Chapter Text
Like the unfinished seams of a hastily sewn dress hidden for all but the wearer, the backstage area of the Covent Garden Opera House was not for the faint of heart. Kate took a breath as she stepped over the threshold of the hidden side theatre door, noticing even how the smell from front of house to back was markedly different.
Dust motes danced in the dim light, and unfinished wooden walls surrounded her, as did random piles of fabrics, bags of sand, bits of broken furniture, and lengths of rope. Kate thought that if she had not known where she was, by the looks of things, she would not have been able to guess.
Taking a breath to clear her nerves, Kate stepped forward, looking from the door behind her toward the path ahead.
“Come on, Clara,” Kate prompted the maid behind her dressed in red satin livery, who tentatively stepped into the dusky backstage entrance. The red of Lady Danbury’s house was difficult to miss and Kate feared someone may step into the theatre might notice her by way of Clara’s livery if they took too long.
“Are you sure we should be back here, miss?” her maid asked, face paling slightly at the sight of the heavy sandbags suspended on wooden hooks on the wall.
“Yes, yes,” Kate responded half-heartedly as she moved quickly toward where she thought the dressing rooms would be located. In the safety of the dark space, she found herself past caring if the maid followed or not.
Turning a corner, Kate breathed a sigh of relief when she saw an open door, and behind it, a range of ornate curtains strung up on a wall to give the look of an expensive boudoir. Approaching the entrance, Kate could see a woman sitting at a vanity putting pins in her hair.
“Excuse me,” Kate prompted, bending forward so only her head entered the room. “I am sorry for interrupting.”
The woman turned and regarded her warmly. She had lustrous brown hair pinned into neat curls, dark eyes, a kind smile, and wore a deep wine velvet dress. “What can I do for you?” she asked and Kate noted that while she looked like a gentle lady, she spoke with a rougher accent.
“I am Miss Sharma,” Kate said, keeping her voice calm as she tentatively stepped over the threshold into the woman’s dressing room. “I apologise for barging in on you like this—I have a question if you have a moment.”
“Miss Sharma, are you a fan?” the woman asked as she stood and smoothed her skirts.
“I am sorry, but no,” Kate responded apologetically, feeling her cheeks burn. “Not that I would not be! I have not been to the opera yet this season.”
“Oh, my apologies, I am Miss Rosso,” the woman said, stepping forward to take Kate’s hand briefly.
“Of course, I have seen you on the posters.” Kate was happy to take her hand, but she needed to get to business. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Clara fidgeting nervously outside the door. They would likely be dragged out soon by the men that worked the doors.
With a resigned sigh, Kate began to explain, “a young miss disappeared from this opera house recently, you may have spoken with a Bow Street magistrate. They believe she was taken backstage before being dragged onto the streets.”
“I heard about this,” Siena responded, her voice soft now as her brow wrinkled prettily. “Did you know her?”
“I did not, but she is not the first one to disappear. My sister is particular friends with another that went missing from a public ball last week.” At the mention of Edwina’s friend Lily Markham, Kate’s heart rate sped up. They had visited Lily just that morning, and the way her attacker had maimed her, was not something Kate could allow herself to dwell on.
“Did you see anything suspicious? Or have any idea how he may have taken her? Are there secret exits?” Kate asked. She willed her nerves not to show and to stay the trembling in her hands by clasping them tightly before her. When she had set upon this mission, to do more than Bow Street had been willing, she had not anticipated how difficult it might be to speak to witnesses.
“Oh…” Miss Rosso said as her eyes seemed to unfocus. “I was on stage when it happened,” she explained, to which Kate’s heart dropped in her chest, though she was grateful that this singer seemed interested in helping.
“There is a door, though,” Miss Rosso supplied, her eyes lighting up. “Certain gentlemen often use it to sneak backstage when the doors are locked, while the show is on. I am unsure if the investigators know of it.”
—
Knowledge of this secret door secured in her notebook, Kate tucked it into her reticule, bid Miss Rosso adieu, and pulled Clara from the row of dressing rooms. This meant that the perpetrator did not necessarily need to purchase a ticket that evening, which widened her pool of suspects.
The sound of footsteps and a gentleman’s voice nearby gave her pause and Kate pulled her maid with her behind an old dusty curtain. She froze, holding her breath as she watched through a crack in the fabric as the man approached Miss Rosso’s door.
There was an intensity to his eyes that she could feel all the way down to her toes. His jaw clenched as he stared at the opera singer and suddenly Kate had the urge to approach him and prod at him, to get him to grind his teeth further. Clara tugged at her arm, willing her to flee from their hiding place, but Kate could not make herself move. There was something about this gentleman that gave her pause, kept her frozen in place as she watched him.
As Clara’s pulling became too insistent to ignore, Kate shook herself out of her stupor and moved to leave. Just as she shifted to the balls of her feet, the sound of Miss Russo’s voice halted her movement. Kate hesitated, straining to hear, though she could not discern her words.
“I wanted to see you,” the man said, his voice deep and clear, hitting Kate square in her chest. He stood outside the door, gazing at Miss Russo with half-lidded eyes, his top hat and gloves hanging lazily in one hand.
When he stepped into the dressing room, Kate leaned forward to not lose sight of him, quite enjoying the look of him with his hand-roughened hard, dark velvet coat, white breeches, and tall hessian boots. She leaned forward further, nearly pressed up against the curtains as she tried to hear the conversation over the pounding of her heart. She quickly ascertained, with the speed and volume of the words exchanged between Miss Russo and the gentlemen, that they were arguing.
“And everything a woman in my position might want!” Miss Rosso said, feigning delight as she marched out of her dressing room and approached the steps on the opposite side. The gentleman, looking very unhappy, followed after her. Kate pushed Clara deeper behind the curtain, her heart racing for fear that they would be noticed.
