Benedict Bridgerton Regency Imagines || Benedict Bridgerton

Cat-Nip (Short Drabble)

"What have you got there, my love?" Benedict asks warmly as he wanders in from painting in his studio for the afternoon.

"Oh, I just found this little moppet out in the garden; the poor thing was shivering," you explain, scritching behind the tiny cat's ear as it purrs so loudly it vibrates in your lap.

It's all large eyes and tabby fluff—only a few months old, at a guess. Maybe abandoned by its mother. You were drawn outside by piteous cries that disturbed your reading. Now, after a quick but undignified bath in the scullery sink, some milk and leftover ham, it looks much perkier. And very happy to be with you. It has not stopped purring since.

"We have a new mouth to feed, don't we?' he sighs, walking over and touching your shoulder lightly, indulging you.

You look up at him through your lashes, knowing you have already won. "We have no choice; look at this little face?" you point out, your voice going high pitched and syrupy.

He rolls his eyes affectionately. "Does it have a name?"

"I believe it is a boy, so I was thinking... Anthony...," you end with a giggle.

"Anthony? You want to name a tiny, useless ball of fluff after my elder brother? He will be mortified," he points out, bemused.

"I know. That is why I like it, husband dearest," you laugh louder, hugging the cat closer into your lap.

Benedict shakes his head and reaches down to pet the cat. Unfortunately, the little thing seems bewildered by a new unknown person touching it, and you watch horrified as it whips its head around and sinks its teeth into Benedict's finger, hissing at him.

"Oww!!" Benedict yelps and snatches back his hand. "That little scamp!"

"Anthony! No! Bad kitty!" you chastise, picking it up and scowling into its face.

It at least has the to look a little contrite, and your heart melts a little at its pleading expression, even as Benedict huffs a laugh.

"Well, I must say, I will find great amusement in you admonishing anything with that name," he states drolly. "Even if does not warm to me."

"He will," you assert. "He is just a little overwhelmed, that is all. Who could not love you, Benedict?" you point out, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world.

You put Anthony down into a basket you have padded with a small throw pillow, and he instantly seems to curl up, basking in the warmth of the fire nearby. Then you twist to look properly at Benedict and inhale sharply. There is a little trickle of blood running over his knuckles.

"Lords alive; I had no idea he had injured you so much! Why did you not say? We must get you fixed up right away!" you fret, jumping to your feet and dragging Benedict by the arm towards the kitchen, where you know the staff keep some medicinal supplies for knife-related injuries.

"Darling, I'm fine," he chuckles at your concern.

"We are fixing you up!" you insist, pushing him down into a chair at the staff table with hands on his shoulders.

His face quirks into an amused expression as you open and close various cupboards in rather an agitated state until you make a tiny triumphant noise and pull back, holding a bottle of iodine, a roll of cotton bandage and some clean muslin squares.

You take a seat next to him and grab his large hand, mopping up the trickles of blood and then applying iodine to the puncture wounds from the little fangs.

"You are such a good patient, not even a hiss as I applied the tincture," you tease lightheartedly.

He laughs and catches your chin with his good hand, tilting it so you look up from tending to his injury. Even after many months together, he can still make you flustered when he looks at you so intensely, so devotedly.

"I have the very best nurse there could ever be, that is why," he smiles handsomely, and you know you are definitely blushing now.

"Stop it," you demure. That just seems to encourage him, a rakish crooked grin breaking out.

"Never," he whispers, "I live to make you blush, wife."

"You are such a cad!" you scold, flicking a clean muslin square lightly against his arm.

"I know," he responds fondly, leaning in and kissing your cheek. "But I have to be an even better husband now that I have competition for your affection."

"Anthony?" you giggle.

"Anthony," he confirms with a gentle lilt just as you finish wrapping his hand in a bandage.

"Well, then, I think you had better make friends with him, my love. Because Anthony has my heart as much as you now," you add with a wink, standing up and sashaying out of the room to check on the little creature.

"You had better be talking about the cat!"

"I love you, Benedict," you singsong and blow him a kiss from the hallway.

"That didn't answer my question...." he calls after you, in a playful tone, and you laugh so loud it echoes up the walls.