AUTHOR'S NOTES:
I've cross-uploaded this on AO3, please check it out there instead. the images arent loading here. on FF.
Wearing the pieces of a garment he borrowed from the unsuspecting hotel staff, Anthony was scouring the streets of London like a mad man.
Half an hour earlier, he had woken up to the alluring fragrance of lilies, shrouding the sheets, pillows and the entire room. The promise of another day spent with her, on this bed, filled him, making him positively giddy.
But the smile on his face had faded when he realized that her scent and his jewelry were the only trace left of her.
She was gone.
Along with with his shirt and trousers from the night before.
His car shuddered to a stop on the curb right outside her flat in Ashburn. He pressed the doorbell in restless succession, fidgety on his feet. Edwina's face peeked behind the glass. There was something, a strange emotion on her rather passive, angelic face.
When he realized what it was, it was too late.
Edwina was on him like a fog horn. She and an equally pissed Newton.
"YOU!" The youngest Sharma screeched as soon as she opened the door, before slamming it behind her. Fury highlighted in her amiable face, making Anthony retreat an instinctive step back.
"YOU ARE A CRUEL, CRUEL MAN, ANTHONY BRIDGERTON!"
As if in agreement, Newton let out a series of sharp barks.
"Do you ever think before you do anything?!"
He blinked, wary of her presence all of a sudden. Ever since meeting her, Edwina had been nothing but pleasant towards him. She could be mischievous and plotting when she's with his siblings, but apart from that, she was an angel. And to see her, blue in the face, fuming at him, Anthony was dumbfounded by the enormity of his stupidity.
"Edwina, hold on—"
"—You left her! Alone at your table! To talk to another woman!" She blamed, emphasizing each word with a threatening finger that he fell back, stair by stair until he was on the pavement again.
"It was a misunderstanding. Look, is she here?"
Edwina crossed her arms in front of her, Newton's lead wound around them.
"Edwina, please." He pleaded, aware of the helplessness in his own voice. "At least let me try to explain myself."
A moment passed as Edwina tried to assess him.
"I'm sorry. I've never wanted to hurt her. I've never wanted to... I had the best night of my entire life. And I just... Can I talk to her? Please."
Her angry demeanor shifted into a calmer stature. Anthony caught a glimpse of the Edwina, he knew— the woman who was always amiable, gracious and compassionate.
"She's in the kitchen. I'll give you five minutes, Anthony."
"Thank you!" He kissed her cheek before dashing inside. "Thank you!"
"Kate! Kate!" He shouted, his voice echoing. His mother would have a few words with him if she saw him now: bargain in and bellowing at someone else's home. "KATE!"
A head full of black curls appeared at the end of the hallway. She staggered a step when she noticed him. A hand flew to her chest in shock, muttering a language he suspected was Tamil. "What in god's name— How did you… EDWINA!"
"Kate—"
"Piss off, Bridgerton."
He started walking up to her, but she turned on her heels, back towards the kitchen.
"Kate, just... Just wait.—"
"Go away."
"No."
She grabbed a glass from the shelf and the water pitcher from the fridge. Anthony noticed her hands shaking as she poured. He wanted to cross the kitchen island and go to her. But the way she was avoiding his eyes seemed to glue him to his spot.
"I woke up and you were gone." He stated, hoping she couldn't hear the anguish in his tone.
"And?"
"Why?"
She shrugged as an answer.
"You were the one who told me that we'll talk this out. This morning."
"Changed my mind." She shrugged again, and Anthony bit his tongue at her impassiveness. Bane of his existence, indeed.
"Kate, it's not what you—"
"If you came here to ask your impertinent questions, stop wasting my time and leave."
"Kate." He tried again, seizing the chance to take her in, how she seemed to glow underneath the skylight above them. Focus, Anthony.
"I don't want to talk to you." She said, snapping her fiery eyes towards him.
Anthony was a ball of emotions. He had never been in this kind of situation before. So, he did what always seemed to work for them; he started to chop logic.
"Maybe, because you're afraid of what I'm going to say."
She scoffed, eyeing him with contempt and something even more dangerous. "Me, afraid of you?"
Anthony clenched his jaw. God, this woman. Her very presence stoked his manly urges. And at the same time, made him so furious and nervous to the point of savage desperation he could scarcely think.
Kate chose that moment to drink. Like a deprived fool, he leered as her throat— which bore a red mark by her pulse, a mark he left there— swallowed the beverage. Anthony could feel her eyes clocking his line of sight and he swore he heard her gulp. His eyes snapped back to her in an instant, allowing him to see–or imagine, he cannot be sure– the way she lasciviously licked and curled her lower lip. For a moment, he wondered what would happen if he just ravaged her right there and then. (Or he let her. Anthony couldn't stress that enough.) The trousers he has practically stolen were tight enough as it is.
But then, Kate tilted her chin in that pompous way, accentuating her angular jaw that both had the damning effect of aggro and seduction, as if she had read his thoughts and were quickly dismissing them for both their sakes.
She laid the glass on the counter, and waved her hand. Her face stoic and devoid of any emotion. He ought to take lessons since he knew his face right now doesn't betray his emotions. "Very well, then."
"Wha.. What?" He croaked, wary of her cold neutrality– a trait, in retrospect, he thought was only his.
"Explain." She scrutinized him like a headmaster on his delinquent students.
"I…uh—" And for far too many instances to count, Anthony found himself at a loss for words to say to Kate Sharma. Again.
"Well?" She raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow at him.
"I…What you need to know is that that note doesn't mean anything."
Kate rolled her eyes. "From what it says, it clearly means something."
"It doesn't. Siena's a friend—"
"Then, what does it mean?" She cut off.
Anthony felt the weight of the piece of paper inside his pocket. How can something be his doom and salvation all at once?
He hung his head, closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. He couldn't tell her. Not yet at least. "I can't tell you."
"Can't or won't?" She was seething, he could tell. And it did nothing to calm his panic.
"Will you just trust me when I say that it's not what you think?"
"That's the thing, Bridgerton." Kate jutted her chin again. "I don't. I've never."
Something alike despair lurched in his chest. "We both know, that's not true."
She ignored his sentiment and continued,
"Don't worry about it. It's fine. You don't have to explain anything to me. This is what you do after all, isn't it?" Her voice resigned, irritated and… disappointed.
"It's not." He shook his head, adamant in his conviction.
"Don't lie to me, Bridgerton. All of Britain is very aware of your conquests whether they have a choice or not in the matter. "
He's affronted by the accusation. Although, he had to admit that he did his fair share of lasciviousness very well into his adolescence. But they were ephemeral, insignificant and forgettable. It had served its main purpose which was to make him forget. But that was until...
Until...
Until that night on the terrace, on Colin's birthday party. His brothers had wanted him to meet someone, but he'd refused, stalling for a quick call to his assistant. He didn't know how much time he spent outside. But he saw her, a vision in her peacock-colored dress, standing at the far end of the terrace, looking cautiously back at the door. At first, he thought she's in trouble and needed escaping. But she explained that her obnoxious friends were trying to set her up with their "tyrant brother". He said the same. He said, that his brothers' were setting him up with another cloying floozy who he's sure was as shallow as a puddle and no smarter than a goldfish. It was too late, when they realized who each other was.
