Hello again! I hope you enjoy :D this was written in 1 day, so if it's bad I'm so sorry
Edie tried to fight it. Truly she did. She was only human, after all, how can one be faulted for finding this scene before her so amusing? Surely a woman was allowed a bit of fun at a man's expense?
She half heartedly tried to hide the smirk on her face from behind a glass of port, leaning back in her chair, looking the picture of ease as she watched Benedict Bridgerton loose another round of cards.
To her, no less.
Edie had grown up with two brothers, and those two brothers had often needed another playmate for their games, and eventually, Edie had squeezed her way in. They'd taught her cards, dice, and Willie, the brother only a few years above her, had once taught her a few fencing moves with sticks before Richie found out and told father. Richie, their father's son, could only tolerate so much "unladylike" behavior.
But her favourite game had always been cards because she always won. And there was something so delectably sweet about seeing a man embarrassed because she'd one-upped him.
"Damn!" the Bridgerton growled, tossing his useless cards onto the table in defeat. She had to give him credit, he was the last man standing; all the others had left their losings on the table and slinked off in defeat while she and Benedict sat across from each other. The game had gone on longer than Edie had expected, but it had been quite fun to see him work so hard, thinking his efforts would pay off. He slumped back in his chair, and when his eyes met hers, his brows drew together and his eyes squinted at her in disbelief. "Oh you do look quite smug!"
Edie stifled another smile. "Well I am three pounds the richer, Pointy. I would say I am…" she took a deep breath, thinking of the word. "Demurely satisfied my efforts have rewarded me so splendidly."
"You cheated, I'm sure of it." He grumbled, still slouched in his chair as he reached for his glass of brandy.
Edith scoffed, starting to gather her riches towards her. "I never cheat." Suddenly a hand reached for hers, warm fingers stopping her from drawing the coins any closer. The rest of the boast died in her throat, and for a moment she just stared. A flash of fear was overcome by a sudden wave of…something. Something that made her stare at this hand a moment too long, taking in the marks of blue and black paint, the stain of charcoal on the fingertips, the length of those fingers, and how that hand was so much larger than hers. Beautiful, her mind supplied.
"Another game," Benedict demanded, and at once whatever she was feeling was quashed and she looked up to meet his eyes once more…
…and the she remembered, and shoved these fond feelings down because they had no place in her life, no notch where they would fit seamlessly. He was a Bridgerton and she was not that same simpering debutant from seven years ago.
"At this point, you might as well give me your money." She scoffed, gathering her money close and gathering it in hand.
Benedict watched her go, her long dark hair waving down her back in a mocking sort of farewell as she walked off with his and two other men's money. Draining his glass of brandy, he stood and went in search of Henry, who was stood before an easel in the next room.
"Why did you let me play her?" He asked as soon as he was within Henry's earshot. It had been Henry to suggest a round of cards, and when Edie grabbed a deck from a nearby chest of drawers, he had hesitated to partake. Gentlemen were not unknown to play cards with a lady, but he doubted the games played here at Granville's house were the sort of games ladies usually partook in. But Henry had only laughed, and clapped him on the back and told him Edie loved to play cards. But he had not mentioned she was brilliant at it!
Once more, Henry laughed. "Right of passage, I suppose. Some men cannot abide loosing to a woman."
Benedict scoffed. He had four sisters, he was not unaccustomed to being duped by one. Eloise, damn her, had won at Pall Mall only last year and hadn't let them forget it.
"She is brilliant, and she is smug." He grumbled, picking up a sketch pad.
"Yes, quite true. But she does not cheat. Much as I would like to believe she does, whenever I am foolish enough to think I can best her." So Henry, her own uncle was in much the same boat as he, pathetically bested and sent to pout like a boy, yet still wanting to run back and try again. Just to get that damned smug grin off her face. But oddly, there had been a moment, a heartbeat when he'd seen the grin fade at the edges. Fade, and smooth and be replaced with something warmer. In a flash it had been gone, and Benedict had had a few glasses of brandy by that point and so he'd not thought much more of it.
"I asked her for another game. And she said it would be like taking my money." Benedict grimaced, eyes clenching shut. If her own uncle could not yet accept defeat, why couldn't he bow out? He could understand Henry—he had enough brothers and sisters to know the gripping need to beat someone at their own game, to lord your victory over them. The boasting between family was expected. It was a fond sort of competition.
