How To Love A Prince - A. Bridgerton

Chapter Eight

Well, well, what a pity! As it came to my ears, Prince Edward has not visited any Lady yet. I am feeling with the mamas. So it seems his affords with the Viscount Bridgerton, and their hunting spree holds the key to a very delicate matter.

- Lady Whistledown's Society Papers April 1814

~•~

Anthony Bridgerton was hoisting a flint as he followed the Prince of England into the woods a scowl on his face as he tried to steady his intoxicated self with every step. The bottle of scotch was to blame for that, complete with the excellent company Edward had turned out to be.
Unfortunately, he wasn't in the proper form for hunting now. But neither was the Prince. Most likely, their plan was foolish and highly risky. Fortunately, the scotch was taking care of that slither of consciousness too.

"We're almost there, mate!" Edward called out, his voice fitting for a pub at midnight.

"Where are we even going?" Anthony called back.

"Hunting!" was the answer he received and didn't question as he was too busy marvelling at the morning sun peaking through the leaves, bathing the Prince in soft lighting that reminded him of the portraits of him that were hung at the palace. His sisters had gushed about every season. And he had to admit that if Mrs Sheffield decided to choose the young Prince over his hand, it was highly likely that his title wasn't the only persuasion to do so.

"We're here!" Edward called out, outstretching both arms open wide while coming to a halt in the middle of a clearing. Anthony looked around, taking in the scenery that was tragically underwhelming. But there was a fallen tree that was just perfect for propping up their flint for a clear shot.

Yet, it seemed highly impractical to Anthony to take too long to get to this place. Edward crouched down, positioning himself correctly.

"I was told this is a prime spot for deer," he told the other man, who got down close by and hoisted his flint. Muzzle and front sight wavered as he tried to balance it out. He had never been a good hunter, his father had never managed to teach him a good technique, and then he had died. And the slight blur at the edge of his sight wasn't helping his lack of skill either.

"Shore it on the wood." Edward, next to him, offered his advice. "Like that?" Anthony asked as he pressed his gun against the tree stump.

"A little more to the left."
Edward whispered, suddenly utterly close to his ear, and a hand came to hold onto his, assisting in finding the proper position.

Gentle and warm, he was now encased by the prince's arms. Anthony had his breath as fingers slid down his, resting at the trigger, waiting to pull with. The Viscount was startled by the sudden intimacy of their interaction, although strangely not opposed to it.

That must be another effect of the alcohol. It must still fog his brain, fizzing his thoughts and causing the soft shiver where the Prince's hit breath brushed his neck.

"Just like that." his velvety smooth voice was ringing in his ear, and he let his breath escape only to breathe in the musky, woody scent of the other man instead.  That scotch had been strong indeed.

~•~

Edward was squinting into the distance, desperately keeping himself from giving in further to his desire of coquetting the Viscount that was so deliciously close. He would only need to tilt his head to kiss the man's neck and trace his jaw with his lips and tongue.

It had been a purely impulsive decision to go forward and dare help the man handle his firearm, which he would have most likely never made if it wasn't for last night's events.

Usually, Edward calculated his romantic adventures wisely and with great care. But something about Anthony Bridgerton made him forget about his principles as he held onto his hand, palm tingling as intense as the butterflies in his stomach. Restraining himself took its toll on his body as it ached for the erotic fuil of his latest dreams. He desperately needed a distraction.

Otherwise, he would like to parish immediately. But he couldn't focus on the deer nearing nor the soft drizzle that pearled off his skin. His mind was occupied by the discounts hitching breath, the possibilities it held, and the pictures it painted in his thoughts.

Carefully, he glanced at the other man's profile, his knitted dark eyebrows, the long-lashed that held tiny rain drops, the depth of almost charcoal eyes that seemed to burn as much as Edward was burning for the Viscount right at this moment. His fingers unconsciously curled themselves even more around the other's hand, and he found himself leaning even closer, skin almost brushing against skin, the air seeming to sizzle between them.

His plans had gotten out of hand, and his intention for the day had shipwrecked. Another glance at Anthony Bridgerton, at his damp locks of ebony, the stern frown on his forehead, there was not a single sign of rejection. Sweet torture for his melting heart.

And somehow, with the strength of an entire army, he managed to pull his gaze away to set it to a marvellous deer that had entered the clearing, big eyes wide and sceptic. Softly, he redirected the muzzle until it directly pointed at the majestic animal.

"This is it, Anthony," he whispered, the name rolling off his tongue rather deliciously, his lips shamelessly brushing the other man's ear lobe.

A shot echoed through the woods, startling the prey and the hunters alike as the bullet missed its target entirely. The deer ran off while Edward gasped, the recoil having caught him off guard and thrown him back.

The Viscount was looking down at him, an unreadable expression in his beautiful eyes as his glance flickered over the Prince's body.

"I am terribly sorry", he started, his voice strangely hoarse. "But I'm afraid I don't feel so good. The alcohol must have finally gotten to my brain."

As the gentleman he was, he offered a hand to Edward, who took it to get back on his feet. Anthony retreated it as soon as he was steady, almost as if he had burned himself on his skin.

"Indeed, there had been a few glasses too many", Edward agreed as he brushed off. "We shall return to the lodge."

"Very well." the Viscount nodded and bowed his head in gratitude. And he was the one to lead them back briskly as if stung by a bee.