Moments || Benedict Bridgerton

Prologue: No Good Advice

"Remember this." His tone is smug, but not without reason. Little aftershocks ripple over your skin as you come down from the high. He is still languidly tracing his tongue over you.

Your head drops to your left, and you sigh as you see your wedding dress hanging, ready for use in a few hours. It's just such a damn shame you're not marrying the man between your thighs.

***

Almost from birth, you knew you would be married to one John Darby, one day to be the 8th Viscount Darby. Not much choice in the matter - your mamas had jointly designed it. You were, however, determined to have some fun before the inevitable happened.

Once you turned of age, your hedonistic tendencies manifested in sneaking out to parties on the bohemian side of town. It's where you had met one Benedict Bridgerton, fighting the mould he was expected to conform to as much as you were chasing a diminishing window of freedom. Two moths to each other's proverbial flames.

And so it began.

Yours was a relationship of kinship, mutual satisfaction, and sensual pleasures. In an ideal world, Benedict was precisely the man you would choose to marry. Sadly the real world is rarely so, well, ideal.

***

"Who's Benedict?" John asks over dinner, two weeks into marriage.

You try not to choke on the soup.

"Why do you ask?" You equivocate, attempting to suppress your cough.

"You say his name a lot in your sleep," he responds with a shrug.

"Say his name?" You echo, stalling, smoothing out your napkin.

"Yes, well, it's more of a moan or sometimes a scream, really."

Your cheeks flush as your mind flashes with dozens of images. You take a sip of your water, deciding honesty is the best policy.

"Bridgerton. We were close in the past." Choosing not to reveal exactly how much of a recent past. He left your bed for the last time four hours before your marriage ceremony.

"You never say my name like that," John states matter-of-factly, his countenance thoughtful.

You stay silent and reach for a bread roll. What can you say to that?

***

"There's a Mr Darby here for you, sir" Benedict looks up from his easel to his butler.

"Err, ok. Show him in," he responds, slightly trepidatious. He recognises the name.

Benedict sizes up the man who enters the room. Probably not much taller than you, a slightly sallow complexion, a friendly face but not particularly handsome. Mostly Benedict feels disappointed. For you. He wanted your husband to be a worthy suitor, and this man seems so, well, average.

"Good afternoon Mr Darby; what brings you here?" Benedict greets warmly, ever the polite host.

"I want to know exactly what makes my wife scream," John states plainly, with no introduction, no preamble.

Benedict will spend the next two days trying to cover up the enormous black streak across his painting that remark caused.

***

"We could run away together," his tone is honeyed, "live abroad, away from all this. You wouldn't need to marry."

"Well, aren't you full of ideas today?" You tease, enjoying the feel of his lips trailing up your spine.