But he could not understand why exactly he wanted to go find young Miss Grandville and demand another round, even now that he was two pounds poorer. She was a stranger to him, it should be easy for him to let it go.
Henry tossed his pencil down, turning to him with a grin. "You wouldn't be the first, Bridgerton. But I think you're the only one she had refused. Did you loose so terribly, perhaps she feels guilty?"
"No!" Benedict straightened, ears and neck pinkening. "We played a good while, and it was neck to neck for more than half of it! Two others, uh, a Mister Graham and Choi were out before I." Henry hummed, and Benedict grew even more insistent. "A-and I will have you know, I usually win at cards. I'm the best out of my two brothers."
Grandville only grinned wider, and when something caught his eye over Benedict's shoulder, Benedict was too busy explaining that Edie's win was only a fluke and di not notice.
"…and furthermore, I think she was just worried I would win it all back."
"Whatever you say, old man." Another clap to the shoulder, and Henry sidestepped the young man and dissolved into the crowd.
Benedict sighed, rapping his fingers against the blank sketch pad. With no more desire to think on his spectacular defeat, Benedict stood as well, seeking out finer, more pleasurable company.
With careful hands, Edie tucked her winnings into a little box and tucked the little box deep beneath her bed, between old books and a few forgotten canvases.
She did not keep track of all the money she'd saved, but she wagered she'd have enough to live comfortably for a time if she had to. It was not that she was ready to be thrown out of her uncle's house, but with how often the prospect of marriage was being brought up as of late, she considered if prudent to start thinking of money.
Edie had no intention of marriage, especially not to one of Lord Ashby's ilk, one old and just looking for
companionship, as he uncle had said. And certainly not one with grown children that would hate her and cast her aside with little hesitation once their father croaked. Instead, Edie chose to save whatever she could, a sort of safety net if her father ever managed to drag her down the aisle.
Honestly, Edie's notions had been forever altered when the Incident had happened, only be half mended by that wretch Hugh, and destroyed once more. Marriages for love or duty, neither interested her because both posed to much of a risk. Either love was a fantasy or the duty ended, and either way, she would be left in the cold.
Edie sighed, and sat back on her bottom so her back rested against her bed. Thinking of Hugh was not half so painful now, it had been years since she'd last seen his face.
The first man who had taken her to bed, in the dark of the night when most of Henry's guests had left or fallen asleep. Really, that was all he was. Just a man she'd given herself to, foolishly thinking it could be more than that.
Truly, Hugh was not the kind of man Edie had pictured herself being intimate with the first time. After Lucy's very thorough introduction to the marital act, she had thought more of it, thought of men in a new, slightly uncomfortable sort of way. Thought of what lay hidden beneath their clothes, and the things they only did in private with their lovers. Curiosity grew like a weed inside her.
And then there was Hugh. Charming Hugh, with his crooked nose and those small, rare smiles he gave. His hair had been blonde, and he'd been shorter than other men, but thin and his eyes were brown. Hugh, who gambled far too often and had made her feel wanted for the first time since her life had veered off course.
Caution had been her armour, but he had seemed so honest and kind and gentle, and had convinced her it was safe to shed her armour until she felt safe enough to shed her clothes as well. It was strange, being in bed with a man. She remembered she hadn't wanted him to look, had covered herself from his eyes, but he hadn't said anything reassuring. He'd only knocked her hands aside. The act itself was stranger still. Strange and painful and afterward, when he left her in her bed before the morning, still naked, she'd wondered if Lucy had lied to her. Surely nothing so strange could bring the pleasure she spoke of. It all felt too much—his hands were everywhere and so were his lips and she could hardly keep up!
But still, she was willing to try again when he came to her next. And then the next and the one after that as well. It was never quite as good as Lucy made it sound, but it wasn't all bad and Edie had started thinking this was what it was meant to be like. Pleasant enough, but more than once, she'd thought of other things while he moved inside her. Mundane things, tasks that were coming due, plans that she had the next morning, or a painting she was close to finishing.
Of course, it had ended in disappointment. Hugh eventually confessed that he had no intention of marrying her, or even of courting her in public. The killing blow, however, came when she had timidly asked what those nights together meant, and all he said was that it had been a bit of easy fun, nothing more.
