✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒 ˚｡⋆ ༘˚✧
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𝐱𝐢𝐢.

𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐀 lay upon her bed, her gaze fixed upon the ceiling above. She felt weary, not from any physical exertion, but from the ceaseless thoughts of Benedict Bridgerton that plagued her mind.

It vexed her deeply that she still harbored such feelings for him, even after he had, in his own manner, made it plain that he did not wish to marry her. He had not spoken the words directly, yet his suggestion that Lord Beaumont was the one she should wed was clear enough. The memory of that conversation filled her with both anger and irritation, for it seemed as though he had led her to believe he cared, only to dash those hopes with his indifference.

Her thoughts wandered back to that evening in her painting room. She recalled how he had looked into her eyes, those beautiful dark brown eyes that spoke of so much more than he ever uttered. She remembered the gentle smile that played upon his lips as she painted the heart upon his chest, and the softness in his voice as he spoke to her, so calm and assured. The memory was a bitter one now, laced with regret, yet it lingered in her mind, refusing to be banished despite her efforts to forget.

It was ten minutes past four and she had done nothing today beside sipping tea and visiting Benedict for a brief conversation. She felt miserable and at the same time embarrassed over how Benedict almost rejected her.

While Athena was thinking deeply she heard a faint knock on the door. She rose to her elbows and looked over at the door.

"Yea?" She shouted curiously and waited for the mysterious person to show their face.

The maid peeked into the room and smiled when she saw Athena laying on the bed. "You have a visitor in the drawing room, would you like me to send them away or?"

Athena thought carefully, she really wasn't in the mood for conversation and especially not with lots Beaumont. She squeezed her eyes, "who is it?"

She shrugged her shoulders, "I do not know I was simply sent up here to collect you."

Athena nodded and rose to her feet and moved a hand down for dress straightening it out a little. Then she tugged a strand of hair behind her ear and moved past the maid into the corridor. "Then please do prepare tea and ginger biscuits, it is only proper to offer some refreshments."

The maid nodded and followed Athena before she ran down the staffs stairs that led to the kitchen.

Right before she walked into the drawing room Athena felt a strange feeling almost as if she was nervous. It was as if her heart knew who hid behind those tall wooden doors and it felt as if butterflies flew around inside her.

She pulled down the handle and walked inside closing the door quickly. As she turned around there were none in sight. Athena walked further into the room and when she looked left she was him sitting on the couch beside the fireplace. His eyes focused on the heated up fire not noticing her.

Athena cleared her throat just loud enough for him to turn his head around. He looked at her for a split second before standing up and walking towards her. It felt like minutes before he reached her and they were now standing just inches apart. She let out a small smile and looked away as if she was embarrassed.

"Do not look away," he mumbled and placed to fingers under her chin, so he could turn her face back to facing his.

Athena looked down at her shoes and stepped back, "Benedict, why are you here?"

He stopped smiling and moved a hand through his hair. "I realised that what I had said earlier on was wrong, that I let myself believe something was not the truth."

She looked at him again now as if she could see the regret he had in his eyes. "What did you regret?" Athena asked. She knew what it was, but she wanted it to hear it from him.

"I regret everything part of that argument, but mostly the part when I told you to marry lord Beaumont," Benedict

Athena stood in a state of utter astonishment, her senses reeling from the weight of his words. Never had she dared to imagine that such sentiments would pass his lips, nor that he would confess to regretting their utterance. She had long harbored a quiet hope that he might feel thus, but had scarcely believed it within the realm of possibility. It was not fear that she believed held him back, but rather a conviction that he sought what was best for her. Yet, in the light of this revelation, the truth was made clear—what was truly best for her was to be by his side.

They merely stood there, gazing intently at one another. Neither did they reach out to touch, nor did they draw near; they simply remained fixed in their places, their eyes locked in a silent communion. It was as though the very air around them had grown thick, almost tangible, as it moved gently through her hair and brushed against her flushed cheeks.

It was not awkward, despite the silence that enveloped them. Their eyes spoke volumes where words were unnecessary. Yet, Athena knew she had to speak. She needed to correct what he had said earlier and confess that she wanted only him.

She parted her lips, but hesitation gripped her, as if fear held her words captive.

"Please, Athena, say something," Benedict implored, breaking the silence that hung between them.

Athena cleared her throat, nervously licking her bottom lip. "I just... I didn't expect you to come here and tell me this," she finally managed to say.

A frown creased Benedict's brow as he stepped back slightly. "So, you didn't want me to come?"

She quickly shook her head. "No, please, don't twist what I said. Let us not confuse each other again, as we've done before."

Benedict nodded, understanding the weight of her words. Their conversations had often ended in misunderstanding, each twisting the other's intentions. Yet, despite knowing this, Athena couldn't help but think that none of this confusion would have arisen if Anastasia Waterloo had never danced with Benedict. It was wrong to blame her, but Athena couldn't shake the thought that things might have been simpler if Miss Waterloo had never been there.

"What about Miss Waterloo?" Athena asked, the words slipping out before she could stop them, as if her mouth had moved faster than her mind.