Anthony's thoughts arrived at the conclusion in such an agonizing, slow pace. And when it did, the stunning fact appeared in front of him, blinking in humongous marquee lights. With his mother and siblings dangling on each letter tauntingly.
Until you.
He was silent, panicking in this yet, another realization.
"Now, if you don't have anything else to say, some of us has got somewhere to be."
His brows furrowed and chanced to look around to ease the panic. But, evidently, he's not winning today. Anthony broke into a cold sweat when he saw a leather duffel bag with her name on it at the foot the dining table.
"You're leaving? Where?"
Kate looked like he'll split his head into two. "That's none of your business, Bridgerton."
Anyone would cower at the way she said her statement. The expression on her face was enough to send someone running for the hills. But Anthony recognized it right away — the defiance and denial disguising the pain faultlessly. He's been well acquainted with that feeling —being it leading him for more than a decade of his life. That had been more than enough motivation for him to say, "You're running away." His voice oddly strangled, defeated. Horrified and out of sorts with her resolution.
Possibly, in recognition of her own feelings spat back at her, Kate's spine straightened in alarm, like an animal threatened. "Please leave." She said, her tone deadly sober. Her knuckles were white as she held on the ledge of the counter. She shook her head and looked anywhere but him. "Go!"
Maybe it was her defeated yet urgent tone that made Anthony, for once, did as he's told. That, or the fact that he'd decided to finally be honest for once and admit to himself that he'd do anything for Kate Sharma.
He passed by Edwina who suddenly stood from her sitting position on the porch. Newton was happily rolling his back on the rough pavement. Edwina nodded and he appreciated that her anger has been replaced with genuine sympathy. He gave her a tight smile as he walked towards his car and drove away. With the location on the note in mind, Anthony dialed the number of the well-traveled person he'll ever know.
The dolt answered on the third ring.
"Ah! Brother!" The other voice greeted, his voice warbled like something was blocking his throat.
"Where are you?"
"In the most important place to be at this godly hour." Then Anthony heard the crunch of a waffle with obscene amounts toppings that don't go well together.
Why was he surprised?
"How's your Norwegian?" He asked, wincing at the sound of his brother's chewing.
If Colin was bewildered by his line of questioning, he didn't voice it. Instead, the line went silent before his brother proceeded to blurt out a series of words which sounded like a lengthy insult.
"Brilliant. I'm rounding your corner. Questions later. And don't tell mother!" He instructed.
"Bro," Anthony could practically hear the smug smirk forming on his brother's face. "If you didn't have me before, you definitely had me now."
Anthony imagined their mother's face and grimaced. He reckoned that he and his siblings should've been more considerate to their aging mother. Yes, she was meddlesome, cunning and scheming most of the time. But if there was something she didn't like, it was her children missing a family outing.
Be that as it may, if there was something Violet Bridgerton would understand, this was it. Wasn't she the foremost and inimitable character to exhort him into his own happiness?
"I'm packing my rucksack. See you in a jiffy!" Said Colin before hanging up the phone.
When Anthony stopped his car outside of their mother's residence, he sent another text.
You better be right about this Siena or you're bloody toast.
Atypical for a late tuesday morning, the farmer's market bustled with activity. Rows of various consumables lined up the entire corner of Madison and Lyra street. A tang of exotic flavors, spices and herbs lingered in the air. Vendors vehemently wheedled each passerby to try their sales, lauding exaggerated remarks as they did. Persuaded customers would soon stop to inspect and point to said products. And as was custom, vendors would indulge them with a little history and recipes they could try with it.
Mary Sheffield Sharma stood beside a cart of freshly-cut watermelon. With another polite smile, she shook her head as a way of saying no to the old lady selling it. She adjusted her grip, balancing the brown bags of assorted goods on each arm. Mary stood at a good distance where she could hear Kate and the pedlar's conversation.
Her eldest was bargaining in rapid, fluent Tamil, coaxing the helpless gentleman entirely in her favor. The pedlar, a small man with only a patch of hair on his head, could only shake his head, and blush for all he's worth. Kate smiled— a genuine, bright smile, one Mary hadn't seen for days. Her eldest daughter the scooped more than a handful of phalsa. The bag being held open by the charmed pedlar. With a slight combination of melancholy and joy, she watched her eldest daughter.
It had been three days since Mary went out with a friend and found Kate's old childhood bedroom door ajar. Kate had been sitting on the edge of the bed and only perked up when she saw her. Surprised but quite relieved that it wasn't a burglar, Mary hugged her. She only pulled back when she heard a small sniff and saw the small duffel bag in the corner. In a true Kate fashion, she didn't tell her what's wrong. Just that she needed to get away from the city as work has been nerve-racking as of late. Mary had raised her eyebrows in disbelief. If anything, the gallery has always been Kate's escape, her getaway. Kate had also informed her that she'd finally taken up Mrs Lorenzo's offer to clean the frames she'd accumulated in her residence. Mrs Lorenzo and her family lived in a humble manor, two blocks away from theirs.
For all the years Mary helped raise Kate, even she, like Edwina, wasn't privy to Kate's innermost thoughts. Kate would always plaster on a smile. Or a helping hand. Sometimes, even fond sarcasm to avoid her truth— that she was hurting and that she was bearing the weight of the world alone when she didn't have to. It hurt Mary, who had tried everything for Kate to open up. She felt like she wasn't enough and that she wasn't a good mother to her. It had plagued her for years.
But at the end of her endeavors, Mary finally learned that she just had to patiently wait. Kate was every bit as stubborn and as passionate, as her late appa. She has never been subtle about doing things partially. And whatever had compelled her to drive three hours in the middle of the weekend, Mary knew that Kate had a very good reason. Credible? Maybe. Controversial? Oh, most definitely. And Mary was intent to find it out. She had never hovered her daughters, and was always willing to give them the space they needed to grow and make mistakes of their own. But for some reason, she couldn't, not right now.
"Let me help you with that." Kate offered, reaching for the bag tucked under her arm. She was still smiling. Her mouth tainted with a sheen of purple from the fruit she ate. "Where to now?"
"London."
Kate's eyes flashed with anxiety— as it always does when Mary mentions it—for a millisecond before it ebbed away.
"Why are you so keen on sending me away? Weren't you saying last week that you missed us doing chores together?"
She did mention it to them after seeing little kids with their parents at their local grocery. It reminded her of when she and her husband would allow the girls to pick any snack they want for their movie night. Kate and Edwina would dart to and fro, with their pigtails and matching koala backpacks between the aisles.
"Besides, I missed it too, Mama. London's so crowded and noisy." Kate plucked an avocado from a stand, sniffing as she did so. "I couldn't find grocery shopping to be delightful anymore. Even Edwina hates it now."
Mary only hummed as Kate grabbed a pair of the fruit and paid. "You know how hard it is to find a good avocado in the city? Edwina would love this."
Seeing the opportunity, Mary remarked, "Within a day or two, it'll be too ripe to eat. You better give it to her then."
"What's with the sudden interest in London, Mama? Thought you prefer the peace and quiet here?" Kate queried, maneuvering herself so she was standing in front of her. "Unless…"
Mary dipped her chin, wary of the gleam in Kate's face. "Unless, what? Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Unless you met someone?" Kate simpered like a Cheshire Cat.
