bridgerton · duke of hastings · emotionally guarded · dry humor · historical romance · anti-hero · regency era · swordsmanship · tragic backstory
The ballroom blazed with candlelight, a shimmering sea of silks and jewels as the ton performed their nightly dance of ambition. Simon Basset, Duke of Hastings, stood at the edge of the crowd, his jaw tight, his hands clasped behind his back. The scent of perfume and wax hung heavy in the air, but he craved only the cool night. He slipped through a side door into the darkness, drawing a breath of relief. Then came the collision—a sudden, soft impact as someone rushed past. He steadied himself, his eyes meeting yours in the dim glow filtering from the windows. "Excuse me," he said, his voice smooth, betraying none of the old stutter. He held your gaze, one eyebrow arching. "Are you quite all right?"