“Your vindictiveness is noted—“
“The duke has not called on me,” Miss Rosso retorted, cutting the man off from where she stood on the stairs. “And I am not consorting with any friend of yours. Though I must say, it is not surprising in the least to know that you are only here because you are jealous.”
Something about her words rang in Kate’s chest, and the destroyed expression on the man’s face made her feel for him. She did wonder though, who had cut off this liaison between the two, and if she had to guess, Kate would say it was the gentleman.
“I am not here because I’m jealous,” the man responded quickly as she shook his head, his loose curls drifting down into his eye though he did not brush them away.
“Goodbye, my lord,” Miss Rosso said loudly as she turned on the steps and made to step away.
When the lord reached out to stop her, Kate could feel it in her own gut, his longing for that woman. “I’m here because I miss you!” he said, taking a step up and pressing himself to her back. “I cannot think of anything else, Siena. Come back to me.”
When he bent to kiss the woman’s cheek, Kate backed from the curtain, feeling her own cheeks flush. She knew she should not have tarried and now she spied upon a private moment she did not wish to see.
She thought she heard them kissing, but gasped when there was a shuffling and a shoving sound.
“Your position in life remains unchanged,” Miss Rosso said angrily. “And so, too, does mine. You are the viscount. Your responsibility will always be to that title, above all else. You shall marry, sire an heir, and guard your family. And I… I shall always be the woman you may love in darkness.”
“No,” the viscount muttered desperately.
“But never in the light of day,” Siena continued as if he had not spoken. “You have made me promises before, and I, like a fool, believed them. I cannot be your fool again.”
Kate then heard marching up the stairs and assumed Miss Rosso was gone. After a minute of silent waiting, Kate let out a resigned sigh and stepped from the curtain, dragging Clara with her.
Her heart leapt in her chest when the man from earlier, the viscount, stood there facing her, his jaw hanging open from where he still perched at the base of those steps.
“My apologies my lord,” Kate said quickly, making a fast curtsey, her face burning, before dragging Clara with her into the depths of the backstage area.
“Wait,” the man called out, his boots clicking against the boards as he followed her at a quick pace. “Did you hear all of that?” he called out, but Kate did not stop.
“Come, Clara,” she said nervously, turning behind them to find the man still following. It struck her in that moment—was he the one that had been mutilating those girls? Her chest constricted, fear pushing her to move faster, Kate and Clara turned a corner, and Kate groped for where the secret door Miss Rosso told her about was located.
When she turned the knob, she gave a little yelp, and pulled Clara through, shutting it firmly behind her. If he was the attacker, he would likely know of the door, and being that he was Miss Rosso’s lover, he likely also knew it was there from his liaisons. Unwilling to turn back, Kate pulled her maid from a dank alley, keeping the theatre to her right as they raced over the cobbles.
She could hear the secret door open behind them but did not hear the telltale signs of the gentleman’s boots, meaning he did not give them chase. When they turned a corner onto a busy thoroughfare, Kate breathed a sigh of relief and finally released Clara’s hand.
—
‘ Viscount?? ’ Kate wrote in her notebook on the carriage ride home to Lady Danbury’s estate. Her heart thundered in her chest again as she thought of him, a most curious reaction to be sure, but she did not think it was him. Lily had described a heavy-set man wearing white gloves, with bushy mutton chops, and though this viscount did sport that fashion, the perpetrator’s side whiskers were supposedly grey.
No, this must have been a chance encounter, though it was something Kate decided to file away to think on for later. He appeared every bit the heartbroken romance hero and she thought it might be fun to picture him as she read one of her latest serials. Perhaps she would try to sketch him after all of this was said and done.
“We must get you changed for tea with Lady Danbury,” Clara said, huffing out an awkward laugh as she squeezed her hands tightly in her lap. It was clear that her maid had not enjoyed their little sojourn, though Kate could not entirely blame her. With a sigh, she directed her attention out the window to the neighbourhood of St. James as the houses began to fly by.
—
It was a good thing that Edwina would not debut until the following year.
There had been no new attacks of late, but Kate did not love the idea of risking her sister’s health and safety by escorting her to balls and muscles, with only women as her guardians. Since her father’s passing, Kate had never felt the need for a man in her life, but suddenly with this attacker about, she wished there had been someone close that at least knew the basics of self-defence. Suddenly she pictured that impassioned viscount from the other day but shook the thought aside.
Focusing on the notebook in front of her, Kate took a small sip of weak English tea and tried not to grimace. She poured over the notes she had amassed and considered all she knew about the perpetrator.
The attacker was around five foot five or six, was of older age, at least old enough to have grey hair, was heavy-set, had a refined accent, and always wore white gloves. A copy of Debrette’s at her side, Kate stared at the list of names and wondered if this man would be married or not. She thought not but was unsure why she leaned that way.
“Excuse me, miss,” Lady Danbury’s butler said, interrupting Kate from her thoughts. “There is a gentleman here to call on you. Lady Danbury and your mother are out but I have asked Clara to sit in with you.”
The butler, Mr Smith, motioned with his hand and Clara stepped in, a nervous look on her face, before settling down in a chair on the opposite side of the room. Mr Smith then stepped back and motioned to someone outside the door. “Lord Bridgerton, Miss,” he said, then bowed and excused himself.
Kate rose quickly from her seat. She did not know Lord Bridgerton, per se, but she recognized the name from the scandal sheets. When the man strode through the door, Kate’s heart dropped into her stomach and she had to grip her chair-back hair to keep from swaying on her feet.
“Miss Sharma, I presume?” he smirked, bowing his head slightly at her, both of his hands clasped behind his back.
