Chapter Text
The Vauxhall gardens were resplendent that night. No expense had been spared. The grounds had been transformed into a twinkling, lush fairyland. Candles were suspended from everywhere. The strains of a full string orchestra soared high above the crowd. It felt to Anthony like a magical net had been cast over all those gathered there. As though they had been suspended briefly from the humdrum of their familiar rituals and routines. As though all their predicaments and mishaps had faded away, if only briefly.
He held his wife tightly on one arm, and his sister on the other. Faces rose up from the crowd to greet them eagerly - most he recognised and some he didn’t.
“I know I cannot have the pleasure of dancing the first with you,” he said to Kate, “but perhaps you might have a dance free for your brother, Daphne?”
She demurred, though he could see from the card dangling on her wrist that her first was unoccupied.
“Perhaps she is saving it for someone,” Kate suggested, her voice laden with meaning. “Perhaps - oh, hello Simon.”
“Lady Bridgerton,” Simon greeted. “Bridgerton. Miss Bridgerton.”
“Hastings,” Anthony replied. "Did Lady Danbury force your attendance again?”
“No,” Simon said. His dark eyes were fixed on Daphne, who had turned the most delicate shade of pink. “I was hoping to request the first with Miss Bridgerton, if she will have me.”
“Of course,” Daphne said. Her voice was pitched a little higher than normal. “I would be delighted.”
Anthony watched them go, aghast. When they were out of earshot, Kate murmured to him. “Do not look so shocked. You will encourage gossip.”
He spun her around to face him, heedless. “Hastings and Daphne? It is inconceivable.”
“They are just becoming acquainted.”
“He is a rake , Kate. He will ruin her.”
“Nonsense.” She placed her hand on his chest. “He respects her too much for that.”
Her hand on his chest was a comforting weight against his rising consternation. He struggled to hold onto his alarm. “He will never marry. He has told me so himself.”
It had been so long since they had been in such close contact. Though Kate’s touch was innocent, it felt to Anthony like she was almost caressing him now. It was most arousing. The way his heart was pounding against his ribs. Like it would escape his chest if he did not remain absolutely still. He could scarcely recall what they were speaking of.
“Well. If she decides that he is her choice that is something they will have to discuss themselves.”
Her pull was too strong. “Kate,” he said, taking a step towards her. It was bubbling up inside of him now, his regret, his remorse at having harmed her. It threatened to spill out of him like a live animal. She seemed to sense it, taking a step back as if to give his conscience space between them. This was neither the time nor place for it, and yet - “Kate, I -”
“Kate, indeed!” a familiar, unwelcome voice rose up from behind them, severing the moment at once. Anthony closed his eyes in resentment as Kate turned from him. She was always slipping from him these days. He should have closed his hand over hers when he had had the chance. “How divine you look.”
“Lord Fife,” she greeted. “And you are charming and silver tongued as always I see.”
“Charming!” Fife exclaimed. “You quite wound me. Don’t you know that my words are only for you?”
“For myself and half the women in the room, I daresay. But never mind that. Have you come to claim your dance?”
“I have indeed,” said Fife. “I have come to stake my claim.” Then, with a quick glance at Anthony, he continued, as though he had not paused. “Over your dances, of course.”
Kate looked back at Anthony. It felt as though he held his breath, but he was not sure why - perhaps it was that he wished to call the man out, but knew he had forfeited his right to do so. He was not expecting her to insist they continue their conversation first, but he sorely wished that she would.
It was not until she had turned away again that he realised she had also been waiting for him to speak. “Well who am I not to respect a prior claim!” she said gaily. With her back to him like so, he could not tell what she was thinking.
Without another word to him, Fife offered Kate his arm, and Anthony was forced to watch his wife walk away, knowing he had done nothing to stop her.
She sparkled, flirted, and titillated. It was insupportable.
Anthony had watched her dance - twice! - with Fife who had been most familiar with her. To his jealous eye, he had seen sly touches, caresses even, and quick brushes of bared skin. He had noted every last one, had catalogued it all so that he could fume over it later. She had danced also with Mr Dorset who, he recalled again, had been so enamoured of her last Season. He still looked enamoured with her now. This too was intolerable. She paused only briefly between dances to ensure that Daphne was being attended to and, being satisfied that she was, resumed her activity.