Mary chuckled, poring over a crate of mangosteen. "Don't be ridiculous, sweetheart."
"You met someone, didn't you?" She pestered. "Oh, come now. Mama. You can tell me all the juicy details. I won't tell anybody."
Mary laughed again, but looked at her daughter with a stern, loving regard. "Kate, I don't think I would ever meet a man like your father."
The melancholy turn of the conversation seemed to sober Kate.
Mary kept her hand busy by picking out the ripe ones. She continued, "Our love was unlike any other. It was a very powerful thing, one that couldn't be replicated. Ours is a love that still lasts a lifetime. It sustained me. Still does."
"And… And was…" Kate took a breath, her eyes almost imploring. "Was it worth it? The pain when he you lost him? The things you had to give up for him?"
Standing in the middle of the farmer's market, between a bookshop and exotic trinkets, with people milling around, Mary stopped and held her daughter's hand.
Mary was aware that such conversation could've taken place in a much more appropriate setting, but couldn't find it in herself to care. How valiantly she had tried to hide it, Kate was miserable from whatever it was she hastily left the city for. And Mary would've moved heaven and hell to abate her load. To make her daughter feel loved and worthy of everything she very much deserves.
"My darling, true love would always be worth it. It is not a give and take, not a transaction. Love is more about understanding and communication than anything else. And having someone who really understands you... Who accepts your best and even more so, your flaws is a blessing. It is humbling. Your father would always say, don't squander the chance, even the smallest ones—"
"—to be happy." Kate finished, smiling tearily at her. "Yes, I remember."
"And for the record, I didn't have to give anything up. In all honesty, I actually gained something. A strong-willed, gorgeous three-year old who would always have paint on her dresses." Mary snickered, pinching Kate's chin.
Kate's earliest memories of her step-mother were vague at most.
But she clearly remembered the Halloween when she dressed as a princess and her dad, her soldier. And when Mary entered the door to accompany them, Kate's jaw dropped to the floor. Mary's dressed as a fairy. Complete with the glittery dress, a wand and dainty wings a five-year old could ever ask for. For months, Kate believed she was the real deal. Even bragged to anyone who would listen that very soon, she and her dad would be living with a real-life fairy. And for years, even as her innocence and youth waned, Kate still believed Mary was a mystical creature. Too beautiful and pure for this cruel world. Mary had been a mentor, a mother, a best friend all rolled into one gentle human being. Kate would do anything and everything for her. For Edwina. For her small yet happy family.
As it always did and without meaning to, Mary's words resonated with her. And amidst the hustle and bustle of the people around them, Kate kept the tears at bay.
"Thank you, Amma." She whispered in Tamil, making Mary smile.
"No need to thank me, Kate."
Before she could think of anything else to say, a flurry of chestnut hair, lanky limbs whipped past her and all but throttle her to the ground.
"KATE! I knew it was you!"
"Hyacinth!" They both shouted with another laugh.
But sooner as reality sunk in, Kate tensed. Her eyes scanned the crowd in an almost manic concern. "Who are you with?"
"Only mum."
"Oh." Kate couldn't help but allow her relief to wash over her. Even as Mary lifted another eyebrow in suspicion.
The youngest Bridgerton beamed at them, rainbow-colored braces and all. She kept a lengthy arm around Kate's waist. "Hi Mary!"
"Hello, Miss Hyacinth." Mary greeted, looking around to her left to see her guardian approaching them.
Upon seeing them, Violet Bridgerton's crimson face ease into a normal, healthy color. "Mary! Kate!"
"How are you?" Mary leaned over and gave her good friend a kiss on the cheek.
"I'm good! Kate, my dear!" Violet opened her arms and pressed her cheek against hers. "How wonderful to see you both!"
Looking expectantly at Kate, Hyacinth pointed out. "You're a long way from London."
Violet let out another exasperated warning. "Hyacinth, that's none of our busi—"
Kate thought nothing of it and smiled. "I am! You know why? Because I love buying my fruits here. As a matter of fact…" she reached for her bag and offered it to the tween whose eyes widened with innocent delight. "This is a phalsa or Indian sherbet berry. It kinda tastes and looks like a blueberry. But also, kind of not. Have some. They're sweet."
"Oh!" Exclaimed a very eager Hyacinth, reaching under the bag. "I love blueberries! Simply because Greg's allergic to them."
"So, what brought you here?" Mary asked Violet, who had given up trying to school her daughter's devil-may-care attitude.
Beside her, the matrons were talking in a hushed, demure tones. Parts of their conversation, lost to Hyacinth's rambling.
"—We all knew it wasn't him because he's a lazy sod and—"
"— I learned this recipe in the tube—" Violet remarked before getting cut off by Hyacinth.
"Youtube, mum. It's Youtube." Corrected the little girl who was still busy munching on Kate's berries. She helped herself to another serving. "These are so good, Kate."
"I know, right? Here, take mine." She gave her the bag. "I could always buy more. I'll introduce you to the person who sells them. That way, when you come here again, you know where to look."
"Yes! Mum, can I go with Kate? Please?"
Violet waved her hand in approval and handed her a couple of quid. "Yes, yes. But stay with her. Understood?"
"Excellent! Let's go, Kate!" And tugged her away.
Kate smiled, nodding along at Hyacinth's rapid and detailed accounts of her week. It wasn't the first time Kate found herself entranced by the girl's aptitude for storytelling. It kind of reminded her of Colin and Eloise, who would also never fail in carrying their point across. But her scowl and her laugh were all Anthony's.
"—And then Greg hid my project, but I found it under his bed. So, I hid his favorite shirts as revenge. He hasn't found it yet."
Kate laughed as they neared the stall of imported fruits again. She taught Hyacinth how to say thank you in Tamil. And the pedlar smiled in kind and handed them a free dasher mango. Hyacinth eyed the lady who was selling all sorts of handmade jewelry. Kate bought her a beaded bracelet before they made their way back to their mothers.
"—Ben helped me paint the planets. But I still needed help with my maths. You would think that El being the self-proclaimed "genius" in the family, she'd know all about long division. But she did not! So, I called Anthony, and he tutored me thru zoom."
"Yeah?" Kate added conversationally.
"Uh-huh. And I aced it! I took a picture of my test and sent it to him. He told me he's proud of me and that he'd bring me anything I like from Norway."
Even though she had an idea, Kate still asked, hoping Hyacinth won't notice the tremor in her voice. "What's he doing in Norway?" The note that the doorman delivered that morning, flashed in her mind's eye.
"He didn't tell." She shrugged. "But I assume it was business, as usual. Do you know the best souvenirs in Norway?" She ranted as Kate felt her stomach drop.
A few days ago, written on the back of Siena Rosso's calling card, was the note asking Anthony to meet her in Oslo. He couldn't provide her with a reasonable explanation when he all but marched in their flat. And Kate, who has always been pragmatic, assumed the worst. She didn't hear from him since.
But the other Bridgerton siblings (minus the youngest two) were another story. Each of them had been indistinctly asking about Anthony and their date. She told them the truth; it went swimmingly. But it was unlikely they'll to do it again. Their characters clashed too much, it was comical. But who was she kidding? Only a fool would believe that. (Although, suffice it to say, Colin almost did. But after the first hour, he called her right back to say, I usually enjoy seeing Anthony chase his own tail and get all broody and hysterical, but… You know I adore you, but you're a clown and pathetic liar, Kate Sharma. Both of you.)