“Viscount Bridgerton,” Kate said, her breath shuddering as she curtsied in his direction. Gesturing toward the tea table where her notebook sat, she quickly flipped it closed and bade him sit. She had a sudden wish that she had tracked down who the viscount was before he had her, but it was too late for that now.
“How did you find me?” she asked as she reached for the teapot. She knew a proper lady would ask him if he wished for tea first, but did not feel as though she owed this man any of the normal proprieties, realising the folly of her actions as she poured him a cup.
Taking the cup and saucer, Lord Bridgerton sat at the same moment Kate did.
“Miss Rosso gave me your name, after some prodding,” he supplied, reaching for a slice of lemon on the tea tray. Kate watched his hands as he squeezed it, his nails turning white for a moment, the tip of his thumb bending back from the force. She thought he had nice hands, but then dashed the silly thought away.
“You wish to silence me?” Kate asked, both of her hands locked on her notebook, her own tea ignored at her side. She looked to Clara for a moment, just in case she needed to send her a secret message to send for help.
The man had the gall to laugh. Cup in hand, he sat back in his seat and regarded her with prying and lascivious eyes. “Silence you? To what purpose? Would you report this to the writers of the scandal sheets? This Whistledown? There is nothing that they do not already know.”
Grinding her teeth, Kate sat back in her own chair and examined him. He was showing the type of confidence that these English gentlemen seemed to be born into, but there was a tenseness in his shoulders and his eyes that belied this. No, there was something more brewing below the surface when it came to this man.
“Then what do you want?” she asked, biting the inside of her cheek to try to not give him even an inch.
“Siena explained that you are not a fan of the opera. I wish to know why you were there,” he pressed, brows raised as he took a sip of his tea. He seemed to enjoy it and Kate had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. His kind would, she thought sardonically, the English had no real discernible taste when it came to food and drink.
“And what makes you think I would tell you?” she responded, tilting her chin up at him and trying to affect a look of indifference and superiority. Kate thought of Queen Charlotte on the day of her coming out earlier that year—she had sat on the dais with an imperiousness and authority and Kate tried to set her shoulders in a similar way.
“I am a close family friend of Lady Danbury, I am sure she would be interested to know why you have dragged one of her maids to Covent Garden midday,” he countered, his brows raised, one corner of his lips turned up in triumph. Glancing toward the maid in question, Anthony smirked. “And I believe your maid would sing like a canary when pressed and then be summarily dismissed.”
Widening her eyes at Kate, Clara turned away and looked toward the empty hearth. Shame burned in her gut as she watched a blush creep across Clara’s cheeks. Kate closed her eyes as a sudden wave of regret washed over her for putting the poor girl’s employment at risk for asking her to keep this secret.
Lady Danbury’s wrath Kate could handle. Turning Clara out on the streets she could not. Opening her eyes again, she let out a frustrated sigh, met the gentleman’s gaze, and slid her notebook in his direction. “I am investigating the recent attacks upon the three young debutantes.”
Abruptly shifting to sit up in his chair, Lord Bridgerton put his teacup down upon the saucer with a clatter and reached for the notebook, his brow going low with concern. “You cannot be serious.”
“Magistrates from Queen Square and Bow Street think it is a trifle and the ton are turning their backs on those poor young women,” Kate explained, quick to justify her actions, though she reminded herself that she did not care what this man thought.
“You put yourself at risk,” Lord Bridgerton countered, opening the notebook, eyes scanning the criminal profile Kate had jotted down. “Are you not a debutante yourself?”
“I am hardly desirable prey at five and twenty,” Kate responded with a laugh. “All three of his victims are eight and ten.”
“Hardly desirable…” Lord Bridgerton said with a huff, his eyes scanning her face. With a shake of his head, he turned back to the notebook. “You cannot do this alone with just your maid. It is not safe.”
“I am not going to desist, when no one else will protect these girls, and besides he does not kill them,” Kate bit back, impassioned and incensed that this stranger thought he could stop her.
“Please do not tell me you do not mind if you are assaulted as those girls were. And besides, I do not wish for you to desist,” he responded, eyes still locked on the notebook as he turned a page.
“Then what do you mean?” Kate asked, leaning forward to see what he read.
“I mean that I will join you.”
—
“Are you certain this is where the report said the girl was found?” Lord Bridgerton asked, tying his horse to a nearby branch.
“Yes,” Kate said tersely as she dismounted her chestnut mare and led her to where Lord Bridgerton had hobbled his horse. He held out his hand expectantly, and when she did not move, he raised an eyebrow at her. With resigned a sigh, Kate handed him her horse’s reins and allowed him to tie the mare to the same branch.
“Where did you get this information?” He asked as he considered their surroundings, his eyes darting along the rough scrub plants and dirt below the forest canopy. It was early, barely past sunrise, and the golden rays of morning light filtered gold and milky through the towering tree branches surrounding them.
“I bribed a Bow Street Runner,” Kate admitted softly as she turned away from him, feigning interest in a low-hanging branch.
“You did what?” Lord Bridgerton asked, aghast. When Kate looked toward him, his eyes were wide, the whites of them stark in the morning light.
“He is a brother of Lady Danbury’s butler, Mr Smith,” Kate said as if that was justification for spending all of her pin money for the information.
“How did you even—,” he began to say but cut himself off, shaking his head. Looking around, he sighed and held his arms out. “There is nothing here. I should take you home.”
“You may go if you wish,” Kate responded, feeling a tightening in her gut at the man’s contrariness. Unwilling to look him in the face, Kate pushed through a few rhododendron branches and stopped short.
“Miss Sharma, truly this is indecent,” Lord Bridgerton remarked as he followed her, then stopped short by her side.
