How To Love A Prince - A. Bridgerton

Chapter Eleven

With the return of the Viscount Bridgerton, the season has regained its full potential. Ladies, beware, he might make a great decision soon.

- Lady Whistledown's Society Papers May 1814

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As Anthony settled into the plush interior of the prince's carriage, the door closing with a definitive thud, he found himself enveloped in a silence that was both a relief and a burden. The vehicle began its journey back to London, the steady rhythm of the horses' hooves pounding through his body. The distance from the hunting lodge, from Edward, did little to ease Anthony's turmoil.

Staring out the window, watching the countryside blur past, Anthony's thoughts drifted inevitably back to the moments shared with Edward. The memory of their kiss, so unexpected yet profoundly stirring, lingered at the forefront of his mind. 

It was a moment that had shattered all pretence of indifference, revealing a depth of emotion Anthony had scarcely admitted even to himself. The shock of their lips meeting, the warmth that had briefly flared between them, the slither of desire, now felt like a distant dream, a nightmare even.

Anthony shifted uncomfortably, attempting to refocus on the tasks that awaited him in London. The ball, his search for a suitable wife, the endless cycle of engagements that filled his days; these were the realities of his existence. It was where he belonged, his true nature.

Yet, the memory of Edward's gaze, filled with hope and desperation, refused to be dismissed. It was a look that spoke volumes, revealing a vulnerability Anthony had never expected to see in the prince. And it had also unlocked a longing in him, a strange and wrongful urge to give in, to let the prince control him and his body. But it had only been a brief loss of control, a forbidden fit of curiosity, nothing more. At least he was trying to convince himself of that. And the dreams that had haunted his night's rest once again were just cataphysical testimony of that. Nacked bodies in silky sheets, tangled tightly, skin glistening in sweat while the Prince signed underneath him, his exquisitely formed body just as tempting as his former mistress's fair breasts, his cries of pleasure just as arousing.   He blamed it on curiosity, nothing more. A sinful thought as a result of the stress he was enduring. Perhaps even mixed in with the fear of marriage and leaving his rake life behind. He wasn't a sodomite nor a catamite, and his unnatural fantasies would pass eventually, at the very latest, when he found himself a new mistress to please his urges.

 Each turn of the wheels was a reminder of the distance he was putting between himself and the possibility of exploring those forbidden desires further. As London's grandeur came into view, marking the end of his journey back to the reality of his responsibilities, Anthony felt a tightening in his chest.

Anthony's mind was a tumult of conflicting emotions as he contemplated the evening ahead. The ball, with its glittering lights and throngs of people, would be different t to the quiet intimacy he had shared with Edward at the hunt. There, amidst the laughter and music, he would be expected to court and charm, to engage in the delicate dance of courtship that his position required as he was now desperate for.

 As Anthony stepped out, facing the apartment building, its grand facade was a familiar sight that offered no comfort. He was back in the world he knew, the first sense of ease that day.

He could perfectly imagine buzz at his family's house, the residents busy preparing for the ball. Servants scurried around, the excited chirping of his younger siblings and Eloise arguing with their mother. Thinking about them made his heart light as a feather.

Anthony slipped into his bachelor apartment, going to his bedroom to gather his thoughts in solitude as he readied himself for the ball. His reflection in the mirror gave him a sense of normalcy, a return to what was good and proper. The finely tailored suit and carefully styled hair were all masks that concealed the agitation within and made the world seem like nothing had happened at all. He practiced his smile, which would be expected of him throughout the night, content as it reached his eyes charmingly.  

The ball would be a test, a performance where he must play his part flawlessly, returning to the mind of the man he had to be and would make him forget about the unreasonable doubts and vivid windward passages his mind liked to wander. 

 Yet, beneath the surface, he couldn't help but wonder if the Prince was to attend the ball as well. 

But as the evening wore on, Anthony found himself calm and collected.  In the grand ballroom, filled with the elite of London society, Anthony Bridgerton was the very picture of a desirable bachelor, the pride and joy of his family.

The night unfolded as countless others had before, a blur of faces and names, polite laughter and meaningless flirtations while waiting for his opportunity to dance with Miss Sheffield, occasionally glancing around for a crowd that announced the arrival of a certain royal.

As the evening progressed and Edward's absence became increasingly apparent, Anthony felt a sense of bitter-sweet relief. The prince would not come; there would be no further confusion. 

 With Miss Sheffield on his arm, Anthony navigated the sea of aristocracy with ease. Her laughter was genuine, her conversation engaging, and for brief moments, Anthony allowed himself to enjoy the simplicity of the interaction, the uncomplicated nature of a courtship how it was supposed to be. He allowed himself to get lost in her blue eyes, to cherish the soft layers of fabric under his gloves as he twirled her around properly. He was a lady's man, the perfect match for marriage, and he and Edwina would live a full and loving life together as the heads of the family. And no sodomitical kiss from the Prince of England could do to ruin that bright future.