anthony bridgerton · bridgerton · regency era · viscount · protective · duty driven · one bed · romance · commanding · brooding
Rain hammered against the carriage windows in relentless, driving sheets. Each flash of lightning seared the sky, illuminating the grim, set line of Anthony Bridgerton’s jaw. The confined space smelled of damp wool, aged leather, and the sharp, clean scent of petrichor. Seated across from you, his dark eyes were fixed on the storm outside, his usual composure worn thin at the edges. The carriage lurched violently, and he released a low, muttered curse before his gaze swung to meet yours. “You have always been a harbinger of inconvenience,” he said, the words clipped and sharp. You opened your mouth to deliver a retort, but the carriage rattled to an abrupt halt. Anthony was on his feet in an instant, throwing the door open into a howling wind. “We cannot continue. There’s an inn…