Before them stood an iron door set into a stone burrow, the lock pried off, sitting rusty on the ground.
“Surely a Bow Street Runner broke the lock,” Kate said faintly, her heart beginning to race.
“Surely,” Lord Bridgerton said softly from her side.
“Nothing for it, then.” Kate took a breath, girding herself, as she stepped forward and reached for the handle.
“Miss Sharma!” Lord Bridgerton baulked as he reached forward and pulled her back, his grip on her arm feeling like a hot brand on her skin. She stumbled back and instantly cursed herself for not being more steady on her feet as her back collided with Lord Bridgerton’s front, sending a shock of sparks through her belly before he pulled away as if nothing had occurred. “You must allow me to take the lead.”
Tossing a quick look at him over her shoulder, Kate stepped back and gestured toward the door, hoping that her hand did not shake from the surprise of his body pressed to hers. She had a sudden flash of him pressing himself to Miss Rosso’s back and had to suppress the shiver that rolled across her body. Luckily, Lord Bridgerton was none the wiser and did not spare her a glance before he opened the door and slowly stepped inside. With his back to her, Kate took a steadying breath and shifted her focus back to their task.
Beyond the door was a rickety wooden staircase that led into an old catacomb, the walls secured with bricks, old dusty coffins on either side inset into narrow hutches. Stepping down onto the dirt floor inside, Kate’s heart contracted. She had been inside the catacombs in Rome, on her family’s journey from India to England through the Mediterranean, and it had a similar smell. She had never wished to know what human bones smelled of and was suddenly reminded that she wished to erase the odour from her memory entirely.
“He must have taken her through here,” Lord Bridgerton remarked, stepping forward to look at one of the coffins. The dust was undisturbed. Before them, however, was a dark hallway, and on either side of it sat unlit metal lanterns.
“Do you have a tinder box?” Kate asked, reaching for a lantern. When she pulled it back, a line of cobwebs hung from it and she bit back the yelp that had started to surface in her throat. The good news was that it was heavy with oil, the sound of it sloshing a welcome noise.
“You truly wish to do this?” the man asked, reaching tentatively for the other lantern. Kate could not read his expression, but even in their short association, she knew his brow would be furrowed.
“I do,” she said, mustering as much confidence as she could, turning to face him. If she had been alone she would have swiftly turned back and investigated another avenue. Kate was unsure if she wished to proceed because she had Lord Bridgerton at her side, or because she wished to prove to him that she was unafraid.
With a resigned sigh, Lord Bridgerton withdrew something from his pocket, a tinder box she assumed, and lit both of their lanterns.
—
It had been twenty minutes of walking slowly through the rows of catacombs until they connected with an old sewer tunnel, the runnels for water long dry. Kate was thankful that the smell of bones was gone, but she truly had no idea where they were. Nervously, she looked back, hoping they could track their steps back to the entrance they had found that morning.
“There has been no trace of anything,” Lord Bridgerton remarked, holding his lantern up as he led the way through their current path.
“I wish to know where this leads,” Kate responded, waving her lantern before her, and examining the brick pathway below their feet.
“You are quite stubborn,” the man said under his breath as he forged on.
“Twenty more minutes,” Kate said, trying to infuse a note of kindness into her voice, hoping that would entice him to stay. She knew if the viscount decided to turn back, she would have no recourse but to follow him. “Please.”
Lantern held aloft, Lord Bridgerton turned to face Kate and nodded. “Twenty more minutes,” he agreed before turning around to continue their current path.
“I do not think you are doing this out of the kindness of your heart,” Kate remarked as she followed him, a dank dripping sound heard ahead that gave her hope that this tunnel had an end.
Letting out a huff of air, Lord Bridgerton’s shoulders sagged momentarily. “You are not the only one dissatisfied with Queen's Square and the ton’s reaction to these attacks.”
“And your sister is newly on the marriage mart,” Kate supplied, proud that she at least knew this about him, though the entirety of good society knew his sister had been named the diamond that season.
“And because of my sister,” he confirmed, still pressing forward. “If anything happened to her and I did not—. I am sure it is much the same for you.”
“Yes.” Kate’s voice was so soft she was barely sure she had even spoken, but she could see Lord Bridgerton nod in understanding, though he did not turn to her.
“Aha,” he said a moment later, pausing to stare ahead. Pushing past his shoulder in the cramped space, Kate could see the outline of a doorway in the distance.
“Where do you think it leads?” she asked, picking up her pace as the viscount sped toward it.
“I highly doubt any Bow Street Runners ventured this deep,” he said as he approached and shone his light through the bars in the door, trying to discern what was behind it. Looking through, Kate could see the faint outline of another wooden staircase.
Meeting Kate’s eyes, Lord Bridgerton gave her a resigned look before he reached for the handle and pushed, wincing when it gave with a rusty squeal. Once inside, the door behind them snapped closed with a crash, and when Kate raced for it, she realised with some anxiety that the interior knob had been sheared off.
“I do not think we will be able to return this way,” Lord Bridgerton said, as he ran his hands along the edges of the doorway, finding it completely flush with the wall. He grabbed at the bars that made a small window and pulled, grunting with the effort. It would not give. “I think it has locked behind us.”
With a sinking feeling that this may have been a mistake, Kate turned toward the wooden staircase and held her lantern aloft. There was a door at the top, this one too was closed, but it had a handle.
“Wait here,” the viscount ordered as he climbed the steps quickly. He paused at the door for a moment before reaching for the latch. It would not give. He shoved his shoulder into it with force but it stayed firmly shut. “Blast,” he said under his breath before he marched back down the steps.
“There must be some other way out,” Kate remarked, looking about the chamber now, her heart starting to race in her chest.
—
They were trapped.