From the corner of his eye, Anthony had also noticed Simon’s attentiveness towards Daphne, but because his wife had told him to allow it, he did. He would have words with them later. Stern words. Words of warning. Words that - had Fife just touched his wife’s neck?
It was no use. He could focus on nothing else. Every small movement was a trial. Every flutter of Fife’s hand was perilously close to Kate’s body. His thwarted desire was a red haze that coloured every moment, turning innocent gestures to indecency.
It was a relief when his waltz arrived and he could stride over to claim her from Fife’s side. He had dearly wanted to do so before now, but he knew he had lost all right to do so through his own inaction. Still she looked at him kindly when he approached - or was it with pity? He could not tell.
“Shall we?” he said thickly.
Kate nodded, handing her glass off to Fife carelessly. He accepted it without hesitation. The small gesture of familiarity only made Anthony’s thumping heart beat faster. Fife had barely danced with anyone else but her.
The couples started leaving the floor as the sounds of the waltz began. Only a few, and none of the debutantes remained. The waltz was no longer scandalous, per se, but it had not quite yet found favour.
Tonight, Anthony was grateful for it. He relished the opportunity to hold Kate close. He would not have the chance to do so in private. But as they stood there opposite each other, he could see Kate looking around, noting the relative emptiness of the floor compared to the ton spread around the room, watching as if in judgement.
“Do you wish to stop?” he asked. Though he burned to hold her in his arms like so, he would not have her uncomfortable for the world.
She looked at him searchingly. What she found in his face must have been satisfactory, because she shook her head. “You married a bold woman. I am not so easily cowed.”
“I know,” breathed Anthony. “I am very happy and very grateful to have done so.” If only he had realised it earlier. “Only - keep your eyes on me.” If she did so, he could pretend that, for this one dance, nothing else mattered. That the past months had been a bad dream. That he had courted her properly, proposed sweetly. That he had taken her in his arms the moment they had been wed and told her how fortunate he was. That she was too glorious, too alive, to be boxed up in his estate. That he never wanted to limit her so.
All this he tried to tell her with his body as he held her close - closer than appropriate. Every brush of her skin was scorching, a torment. The way she looked at him - equal parts astonishment and arousal - was agony. Every moment in her presence inflamed him. He had not danced with her since their engagement and this - this felt different somehow. She felt more familiar but still a stranger. He knew the way she laughed, how she took her tea, but he was not privy to her thoughts. He did not know the shape of her under her gown. He had not swallowed her cries of pleasure.
He wanted to.
He wanted to know her every thought and trouble. He wanted to know what had gone before him and to be assured that he would be in every moment of her life thereafter. He wanted to know her so well that even the smallest sigh would be as familiar as it was dear to him.
His fingers interlaced with hers. His hand upon her shoulder slipped lower and grazed her breast. He did not remove it.
It wasn’t enough. It was everything.
It had taken everything in Anthony to relinquish Kate at the end of their dance. He would not have, if not for an announcement from their hosts that had caused the crowd to surge towards them in pursuit of the door. Some display, no doubt, or some other entertainment. People pressed on either side of them, parting them like the sea. He should not have let her go. She should not have allowed it.
But Kate spared him only one lingering look before allowing herself to be swept asunder and out the door. Anthony stood like a rock. Immoveable. He had been inconstant before. He would not again.
When he finally found his feet, the crowd had pulled them apart. Still he followed her, reflexively, as though he knew no other way. Over the seething mass of people, he could see where she stood, talking to Fife again. The lurching in his chest made him nauseous and it was only relieved when Fife said something to her before walking away. He did not see where Fife went, only felt all the relief that he had left Kate’s side. He began to battle the crowd to take up the space that Fife had left.
