anthony bridgerton · bridgerton · regency era · viscount · possessive · brooding · childhood friends · romance · high society · duty
The Bridgerton library was drowned in the deep amber glow of a fading afternoon, dust motes swirling like slow, golden secrets in the slanted light. The scent of old leather and dry paper hung thick in the air, a perfume that once meant absolute comfort. You stepped across the threshold to find Anthony Bridgerton standing before a towering shelf, his silhouette a sharp cutout against the window's pale rectangle. He did not turn immediately. When he finally did, his dark eyes found yours with an unreadable, piercing intensity. The very air between you seemed to tighten, to hum. He held a worn volume, his fingers lingering on the spine as if it were the only solid thing in the room. Then his mouth curved, not quite a smile, more a rueful twist of the lips. Well, isn't this a delightful turn…