There was no other way out, both doors shut firmly, and no amount of banging or yelling had attracted any help.
After what felt like an hour of trying to reach her arm through the small barred window of the first door, to grasp at the outside knob, Kate had made no progress and had come away with an aching arm. Resigned, Kate fully twisted the knob on her lantern to turn it off and save the oil, and set it upon a stone bench that was inset into one of the walls.
Lord Bridgerton sat on an opposite bench, staring at the dirt floor beneath them, his eyes unfocused. His lantern was still lit beside him but turned low to conserve the fuel, which cast a gentle but dim light about the place.
“I am sorry for leading us here,” Kate whispered after an hour of silence. The lack of sound around them unnerved her, the dead and undisturbed quiet feeling oppressive in her ears. She was not accustomed to such silence.
“I am the one that should be sorry, I should have been more cautious,” Lord Bridgerton responded, the soft glow of his dimmed lantern casting shadows on his face.
Once the oil was out they would be sitting in the pitch dark. Kate thought it must have been midday, the sun high in the sky, and yet not a wit of the light breached that place.
Kate knew a man could survive three days without water. Perhaps it would not be so awful to go this way from thirst.
“At least you have lived a life,” Kate remarked as she leaned into the dusty stone wall behind her. It did not matter now if she dirtied her dress. She could lay in the soil below their feet if she wished.
“Pardon?” Lord Bridgerton asked.
“Do you love the opera singer, Miss Rosso?” Kate asked, her heart racing at a staccato pace with the question. She could feel her little reticule beside her and the outline of her notebook. It all seemed so silly now.
“I…” he croaked out, his voice fading out before he confessed something that surprised Kate. “Siena has made me realise that I do not rightly know what love is.”
“But there was passion, I could see it,” Kate responded, her voice softening. “I have not even had passion.”
“What are you saying?” he asked quickly and Kate wished she could see his features more clearly, to see what emotions were flitting across his face. He was a handsome man and she thought at least she would have his beauty to look upon before she died.
“We will die down here.” Kate’s voice was soft as she responded and she found herself surprised at how level it was. The idea of death, it should tear at her, but it did not. She wondered if it was because she had been faced with death so frequently at such a young age.
Lord Bridgerton did not respond, however, sometime later, he rose from her seat on the opposite side of the room and sat beside her.
“Are you cold?” he asked, his voice kind. The sound of him so close to her side sent a shiver through Kate’s body.
“A little,” Kate responded, realising that the cold from the stone bench had soaked through her skirts and deep into her skin.
She heard a shuffling of clothes, and then in the low lamplight, Kate saw him hold up his coat. It was velvet and Kate remembered that in the light of day, it had been purple, her favourite colour.
“Thank you,” she said softly as she took it, standing to drape it around her shoulders, immediately feeling the warmth from his body. She was grateful for the tails when she sat, they cushioned her from the cold stone beneath her.
Then his scent assaulted her senses. There was the sharp tang of sweat, but she could also discern tea, lemon, something like a men’s aftershave, and perhaps cedar from where it had been stored. It was overwhelming and dizzying and Kate shivered in the coat’s embrace.
“Tell me of your family,” Kate whispered, shifting subtly on the bench until her shoulder pressed into his, sharing some of her warmth with him in what she hoped he interpreted as a kind gesture.
“What would you like to know?” Lord Bridgerton asked softly, allowing some of his weight to press into her arm.
He spoke of his siblings. How he had cared for the youngest two after his father had passed and his mother had been lost to her grief for over a year. There was love in the way he spoke, and something about it warmed Kate from the inside.
In turn, she spoke of losing her father and sailing to England the year before to prepare her sister for her first season. She spoke of her own debut, and how she had been unable to concentrate on balls and other social events, for fear of what may happen to her sister if this man were not caught.
But it was all for nought now.
“Lord Bridgerton, do you—,“ Kate began, but was cut off when he put a hand on her thigh.
“Anthony,” he said, his voice kind and calm. “Please, call me Anthony.”
Letting out a shaky breath, Kate nodded. He was right, this was no place for formalities now.
“Anthony,” she said, tasting the name in her mouth now and liking the way it sounded. “You may call me Kate then, I suppose it is only proper.”
“Kate,” he said and she could hear the smile in his voice, unable to stop the way the sound of her name on his lips sent a warm feeling coursing through her body.
In time, Kate fell asleep there, her head against his shoulder, his coat wrapped around her. When she woke several hours later, her head was cradled in his lap, his palm warm where it sat on her shoulder. Blinking awake, she was immediately aware of her position but did not move, deciding to enjoy the warm feel of him beneath her cheek, having never been so close to a man not of her relation.
After a few minutes, reluctantly she rose and felt Anthony’s hand drift slowly from her body. “What time is it,” she asked as she stretched, noticing that he held his pocket watch in his hand.
“Midnight,” he said softly, looking from one door to the other.
“There have been no sounds? Footsteps or voices?” Kate asked, watching him blearily in the low lantern light.
“None,” he said resignedly, tucking the watch away once more, the whites of his shirtsleeves seeming to glow in the dim light as he moved. “Perhaps I can call out again, if the door leads to a public house or nighttime establishment we may be heard.”
Kate sat back and watched as Anthony climbed the steps once more, shouting and banging on the door and calling for help. When he stopped no footsteps sounded on the other side and no voices returned his call.
They would die there, Kate knew it as he walked slowly down the steps and fell again onto the bench beside her. In a few hours, an entire day will have lapsed and Kate wondered how their horses fared.
“I have never even been kissed,” she confessed wistfully, drawing the lapels of Anthony’s coat tightly around her. “Or touched. I was told to be chaste, that it was of the utmost importance, and now I will die like this.”