Benedict let out a snort. "You ask me about her now? What does she have to do with us?"

She forced a tight smile, her gaze shifting everywhere but toward Benedict. "She was part of the reason for all this confusion between us."

He didn't argue or defend Miss Waterloo, for he knew Athena was right. Benedict simply nodded, running a hand through his hair. "You're right, but she never meant anything to me. It's you. It has always been you, Miss Huxley."

Athena could scarcely believe what she was hearing. Every girl dreams of the moment when a gentleman would declare that he wanted her and no one else. She parted her lips to respond, but no words came out.

"From the day I saw you at my mother's masquerade ball, I knew there was something truly special about you," Benedict continued, his voice soft but earnest. "The way you speak, the way you engage in conversation—it's beautiful. I watched you every time you weren't by my side, and I missed your presence the moment you left. The scent of faint mint and chamomile lingered in my thoughts, day and night. I can't stop thinking about you, Athena. I'm in love with you, and I never thought I'd experience such a feeling. I've always been a failure when it comes to love, knowing it only through my paintings. I'm so foolish that I even told my paintings about you—"

"I told my paintings about you too," Athena interrupted, a sudden realization dawning on her as she recognized how deeply they mirrored one another.

He let out a soft, amused chuckle. "I would not be surprised; your paintings seem as though they are the very embodiment of your own thoughts."

"And is that a commendable quality?" she inquired, a playful smirk gracing her lips.

Benedict nodded slowly, a smile of genuine admiration lighting his features. "Indeed, it is. Many artists create merely for financial gain, but you paint out of a deep-seated passion. I have witnessed your work, and it is truly beautiful."

Athena's cheeks warmed at his praise, and her smile widened despite her efforts to remain composed. "You are not so bad yourself, Mr. Bridgerton."

Their shared laughter filled the space between them, bringing a lightness to the air. It was a pleasant sound, a balm to the tension that had once overshadowed their interactions. Athena felt a sense of calm and happiness, simply being in his presence, even if they still stood a bit apart.

Benedict extended a hand towards her, an invitation to draw nearer. With a gentle but deliberate step, Athena closed the distance, her heart quickening with each step. When she placed her hand in his, he gave it a reassuring squeeze before guiding his other hand to rest softly on her waist.

"Dance with me," he whispered into her ear, his breath warm against her skin and sending a shiver down her spine.

She placed her free hand gently on his shoulder and, with a sense of serene trust, rested her head upon his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat seemed to sync with her own, bringing a profound sense of peace and closeness as they moved together.

There no music just their own heavy breathing's that roamed the room. It was starting to get dark and the tea that had been placed was long gone cold.

Athena stifled a soft laugh, recalling the night in the painting room when she had playfully brushed paint across his chest. The memory of touching his bare skin sent a shiver through her, as though a bolt of lightning had coursed through her very being.

"What amuses you so?" inquired Benedict, his gaze fixed upon her as he stepped back, as if to better discern her expression.

Athena shook her head slightly, a small, secretive smile lingering on her lips. "It is nothing," she replied, though the smile persisted, betraying her mirth.

Benedict chuckled quietly and, releasing her hand, made his way to the couch where he seated himself with deliberate leisure. He lifted the teapot and poured a cup of tea, his movements measured and unhurried.

Athena remained standing, her eyes following his every action, captivated by the languid grace with which he moved.

"Cold," he remarked, setting the teacup to his lips, only to place it back down with a mild frown. Leaning back against the cushions, he continued, "It seems we have tarried in our discourse so long that the tea has grown cold."

Athena's smile widened as she replied, "Then we must resolve to address the matter at hand, and I shall see to it that fresh tea is brought. I cannot allow my guest to go without proper hospitality." She turned to open the door, intent on summoning a servant, but as she did so, Lord Beaumont entered the room.

Her eyes widened in alarm, and without thinking, she swiftly embraced him, hoping to divert his attention and prevent him from noticing Benedict. The very thought of being discovered in such compromising circumstances sent a wave of dread through her.

"My Lord, what brings you here?" she inquired sweetly, though her mind raced. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Benedict hastily slip behind a nearby closet, out of sight.

Lord Beaumont's smile was tempered with a hint of irritation, as though her question had pricked at his pride. Yet, he replied, "I wished to visit you, for I find great pleasure in your company."

Athena, recovering from her initial shock, quickly responded, "Of course, how thoughtless of me to ask."

"I wondered if we might dine together," he proposed, his tone more serious now.

"Dine together?" she repeated, surprised by his suggestion. She had not anticipated his presence at dinner, particularly unannounced.

He nodded, but his expression suddenly grew stern. "Were you not alone?"

She furrowed her brow, attempting to maintain her composure. "I was merely enjoying some tea. Why do you ask?"

Lord Beaumont moved past her, his eyes scanning the room until they rested upon the table where two teacups stood. He pointed to them, a look of suspicion darkening his features. "There are two cups—one half full, the other empty."

