illicit affairs. | bridgerton

Chapter Three

⠀⠀Eyes had lingered silently as a mouse upon the lengthy stranger, head tilting slightly to the side as Ophelia began to become stuck in her spot, her mind racing. People? Perhaps even a neighbor . . . God, she hadn't signed up for people today. Without a second thought, Ophelia had begun to turn with a quick jolt, her gown beginning to tangle within the Bougainvillea flowering a pinkish shade just like her dress unbeknownst to her. So the young woman had, unsuccessfully, began to evade this handsome stranger until she felt the snag of her dress; soon, Ophelia had quietly cried out. Why now, of all times, did her curse of clumsiness make an appearance?
⠀⠀"No, please not now . . . Blasted thorns, blasted dress—" Gloved fingers now began to try and untangle the mess that had become the dress, frantic and purely unmotivated motions hadn't helped in the slightest. And just when she was about to curl up in the fabric of her dress in defeat, a voice had soon rung in her ears.
⠀⠀"It seems you've found yourself in quite the . . . predicament?" Eyes had shot up toward the source of the voice, only to find her sights set on man she'd seen just moments ago, trying to evade. Yet, here she was, in a predicament that she simply couldn't get herself out of— it seemed as if the odds had not been in her favour as of late. "May I assist you, my lady?" Silent eyes had still lingered upon the stranger's features, jaw slacked open in a pure moment of shock. What was she to say? Could she even muster a sentence? It was hard to think when the only thing she could even consider at the moment was the way that his eyes were like pure emeralds staring down at her . . . and then her gaze lowered to the mess in her delicate hands. Straightening her posture, Ophelia had quickly nodded her head with a silent smile of appreciation. She was already making a fool of herself, and she'd only set foot in her backyard.
⠀⠀The young man had soon found his way into the gate of the garden, looking about the grounds with curious eyes; those same spring eyes she had been seemingly lost in. With a gentle motion to move her hands from her dress, another strange affair had happened: it now seemed that the delicate lacing and beading of her gloved right hand had found itself entangled in the thorns. An almost overdramatic sigh had left, lifting and dropping her shoulders before the sun had become eclipsed by the man's sturdy frame.
⠀⠀"Well, that just won't do . . . Miss, may I . . .?" The man soon motioned to Ophelia's hand, trapped within the mess. Lashes had fluttered slightly as she responded with another quiet nod, eyes softened and glistening like full moons. And with a saccharine tone and a slight stutter, Ophelia had spoken her first words to this very helpful stranger.
⠀⠀"Th-Thank you, sir . . . I, uh, honestly am not sure what happened." Peony lips had curled into a warm, courteous smile— one that had been practiced over countless hours in her bedroom vanity— and the blonde had soon looked up toward his own eyes once more.
⠀⠀"Unfortunate things seem to happen all the time, don't they?" A slight smile formed on his lips as he glanced into her eyes, brows flickering inward in a motion that was undeniably subtle but reflected curiosity. "You're very I just left my family's garden—" Ah, so he is been one of our newest neighbours, she thought to herself. But this new discovery had been interrupted by the feeling of warm hands entrapping her own as a flutter flooded her chest. "Or you'd be stuck here for ages, wouldn't you?" A quick flash of green met opalescent eyes, followed by a slight smirk before his eyes returned to the glove in the thorns.
⠀⠀"Well, I suppose that would be true, sir. Thank you . . . I'm indebted to you." Through short moments of struggle, Colin had soon taken his own gloves off in desperation to not find himself trapped as well.
⠀⠀"Well, I'll certainly keep that in mind but . . . wouldn't it be better to be indebted to somebody you know, at least?" Ah, yes— there hadn't exactly been a true introduction between the two of them. But . . . it had been considered of poor etiquette if they had not been properly introduced, yet Ophelia couldn't help but agree. After all . . . who would know of such introductions?
⠀⠀"I suppose that is true . . . Once you've helped me out of these thorns, we must become properly, well, introduced." Ophelia had chuckled quietly, cheeks flushing unbeknownst to her. But, upon the struggle of the glove and trying to not break the intricate designs within its structure, Ophelia had offered to deglove her own hand, albeit not her first option upon meeting a man for the very first time. But, before a vocal answer left his lips, strong hands had begun to gently remove Ophelia's hand from the glove in the bush. The feeling of his fingers pressed so carefully against her arm had left burning fingerprints, fireworks sparking from every point of contact. Ophelia's breath had hitched within her lungs, eyes soon darting away from any eye contact she could muster— what was this feeling? It was unladylike, to say the least. Soon, fingertips had begun to trace up and down her forearm, seemingly examining it for any injuries before a hand swallowed her own with a delicate manner.
⠀⠀"Not a single nick on you, miss. I had to make sure of it myself." The man had soon dropped her hand and begun to work at the glove, it being much easier to release once Ophelia's hand had been removed. Ophelia had slipped her other glove off, momentarily, as to watch him and try to even out the sensation she felt from his touch. Perhaps it would help her cool down a bit. But in a moment of peace, a wince of pain left the man's lips, retracting both the glove and his hand from the bush beside them. Ophelia had quickly sat up, the stranger lifting his finger to his lips as to suck the blood that was beading on the tip. Wandering eyes followed the finger before Ophelia had began to reach her hands out to carefully cradle his hand within hers, bottom lip jutting out slightly before she had noted the thorn within his skin, embedded just slightly below the surface.