The words hung in the air between them and though it was ridiculous in this place, Kate wondered if she’d overstepped. She was not asking Anthony for a kiss, but simply making a deathbed confession. It felt a shame to die there, at five and twenty, and to have never truly lived a life. Kate did not think she would live to have regrets but found suddenly that she did.
“I know it sounds bold, but I can offer you a kiss,” Anthony said from her side. His lips were slightly parted and eyes low as they regarded her. “Though it surprises me at your age that you have never stolen one from a suitor.”
“No suitors want me,” Kate bit back with a laugh, looking away from him suddenly so he could not see the way the confession burned in her chest and in her eyes.
“Do you not own a mirror?” Anthony asked, his voice surprised. Kate could feel him shift on the bench, his knee pressing harder into her as he turned.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Kate asked, facing him once more, her features hardening.
“You are stunningly beautiful,” he countered, his mouth hanging open with the confession. “The first time I saw you, I could barely speak, your features were so striking, even in the dim light of the theatre.”
“You jest,” Kate responded with a scoff, crossing her arms, though her heart raced from his confession.
“I am a man of honour, I do not lie,” he responded and Kate knew she could not refute him.
“Even if I am beautiful, as you say,” Kate reasoned, trying to find a reason why no gentlemen asked her to dance or paid her any attention, in England or in India. “Then I am too bold and outspoken to be desirable. And now I am too old.”
“This is all false,” Anthony bit back with a huff, raising his hands for a moment to add to his incredulousness. “You are certainly not too old and your boldness and brashness are in fact what drew me to you. They are your most admirable qualities!”
His words hit Kate like a punch to the gut and she stuttered out a breath, feeling her eyes suddenly burn. Perhaps a kiss from a man who admired her and thought she was beautiful was what she did desire before the end.
“Alright,” she whispered, squaring her shoulders, trying to shake away the sudden dizziness this handsome viscount had induced in her.
“Alright?” he asked, his brow furrowing as he examined her face.
“Please kiss me.”
The words rang between them as if there was an echo in such a deathly quiet place. Kate’s heart raced in her ears as her lips parted—they were dry, so she licked them. Brown eyes tracked her tongue, and when it retreated into her mouth, Kate could see the viscount’s eyes darken as a soft groan escaped his lips.
Slowly, his face lowered to hers, his gaze locked with Kate’s as if to give her leeway to deny him. But Kate knew she would not, she wanted his kiss. A whimper escaped her lips as his breath danced across her mouth and then a moment later his lips pressed to hers.
With a desperate sigh, Kate put her hands on his neck over skin and starched shirt, and felt a jolt at how his pulse raced under her palm. She was immensely grateful she had removed her gloves hours ago and could now enjoy the warmth of his skin under her hand. With a groan, he opened his mouth against her, his tongue licking at Kate’s upper lip. A moment later, her mouth fell open, and she let out another desperate whimper as he closed his teeth around her lip.
“Is this alright?” Kate asked, pulling back infinitesimally, wondering if he compared her to Miss Rosso, if he found her lacking.
“More than,” he groaned into her mouth, his hands coming around her, pushing his coat from her shoulders before his fingers dug into her back.
Kate had the urge to climb into his lap and press her centre against him but felt too dizzy and drugged from his kiss to move from her spot.
Losing herself in his intoxicating kiss, the heat of his mouth and the bite of his teeth, Anthony pulled back, his hot breath panting against Kate’s mouth. It took her several breaths to come out from under the spell he had put her under and open her eyes.
“Was it as you expected?” He asked, his arms still around her, his fingers trailing over her dress. The pads of his fingers teased at the skin of her upper back where it was exposed and left a trail of gooseflesh in their wake.
Hands still on his neck, Kate caressed his skin with her thumb and sighed. “More than,” she supplied with a slightly drunken laugh, moving forward to press her hot cheek against his. She was not sure if the warm and dizzy feeling coursing through her was from hunger for the viscount, but she supposed it could easily be both.
If they were to die there, Kate thought she knew what she wanted before the end. Namely, him.
Eyes closed, she asked the question that had been sitting at the back of her mind since their fates had been sealed. “Will you lay with me?” she asked, her cheek still pressed to his, afraid to pull back and see his expression.
If he did indeed love Miss Rosso, he may very well refuse her, and she would not blame him. But Kate had no time for regrets, so she did not feel bad about the question that hung in the air between them.
“If I am to die here,” she began to explain, “I do not wish to—“
“Are you sure?” he asked, cutting her off, his voice was breathy and his hands tightened around her.
“Yes,” Kate whispered, pulling back and finally taking in his features. In the soft gold lantern light, he looked concerned, his brow wrinkled, deepening that dimple that separated them. Swallowing, Kate placed her finger into that spot—something she had wanted to do for some time now—and massaged him there before pulling away.
With a nod, Anthony stood and held his hand out for Kate. Unsure of where this was going, she took it and allowed him to pull her to her feet.
“Shall I undress you?” he asked, brows raised now as he held out his hands.
Giving him a sharp nod, Kate swallowed and spun around to allow him quick access to the buttons at the back of her dress. “Do you mind if we lay upon your dress?” Anthony asked as he quickly released the little fabric-covered buttons from their slits.
“I do not, it is already irreparably soiled,” Kate responded, turning her head to try to study the expression on his face. His breathing was erratic and she could feel his hands shake where they touched her.
Feeling the last button freed, Kate was surprised when he bade her raise her arms so he could pull the dress over her head.
“This is not where your first time should happen,” he said as he turned to their little bench and gently laid her dress upon it. Then he grabbed his coat and bunched it up, making it a pillow at one end. “But I suppose this would not be happening if we were not here. I will do my utmost to ensure it is a good experience for you.”
