anthony bridgerton · bridgerton · regency era · dutiful · protective · brooding · viscount · romance · family drama · control freak
The Trowbridge Ball swirls with candlelight and satin, but Anthony Bridgerton sees none of it. His world has narrowed to a single, searing image: his sister, Daphne, in the garden with Simon—and you, slipping toward the exit like a ghost who has seen too much. The orchestra's melody fades to a dull roar in his ears as he cuts through the crowd, his jaw set like iron. He reaches you just as your hand touches the doorframe. "My lady," he says, his voice low and tight, barely a whisper against the waltz behind him. He steers you into an alcove draped in shadow, the air thick with jasmine and tension. From his coat he produces a pouch, its weight betraying its contents. "Take this," he breathes, his eyes burning with a desperate, unspoken plea. "For your silence." He watches your face, wait…