First Impressions // A Bridgerton Story

Chapter 9

"     This Author was, sadly, unable to determine all the details, but therewas a considerable to-do Thursday last at Hampton Court Palace, involving Viscount Bridgerton, Miss Sharma, the King of Spain, and the Emerald of this season.

This Author was not an eyewitness, but all accounts seem toindicate that no one emerged victorious. "

LADY WHISTLEDOWN'S SOCIETY PAPERS, 1 MAY 1814

He'd fallen asleep quickly upon returning home that evening. He'd stripped naked and soaked in a hot bath for nearly an hour, trying to remove the chill from his bones. After his bath he'd crawled into bed, not particularly caring that it was before his siblings and mother arrived back from the ball. It would be a good hour before they did.

He was exhausted, and he'd had every intention of falling into a deep, dreamless sleep, not to be awakened until the first streaks of dawn touched the morning. But sometime in the night, his body had grown restless and hungry. And his treacherous mind had filled with the most awful of images.

He'd watched it as if floating near the ceiling, and yet he felt everything... his body, naked, moving over a lithe female form; his hands stroking and squeezing warm flesh. The delectable tangle of arms and legs, the musky scent of two bodies in love, it had all been there, hot and vivid in his mind. And then he'd shifted.

Just the tiniest bit, perhaps to kiss the faceless woman's ear. Except as he moved to the side, she was no longer faceless. First appeared a thick lock of dark brown hair, softly curling and tickling at his shoulder. Then he moved even farther... And he saw her. Amelia Windsor.

He'd awakened in an instant, sitting bolt upright in bed and shaking from the horror of it. It had been the most vivid erotic dream he'd ever experienced. And his worst nightmare. He'd felt frantically around the sheets with one of his hands, terrified that he'd find the proof of his passion. God help him if he'd actually ejaculated while dreaming of quite the most awful woman of his acquaintance.

Thankfully, his sheets were clean, and so, with beating heart and heavy breath, he'd lain back against his pillows, his movements slow and careful, as if that would somehow prevent a recurrence of the dream. He'd stared at the ceiling for hours, first conjugating Latin verbs, then counting to a thousand, all in an attempt to keep his brain on anything but Amelia Windsor. And amazingly, he'd exorcised her image from his brain and fallen asleep.

In the early morning, the fruits of last night's labor were finally produced. His gift to be back in Amelia's good graces was prepared and ready to be brought and presented in front of her.

He had spent no little amount of money on it.

Anthony Bridgerton was very well aware of what money and power could do. Amelia Windsor lacked for neither, and she had in fact a lot more than himself. So giving a gift to a Princess, of England no less, was to be a challenge. If he wished for the gift to be truly a welcome surprise. A lot of thought went into it.

He thought of buying her perfumes to mask her rosy smell, perhaps a new dog as she mentioned liking those, perhaps countless new instruments for her to practice once and throw away because surely she had those already. She could have anything she wanted.

What would make him stand out?

Apparently any idea he had, Benedict could find a fault with.

"I need you to teach me how to read this out loud", Anthony ordered, storming into Benedict's painting room. It was early in the morning. Only his brother, Benedict, would be awake now.

"Byron?", Benedict asked, looking at the book that Anthony practically threw at him. "Did Amelia truly bewitch you so strongly that you are willing to read this?".