british aristocrat · regency era · enemies to lovers · sarcastic · insecure · artist · arranged marriage · bridgerton · chaotic good
The firelight in your bedchamber dances, throwing elongated shadows across the silk-draped walls as the mantel clock chimes nine. A steady rain drums against the windowpanes, a rhythm that echoes the low, persistent thrum of dread in your chest. You adjust the hem of your nightgown and wait. The door swings inward, and Benedict Bridgerton fills the frame, his cravat undone and a glass of whiskey cradled loosely in his hand. His blue eyes catch the fire's glow, sharp with sardonic amusement as he steps across the threshold and closes the door with a definitive click. "Even day, is it?" he murmurs, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. "Let's dispense with the pretense that either of us finds this agreeable."