A Gamble // Benedict Bridgerton

Chapter Four

Word Count: 2,362 words. 

Warnings: None. 

"You know," Benedict began, moving his piece on Thursday evening. "I was thinking..."

"Oh dear, the world may end," Evelyn countered, sitting back in her seat. "Benedict Bridgerton is thinking."

He laughed gently, picking up his drink. Bourbon. It was ever so similar to whiskey. Whereas the princesses drink could be made from any sort of grain, bourbon was almost primarily made from corn. It was harder to make, aged for longer, and in the grand scheme of things was entirely more expensive. It was a noble drink; Evelyn having seen her brothers drink it more often than not. Although she found that they favoured the cheaper liquor at night, the one that was not refined and the one that could intoxicate them easier.

Whiskey had always been her poison. It was bitter but sweet. In fact, it was a perfect oxymoron. It had two sides, as did Evelyn. It was her father who had turned her to it.

"I assure you that world destruction was not on my mind," Benedict responded as she placed her glass down to take her next move. Her strategy was working, as it always did.

Outside the drawing room, Evelyn could hear the murmur of voices, some raised and others attempting to speak in a hushed whisper. They were failing as she became distracted by the overlap of conversations that ensued.

"Then what was it that took your attention?" Evelyn posed.

Benedict smirked, an expression that she found herself becoming accustomed to. "I think we should make a wager?"

"A gamble?" Evelyn both corrected and returned. "You wish to gamble? That certainly fills me with ease."

"Not with money," he assured.

"The ease has lessened even further," she muttered, taking his Bishop.

"Beginning this Saturday – "

"You assume that I will not be preoccupied with another."

"- we make an agreement. A wager."

"A wager is a gamble, and I do not gamble."

He nodded in defeat then. "It was only a suggestion."

As the conversation fell into a short silence, Evelyn found her curiosity rising. Clearly Benedict Bridgerton had a particular plan to such a gamble. He knew his terms, which pulled on the princess's fatal flaw; curiosity.

"What is this wager you pose anyway?" she asked, cursing herself for being as such.

Benedict smiled. "Three matches. Three fair chess games," he began. "Should I win two, I gain a favour."

"A favour?" Evelyn asked, brow raised. "I hope you are not suggesting..."

"Nothing as childish," he countered.

"You call what people do here childish?" she returned.

Benedict took a sip of his drink, eyes locking with hers. "It would be childish to ask for such a thing as a winner's prize. A woman such as yourself deserves more dignity and adoration."

A woman. Not a princess, not your Royal Highness. He referred to her as a woman and dictated that as a woman she deserved respect. Benedict did not mention the royal respect she received, but only the treatment he thought she deserved based on the fact that she was simply a human being.

"So what would you like then?" she asked, intrigued. Benedict could see her interest. "As your prize?"

"I am an artist; I wish to paint you."