But across the twinkling lights, a great bang echoed through the gardens as a loud and long continued discharge of artillery announced the commencement of the fireworks. It was the grandest and most extensive display, yet Anthony saw none of it. All he could focus on was the banging of his heart in his ribs, in time with the gunpowder, as he tried to reach Kate.
The crowd was a simmering wall, a swarming blockade. With every ooh and every aah, it seemed to tear him further from Kate. Anthony kept her in his sight, desperation gnawing at his heart. It was only because he was focussed single-mindedly on her that he saw the moment she looked about and, taking advantage of the party’s distraction, slipped away into the darkness of the garden.
Anthony looked about wildly. Fife was nowhere to be seen. Surely she would not slip away to meet him, not here where anyone could happen upon them. Not when he was still in attendance.
It was cold, he noticed then. Funny how the moon burned.
The throng pressed around him, eager to get closer to the source of the firework display. Buffeted by the people, Anthony let their pushing carry him away, until he was standing on the very edge, at the very back.
His footfalls were slow as he turned to follow where he had seen her disappear into the night. If his heartbeat had been gunfire before, now it was a clock striking midnight. Deliberate. Inevitable. A prisoner walking to the gallows.
The trees cast mournful silhouettes upon the paths. The crunch of the stones underfoot felt like a severance. Anthony did not know where he went, only that he followed.
It was without warning, and somehow inevitable all the same, that he came upon her - nearly walked into her. He had quite surprised her and she nearly tripped upon seeing him. His hands gripped at her arms reflexively, holding her to his chest to prevent her fall.
Her arms were bare. She was alone.
“Are you meeting him here?” he hissed. Something was coiling and uncoiling in his chest, choking the sense from him. He felt tighter than a spring, wound up like a cat about to pounce. It was that madness again.
In the dark he could not see if Kate’s face echoed her confusion when she snapped, “What the devil are you saying, Anthony?”
“Fife - The opera! Are you meeting him here?” He was barely coherent, he knew, but he could not stop. He was senseless with jealousy.
“The opera?” She shook free of him. “Fife - you think this is an assignation - you think that I have asked him here to swive me in these gardens.”
“And have you?” he demanded.
In the distance, more fireworks lit the sky, partially illuminating her face. There was a wild anger there, and something darker - some arousal that matched the fire burning through him. She took a step closer to him. Lowered her voice so that to Anthony’s fevered mind, it became a seductive whisper. “And if I have? You have proven that our marriage means nothing to you. Why should it mean anything to me?”
She was insupportable. She was intolerable. She was -
Anthony surged forward. Surged into her, pressed her into the shadow of the tree, felt with satisfaction as her back hit its trunk and she arched up against him. He crushed her to him, crushed her into the tree. Every part of him had to be in contact with every part of her. His hands first, on her face, holding her tenderly. Softly. Quite at odds with the way he was grinding against her. The way his mouth descended upon hers hungrily. The way his tongue ravaged her mouth.
She tasted like the wine Fife had brought her. She smelled like the soap that the housekeeper kept stocked in their house. She felt like his.
It was like Kate had been expecting him. They had been two planets on a collision course, orbiting each other, closer and closer until finally - the flames. The moment her back hit the tree, she rose like the sea, undulating against his body, biting and scratching him in return. Her hands came around him, sliding under his coat, nails digging sharply into the flesh of his arse through his breeches. Anthony choked out a cry, hips driving forward into her like a poor imitation of rutting.
“You are surely not unmanned so quickly,” she murmured into his neck. “After all you have told me of your horsemanship?” Her teeth scraped over his neck as she made quick work of his cravat.
Kate was still cogent when Anthony was incoherent. It would not do. Seizing her roving arms, he pinned them to her side. “Tell me,” he snarled. “Were you meeting Fife here?”
Her bosom was heaving as she panted. In his passion he had ripped her bodice and she was spilling out delectably. Still, she tossed her head. “It is none of your concern.”
“None of my concern,” Anthony repeated. He trailed one finger across the necklace he had given her, traced the surface of each stone. Kate’s skin was hot in comparison when he dropped his finger to dip into the valley of her bosom. In one swift motion, he yanked the remnant of her dress down to expose her fully. She arched into him involuntarily, as he traced the mound of each breast, circling closer and closer to the tip. “You are my wife. Everything about you is my concern.”