Nervously, dressed only in stays and shift, Kate placed a hand on his chest when he straightened. Her hand shook, and from the feel of his heartbeat under her, he was just as anxious as she.
“It can be scary at first,” he said softly, his hand coming up to rest over hers, his calloused thumb making a soothing path across the back of her hand. “Nerve-wracking, even, but it does get easier, especially when there is touch. I will do my best to put you at ease.”
“Thank you,” Kate said, her eyes drifting closed as she began to get lost in his tenderness. He could have easily made her feel ashamed for this request, soiled and dirty even, but he did not. He did not judge her or shame her, in fact, he acted with concern and care, and for that she was grateful.
“Shall I remove your stays?” he asked gently. Kate could feel his lips trace a path across her temple as he spoke and knew he had moved closer to her.
Eyes flying open, Kate pulled back an inch and placed both hands over the first button on his waistcoat. “I shall do this first,” she said as she tried to pry the button through the slot with trembling fingers. Buttons were supposed to be easy, but these would not come free.
“It is alright,” he soothed, his hands coming up to join hers. “I think it is the hunger,” he added, as his fingers guided hers and the first button popped free. As one, they released the rest, and Kate’s hands trembled as she pushed the waistcoat from his shoulders. Anthony caught it before it fell to the ground and tossed it to their bench with a flick of his wrist.
Reaching with nervous hands, Kate grabbed one tail of Anthony’s neckcloth and pulled, losing herself in the sound of silk on silk as it loosened. Once untied, she reached for where it sat against his throat, feeling a quick shock at how warm it was there as she pulled and drew it away and tossed it to the side carelessly, feeling desperate to see more of him as quickly as possible.
With his neck free and naked to her gaze, Kate drew her hand under his starched collar and took some pleasure in the heat of his skin against her palm. Anthony, to his credit, stood still, though he let out a low groan escape his lips at the contact.
“Perhaps it is the delirium but I have always found beauty in a man’s neck,” Kate whispered softly, letting her hand drift from neck to the join of his shoulder, imagining the press of his hot skin against hers.
Reaching up to undo the button at the top of his shirt with one hand, Anthony cleared his throat and took a shaky breath.
“I do not know why I am so nervous,” he confessed, one hand coming to rest on Kate’s bare shoulder, where the ribbon of her stays was tied into a pretty bow. When he grabbed the tail of it and released it, Kate could feel the satin material giving way all the way to her core.
“Perhaps I can help put you at ease, as well,” Kate whispered in response, lifting her hands to push his braces from his shoulders. They had been sewn with shiny violet satin, interspersed with tiny embroidered pink tulips, and Kate wondered what else he had hidden under his layers of clothing. What secrets his skin told.
“What if I do not wish to be at ease,” he responded, a hand rising to cup Kate’s cheek before he bent over to capture her lips in another kiss. Gripping his shoulders tightly, Kate could feel the heat radiating from his body and was pleased she was free to wrap herself around him as they kissed.
Though her heart raced furiously in her chest Kate did feel her nerves lessen as his mouth consumed her. She had never felt like this before, so enraptured by another person, and she found it more than easy to let her cares fall away in order for him to truly surround her.
Pulling back to inhale a ragged breath, one deep enough to release a low growl, Anthony grabbed Kate’s arms tightly and stared into her eyes. “What is this?” he asked, his voice desperate and deep, so much so that Kate could feel it reverberate through her body.
“It is not hunger,” Kate responded, her hands gliding up his chest to cup his face in her palms. “At least not for food,” she added before he bent forward to recapture her lips.
And suddenly she needed him, with a desperate thirst she had never felt before. With trembling hands, she tried to undo the buttons that sat hot against his chest, but could not work them. Anthony pulled back with a frustrated breath and tore his shirt option, the little whalebone buttons skittering through the space like tiny pebbles. Kate nearly moaned at the sight when he tore the shirt from his body with a great flap of linen and tossed it to their bench.
“I will not need the buttons,” he explained as he reached for Kate once more, kissing her, his hands now busy on the laces at her back.
Free to roam his chest now, Kate ran her fingers along his chest and the tufted hair there, dragging her nails down and over the ridges of his muscled abdomen. If she had allowed herself to picture his bare torso before now, she thought she would have come up pathetically short every time. He was magnificent, beautiful in a way she had not known men could be. And coupled with the way he groaned into her mouth as her nails dug deeper into his skin, Kate felt a jolt of white-hot need shoot straight to her core.
“Bloody finally,” Anthony groaned into Kate’s mouth as she felt her stays come loose and pulled from her body, her sweat-damp shift falling loose around her in a wrinkled state only a warm wet body could produce. “Do you wish to keep this on?” Anthony rumbled, fingering the neckline of her shift, all plain white cotton with no embellishments.
“No,” Kate whispered back, her hands on his face once more, her nails tracing a path through the whiskers on his cheeks.
A moment later the shift was pulled over her head and Kate was laid bare before him. Though the moment could have felt awkward while he appraised her, it did not. Anthony lifted his hand to Kate, and as she took it, he guided her to their makeshift bed.
Though the bench was not long enough to match Kate’s height, she placed her head on the pillow made of Anthony’s coat, her feet dangling off the opposite end. Before she could get nervous, Anthony sat beside her and bent forward to place a kiss on her bosom.
“Beautiful,” he said against her skin as he trailed his lips down her chest, his tongue peaking out as his lips met her breast.
Realising she had been laying still, Kate drew her hands into Anthony’s hair and wondered why she had not done so sooner. His scalp was hot under her fingertips, the strands of his hair silky smooth as she trailed through it. When she scraped her nails around his ears, Anthony moaned against her breast and released a deep shuddering breath.
