a jumble, blood rushing in your ears. He feels the same about you as you do him!
He continues, “Or... Or perhaps you’d like to hear how I think of her every night as I take myself in hand, that I have imagined her in every possible way, that my thoughts of her never end. And when I've spilt, I can only burn in shame because she will never be mine."
His sinful words alight a fire in your body. Every night your hand falls between your legs, and you touch yourself, burning with thoughts of him. The heat only quells when his name falls silently from your lips as you reach your peak. The knowledge he does the same to thoughts of you is breathtaking.
You can’t help yourself; you push into the room. Anthony sees you over Benedict’s shoulder; his face is a catalogue of emotions.
“Benedict…” he warns, but his brother doesn’t heed him.
“You want my truth, brother? Here it is, plain and simple: I'm in love with Miss Y/l/n. I burn for her. Yet I doubt she even cares. I'm almost certain now, especially after what you said tonight, that she does not regard me and may even actively despise me….”
As he speaks, you breathe heavily, the world spinning at his love confession. You lock gaze with Anthony, begging him not to interfere with your eyes, and he nods almost imperceptibly.
“…And that dear brother is why I am in a pit of despair and a misery akin to death. And what wounds me the most is the guilt I carry that this woman I so desire is yours. And yet… and yet I still myself incapable of moving on, of putting these feelings aside. What the devil is wrong with me?" Benedict ends his soliloquy distressed, pulling at his hair.
You are shocked that you are still breathing, still standing. You feel compelled to speak, scarcely believing your boldness, the voice bubbling up from the depths of your soul.
“You are wrong,” your voice rings out, wavering.
Benedict whips around at the sound, still breathing heavy. You watch as shock, fear and embarrassment ripple across his handsome face in war with each other for supremacy. You push on despite your clammy hands and pulse beating heavy in your ears.
“I could never despise someone who haunts my every waking moment,” you continue, steadying your voice, taking a step closer, “and my nightly dreams.”
His face morphs into something like surprise, muddled with hope.
“Anthony,” you address over Benedict’s shoulder, “I hope you will forgive me, but I have perhaps been deceptive with you. While you are a fine good man, I let this match happen not because I wanted it myself but because my mother desired it. But if I should be honest, you were never the Bridgerton I wanted, the one who has stolen my heart.”
You hear Benedict audibly inhale and move your gaze to meet his. Blistering as ever.
“It is you whom I desire, most ardently,” you state clearly. “It has always been you, Benedict,” you exhale, taking another step closer. “When you look at me, the world quiets but strangely also bursts into a riot of colours. I… I…,” you falter as suddenly you are surrounded.
He has closed the gap between you and enveloped you into his embrace. You can feel the warmth of his body seeping into yours, and you never want to let go: with a relieved sob, you band your arms tight around him and press yourself into his body, wanting to melt into him. Every nerve ending is alight; it feels like the most comforting and most exciting place you could ever be.
“Oh Y/n,” he stutters, his voice thick with emotion, his breath warm on your cheek.
“I dream of you,” you whisper urgently near his ear, “and your name is on my lips every night when I touch myself. It’s always you; I always think of you.”
He growls at that confession, and his fingers dig into your dress. His warm lips press against your cheek, and your hand flies up to cup his jaw, urging his lips to meet yours.
Anthony clears his throat, and you both jump apart as if burned. Suddenly remembering you are not alone.
“If this were to become known, it will certainly be a scandal we can ill afford,” Anthony lectures as Benedict’s hand reaches for yours, and you take it, your breath hitching as your fingers lace. “To be the subject of Lady Whistledown”s missive. I can see it now - The Viscount loses his match to no other suitor but his own younger brother. It would be quite the juiciest news of the year for these rabid gossip hounds,” his tone is bitter. “And that is why this must be kept secret until a suitable moment.”
When he sees your joined hands, he frowns and stalks to the window and slams the wooden shutters. “Pay mind, there is an event here tonight,” he chides “if you must touch, ensure you are unseen,” he warns.
“Anthony, you are not displeased by this idea?” Benedict asks, laced with curiosity.
“I know love when I see it, brother”, he sighs. “I can endure the ridicule for a love match. I just wish I knew before now. I would never begrudge either of you the happiness it would appear you could bring each other.” His chivalry touches your heart
“Thank you, Anthony. Lord Bridgerton,” you correct, “ I do not deserve such kindness”, you bow your head.
“‘My no doubt future sister-in-law, you have done nothing but admit your true feelings,” he replies. Your heart soars at his words.
Benedict pulls you in front of him. “I would marry you in a heartbeat”, he confesses.
You inhale sharply. “Is that a proposal Mr Bridgerton?”
He laughs. “Not yet. You deserve better than that. But be in no doubt. You WILL receive my proposal.”
Your heart stops. “And you will receive my answer”, you reply with a small smile.
He breaks into a crooked grin that makes your skin buzz with static. “Any chance of a preview of what that answer might be?”
“Yes, Mr Bridgerton, a thousand times over, it will be yes,” you whisper.
The soft, soulful look in his hazy blue eyes melts your heart.
“I’m just going to leave,” there’s an exasperated sigh from Anthony. You again forgot he was in the room, your whole focus being Benedict.
“Sorry,” you both mumble.
“Congratulations,” Anthony offers as he grabs the door handle, looking back at you both, “sincerely.”
“Thank you, brother,” Benedict nods.
As the door closes, you realise what a scandalous position this could be, you alone with a suitor without a chaperone.
“It’s only scandalous if we’re not engaged,” Benedict’s soft voice cuts in, intuiting your thoughts as you chew your lip and stare at the door.
“We are not yet, Mr Bridgerton,” you remind.
“In my heart, we are already married,” he rushes, “and perhaps you are with my child right now?”
You inhale sharply at the potency of that idea.
“You wish for children?” you question, wavering with emotion.
“With you, yes,” he asserts, “my love, my heart. We will build a family together.”
“I can’t wait, Mr Bridgerton,” you whisper honestly.
“Neither can I,” he sighs as he pulls you into another embrace.
You don’t let go for what seems like hours.