She choked back a moan as Anthony lowered his head to rasp his tongue over her nipple.
“Ah,” he breathed, revelling in the way her nipple stiffened and swelled as he licked it. “These are particularly my concern. I am your husband. Do not hide from me.” He twisted his fingers around her and pulled, even as he sucked her other breast into his hot mouth. His teeth scraped over her tender flesh and she curved reflexively into his mouth with a wordless cry.
Still, Kate denied him, sinking her teeth into the slope where his neck met his shoulder in order to muffle her keening. She twisted against him, grinding her cunt to his cock and he was helpless to resist retaliating in turn.
“You are obstinate,” he said, punctuating each word with a thrust. “Inflexible - unyielding - to good - common - sense! Why can you not just listen?”
“In comparison to you, I am the most pliant, flexible of women,” she cried in tones of outrage. “Why would I listen to someone as vexing and as foolish as you?” Her words were belied with the way she moaned as he grasped one firm breast and pulled at it with his teeth.
It was too much.
“Tell me you want this,” Anthony gasped. He was being swept away, far from the shore, past the point where he could turn back. “Tell me you want me.”
She did neither, though her hands, now freed, were urgently unbuttoning his fall. Her fist wrapping around his swollen length was better than he had imagined. “Tell me you want me,” she said and he watched, insensible as she began sliding her fist up and down his shaft, her thumb squeezing and stroking punishingly around his head.
Anthony was helpless to protest. “God, I want you,” he begged. “Kate, please.”
Her answering kiss was filthy, her tongue plundering his mouth in imitation of the act. She wrapped her legs around him as he threw up her skirts and lifted her, pinning her against the tree, notching his cock to her entrance.
“Please,” he said again, and she replied by lifting her hips so that he slid into her like an answer. There was no further hesitation then as he drove into her. Only when he had taken her from tip to root did she finally cry out from the fullness. Anthony could only groan in reply. She was hot and wet around him and he told her so, in broken little grunts as he thrust mindlessly into her. “God Kate,” he gasped. “I should be in you always. Forgive me - for staying away - I did not know - god, ah! - I did not know it would be like this -!”
Kate did not seem to hear him. Her hands were occupied, scratching down his back, around his neck. Her shoes dug into his ass.
“Your hair,” she choked out as he plunged into her again, and again, “is the most ridiculous thing.” She slid her hands into his hair and pulled. The noise he made was barely human. He felt raw and exposed. All he could think about was being sheathed within her. She was warm and here and now. For this moment at least, she belonged to him. Or he belonged to her. It was all the same really.
“Kate,” Anthony groaned as she clenched around him, fluttering and convulsing, as she came apart on his cock. “Kate!” It overwhelmed him then: her flesh milking his, her hands in his hair, her teeth on his skin - everything was Kate. His crisis was inevitable and inescapable, and he spilled into her, marking her like he had wished to do all evening. The last coherent thought he recalled was the fervent wish to hear his name on her lips, but this, she denied him. All she allowed him was her body. He had no claim over her heart.
For now, it was enough. He collapsed over her, covering her body with his own as she slumped against him in turn.
How long they remained like so, Anthony would not have been able to account. All his thoughts were for his wife, entwined as she was around him. Only when a noise further in the garden startled them, did he withdraw very reluctantly from her. Kate did not say a word, but set about tidying her attire though he could see that it was entirely a lost cause.
She looked thoroughly debauched, her skin scratched and raw from his teeth, her bosom swollen and heaving. For his part, he tucked himself quickly back into his breeches and buttoned his fall, though he was already half hard again from observing her dishabille. Swiftly, he shrugged himself out of his coat to cover her up; she accepted silently.
She had just finished pinning her hair back again - though she would fool nobody; she looked thoroughly tupped - when out of the darkness, two figures emerged. They were in a heated embrace, arms wrapped around each other tightly. It was Simon and Daphne. Simon - his best friend, the unrepentant rake - was kissing his sister .