“Christ,” he said in a hot exhalation, bathing her skin in moisture, before pulling her taut nipple into his mouth. It came as a surprise, his hot mouth against cold sensitive skin, that Kate bowed up from the bench and cried out, her nails digging into his scalp.
“I am not sure I can wait,” he said under his breath, one hand trailing down Kate’s hip, and she spread her legs for him, a knee resting on the cool brick wall at their side, to encourage him further down.
Pulling back, Anthony watched Kate’s face as his hand delved lower, combing the downy curls at the apex of her legs, and then tracing lightly over her sensitive skin below. His eyes were dark as he stared, his hair entirely mussed from her hands, the orange light from the lantern leaving flickering trails of light on his bare chest.
And then a finger teased her seam and pressed in, and Kate could see the muscles in his chest contract as sparks began to fire through her body at the contact.
“I wish to feel you,” Kate said on a whimper, one hand reaching up to cup his cheek. “All of you, your weight on top of me,” she explained with trembling words as her heart raced from her desperate need for him.
Nodding, seemingly unable to speak, Anthony kept his eyes locked with Kate’s as he stood. With both hands, he undid the falls of his trousers and then let the garment fall to the ground. Kate had never seen a man erect before, but the sight of him hard and ready for her had her licking her lips. She longed to touch it and reached out a trembling hand.
“It is alright,” he said as her fingertips made contact and then wrapped tightly around him. It was like velvet on steel, and hot like fire, his own breathing shuddering in his chest as she dragged her hand up and down. A moment later, his hand was upon hers and pulling it away. “You do not know the power you have over me,” he explained, his voice deep as he bent to crouch over her.
A moment later he was sprawled over above her, his weight pressing into bent arms, his legs surrounding both of hers with his arousal pressed into her belly.
His lips trailed a path along Kate’s jaw and she allowed her eyes to drift closed so she could enjoy the feel of him pressed into her, though she was unable to ignore the way he held himself away from her.
“Tell me what it is you fear,” she whispered, feeling safe to say these words in the dark with almost all of him against her.
“That I will hurt you,” came his answering whisper, lips and teeth closing lightly around her earlobe, Kate’s own hands trailing a path along his shoulder blades. “It is the last thing I want,” he added, his breath puffing hot against Kate’s ear.
“It is alright,” she said, echoing his words from earlier back to him. Mustering her confidence, Kate pushed him back from her a small amount so she could spread her legs wide for him and wrap her thighs around his hips. “If you do not take me now, I may scream,” she added as inducement, drawing a genuine smile for him.
Pulling back to look her in the eye, Anthony’s jaw bounced, though his eyes were dark and filled with need. Giving her a short nod, he placed himself at her entrance, and Kate let out an excited breath at the contact.
This was more than she had ever thought possible in all her wild fantasies, more even than what she had read in the illicit serials she had purchased in secret from the maids. Swallowing, throat suddenly dry, she nodded at him and then a moment later he pressed forward. A whimper escaped her lips at the feeling of spreading as the tip of him entered her. His shaky arms gave out a second after thrusting further and Kate welcomed Anthony’s weight as he pressed into her.
“I truly do not know what this is,” he said, his head coming up to rest his lips against hers, though he did not try to kiss her, merely to groan and breathe against her mouth.
“Is it not always like this?” Kate asked, caressing him with her hands as he began to move slowly in and out of her. There were spots of pleasure floating through her body, from where he was joined with her, but also from where his skin touched hers. She was right in assuming that his weight bearing down on her would feel heavenly, and as Anthony stoked her fire and coaxed her toward climax, she thought the pressure of his body against hers was just as fine as the pleasure he gave her.
“No,” he responded, moaning as he reached down to caress her thigh where it wrapped around him. “It has never been like this,” he breathed, his voice so light that Kate could barely hear him.
Their words drifted off as Anthony’s movements increased. Feet planted on the bench, Kate realised she could thrust her own hips up to meet him in the middle with a light slapping sound, sending dizzying rushes of pleasure through her body. It seemed to please the viscount, as his moans against her skin increased and deepened.
Damnation, Kate thought, the sounds he made while making love were like nothing else in the world. The feel of his heart racing against hers, his hands and his skin, it was all nothing she had ever experienced. She thought if she were not to die here in a day or two, she would easily fall in love with this man.
Clasping her arms tightly around him, with no fear of losing herself to a man who would likely pass beside her, Kate added more fire and energy to their joining, until the very room disappeared from her vision, replaced with a blur of dancing flames.
“I am close,” Anthony breathed, the words barely reaching Kate’s ears and her entranced state. “May I finish inside you?” he asked but he did not slow himself.
“Yes,” Kate hissed, laughing lightly at the question. There was no danger down there, of child or disease, and she wanted to feel him fill her, she wanted everything to do with this experience. “Yes, please fill me,” she pleaded as she squeezed her muscles around him, trying to coax him over the edge.
“Fuck,” he breathed as he cried out, his body convulsing above her, his hips beginning to pound hard. Kate thought he was about to climax, and the sight of him, face flushed, muscles hard and clenched, sweat dripping from his body, breath hot against her skin, it pulled her over with him. She cried out in surprise, her orgasm ripping through her body as her feet and hands clenched hard, lights dancing before her eyes, her thighs squeezing him tightly as she tried to hold him pressed inside of her.
Both panting deeply, Anthony allowed his full weight to lay on her as he gasped for air. “Is there no oxygen in here?” he groused sleepily as he began to come down, his cock still inside of her.
“Hush,” Kate soothed, running her hand through the hair at the base of his scalp over and over again until his breathing steadied. After a time, she realised he had fallen asleep, her body as his bed.
The lantern oil ran out just before Kate drifted off to join him in dreamland.
