✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒 ˚｡⋆ ༘˚✧
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𝐱𝐢𝐯.

𝐈𝐓 was as though the entire world had ceased its motion, leaving only the two of them to draw breath. Benedict had yet to find words in response to what she had spoken; he was utterly dumbfounded, and though he wished not to appear discourteous, he found himself at a loss for any fitting reply.

She gazed at him intently, her eyes searching his face for any sign that might reveal whether her words had been a grievous error. Benedict, regaining his composure, straightened his posture and gently took Athena's hands in his own. With a tender squeeze, he lifted her delicate fingers to his lips, bestowing a soft, reverent kiss upon her knuckles. 

"I have desired you from the very night I understood how deeply it would wound me to lose you. I perceive so much of myself reflected in you, and in my heart, you are the very essence of what I have long sought." Benedict took a deep breath, his gaze dropping to his trembling hands. He still clasped Athena's hands, though his mind scarcely registered that she, too, was trembling. "I would never allow myself to lose you again," he continued, his voice low and fervent, "and certainly not to a man who is unworthy of you."

Athena gently lifted his chin, compelling him to meet her gaze. "Then do something about it, Mr. Bridgerton," she whispered, her voice steady but laced with challenge. "It is in action that you reveal your true feelings. Words are but a shadow compared to deeds."

In an instant, Benedict released her hands, his resolve solidifying. With a swift, decisive motion, he placed his right hand on her neck, pulling her closer. The world around them faded as he closed his eyes and captured her lips in a kiss, the intensity of his emotions conveyed in that single, unspoken act.

She hadn't fully processed the reality that she was kissing him. Never in her wildest thoughts had she envisioned her first kiss occurring outside the bounds of marriage, and certainly not with a man she wasn't even close to marrying. Her fingers, which had been tightly gripping the fabric of her skirt, gradually relaxed. Tentatively, she placed her hands on his chest, her touch light yet purposeful, hoping to feel his heart racing as wildly as hers was. 

Never before had she kissed or touched a man in such an intimate manner. Uncertain and inexperienced, she possessed no knowledge of what should transpire next, yet she found herself instinctively mirroring the tender movements of his lips. Her heart fluttered in a manner both thrilling and terrifying, a sensation wholly new to her sensibilities. The warmth of his embrace, though foreign, did not stir in her a desire to withdraw, but rather an inexplicable yearning to remain within its shelter. She felt the whisper of his breath against her cheek, the closeness of his frame—a nearness that both emboldened and confounded her.

His hand moved down her right arm, the touch as light as a whisper, causing small goosebumps to rise upon her skin. His fingertips, barely grazing the surface, sent a shiver through her that she could not suppress, a sensation so delicate yet profound it seemed to echo in the very marrow of her bones. Each brush of his fingers was a gentle reminder of her own vulnerability, of the boundaries that were now so perilously close to being crossed.

Her breath caught in her throat, and though every instinct of modesty urged her to withdraw, there was a part of her—a part that she scarcely recognized—that wished for him to continue. The room seemed to shrink around them, the world outside their small sphere of intimacy fading into nothingness. The air was thick with a tension that was both intoxicating and alarming, a heady mixture of desire and trepidation that held her captive.

She felt her heart race beneath her breast, the steady beat now quickened by the unfamiliarity of the moment. Every nerve in her body was acutely aware of his proximity, of the way his touch seemed to ignite a fire within her that she had never known existed.

It seemed impossible for her to let go of him, her fingers clinging to the fabric of his coat as if to a lifeline. The thought of releasing him, of stepping back into the cold reality that awaited her, filled her with a dread so deep it nearly overwhelmed her. She knew all too well that after today, she would be compelled to call off the engagement—a decision that would shatter the delicate fabric of her carefully constructed life.

The very idea made her heart ache with a sorrow she had not anticipated. How could she bear the weight of such a decision? The scandal it might cause, the whispers that would surely follow her in every drawing room and parlor? To have given her heart, however briefly, to another, while still betrothed—such an act would cast a shadow over her reputation that might never be erased. It would be as though she had been with two bachelors at once, a thought so improper, so fraught with disgrace, that it made her blood run cold.

𝐇𝐄𝐑 eyes fluttered open, and she found herself still abed, the soft light of dawn filtering through the heavy drapery that framed her chamber windows. As her gaze roved about the room, a single, overwhelming thought took hold of her—she had made a dreadful mess of things. The events of the previous evening rushed back with mortifying clarity; Benedict had kissed her, and in the hours that followed, she had lain awake, her mind in turmoil, sleep eluding her.

Today was the day of the gallery outing at Somerset House, the occasion on which Lord Beaumont and she were to announce their engagement—a prospect now rendered impossible by her own indiscretions. She knew she must speak with him before all was revealed, before the wheels of society turned too swiftly for her to halt them.

Athena shifted restlessly beneath the covers, torn between dread and duty, before summoning the resolve to rise. The hour was already far advanced—nearly nine o'clock, scandalously late by her usual standards—and there was much to be done. The gallery outing was to commence at noon, leaving her precious little time to prepare herself both in appearance and in mind.

Crossing the room with determined steps, she reached for the silken cord that hung from the ceiling, giving it a firm tug to summon her maids. They would assist her in dressing, and perhaps, in steadying her frayed nerves for the confrontation that lay ahead.

In a matter of minutes, the maids had gathered around her, each attending to their appointed task with practiced efficiency. One deftly arranged her hair, smoothing and pinning each strand into place, while another applied a delicate touch of rouge to her cheeks, the soft blush crafted from carmine dye lending her complexion a gentle flush. Her lips were touched with her favored cherry color, a vibrant hue that brightened her countenance and added a final flourish to her appearance.

"I shall wear the red dress," Athena declared, her voice steady as she untied her dressing gown, letting it cascade to the floor in a soft heap. The maids swiftly moved to assist her, carefully guiding the rich fabric of the red gown over her form, ensuring every seam and fold was perfectly in place. They busied themselves with the final touches, smoothing out the hem and adjusting the sleeves until not a detail was amiss.

One of the maids stepped back, her eyes appraising Athena with admiration. "You look truly beautiful, Mrs. Huxley," she remarked, her voice filled with genuine warmth.

Athena's cheeks tinged with a soft blush at the compliment, and she offered a graceful curtsy. "Thank you," she replied with a gentle smile. Stepping down from the small platform where she had been standing, she made her way to the jewelry box that rested on her vanity. With careful hands, she selected a diamond necklace, its brilliance catching the morning light, and a pair of earrings adorned with small ruby diamonds at their centers. The jewels gleamed as she fastened the necklace around her neck, the finishing touch to her elegant ensemble.

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