“Unhand her at once,” cried Anthony. Simon jumped back as if stung, leaving Daphne, who was slower to react, reaching for thin air. “You villain!” His fist met Simon’s face, the impact blunt and shocking. Simon stumbled back, clutching his face. He made no effort to defend himself.
Kate’s grip on his wrist stopped him from hitting Simon a second time. “Keep your voice down,” she hissed. “You will attract others. Think of the scandal. Think of Daphne’s reputation.” Daphne was crying now, but the panic and rage had risen in his chest, and Anthony could think of nothing else but failure - how he had failed to protect Daphne, how he had failed yet another person in his life. But to look at Kate was to be grounded, and the hand she laid on his chest was stabilising. “Breathe,” she commanded and he was again helplessly bound to obey.
When the glaze had faded from the corners of his eyes, he turned back to Simon. Kate went to Daphne then, putting her arms around her and soothing her as she had him.
“You will marry her,” he said. His tone brooked no refusal. “You will restore her honour by marrying her.”
Simon still could not meet his eyes, but he lashed out anyway, sneering at the ground, “You are a hypocrite. It is all too clear what you are doing out here -“
”Do not disrespect my wife,” Anthony snapped. “I will not stand for it.”
Such was the force of his fury that Simon subsided at once.
”You will marry her at once,” Anthony repeated.
”I cannot,” Simon said. At his words, Daphne gasped, a little shattered sound which was immediately muffled in Kate’s embrace.
“Then I will demand satisfaction.” Anthony said. He felt very cold. Only moments ago he had been warm and sated in Kate’s embrace. Now Simon was physical proof of all he had done wrong.
“A duel?” Daphne gasped. “You cannot -“
”He dishonours you, sister,” Anthony interrupted emotionlessly. “He dishonours you and the very Bridgerton name. We will settle this as gentlemen.”
”I understand,” Simon said. He looked a stranger in this light.
“You would rather die than marry me?” Daphne said, sounding very small.
Simon glanced at her and for a moment a crack appeared in his impassive facade. His nose looked broken. His jaw fared no better. He opened his mouth as if to reply, but at that moment, Kate spoke harshly. “That will be enough of that. You will all bring ruin upon Daphne and your families if you continue so”
All parties turned to her. The silence was imploring. Only ruin lay ahead.
She relinquished Daphne to Anthony’s arms and extended her hand to Simon to help him off the ground. Placing her hand on his chin, she peered at the damage that Anthony had inflicted. “Mmm,” she said, patting him maternally on the shoulder. “That will bruise. You had better ice it.”
Simon grunted, but the crack Anthony had seen earlier had spread and splintered. In that moment, he looked no more than a broken child.
Kate was still holding his hand. “That will be enough of that,” she repeated. “There will be no need for anyone to duel. Simon, this is no matter to be taken lightly - whatever difficulties you may face, you will think upon tonight. I would urge you to consider what is in your heart - especially when it has been plain on your face for all to see. You will call on Daphne tomorrow to afford her the explanation you owe her.
‘But know that your decision will reflect on the value you place on Daphne’s person and know that if it is anything less than what she deserves, Anthony will not hesitate to hunt you down and maim you.” Glancing at Anthony, she recalled his hunting prowess and amended, “Or I will.”
‘Daphne, you will receive him tomorrow. You were not coerced or intruded upon if I am correct? Therefore, if the difficulties between you are mutually insurmountable I think it reasonable that we put an end to this. No one has seen, no one has been harmed, and it would be insupportable to tie you to an unequal marriage for one mistake. I will not allow it.
‘But if you love each other, as I suspect you do, I suggest you start acting so.”
Taking the quiet as acquiescence, she turned to Anthony then. He, like Simon, was staring at the ground, but under the lure of her gaze, he looked up. The moon loomed behind her. She looked very regal.
“Oh,” she said, as if the thought had just occurred to her. Nonchalant, like she wasn’t still dripping with his seed, like he hadn’t just fucked her full. “That’s what I was doing out here - looking for Daphne.”