As pathetic as it was, Kate decided to lay low and stay in the old Sharma house that Mary always visits at the end of every month. Kate had been managing her affairs remotely. With Sophie being in charge of the gallery until she's done working for the Lorenzos.
"—Colin came with him." Hyacinth continued. "And then he called Benedict to meet them in France today or so I've heard from Fran. And Greg would deny it, but I knew he wanted to cry. He felt like he's being left out again. It was hilarious. But I still pity him, so I didn't try to steal his desert for two days."
She stopped in her tracks. If Anthony was going to meet his lover, why was he bringing his brothers? Kate felt the slide of guilt settling in her stomach as part of the truth dawned on her. Had she overreacted?
Kate's mind was still whirring when they reached their mothers.
"Kate." Violet called, getting her attention in an instant. "I was just telling your mother how my tulips are in full bloom this month. You all should come this weekend and see. I'm setting up another painting session, if you'd like to join me as well."
"Oh! Kate, please!" Hyacinth implored, those round blue eyes blinking at her.
"Besides, the older boys have gone off to heaven knows where and my table's gonna be nearing empty." Violet reassured, smiling that charming, open smile that Anthony had successfully emulated. Her heart jumped at the sight. "Me and the rest of my children would love it if you come."
Before she could make up an excuse, Mary answered. "We'll be there, Violet. Wouldn't pass a delightful afternoon at Aubrey Hall, would we, Kate?"
If she wasn't drowning in her thoughts, Kate might've noticed the mischievous glint in Violet and Mary's countenance.
After her work with Mrs Lorenzo, Kate still stayed with Mary for another few days. But due to the recent art vandalism happening in the country and with the National Gallery calling for her services, Kate went back.
She arrived at the city on a gloomy sunday morning. The infamous London rain, pattering droplets, filling puddles everywhere she went. She folded the umbrella and shook the light rain off her trench coat before going thru the glass doors. The museum opens at eight am sharp but there's already a queue. Tourists and all manners of folks already flocked the entrance hall. Their presence and the cacophony of their voices comforted Kate in many ways than one. She saw Dorothy, a stout, sweet woman, sitting behind the marble reception desk. Helping her juggle the necessary tasks were the interns, flanking each side of her.
Work has been busy but productive. The National Gallery commissioned her to assess Van Gogh's Sunflowers. A couple of protesters had thrown a can of soup on it three days ago. But given that the artwork's covered in glass, it didn't retain any damages. The frame, however, needed thorough cleaning and new glaze. So, that was where she was at for the last two days. Between this, Kate had also set up meetings with her curators, artists and security department. She also acquired new surveillance cameras and see to its installation, making sure that everything is above reproach. Kate also found time to learn the cause of the protests. She pledged to do her contribution to the responsible agencies.
A few staff milled round and about, greeting her with a friendly wave and 'Hiya, Kate'. With Sophie gone for the weekend (no doubt, she's with Benedict in Kent), Kate had the Van Gogh all to herself. After depositing her coat and bag, she donned her apron. She slid her swivel chair towards the working table at the center of her office. The tunes of Dorothy Moore played in the background, setting the mood of her day.
"Hello, you beauty." She whispered towards the blossoming still life, smiling as she did so. Kate then grabbed her gloves and a can of paint and brushes. She handled the frame, separated it from the painting and laid it carefully down her work top.
Mixing the paint to match the wood grain of the old frame was no easy task, but Kate relished the challenge. She tried out different bister variations until she found the right coloration.
It was no easy feat, but Kate was making every effort not to think about the pair of eyes and hair color that resembles her current palette.
No. Kate thought, unable to help herself. Anthony's hair is more dark chestnut than brunette. The subtle reddish tint will become more obvious under the sunlight. The hint of gray hairs on his stubble and temple was amatory than it's deemed appropriate. The wonderful, gratifying feeling of raking her fingers through it. And the half growl, half moan he'd emit when she tugged on it.
Oh, the noises he'd made.
The slow lick of desire she tried so hard to extinguish the past few days, came roaring back like a wildfire.
"Kate." he had whispered in her ear, summoning goose bumps in their wake. He had been kneeling between her legs. Her hands buried in his chestnut locks. She had looked down, garbling prurient words she had never uttered in her entire life.
"Anthony… Yes, like that. Keep going… You're so good to me."
No sooner had she said it, the man slid his devilish tongue deeper. His teeth nibbling whatever muscle he could reach. She'd felt that same tongue drawing weird lines inside her folds, pausing at certain interval before each one. But despite her foggy brain, she could decipher that they weren't random strokes but letters:
An A.
A T.
An O
and Y.
Anthony.
Bloody hell.
Kate had bitten her lip to keep from crying out, Yes, yours. Always have been. She'd pulled against her center, hips lifting as she ground against him making him growl and bite her. She'd seen stars as she came.
There has to be a general rule against where her thoughts were leading her. But for whatever reason, Kate couldn't find it in herself to be prude nor to care. She reasoned that when push comes to shove, (and no matter how hard she'd endeavor not to be) she was still prone to errors, liable and susceptible to her own emotions. Not to mention, she was only but a warm-blooded female who have had the most sensual night of her entire life. Kate was a goner when he recalled the unhinged look in his eyes. The beguiling brown devoured by the deepest black in their desire… desire for her.
Kate had to take a deep breath before applying another layer of paint on the frame. The memories were more than distracting that she had to grab her left hand to stop it from shaking. Yet, she still couldn't find it in her heart and mind to stop.
She had never wanted more until that night. And even though he told her that they didn't have to address his... predicament, Kate wanted him to feel good, make him feel the way he had selflessly focused on her. She wanted him to be as boneless, carefree as she felt. She needed to take care of him. And on the first, purposeful plunge, Kate had only one thought:
God damn it, Anthony Bridgerton for ruining her for other men.
He was intimidating, but gentle which nearly, very nearly, drove her out of her mind.
"Anthony. Faster. Harder. Come on." She had pleaded, but the idiot proved himself as the main source of her vexation (again) by not doing what she said. Still, Kate found herself relishing every move and every moan with keen appreciation. The languid thrusts were sweet, romantic with just a tad territorial, allowing her to see them, see him, in its sensual and perfect clarity.
"Beautiful… Just beautiful." She had murmured, getting sidetracked by his beauty. Those had been her last coherent thoughts before Anthony drove into her with maddening, unnatural speed. Her throat was scratchy from calling out his name as he hit the spot no one has ever done before. She met him; thrust for thrust, keening at his filthy flattery. "You're so wet. Do you feel this? Tell me you feel this too. So perfect for me, Kate." Her kisses and touches became more assertive and possessive. Her nails had raked down his hips and thighs as she cried, "Yes, God, yes! Don't stop. Do. Not. Stop. Anthony!"
Her pelvis became more pressing and demanding against his. God, this man. He had a hand on her shoulder, holding her down. He whimpered her name between sucking the skin all over her neck. "Kathani. Please. You're so beautiful. It's never been this good. Never. Been. This. Fucking. Good. Please, please come for me."
The bed had been banging against the wall. The mattress made screechy sounds muted only by their screams of pleasure. The boyish, almost shy, smile he gave her right before they drifted off would be enough to make her go again.
