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After taking the drug infused tea, he got addicted and couldn't do anything else to calm himself other than create terrible art and then came you.
He had no idea what to do then, it felt like there was nothing he could do but then there you were, and he was hooked (in more ways than one).
It was the latest season for young, eligible ladies to do their best at finding a man to call husband and, from his dear sister, he hears you have no one to call your own.
Although it may be troubling for your family, it does leave room for happiness within him, in his hazy mind.
There’s no one eligible enough to marry you, not when he plans on having you for himself (even if you don’t know it yet).
He closes his eyes, imagining you in more ways than one should. No one knows about this, the way he thinks of you.
How could they? They’d think he was insane and lock him up or banish him into his room with nothing to entertain him with.
Either way, a life without being able to see you is not a way he could live- survive even.
The first time he started thinking of you in a mature way, was an accident but once was enough for him to become addicted, a habit he can't break.
His brother couldn't have known what would become of him when he first offered the tea to him, it's not his fault.
Benedict doesn't remember how he got it since his brother was traveling but, as he sips his tea once more and it flows through his veins, he doesn't care.
His mind slows down the more he drinks and the more he drinks, the more he creates. He sets the cup down, staring at the page and sighs. He groans loudly to himself, "why isn't it, right?"
-
You follow Eloise, who happily drags you along with her.
After her minor falling out with Penelope, she didn't explain much about what happened nor did you ask, feeling it wasn’t your place to do so. She needed a friend and found- or re-found you.
You knew the family when you were little but moved away because your father had gotten a business proposal to work out of town and now that your family is settled and has gained a profitable fortune, you decided to come back to the one place you felt... at home.
Daphne, Eloise, and Anthony were the ones you spoke to the most during your youth, not speaking to the others as much and felt you could build a bond with them but didn't want to make them uncomfortable.
Benedict though, he noticed you; he always did. It became a habit over time, another thing he couldn't break, a nasty habit he knows some would say.
She enters with ease, not minding the noises coming from her brother, who disagrees with the sound of someone entering.
With the tea fully sated in his stomach, he stares at you for a little too long; not that you noticed.
You almost never do, not that he minded, it fills his obsession, and he enjoys the fact that you're a little too oblivious to his antics. You wander around the room and his skin feels like it's on fire.
Have you gotten more beautiful since the last time he saw you (two days ago).
You stand beside him and the scent of your perfume wafts through his nose, he closes his eyes, memorizing the scent to memory.
His eyes open, pupils dilating but no one notices as he offers a small smile. "Has something caught your eye?"
You turn your head to face him, a shy smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "Sorry, I was curious about this one. You seem so," you pause and work on finding the right word. "Focused. I've always wanted to see an artist at work."
Could this be the sign he's been waiting for since you two grew into young adults? "Have you? Perhaps-"
"You've helped me enough, we're leaving now," Eloise pulls you alongside her. "We'll see you at dinner."
His chest heaves after he rolls his neck and turns to his left, reaching for his cup. This seems to be the only thing keeping him sated as he waits to see you again at dinner.
-
He enters and his eyes are on you, the seat beside you is open, giving him the opportunity to take it before anyone else can. His hands shake as he reaches for the utensils, freezing when your pinkies accidentally bump into one another.
He feels hot the longer he sits beside you. He makes small conversations when you initiate it but there's only so much, he can do without making him sound like a complete idiot.
God knows what would happen if he was to make a fool of himself in front of you, the person of his dreams.
His mind wanders and he's lost in thought with... you are laying on the couch beneath his window, showing just enough skin to make him lose his cool. He'd lean closer towards you and lean in, listening to every little noise that comes from you.
He would stare into your eyes until he's close enough to gather the courage and kiss your perfect lips. He wouldn't be able to bring himself to close his eyes at first, longing to see every twitch of your eyes, even though they're closed.
He'd study you every moment he could (and does). He owlishly blinks, finding you looking at him, a questioning look on your face. "I'm- I'm sorry?"
"Are you feeling alright?"
Oh, your caring nature, how his heart beats faster when it's directed at him. You're too kind to someone having such crude thoughts as he; fitting really.
He messes with the napkin in his lap. "I- I- I'm fine, believe me I am more than fine," he mutters the last part under his breath, not wanting you or anyone to overhear him share his thoughts.
-
He ponders the drawing, trying to figure out what's missing but can't and rips the page out of his sketchbook before crumpling it and tossing it across the room.
