Sweet Honour- Benedict Bridgerton

29. Heaven

Victoria continued to drown deeper and deeper into his touch, further and further from the surface with air leaking out of her lungs and no chance of respite. She had no desire to return to the surface at all. As they kissed she felt the most complete she had ever felt  in her life. It was like how the final brushstroke on the canvas brings the whole painting together, she saw her years with Benedict come to a needle point that made so much sense. She loved him, truly. 

As they pulled apart, they surveyed each others faces as if it was the first ever look. But they knew each other too well. Every dimple, eyelash, line and curve was familiar. 

Usually, after a kiss, Benedict knows what he wants. With other women his thoughts came to a simple conclusion, he was just a man after all. But this time his thoughts were far from his usual passionate dalliances. This time, as he watched her, he thought of the house they'd own together in Cornwall, by the seaside with lavender and peonies colouring their garden. He thought of waking her up every morning with tea and biscuits on her bedside table, the museums and countries they would visit together. His thoughts strayed as far as their possible children. A little girl tugged on Victoria's dress as she painted the seaside out of their window while Benedict taught a slightly older boy how to play pall mall in the garden. Eventually Victoria would saunter outside with the girl resting on her hip and tell the boys to come inside for tea before it gets cold. 

"Where are you?" His thoughts were interrupted by Victoria's delicate voice. "What place have you gone to in your head?" She reached up to brush away his hair from his forehead, as if it would give her a better view into his mind. 

"Heaven, I think." He whispered as he took her hand into his. 

"Whatever do you mean? You are quite well are you not?" Victoria was confused by his statement and reached her hand back up to his forehead, touching the back of her hand to his skin in the hopes he did not have a fever. Why else would he be thinking of heaven?

"I am well and fine." He reassured her. "You are right and it is no matter. I am just happy to be here with you and no one else." He took her hand for a second time. 

She nodded and turned her body round to face the window again, resting her head on his shoulder. She knew, that if she did not have anything else left in this world that she would still have him to rest upon, to confide in, to love. That is why their kiss did not worry her, and the same thought ran through Benedict's mind. 

Artists have rebelliance flowing through their blood, a sense of being unafraid of reprimand for the sake of love or meaning or poetry. If anyone saw them, they did not care. If it was in Whistledown with exclamation marks they would not care either. 

They sat and watched the moon get brighter until Benedict's pocket watch told them it was time to return home. The stroll to the carriage was done with them hand in hand and the journey consisted of Victoria's head laying on his lap as the night had tired her. He had taken every pin out of her hair to ensure no discomfort and his overcoat was bundled up as a makeshift pillow for her. He never thought he would move the earth for a girl but as he looked down, he knew that out of anyone, it would be her. He placed all of her pins in her purse as she slept and kept her body steady as they reached the cobblestoned streets of the Ton. 

He woke her up with a gentle kiss to the forehead and walked her up the gravel path to her door, making sure to keep quiet. 

"What happens now?" She whispered.

"Anything we want." He said. "Anything you want."

They bid each other goodbye with one last delicate kiss and away she went into her home. He walked back to the carriage and he knew what he had to do. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.