The fantasy stopped. Kate felt that awkward, peculiar feeling lodge in her chest again when she thought of that note.
Who was Siena Rosso to Anthony?
And then Kate did something she promised herself not to do.
While waiting for the varnish to dry, she grabbed her phone and logged in on Instagram. She clicked on the search button and typed the name. Kate immediately saw her profile since her followers include Simon. Her finger hovered in the air as she contemplated what she really was about to do.
This is ridiculous!
You are a better person than this, Kate.
Turn back when you still have the chance!
But even her inner voice and impenetrable sense of self-preservation were no match for her today.
Kate pressed Siena Rosso's little profile icon and almost fell out of her seat at the post from two days ago. Not only were there rows and rows of her glamorous life, she had pictures, with women. All women. The recent one was a candlelightt dinner on a yacht in Oslo. Siena, in a passionate lip lock, with gorgeous woman who looked like a pageant queen. She didn't want to assume, but if Siena's page was any indication, Anthony certainly was not her type. She closed the page, feeling equally out of sorts and relieved.
He was actually telling the truth.
She felt like the world's biggest tosser. A laugh bubbled from her mouth at the absurdity of her situation.
Before she could help herself, Kate decided to go full stalking mode.
Anthony doesn't have a social media presence. Except for the hundreds of pictures in all his siblings' accounts. Kate smiled to herself as she browsed them, in awe, once again, of how close the siblings were. From insulting birthday posts, vacations, meal times, or just horsing around, their photographs revealed how tight-knit their family was.
There were several goofy posts showing each sibling's chaotic shenanigans. One photo that caught her attention was in Francesca's. Mostly because Anthony was so handsome in this one and Kate actually remembered this.
The photograph was candid and showed Anthony's whole side profile on the last Pall Mall event. He had his fingers in his mouth, as if he was trying to hide his smile. The rest of his elder siblings were distinguishable on the background. Their faces, aggravated (Colin, Daphne and Eloise's) and unconcerned (Benedict and Simon's). But Anthony was grinning at something off camera, almost proudly she could say. Kate had had a hunch on what that something was. But didn't want to think too much about it, lest she was wrong. The top comment thread were jibes between the siblings and, to her dread, Edwina:
Anthony… smiling? ? Okay. That's it. Who's put something in my tea? Why am I seeing things? started Eloise.
Oh, boy, Anthony's got it bad. ? Added Francesca.
Who's gonna tell him? Please, somebody tell him. This is madness. ? Incited Daphne.
That doesn't look like the man who just had his PINK ball sink in the lake. ? Disclosed Simon.
L is for the way you look at me… O is for the only one I see… V is very, very extraordinary… E is for even more than anyone you adore. ? ﾟﾎﾶ? Sang Colin.
Bloody hell, Anthony! You moron! Your secret obsession is showing! ? Benedict called out.
Is he looking at…? ? ? Commented Edwina.
Who else? ? I swear to God, I'm so close in locking them in a bloody closet. Threatened Colin.
There was a photograph in Gregory's account that stuck with her the most: it was a time capsule of him and Anthony.
The first one was a video of Anthony picking them up from school. He was sitting in the car, frowning at his phone, the windows down. Gregory called his attention and when Anthony looked up, his frown faded into a loving smile that made Kate melt. "Hey mate. How was the chemistry test?" Anthony greeted in the video. The second was Anthony hugging him. Their almost-identical faces beaming at the camera. The third was a younger Gregory, hauled against his brother's shoulder. Their shrieks of laughter reverberated through the photograph. And the last one was baby Gregory, swaddled in blankets and sleeping on Anthony's chest. The caption was short but it still made her want to cry.
'You are and will always be a great father to me so I do not know what you're on about when you think you're not. But rest assured, I will never get tired of reminding you. Happy Father's day, brother.'
Kate heard the timer went off and blinked her out of her stupor. She hid her phone and went to place the painting back into its frame. And as she did, her thoughts led her back to him again.
Being in the art world and one of the prominent families in the country has offered Kate a lifetime of connections she had never ever felt the need to have. And Kate could attest that there has never been anyone like him. No one like the Anthony Bridgerton whose whole life revolved and has been dedicated to his family. No one who could evict such pleasant and horrendous emotions out of her more than him. And no one who could understand her, get her so perfectly the way he does. Which, understandably, were scaring the shite out of her. But something about what Gregory said in that post knocked the truth into her.
And finally, finally, Kate was starting to see her and Anthony's similarities. The reason they massively clashed was simply because he was Kate. And she was Anthony. The perfect mirrors of each other in every way that does and does not matter. But instead of feeling that aggressive competitiveness against him, all she could feel was a teetering excitement permeating deep in her soul. The promise of more had never felt sweeter… And scarier. But that's a risk she had decided she was finally willing to take. She knew what to do now.
"Hello… Earth to Kate? KATE!"
A face appeared in front of her that Kate jumped in surprise.
"EDWINA!" She exclaimed, resting a hand on her heart. "You scared me!"
Her sister placed a hand on her hip and cocked an eyebrow at her. "I scared you? You've been standing, unmoving, in the middle of the room, smiling like a dimwit and I scared you? I've been calling your name for the past three minutes."
"Oh." Kate cleared her throat and sat in her chair, wanting to look busy. "Uh, what are you doing here?"
"Mama called me to remind you that we have this thing with the Bridgertons. I'm here to fetch you. Newton's in the kitchenette with everybody else. So, let's get going!"
"Oh! Yeah, yeah. I'm still not finish—". She motioned her table which held the frame, already secured and ready for shipping back to its own home. "When did that happen?"
"Didi, Dorothy said you arrived here at 7 am. You've been at it since this morning. It's lunch time now."
"Oh." She uttered. "Oh, I didn't notice."
Edwina shook her head, chuckling and looking fondly at her.
"Now, get off your bum and let's go. Eloise said it's been sunny in Kent all weekend. And I've been dying in this rain or not rain weather."
But as if the universe was conspiring against her, Paul, their delivery guy entered the room. He was pushing a trolley which held another crate of what she was sure was a painting.
"Another protest?" Kate assumed, all thoughts of going with Edwina seemed invalid. She stood up, already assessing the package. Edwina followed her. "Where did they do it this time?"
It was a medium-sized box. Caution and Fragile tapes wrapped around its exterior. Some of them written in a foreign language. Kate felt her stomach drop to her feet. Devastated, she thought of the number of famous paintings currently displayed in London, that would match the size.
But Paul answered. "Oh, no, no, no Kate. This came in the mail. It's addressed to you."
"Me?" she asked as Paul helped her place the box on her worktop.
"Yes. And this, too." Paul then reached behind his back and produced a beautiful bouquet of lilies from his bag. He handed it to her before he left.
Kate frowned while Edwina screeched with delight like a maniac who hasn't seen flowers before.
"Ohh! Who is it from? Where's the card? Where's the card?!" She was on her tiptoes, trying to locate the alleged piece of paper between the flowers.
"Right…" Kate trailed off before giving the bouquet to Edwina. "You take care of that and I'll take care of this." She grabbed a box cutter knife to open the package.
"Found the card! Here it is!" Edwina exclaimed, waving a small parchment in front of her. "Do you mind if I read it?"