Edith chose not to think about how good the timing was that Hugh was run out of London after his debts were exposed. Her uncle never brought it up, and Edie never asked, only happy that wretched fool was gone. If only the memories of their time together would go.
Though, Edie couldn't say it was all a mistake.
One night, Edie wasn't sure how long it had been after, she had started missing the feeling of a body close to hers. Missed the warm skin, the velvet smoothness of the member that grew hard between his legs when he wanted her, missed the sounds he would make in finding pleasure from her…strange she missed it when she hadn't even really enjoyed it as much as he had.
This longing built and built over a few nights, until she decided she had to…to…
Well, if she ever saw Hugh again, she would tell him with nothing but honesty, that her own hands had given her far more pleasure than he ever had. Now, she knew what Lucy had meant, and though Edie had never taken another man, she was far from unsatisfied. Still, sometimes the longing would resurface, and it was all she could to keep it at bay.
Like now, for example, all she could think of was how beautiful Benedict Bridgerton looked in the light of the lamps that lit her uncle's home.
At first, she shoved the thought aside, but her body was aching for the pleasure of picturing him in her mind. Really, what was the harm in thinking? She was allowed her own thoughts.
Feeling very wicked, Edie took a lock of hair that was resting over her shoulder in hand, idly stroking the dark strands. Strange how such little things could create such beauty, both with a brush and with her own body.
Her mind flashed to other hands, larger than her own, stained with colour. She recalled that very first night when she'd seen him run those hands slowly, gently across his lover's back, how they were warm, still and content to explore slowly, without the fervor of someone wanting to rush.
A warm flush ran over her skin and settled in a hot pool in her lower belly. It was a foolish thing to think this way, to desire what she could never have. It would leave her empty once it was over…but dear god it would feel good in the moment.
With a ragged sigh, borne of annoyance at the stupid man who'd made her feel this way, Edie yanked up her nightgown until it pooled at her hips. She trailed her fingers upwards from her knee, softly and allowed her head to fall back against the softness of her bed. The chill of the floor brought goosebumps over her skin. Still annoyed at the want licking like fire at her belly and wanting to reach that sweet pinnacle, Edie slipped her hand between her legs, a little shocked at finding slick warmth already.
She wondered idly, as her fingers began their stroking, what his hands would feel like. His fingers were certainly larger than her own, perhaps not as rough. Hugh's had been short and slim as her own, but far less talented as it turned out. But Benedict's hands…the strength he possessed in those hands, the talent he fostered in silence, that smile he gave, always, without expecting one in return.
No! she thought, grunting and shifting as she tried to get back to more appropriate thoughts. But her mind was a tricky thing, and refused to loose the image of him, the whole of him, and before she could shake the thought away, she was imagining the other things he could do with his entire body.
His hands his hands his hands…! She thought desperately, shaking her head to rid herself of that stupid, smiling face. His hands were somehow safer to think of than any other part of him. Perhaps it was because hands were so common, one could imagine a pair of hands and find a hundred others with the same pair. Imagining other parts of a body became too familiar, too real.
But try as she might to reign herself back in, it was no good. Her body had wound itself too high, chasing the taste of pleasure the thought of him gave and she was helpless to do anything but follow after. Chasing and chasing, ravenous, building so quickly it shocked her. Then, a soft cry burst from her lips as the pleasure peaked, leaving her boneless and breathless on the floor, reaching for a hand that was not there.
Once the pleasure faded, as she thought, Edie felt quite empty. Alone.
Benedict was nothing to her, an artist who came from a world far beyond her own. She was the shelved, ruined daughter of a duke. Honestly, she didn't even like Benedict Bridgerton. All this was was a moment of pleasure, a secret moment the man himself would never know of. She was entitled to her own thoughts, permitted a small piece of privacy where she could imagine. But that was just it. It was a fantasy. Perhaps born out of old dreams and wishes of her nine and ten year old self, the girl who had thought with idle delight of capturing a Bridgerton boy's attention.
Edie scoffed at herself, hauling herself up off the floor and throwing the skirt of her nightgown off with a careless flick.
It was a fantasy about an annoying, foolish, persistent man who saw the scar first and foremost. It was nothing. This was nothing. It was a moment of pleasure. Nothing more, nothing less.
Somewhere in the raging party below her as she tried and failed to sleep, Benedict Bridgerton allowed himself to pulled into a tangle of limbs, the image of Henry Granville entwined with his male lover still coursing through his mind.