This, the Dance (colin bridgerton x reader)

Untitled part

You wished your dance card wasn't full.

Not that you wished you were not dancing. Quite the opposite, in fact. You supposed you enjoyed dancing, if only to make the otherwise long night of a ball go by faster. No, dancing was not the issue... and, in truth, you did not mind that your dance card was full at all.

What you minded was that it was full, and missing a name you so madly wanted to see on it. You did not care about any name being on your dance card, save one.

You wished that your dance card had Colin Bridgerton's name written on it.

And yet, it did not. Of course it did not. Why did you fool yourself before every ball with hopeless prayers and dreams, desperate that, just once, it would not be the case?

Your first and last dance with the third Bridgerton son happened at Lady Danbury's ball at the start of the season. You had enjoyed yourself immensely, with small talk and smooth movements. You believed him to, as well– until your dance had ended and he noticeably avoided you thereafter.

The rejection had stung, but you had determined you would move past it.

That was, until the next day, when Colin Bridgerton had snuck away from his family while promenading to find you and yours, to explain and apologize for his actions.

For some reason, Colin had not listened to his brother wholly that night– a fact that you would forever be grateful for.

In his hurried explanation, Colin Bridgerton revealed that your father had been boasting to twice as many heads of cattle in your family's farmlands, leading to a slew of deals made under false pretenses... one of which being with the Viscount Bridgerton. And, of course, the viscount was a shrewd man, quickly discovered your father's dirty scheme, and cut ties immediately.

According to the viscount, that included you– for if your father could not be trusted, how were you to be? And so, after your dance, Lord Bridgerton had pulled his younger brother aside, and advised him to not consort with you henceforth. Because, of course, every young debutante was exactly like her father.

If you stopped to think about it, what you truly wished was that your father were an honest man, not a crooked one– or, if he were to be crooked, that the faulty deals he made would not be with one such Viscount Bridgerton.

It was for those reasons that you stood now at yet another ball without Mr. Bridgerton's name on your dance card. A joyous occasion, indeed.

With a sigh, you made your way over to the refreshments, grabbing a glass of wine and taking a small sip.

"Good evening, Miss."

While others may have startled at the voice, you did not. In fact, you recognized it immediately. You hid a peaceful smile as you held your glass in hand.

"Mr. Bridgerton," you responded. "How are you this evening?"

"As well as I can be," he all but breathed out– and you didn't dare to look at him, because doing so this close was such a dangerous game... but you'd caught his eye from across a room enough times to know the look of passion and defeat and longing and rage that he surely held in his eyes.

You only hoped that in those moments where the roles were reversed, and he saw you from across the room, that your eyes conveyed the same.

An achingly familiar pain clawed at the edge of your stomach and twisted with your heart. You couldn't count the times that you had been forced to meet like this. Refreshments were the one place where either of you could speak even a few words to each other. After all, there were still social graces that the viscount expected his brother to perform and appearances to uphold– and completely ignoring you while you both happened to be retrieving refreshments would be unacceptable.