She shrugged, too intrigued in unwrapping the 6-inch bubble wrap around the painting. "Be my guest."
Edwina was eerily silent all of a sudden, that it made her want to look up from her task.
And she would have, if Kate didn't notice the familiar color palette of the painting.
It was still obscured by the glassine and four inches of bubble wrap. But there was no denying the red signature right on the bottom of the canvas.
Her heart started yammering in her chest. Her hands quivered.
No.
No, it can't be.
"Didi." She vaguely heard Edwina as Kate cleared the table and removed the final wrap.
She felt tears in her eyes.
"Is that..." Her sister stood beside her as Kate's entire body, hell, her very soul, shook with confusion, shock and elation. "Is that…"
"Come, Morning. By Theodore Rousseau. 1849. Oil-based." She supplied through her tears, a hand trying to stifle her trembling lips. Kate wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. Her eyes glued on the masterpiece she's been dreaming of her entire life. She traced along the old, tawny frame and let out a teary chuckle at the famous dent right on the bottom right corner. She rambled how Rousseau had been in a rough spot emotionally when he painted this. And the only available frame he found was this scrap he saw on the pavement. Edwina listened with rapt attention as Kate raved how Rousseau had a blatant disregard for artistic conventions. How he was an activist of the conservative system and true lover of nature.
"It is quite beautiful." Edwina marveled.
"It is."
"I can see why you love this so much, didi."
"But what? Who?" Kate sniffed, raised her eyes and saw Edwina with a knowing-look in her innocent face. Edwina lifted her hand, the paper rested between her pointer and middle finger. An all-too-familiar insignia embedded on the stationary.
"This came with it."
Kate took her seat as she read the hand-written letter.
A humble gift to the general public and the Maharajah Art Gallery whose top art conservator had zealouslyreminded me on the first night we've met that works of art has to be a shared experience. Every and any art form is meant to be admired by the public eye and not accumulating dust and garnering interest in someone else's wall.
Kate finally studied the lily bouquet on her table, like it sort of answered all her questions.
And supposedly, it somehow does.
"Everyone is in Aubrey Hall?" Kate heard herself ask. She didn't elaborate; Edwina knew who she was talking about.
Her sister gave a smiling nod as a reply.
But Kate felt the old acquaintance of her past prejudices, creeping up to her. She felt Edwina's warm hands close on her own.
Hey." Her sister interrupted in soft, measured and understanding tone. "I know what you're thinking. I love you but I am telling you to stop."
Kate wrenched her gaze away from the painting and looked at Edwina. "Stop thinking about anything else and allow your heart to rule your head… Feel, Kate. Just feel. Because everyone with eyes can see it, Kate. Even Newton. Everyone but the both of you. You are worthy of companionship, of happiness, of love and everything else in between, Kate. So very worthy. I wish you could see yourself through our eyes. It takes real and true strength to be honest with oneself. And you, Kate Sharma, is the bravest person I know."
She took a giant, deep breath to reorient herself. "Edwina?"
"Yes, Kate?" Her sister also had a certain shine in her eyes.
"Give me the keys."
Edwina tossed it to her but not before muttering, "Thought you'd never ask."
The one-hour drive didn't do anything to improve her nerves. Rather, it heightened it.
Edwina sat on the passenger seat. Her body language brimming with glee and an odd sort of excitement. But her sister knew better to break the silence in the car. And so, they travelled in an unconventional stillness. Except of course, with the occasional snore of Newton on the back.
When she finally caught sight of the large estate, Kate tried to steel herself. She briefly closed her eyes and expelled an airy exhale, trying to curb her overwhelming emotions. It was only when she finally parked the car that Edwina squeezed her forearm in comfort. "You got this, Kate."
Kate gave her grateful smile. With one last look at the array of white lilies on the leather seat, she extracted herself from her seat. Butler John greeted them at the front door with a cordial smile. Edwina hugged him in return. Newton was jumping on his legs. "They're out in the pool, Miss Edwina and Miss Kate."
There were butterflies in her stomach as she to gather her thoughts in one coherent sentence. John opened the giant doors of the terrace and motioned towards the roister.
A tent has been set up on the platform overlooking the vast verdant field. Kate could make out Simon's, Violet's and Mary's figures resting on the cushioned seats. All the while, the Bridgertons were scattered all over the place. Hyacinth was chasing Gregory who was tauntingly waving a floral towel in the air. The older Bridgertons were in the pool. Colin had Francesca on his shoulders, Benedict had Daphne on his. The two women were pushing each other, the four of them jovially guffawing with laughter. Eloise and Sophie sat on the lounge chairs, enjoying their books and drinks. On the barbecue grill, only a few steps away from the pool was Anthony, his naked muscled back to her. He shouted something at Gregory who stopped running immediately. Hyacinth shrieked. "You're dead!" The boy protected himself with his arms as his sister flung her body on his. She whacked his arms and torso with the towel he obviously stole from her. Gregory continued laughing, but when his eyes fell on hers, he yelled, "KATE!"
All black, blonde and chestnut hair swiveled towards her direction. Suddenly, she felt overdressed with her sleeveless turtleneck dress and heels while everyone was in their swimming attire.
A deafening chorus of "KATE!", "EDWINA!", "NEWTON!" welcomed her.
Edwina threw her another glance and winked. She turned towards their families and walked towards the tent. "Hello, Bridgertons! And Bassett and Beckett. Sorry, we're late to the party."
"Nonsense. You're right on time!" Violet said, kissing Edwina's cheeks.
Everyone either stood or started walking up to her, beaming as they did so.
Everyone except him.
The afternoon was making his skin look golden. He was stealing her breath away.
Anthony really does have an aura about him that could stop anyone in their tracks. He embodied a commanding attention that tend to be misinterpreted as pompousness. His face could tell you infinite things before he ever utters a single word. One only has to listen and understand. And Kate does, at least, she'll always try to, if he gave her the chance. He remained stagnant on his spot, a spatula on one hand while his lean chest was in full display. And despite his dark sunglasses, she knew he was looking at her.
"Kate?"
Somebody called and it took everything in her to avert her gaze from Anthony. Violet stepped towards her, waiting, a twinkle in her eye. "You alright, love?"
"Oh, um." Kate stammered, making the mistake of looking past the matriarch. She saw the almost identical and suggestive smirk painted on Violet's children. Even Mary and Edwina. "I'm great. I'm well. And you?"
"Brilliant! Now..." Violet almost shoved her down the hill towards the pool where Anthony has now been joined by Butler John, cleaning the grill. "Everyone inside and get ready for dinner!"
"Mum, it's only four." Whined Hyacinth who was feeding Newton with biscuits right off the plate.
"Yes, well. It's never too early to clean up. Run along!"
"Let's go, Hy." Colin crouched down and offered his back to Hyacinth.
"Fine!" Hyacinth acquiesced but happily jumped on Colin's back.
And one by one, they all left.
Violet and Mary led the entourage. Gregory held Newton's lead. Benedict was also giving Francesca a piggy-back ride. Eloise and Edwina were talking about the climate change protests in London. Sophie, Simon and Daphne regarded her with sly smirks of their own. Even Butler John who was now carrying Anthony's plate of hot steak inside.
Kate felt the prickle of electricity on her arms as she, with buckling knees, ambled towards him. It didn't help that she was wearing heels, and they're sinking in the soft grass. Anthony has long removed his sunglasses and was now, unashamedly, gaping at her.
