Emily lay awake, her bed sheets tangled around her as she rolled over, restless, unable to shake the lingering memory of Benedict from her mind. Every time she closed her eyes, the day's events replayed with haunting intensity: the heat of his arm beneath hers, the way his breath had brushed her skin, warm and tantalizing, as he leaned close to speak in that low voice that seemed to belong only to her. Her stomach tightened at the memory, a rush of unfamiliar warmth spreading through her.
The canopy above her bed was adorned with delicate lace, and though she tried to let her eyes trace the patterns to calm her, she found herself distracted, the lace fading to nothing as she sank deeper into thoughts of him. She could feel his presence as vividly as if he were still beside her, standing just a little too close, his gaze lingering in a way that left her flustered, longing, and more aware of herself than she'd ever felt before.
"Those thoughts must be truly wicked, if you fear my discovery of them."
She could still hear his voice, so teasing and full of some hidden promise, and it left her with a heat that spread all the way to her fingertips. She pressed her palms against her warm cheeks, willing her thoughts to quiet. But sleep would not come, not when each thought of him fanned that strange ache in her chest, the feeling she hadn't dared put a name to.
When sleep finally claimed her, it took her to a dream of mirrors and candlelight, their faint glow casting soft shadows across the polished floor. She stood in a grand, empty ballroom, her gown feeling light as air, the gentle whisper of distant music echoing around her. She knew it was a dream but felt no need to fight it; instead, she let herself be swept up in the feeling, the anticipation building as she sensed his presence, his warmth radiating from somewhere just behind her.
And then, there he was. She didn't have to turn to know it was Benedict—she could feel him, the air charged and humming with energy as he stepped closer, his fingers brushing the back of her neck as he swept a strand of hair aside. His breath was warm on her skin, his lips so close they nearly touched her, lingering, as if savoring the distance before it disappeared.
"Benedict," she whispered, and the sound of his name felt like a confession, trembling on her lips. She could feel his hands on her shoulders, strong and warm, grounding her yet making her feel lightheaded all at once. He spun her to face him, his movements controlled, almost reverent, but his gaze held a hunger she hadn't known could exist. It burned, soft yet searing, as he looked at her like she was something precious, something he could never look away from.
"Emily," he murmured, his voice low, as though he were afraid that speaking louder might break the spell between them. She felt his touch along her arms, the warmth sinking into her skin, spreading through her in a slow, delicious heat. His hand lifted to her face, a finger tracing a line down her cheek, leaving a trail of warmth that felt impossibly real.
The distance between them vanished, and Emily couldn't tell where she ended and he began. She raised her hands, placing them against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her palms. The warmth of his skin radiated through his clothes, reaching her fingertips, leaving her with a dizzying sense of closeness, as if they were already more entwined than she could bear to admit.
He exhaled at her touch, a quiet, involuntary sound that made her knees go weak. His head dipped closer, his lips a breath away from hers, and her heart beat wildly, a fierce rhythm that echoed in her chest. "Do not stop," she murmured, barely realizing she'd said it, the words slipping out like a secret.
She moved her hands up, gliding over the hard lines of his shoulders, up his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair, which felt soft, just as she had imagined. She tugged gently, and he let out a soft moan, the sound low and full of longing. It sent a thrill through her, a shiver that left her feeling light-headed and feverish.
His hands slid lower, down the curve of her back until they rested on her waist, pulling her close, so close that every part of her felt alive, her senses heightened to every touch, every breath. She could feel his heartbeat quicken, matching her own, and her entire body seemed to hum, caught between tension and release, a feeling that made her feel as though she might float away if not for his steady hold on her.
His lips hovered just above hers, the promise of a kiss hanging in the air between them, and she tilted her face up, her eyes fluttering shut, letting herself surrender to the anticipation, to the inevitability of his touch.
But the moment she leaned in, the world faded. She woke with a start, her breath unsteady, her heart pounding wildly as she lay alone in the quiet dark of her room. For a moment, she lay still, her mind reeling, her hands tracing the places where she'd felt his touch as though they might find some lingering warmth. Her cheeks were flushed, her skin tingling with the memory, and she knew no dream had ever felt so real.
As the first light of dawn crept through her window, she tried to shake off the feeling, tried to steady herself, but the ache in her chest wouldn't fade. It was an ache of longing, a need that she couldn't quell. For better or worse, Benedict Bridgerton had woven himself into her dreams, into the very depths of her thoughts.
And as much as she tried to convince herself otherwise, she knew that he was no longer just a passing thought. He was now a part of her, a presence she couldn't shake, even in the silence of the morning. For the first time in her life, Emily realized she might be helpless to the pull of her own heart, a heart that, despite her better judgment, had started to beat in tune with his.