"The half-full cup is mine," she lied smoothly, "and the other belonged to my mother, who left just a short while ago."

She knew the falsehood was perilous, but confessing the truth was unthinkable. The revelation that Benedict was hiding nearby would ruin her, for to be discovered in the company of an unchaperoned man, and one who was not her betrothed, would spell her undoing.

Lord Beaumont narrowed his eyes, as if he sensed her deception and sought to intimidate her into confessing.

"Do not look at me so," Athena said, her voice firmer than she intended. She knew it was impolite to speak so, but she could not endure his piercing gaze. "I assure you, I was alone. I have been alone all day, save for the brief visit from my mother. Now, shall we proceed to the dining room?"

After a tense moment, Lord Beaumont nodded and rose from his seat. Athena, her heart still racing, gently wrapped her arm around his, and they walked together out of the room, their footsteps echoing softly as they made their way toward the dining room. The tension between them remained palpable, yet Athena maintained her composure, her mind focused on the immediate task of ensuring Benedict remained undetected.

Once the sound of their footsteps had faded down the corridor, Benedict waited a few moments longer, his breath held in anticipation. He wanted to be certain that they had indeed departed. When he felt confident, he cautiously emerged from his hiding place behind the closet.

Moving with the utmost care, Benedict approached the door, pressing his ear against the wood to detect any lingering presence in the hallway. The silence that met him was reassuring, and after a moment's pause, he carefully pulled down the handle and slipped out into the corridor. The dim lighting and quiet atmosphere were ideal for someone who had no wish to be caught in the house of an engaged woman.

He had just taken his first step toward the stairs, ready to make his descent and leave the house unnoticed, when a faint voice reached his ears. He froze, listening intently as the voice grew nearer. A chill of recognition ran through him—it was Athena's mother.

Benedict's heart raced as he frantically scanned the corridor for a way to avoid detection. The idea of slipping through a nearby door crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed it—he had no way of knowing what, or who, might be behind it. The risk was too great.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed another hallway branching off from the main one, shrouded in shadow. Without a second thought, he set off toward it, moving swiftly and silently, nearly breaking into a run. Just as he reached the safety of the corner, he heard Athena's mother mention the drawing room in her conversation, her voice now alarmingly close.

He pressed himself against the wall, holding his breath as he listened to the fading footsteps and voices. The narrow escape left him both relieved and tense, knowing how narrowly he had avoided disaster.

Benedict's heart quickened as the voices seemed to draw nearer, almost as though they were just beyond the corner. He strained to catch their words, and what he heard sent a jolt through him.

"I thought she would be in the drawing room, Mrs. Bridgerton, but I suppose she must be elsewhere," came the voice, clear and unmistakable. His breath caught in his throat. Mrs. Bridgerton? Could it truly be his sister, Eloise?

A wave of both curiosity and dread washed over him. He carefully bent forward, daring to steal a glance around the corner, and there, to his astonishment, stood Eloise, conversing with none other than Athena's mother.

"Perhaps she is in her painting room," Athena's mother suggested, turning with intent and beginning to walk directly toward him.

Panic seized him. He had mere seconds to act. Desperately, his eyes darted around the dim corridor, seeking refuge. With no time to deliberate, he seized upon the nearest door, swiftly slipping inside, all the while praying that the room beyond was empty and that he would not be discovered in so compromising a position.

Benedict leaned against the door, his breath shallow and nerves on edge, waiting in tense silence. Minutes passed, though they felt like an eternity, before he finally sensed that Eloise and Athena's mother had moved far enough away for him to relax. Only then did he dare to turn around and take in his surroundings.

To his surprise, he found himself standing in Athena's private chamber. The room was immaculately kept, its air infused with her familiar, delicate scent. It felt as though he had stepped into her very essence. His eyes were drawn to a red velour chair near the bed, where two dresses were draped. One of them caught his eye immediately—it was the very dress she had once asked him to tighten for her.

A flood of memories washed over him. He remembered that moment vividly: how his fingers had brushed against the fabric, how his heart had skipped a beat when he felt her warmth so close to him. It was then, in that seemingly innocent act, that he had first realized the depth of his feelings for her. He had known then that his affection for her went far beyond mere friendship; he had adored her, and in that moment, he had become acutely aware of how deeply he fancied her. Now, standing in her room, surrounded by the very things that made her who she was, those feelings surged within him once more, undeniable and overwhelming.

He walked over to the bed, his steps hesitant as if he were treading on sacred ground. The room, filled with her presence, drew him in, and without thinking, he sat down on the edge of the bed. The fabric beneath him was soft, inviting, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he allowed himself to fall backward, sinking into the plush mattress.

As he lay there, he realized it was the softest bed he had ever laid upon. The sheets carried the faint scent of chamomile, a fragrance he now associated with Athena. The comfort of the bed, combined with the intoxicating familiarity of her scent, enveloped him in a sense of peace and longing. For a moment, he allowed himself to forget the perilous situation he was in, surrendering instead to the warmth and softness that surrounded him, as if he were somehow closer to her in this simple, stolen moment.

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