His gaze brought such frisson of both excitement and danger which made her all the more nervous. (It's never been just one thing with Anthony Bridgerton. It always has to be two contrasting opinions.)
She was nearing the pool when Anthony looked away. He turned on his heel, and started picking up his siblings' abandoned possessions. Clothes, books, towels and glasses.
"Stop. Don't come any closer."
Kate's step ceased in the middle of the field when she processed what he just said. She could feel her heart cracking in two at the arid tone of his voice.
But Anthony looked up, his eyes landed on hers before he scowled at the shoes on her feet."The floor is slippery. I don't want you to break your neck." He explained, his inflection more irritated than concerned.
Kate pursed her lips, but she was more cross at herself than at him. How could she treat him seriously when he's standing there like the earthly personification of Kamadeva? Shirtless and a little bit damp from his swim? She tried to pacify the butterflies that erupted in her stomach, covering, tickling ever single cell in her body.
Wanting to gain the upper hand again, Kate tried to irritate him further by tramping towards the edge of the pool. Anthony looked like he's gonna have a coronary.
"Have you really no regard for your own safety?!" He reprimanded, huffing, his eyes gleaming with indignation. He walked up to her.
"How did you do it?" She threw back instead, her voice weirdly confident.
There was silence.
Anthony had an unreadable and stony expression on his beautiful face.
Just as she thought that he had no idea what she was talking about, he spoke.
"Brimsley acquired it for private gallery. But it wasn't what they were expecting so they sold it to an avid collector in Oslo who then gifted it to his nephew. The nephew, who lives in Florence has a family friend who lives in Lille and fortunately knows a friend of mine—"
"Siena?" She provided, feeling like a knucklehead all over again.
He nodded, albeit appearing more cautious at the mention of Siena's name. "Apparently, the family friend was an old… er… patron of Siena's. She led us to it."
Anthony was wary of the whatever words he's about to say next. But he persisted and Kate appreciated it.
"I couldn't tell you how I've been trying to find it. Not until I have the painting in my hands. I don't want to disappoint you. I couldn't take it. Colin travelled with me to Norway since I've never been. But we were too late; the painting's been shipped. That's when Benedict came to the rescue and followed us to France. I am lucky that I have brothers who are fluent in art negotiations and foreign languages."
Kate was shaking her head for two reasons. One, was to drive the tears away. And two—and the most important— was to counter him. "That's not luck, Anthony. They'll do anything for you."
Anthony gaped at her, like he couldn't believe what she said. His words were quiet, soft and full of emotion. "And I would do anything for them."
Her heart started beating a deadly rhythm with every outlandish scrutiny.
They were quiet for a while, but their eyes still locked on to each other. And she become conscious of the fact that he was gorgeous, in ways that weren't only physical. Anthony was handsome from the fervor in his eyes to the assertive but tender tonal of his voice. He was beautiful for his selflessness and in the generous ways he's devoted to his family. His smile and his brown eyes were unquestionably a force to be reckoned with. From their brown depths, was an honesty so raw and unflinching in their confidence. He was empathic and tenderhearted in all his intentions. Perhaps these were the reasons that Kate couldn't look away, that made her want to try.
Anthony took an involuntary step towards her.
"I want to apologize for leaving you the way I did that night. Siena and I were discussing about the painting." He explained, looking solemn and sincere. "That's why I pulled her away so you wouldn't hear our conversation. That and…" Anthony paused and Kate almost smiled at how his the tip of his ears was turning to an amorous shade of pink.
Kate tilted her head and it made him blush all the more. "And what?"
Anthony deposited the items on a nearby lounge with such exasperated carelessness that gave her the impression that he only clean the premises to keep himself from fidgeting under her gander. "If you must know, Siena's a huge flirt. She could seduce anyone and anything. I've seen it an awful amount of times. And the way she looked at you…" he paused, apprehensive. "The note was for me. But the calling card wasn't… I had her number on my phone for years." Anthony wiped a hand on his face, as if it was agonizing for him to say his next sentences. "She always had a nasty habit of going after the women associated with me. She tried to seduce my 50-year old secretary, and Belinda is married!"
Kate almost laughed, but she did manage a smile.
"Why does she do that?" She tilted her head, biting her lip. It seemed to infuriate and make him blush him even more.
"Because I drunkenly kissed a girl she liked at the time. That and because she's a psycho. Honestly, I don't know why me and Simon are still friends with her but we are. Siena's a good person, in her own, twisted way. But it still bears repeating that she and I are just friends. There's nothing between us."
After a beat.
"I see."
"Do you now?" He posit, almost sounded like he was pleading for her to understand.
"Yes." Kate nodded. "You were jealous of her."
His eyes almost popped out of his own head. "What? I didn't… That's not—" He tried to defend, the line between his eyebrows becoming more pronounced in each puff of breath.
Though terribly amused and enamored, Kate maintained a straight face.
"And of Dorset, too. I suppose."
Anthony set his lips in a firm, straight, unrigged line. He balled his fists by his sides. Any false pretense of nonchalance, gone.
"Yes. I was. What are you going to do about it?"
His dark eyes bore into hers, drawing her in with a crude sense of tenderness. Kate took a deep dive in them, willingly drowning herself in their imploring and intensive depths, and never coming up for air.
"First, I'm gonna pay you for the painting."
Anthony looked insulted. "No!"
"I'm gonna pay you back!" She yelled.
"No!"
"Yes!"
Honestly, their wrath was a relief.
"No! Don't be absurd, Kate!"
"But you must've spend—"
"So, what? I earn that kind of money every thirty minutes. Not that big a deal."
She gasped, horrified. "Not that big a deal?! Are you an idiot! Of course, I'm gonna pay you back! And please, for the love of all things holy, WOULD YOU PUT YOUR SHIRT BACK ON!"
Anthony released a hot breath but snatched his shirt from the lawn chair. Once done, he looked at her unwaveringly,
"I am not gonna accept anything for the painting, Kate. It's non-negotiable. End of story."
Kate braved a step forward.
"Why'd you… Why'd go through all that trouble?
"You know why." He said in a low, soft tone.
"I need you to tell me, Anthony."
Anthony's face was starting to grow red. "Are you being serious?"
"Yes." Her voice croaked. "Why would you do that for me?"
"Because I can." He tried to sound confident but hugely failed. Still keeping that hushed, besotted expression on his countenance, he sighed. "I saw your face the night go the auction. And I…It didn't sit well with me. I couldn't bring myself to see you like that so…"
Kate stared at his mouth as he spoke of the sweetest things anyone has ever done for her. She took another step.
"But… but you despise me." She all but whispered.
"That's true."
"And I despise you."
"That's true too."
This was it, then.
This, them was really happening. Or about to happen. Kate could barely keep it together.
Anthony was dismantling the barriers she'd put up around herself, the parts she tried to shelter the most. But as a force of habit, she tried to appeal one reason they shouldn't give in to this madness. "We will always argue."
A smirk quirked his lips. "Oh, I'm looking forward to that, Sharma."
She almost cried with relief. Her chest heaved as she closed the distance between them. "And you'll drive me mad."
"You'll drive me mad."
She laughed, and Anthony took that chance to grab her waist and pull her towards him.
