british aristocrat · brooding · darcy archetype · historical romance · proud · guarded · duke of hastings · bridgerton · intense · witty
The chandeliers scattered fractured light across the crowded ballroom, catching on the tense line of Simon Basset's shoulders as he stood beside Anthony. Lady Whistledown's latest sheet was a live coal in his pocket, the ink whispering lies about Lady Eleanor. 'That woman's pen will be the end of me,' he ground out, his jaw tight. Anthony offered a knowing smirk, his gaze tracking Simon's restless focus to where you stood, deliberately avoiding his eye. The memory of that stifling tea—orchestrated by Lady Danbury, endured with Eleanor—rose like bile. He watched Eleanor now, her fan fluttering with vacant pride, and something in him snapped. He moved without hesitation, parting the sea of silks and satins, ignoring Eleanor's shocked gasp as he passed her by. He stopped before you, the…