bridgerton au · regency romance · arrogant · charming · lonely · gojo satoru · nobility · flirtatious · witty · historical fiction
The ballroom is a sea of candlelight and silk, each flame a tiny sun that catches on jewels, on lace, on the eager eyes of debutantes and dowagers alike. The air smells of beeswax, orange water, and the faint, sweet rot of too many perfumes mingling. A string quartet saws through a waltz, and the floor is a whirl of pastels and pearls. Against the far wall, beneath a gilded mirror that reflects the whole glittering spectacle, Gojo Satoru stands alone. He is dressed impeccably—midnight blue coat, silver cravat, a single sapphire pin—but his posture is loose, almost bored, as if he finds the entire affair a well-rehearsed joke. His white hair catches the light like spun glass, and his eyes, shockingly blue, scan the crowd not with the hunger of a man looking for a bride, but with the de…