"I would like to take you dinner, Sharma. Every night if you'll let me." He paused, as if to think about it. "It doesn't matter really if it's tea, or breakfast or lunch. Whatever suits you."
She was nodding vigorously now. "Alright."
"Alright?"
"Not Thursdays, though. It's the busiest day in the gallery." She stated, like they're talking about a business transaction.
"Duly noted."
"Is that all?" She teased.
Anthony's fought another smile. "I want to hold your hand."
"That can be arranged." She reached for his hand. Anthony interlocked their fingers.
"And I want to hear about your day."
"You'll get bored."
"I'll be transfixed and will hang on to every word."
Kate rolled her eyes but her heart melted at the sincerity.
"Is there anything else, my lord?"
Anthony gripped her waist. "You can tell me all the ways I've vexed you for the day while I kiss every inch of you." As he said the last words, his eyes worked over the length of her body.
"You're infuriating." Kate muttered, shaking her head. Her fingers danced towards his chest, to his nape and to his hair.
"As you never fail to remind me."
"Because it's the truth."
He hummed, his fingers drawing circles around her lower back. "Anything else, Miss Sharma?"
"You'll walk Newton."
The first doubt crossed his features that she laughed.
"Five minutes." he tried to reason.
"Ten."
"Eight."
"Fifteen. I'll be very grateful." she said, planting her fingers on his chest.
"Deal."
Before he could think of something more moronic to say, Kate threw herself at him. They were both giggling as their lips met in a promising and passionate kiss. Anthony moaned, wrapping an arm around her hip and hefting her feet off the ground. His tongue probed hers in reckless passion that's making her dizzy with need. Anthony's hands wandered to her back and down. He pressed her tighter against his body. She pulled away before she tumbled him on the grass.
"Are you quite sure you're alright to do this with me?"
He growled, kissing his way from her jawline up to her ear. He inhaled her again. "No, no. I don't think so. You?"
She chuckled, already loving how well their minds can read each other. "No, absolutely not."
"Well, then." Anthony smiled, another charming, heart-racing smile. "It looks like we're finally seeing eye to eye on something."
"I suppose we are." She said, blindingly happy to be in his arms like this.
"Now, that's dealt with, Miss Sharma. I believe you're a bit overdressed for the occasion." Anthony beamed, walking them back towards the house. Her feet were still dangling above the ground. His arms and entire torso supporting her weight.
"Am I? Do you have a spare bathing suit for me?"
"I do, actually. It's the grandest, little thing. It's in my bedroom."
Kate laughed, both arms around and holding on to his shoulders. Anthony was beaming like boy on Christmas Day.
"Lead the way, my lord."
Anticipation cracked in the air like fireworks waiting to explode. The afternoon heat had nothing to do with the sweat dripping down their backs. Their necks strained in vain attempt to hold back and see what's happening behind them.
Two matriarchs held on to each other, barely the perfect picture of grace and elegance. The second-born son still had the third-born daughter on his back. His hand in his girlfriend's. The girlfriend could feel the tension radiating off the siblings. A duke tightened his hand around his fiancee's once he felt that she's slowing down her stride. Two young women of the same age, walked behind the other's brother. They knew of his patience was as inexistent as a newborn pup. They knew if somebody's going to break, it'd be him. Only the two youngsters were oblivious to the quandary, chasing and getting distracted by an overweight Corgi.
Nevertheless, each adult—young and old— held their own, quite marvelously.
But as soon as Butler John closed the door, havoc ensued.
All six Bridgertons, two Sharmas, one Bassett and one Beckett sprinted towards the drawing room where there was a very nice view of the lawn, but only limited windows. It was every man for himself.
"I can't see! I can't see!" Francesca.
"I'm literally the reason they met! Stand aside!" Colin.
"Ugh! I'm gonna shave all your hair, Colin!" Eloise.
"Move, Simon! I'm the smallest here! If anyone has the right to the window, that'd be me." Edwina.
"That's my best friend outside! And I'm a duke!" Simon.
"That's useless here, Bassett. And you know it!" Sophie.
"If Anthony screws this up again, I'm gonna crack his head in with every Bridgerton mallet." Daphne
"Now, children—" Mary.
"Benedict, dear. Stand on the back, you're blocking everything!" Violet.
"It's not my fault you're all such tiny things!" Benedict.
In the end, Colin, Eloise, Francesca were out front. Behind them was Edwina who pulled up a chair to stand on and was holding onto the wall. Violet and Mary had the other window. Daphne and Sophie copied Edwina and were sharing a table behind the mothers. Benedict, grumbling and arms folded, stood at the back with Simon.
With faces practically pressed against the windows, they watched as the two culprits shout at each other. Their voices, disembodied but discernible. The adults in the drawing room weren't shy in commentating their opinions of what was happening.
Anthony and Kate sparred; their body language was tense and combative. But at the height of their anger, silence occurred. Words were exchanged. And then the smiles and the laugh and then their mouths met halfway in an irate yet longing fashion.
Yelp and cheers echoed in the room.
Until Violet crowed, "Ha! Take that, you sons of me!"
Every Bridgerton groaned.
"Now, pay up!" She said, gathering an empty box of biscuits from the table. "Hurry now."
"This is so unlike you, mum." Eloise complained, but dropping her phone on the box nonetheless. "What happened to, 'Be prim and proper and never shout' especially when you're with company?"
"Agree." Francesca said, amused and not at all bothered that she lost. In her opinion, it was better that she lost to her mother than to her brothers and sisters.
"It's so unfair! It was me who arranged that auction in the first place!" Daphne criticized, but did the same.
"Don't be ridiculous, Daff. It was my birthday party, that started it all. If anyone's the winner, I am!"
"Yeah, but the bet was when and where are they gonna realize and finally do something about it." Francesca reminded him.
"And are we really sure that they're—" Seeing as there might still be a chance for him to be the victor, Colin craned his neck towards the window. Everyone else followed.
But they groaned and looked away once they saw where Anthony's hands were. "They're doing something about it, alright." Colin grunted in defeat.
"Exactly." Violet chuffed.
All the while, the second eldest was watching the scene with an accusing glare. Enlightenment dawning on him.
"You cheated." Benedict surmised, eyeing their mother with great disdain. "You made sure, it's gonna happen here at Aubrey Hall."
Violet rolled her eyes and replied as innocently as she could. "Well, of course I cheated. I'm a Bridgerton after all."
There was a collective gasp around the room.
"Well, well, well. How the mighty have fallen." Simon smirked.
"Violet!" Sophie, Edwina and Mary reprimanded, amused.
"Mother! You snake!" Colin shouted, but quickly added. "I love you so much. You are the most beautiful woman in my life, ever!"
"Still…" Violet glanced over the window again. Anthony was carrying Kate with one arm around her waist. The broad, love struck smiles on both their faces. They really look, quite the beautiful pair. Violet could just imagine her future grandchildren. "Look how good they look together. Look how happy they are. Finally."
Everyone agreed. Their animosity towards each other faded into soft smiles and indubitable nods.
"Besides, there's still the engagement and the wedding day. How long is that gonna take, you lot reckon? Six months? A year?"
Standing around her, all Bridgerton children look at each other. But it was Benedict, who walked up to her, hand outstretched and said, a little threateningly. "Oh, game on, Mother."