⠀⠀"Bloody thorns . . ." The man had furrowed his brows together between his eyes, eyes shutting as she grabbed his hand to take the closer look. This was the closest she'd ever been to a man in private, and it felt as if at any moment, she'd been caught up in a scandal her father would surely scorn her about.
⠀⠀"Here . . ." Soft hands had slowly but surely began to pluck the small thorn from the rough skin of his own, eyes darting from the wound to the stranger's features. And at one point, she had caught his green hues with a quick look back toward the two of their hands— both ungloved, so gentle and caring toward the other without an inkling of who the other was. If anybody had seen them . . . and just like that, Ophelia had pulled the thorn out and tossed it into the bush before noting the blood beginning to bead upon his finger once more, soon bringing one of her gloves to his finger without a second thought, gently pressing it.
⠀⠀"But—" The man had begun to interject, but Ophelia had shaken her head, now bringing their eyes to meet again.
⠀⠀"It's quite alright . . . we can always have them treated for the stain. I'm more worried about your finger . . . You poor thing." Ophelia's voice had softened, and the concern had showed upon features that were gently rounded. The man's lips curled into a slight smile before he tilted his head, eyes locked upon Ophelia's features in a manner that she'd never seen before. But she enjoyed it.
⠀"You're very . . . very lovely, my lady. A-And I do apologize if I've overstepped in my speaking, but I just had to mention this to you. You're truly caring. It's admirable and hard to find, even outside of London." Brows had quickly quirked at the comment, a lovely smile spreading across the woman's face as she looked to see if the bleeding had stopped. One of the things she'd learned from her mother was the simple things, such as ways to soothe small injuries such as these. She'd always said that it was a necessary piece of information. . . after all, you never knew who you would meet.
⠀⠀"Thank you, sir . . . Truly, kinder words have never been spoken." The man's eyes had softened himself, lids lowering subtly as he watched her remove the glove. "Good as new."
⠀⠀A small nod of thanks had been exchanged, the man suddenly without words for the first time in their encounter; it was strange how the tables had turned. Yet, this silence had been filled with something that filled the air with a honey-like thickness, words unspoken and thoughts silently tucked away. Ophelia couldn't help but watch as he silently began untangling her dress, her hands beginning to anxiously pick at the threads within her gloves, still not gracing her hands. Had it been something she'd said? Something she'd done? Surely this was an impractical and inappropriate way to meet, and perhaps he'd understood the repercussions. Within this silence, the sudden buzz of a pollen covered bee had begun to fill the air, small wings carving a path between the two of them and landing on one of the higher flowers in the bush, the only witness to this meeting. A slight motion of fear had been made by the stranger, Ophelia placing an apprehensive yet kind touch against the man's forearm to reassure him they would be safe, quickly being retracted. But soon enough, Ophelia's dress had been freed from its prison, and the man had stood up, offering a still ungloved hand toward her.
⠀⠀"Thank you, I truly cannot thank you enough . . . It was quite the unforeseen event today, but . . . I am grateful you happened to be strolling past." As she was pulled up with light ease from the man, a flush of heat flooded her pale skin. She wasn't always this uncouth upon first meetings, yet . . . this felt strangely comfortable to her. What if he's coupled with a lovely woman, don't think that way— how unladylike. But in the midst of her inner narrative, the sudden feeling of lips pressing against the back of her hand had pulled her full attention to the man, who had been glancing up at Ophelia with a silent fire in his eyes that she felt sparking embers within her stomach.
⠀⠀"You must not thank me . . . It's my own pleasure. Colin Bridgerton . . ." And yet another kiss had been placed to her knuckles, the smile trying to tug at the corner of her lips. Colin . . . Colin Bridgerton. Brdgerton? That had been so familiar . . . But, with the utmost grace and remembrance of her etiquette, Ophelia had now begun to lower herself into a curtsy, hand still draped within Colin's own, eyes never leaving the fixed position they'd found themselves in.
⠀⠀"Ophelia Wynn . . . well, it was quite the pleasure meeting you today, Mr. Bridgerton. However unfortunate it was at first glance." A light laugh had left their lips, something in them not wanting to remove their hands from one another in the moment, lashes fluttering as Ophelia began to think. "There's to be a ball soon and . . . will I be seeing you there, Mr. Bridgerton?" A pang hit Ophelia's heart as she finished her sentence, regretting her outward boldness. But, after Colin had blinked in what seemed to be surprise, he had relaxed his features into a subtle smile.
⠀⠀"I'll be seeing you there, hopefully, Miss Wynn . . . And unfortunate things seem to bring the brightest things right along with it, sometimes. Well—" With another delicate kiss and the release of Ophelia's hand, Colin had begun to drink her in just one more time before finishing his thought. "Perhaps we shall see each other sooner, seeing as you've seemingly moved next door. I knew I'd not seen you around Grosvenor Square before . . . Until next time, Ophelia." Ophelia had now bowed her head toward Colin, then nodding in agreement before she had begun to retreat to her new home, glancing back to see him locking the gate and taking his own final glance at the intriguing woman he'd just met. And as Ophelia made her way into the house, slipping her gloves on quick as a whip, she had only one question:
⠀⠀What the hell had just happened?