Lessons || Anthony & Benedict Bridgerton

Lesson Learned

The day after your first encounter - well, threesome - with one Benedict Bridgerton, you find a notecard in the pocket of your robe. A hand-written note in beautiful looped writing. Thou art too dear for my possessing. Above there's an address printed. You store the card carefully in the pages of your favourite book.

Changing the route of your daily walk to pass the address doesn't necessarily signify anything. That, five days later, you forget to plan for the unpredictability of London weather doesn't indicate any premeditation. That you now stand on the doorstep of said address, looking akin to a drowned rat, well, again, not your plan or fault. These things happen.

It's the choices you make after the door opens that are of consequence.

"You'll need to change, or you'll catch a chill," he says after ushering you in and ordering some tea.

"Change into what exactly?" You ask pointedly, assuming a bachelor's lodgings are woefully under-equipped with dresses.

"You'll have to borrow some of my clothes" he shrugs as if it's the most obvious solution. "Just until yours are dry," he adds. His assumption you will stay for that long isn't something you wish to dwell on.

He disappears for a few moments before returning, handing you a towel, some trousers and a white shirt, and shows you to a bathroom. Your dress is soaked, and your undergarments too. Great. You will be spending time in the company of a man who has done unspeakable things to you (within minutes of your first meeting) without underwear. That doesn't seem like a recipe for disaster at all.

You pull on the clothes he gave you and laugh at your reflection. You look like an actual clown. At least being too alluring won't be a problem.

Luckily your hat stopped your hair from getting too wet, so you just towel it dry and leave it loose. What's the point in attempting proper appearance when he has already pulled you around by the same hair, his fingers inside you?

Making your way back to his drawing-room, you see Benedict painting on his easel in the bay window. You pad in quietly and take a seat, seeking solace in the warm tea waiting for you.

Surprisingly it's not a tense atmosphere. You are relaxed, oddly at ease. After about five minutes, you have finished your tea and wish you had a book to read.

"There's a small library next door if you wish," he mentions without looking away from his task.

Hmm, a coincidence of timing; surely he can't read your mind. Lots of people like to read.

You wander into the library. After perusing some spines, you decide to use the ladder and look at the books up high. The trouble is, the clown trousers represent a trip hazard. You shrug to yourself and pull down the braces, and they fall to the floor. You're sure no one will come in and see you, so what's the harm? You'll only be out of them for a few moments.

You climb the ladder about two feet up and reach for a book that catches your interest. Not thinking about how far up the shirt may have risen.

"If you need a recommendation..." he stops mid-sentence with a growl.

You curse under your breath and hug into the ladder, just trying to ride out your mortification. You didn't think Benedict would follow you in here.

It's far too quiet now. Somehow you don't think to move; provide some sense of modesty; you're frozen in place.

"What is your colour?" he grinds out.

You look confused for a moment. What is he talking about?

"Answer me, girl."