The ball of paper lands at your feet, you don't know what to do. "Is everything alright?" You ask.
His body tenses. "Are you spending the night?"
"Unexpectedly, the carriage broke, and repairs won't be able to start until tomorrow when there's more lighting." He nods, glancing down to find the cut on his hand from when- he discreetly wipes his hand before you can see it.
"Are you working on something else?" You step closer, inspecting it with intense interest, one Benedict could barely wrap his head around.
"Aren't I always?" He jokes.
You chuckle at the joke because it's true, lately he hasn't been able to focus, nor has he been able to continue with one project. "Are you drawing a model?" You tilt your head, trying to figure out the position you're seeing. "Is that- you draw nude models?"
He nods, "I do, it's one of the important ways an artist can capture the human body on paper." In his haze, he sees the way your eyes trail back to the page even as flustered as you are, you're human and seeing something like this, his art; it exhilarates him. "Would you want to be my model?"
Your head snaps over to him. "Me?" You stutter, "I don't- I don't think that'd be such a good idea. I'm not- I'm not the model type."
"Nonsense," he shakes his head. "You are the perfect model."
"I don't think this is an appropriate topic we should be discussing, Mr. Bridgerton-"
He grabs your wrist, preventing you from leaving. "It's a harmless conversation between adults, is it not?"
He takes in your figure, then your dress, and your hair; all of it, reminding him of a little lamb (one who's wandered into the wrong den). A little lamb away from its family, all alone and waiting for its hunter to snatch it up.
"I suppose but-"
"I mean, it's not as if you'd actually be willing to model for me. It's just a conversation about art." Said the lion to guide the prey into his trap, he thought to himself.
"That- that's true."
Are you truly thinking about offering to accept and be his model? Even when you know if someone were to find out, your reputation would be ruined?
"I want to do it."
"Do you?" A sly smile tugs at the corner of his lips. And the lion caught the lamb. "Why don't we start now?"
You hesitate, fiddling with the sides of your dress. "I don't know. I don't think now is the-"
"If we do it now, no one will know. Everyone in the house is asleep and if they aren't, they know better than to disturb me when I'm working."
"I," you gulp before nodding. "Okay."
Maybe he's right, now would be a more idle time to practice.
"Okay?"
You give him a reassuring look.
-
He turns, the chesire cat like smile never fading even as he adjusts you to the position, he knows will come out perfectly.
You're nervous, letting him see you this way, so exposed, your heart beats at a mile a minute. You don't know whether to let him continue or leave while your morals are (barely) intact.
He glances up; the charcoal dancing across the paper brings you out of your thoughts. "Can I move? My arm is hurting."
"Not yet."
"But-"
"I said, not yet!" He elevates his voice.
You gulp, not saying anything further, deciding it's best not to aggravate him further.
After a while and 2 candles later, a satisfied sigh escapes him.
Your shoulders feel lighter, knowing that he's happy with his latest creation.
"You," he starts off.
You open your eyes, turning your head to face him, seeing his proud expression.
"You are my best model, I- you are my new muse."
You start pushing yourself up.
The smile falls from his face, "what are you doing?"
You furrow your brows in confusion, "I'm getting up because we're done," you say even though it sounds more like a question the longer you stare at him and take it his expression.
"We have more to do," he sets his sketch book onto the table beside him. "You are the inspiration I have been looking for. You are the reason I will thrive in school, even if my brother paid for my seat."
He kneels beside you, "we will be well-known because of your beauty," he brushes a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "And my skills." He switches between looking into one eye and then the other. "But I can see tonight was a lot, you're tired and should get some sleep."
You don't say another word as you sit up, holding the blanket close to you.
-
He helps you with your corset, making you feel as though you did something wrong.
You shouldn't have done this.
He wraps his arms around your waist. "Get some rest, we'll get a head start tomorrow."
"I- I don't-"
"Don't tell me no, please. I can't do this without you," he spins you around to face him. "I wouldn’t survive without your help. You are the reason I can create again. Please don't leave me alone."
How can you say no when he stares at you like that?
You can't tell him no and then come to the house and pretend as if you didn't do this, pretend as if everything is okay.
"What if someone found out about you modeling for me tonight? What would happen to your family?"
You furrow your brows, suddenly your thoughts spiral back to the beginning of tonight and it's something you shouldn't have agreed to but it's too late to back out; you're too involved and he's the only one who can save you.
You no longer feel at home.