Her petite frame was nearly swallowed by that of the ceiling sweeping bookcases, the endless shelves stretching far across the long opposite walls, whilst the old and worn leather bound spines lining them managed to shrink the spacious library. For the tall wooden structures lined with more books than one could possibly read in a single lifetime, combined with the lonely glow of a delicate candlelight illuminating the soft beige walls, made the space feel smaller than it truly was. Shadows of the large fixtures pushed against the walls hovered against the edge of the high ceiling, the candlestick sitting against the smooth surface of the wooden desk sitting in the center of the room, casting a weak flickering light against the towering bookshelves. But as Anthony Bridgerton leaned against the large wooden doorframe, his loosely crossed arm brushing against the now closed door to the library that he had believed to be abandoned, his eyes were entranced by the sight of her body nearly drowning in the sea of literature that surrounded her.
The softest breath of lavender flowed down her frame, the pastel hue gentle as though the delicate petals of a freshly bloomed spring flower. The flickering light of the candle behind her, casted upon the fabric in a timid shadow, making the material that swept just to the ends of her hidden heels glisten in the most innocent of shines. The heat of the light danced against the bare flesh of her exposed neck, glinting only as it touched down upon the delicate sweep of opals wrapped elegantly against the base of her collarbone. Her thick tendrils pinned into an extravagant up do, with embellished pins hidden within her nest of tightly bound curls, holding onto every strand as not to let a single curl fall out of place. Anthony could see from his placement against the door, the way her head was tipped downwards, a book in her hands most likely holding her intent attention. For she hadn't heard him enter the room, even as his fingers closed the door softly behind him with a gentle clasp of the frame. She hadn't heard the way his leather boots skidded for the briefest of seconds as he was taken back by her presence, having believed he had managed to find the one uninhabited room in Bridgerton House. But alas, she stood amongst the sea of stories, so completely entranced in whatever piece had caught her eye, that she hadn't realized he'd been watching her for the past few moments in the comfortable silence.
For the library felt like an oasis amidst a swirling dust storm, a sanctuary of serenity and silence and it was the first moment that Anthony had had all evening to truly hear the thoughts in his own head. For the boisterous hum of the music blaring from his mother's dashing party, was now a distant whisper. Barely a murmur from the violin strings or even a gentle breeze carrying the insufferable cackle of an overbearing mother parading around her eldest daughter. There was a calm and comfort within the quaint wall of the library, that allowed Anthony to inhale his first deep breath of the night. Filling his lungs with the rich scent of worn pages and aromatic leather still clinging to the covers, but as he breathed deeper, there was another scent buried within the atmosphere of the room, one barely noticeable and yet, as it brushed ever so gently against his senses, it pricked his chest with a fiery sensation. For as faint as it was, gone with the second breath he inhaled, the scent of vanilla mixed with heady undertones of lilac, remained burning in his nose.
Holding back an urge to clear his throat in an effort to clear his mind, Anthony looked at her silent frame once more before a sly smirk began to tug at the very corners of his lips. No longer able to withstand the urge to speak up in the void casted within the dense shadowy silence of the library, knowing full well her reaction to not only being caught in a room far from the party but even more so, being sought out by him. For they had met time and time again, each ball or engagement Anthony had found himself at or forced to attend within the last few weeks, she'd been there across the room just as he was. Perhaps it was attributed to the fact that her mother was one of Lady Bridgerton's dearest friends, or maybe it boiled down to Anthony's streak of poor luck. But whatever the reason, their interactions were never ones of enjoyment or even mere cordial conversations. No, events attended with her in the sea of guests, were a matter of enduring the evening and avoiding any possible colliding of presences.
