ENTITLED, anthony bridgerton

fourteen

chapter fourteen
of yelling

The moment the Bridgerton's arrived home, Arabella raced upward to her bedroom after bidding the family goodnight. She intentionally kept her eyes focused on the ground to avoid the Viscount, she feared his next actions. She wondered if he would tell Violet or worse her mother. 

Arabella got undressed and slipped into a nightgown, she completed her nightly ritual before collapsing onto her bed, head first and screamed into her pillow. She spent the remainder of the next hour staring at the ceiling, she couldn't sleep. Her stomach churned with anxiety of all potential outcomes of her momentary lapse. 

Unable to sleep, the girl stood up and wrapped and a shawl around her shoulders and held a lamp in one hand as she wondered down the stairs. Using her other hand to grip the fabric together to comfort her in the cold chill of the downstairs quadrant. As she reached the third step, the door to the study opened which poured out light onto the stair case and onto Arabella. 

She looked upwards and saw Anthony step out of the study, his under coat was off and he stood staring at Arabella with disheveled hair and a partially untucked white shirt and black pants. He had a stern expression on his face, one that made the contents of Arabella's stomach churn with nerves. Her mind raced with worrisome thoughts, there was no avoiding him now, especially when it was just the two of them and the darkness of the household. 

The two stood in silence staring at one another in their small bubble of light. Anthony turned around to walk into his study, but used one hand to notify Arabella to follow him. She gulped before gripping her shawl tighter and following his direction. She stepped into the study and closed the door. Anthony walked toward his desk and took a seat at the front of the table, leaning against the sturdy wooden table, he crossed his legs so his feet overlapped each-other and his arms crossed over.

His face stood emotionless, not moving which only scared Arabella further. She took a small breath before placing the lit lantern onto  the table beside. 

"I am truly sorry," Arabella said, Anthony sat motionless as she apologised. 

"You are my responsibility," Anthony said, " Your mother and father left you in my care,". His voice was stern, as if a father scolding his child. Arabella noticed how well could transform from a caring older brother to the man of the house. Although his face was youthful, she saw his soul, old and worn. She then understood that her actions had the potential to unravel what Anthony has spent the last 12 years fixing. 

"I know," She said, looking at the ground ashamed. 

"Do you understand that your actions could have ruined you and my family," He grappled with his words, the frustration of being unable to lecture the girl the same as he did the rest of his family, "You are a guest in this house,". As he said those words she realised how hypocritical his words truly were, she tried her best to ignore it but her stubbornness needed to make the Viscount realise that she did nothing wrong.

"Nothing improper occurred in that room," Arabella said, looking up at him with a cross expression her face. 

"Anyone could have walked in," He spat, he stood up from his place against the desk and walked toward the cowering girl, she wrapped her shawl around her tighter as he approached her, "People assume things, especially with Whistledown. Daphne's marriage was forced by me because of the same reason,".

"That is wrong," Arabella said, confused, "What happened with Daphne had no correlation to what happened in that room tonight,"

"If this was your father, do you not think he would do the same. Say the same words?" Anthony asked, he knew the girl was right so he simply threw words at her. 

Arabella chuckled at his words, "You are not my father, and you do not know what he would say,".

"Your father-," He began to speak, but was cut off by Arabella's interjections. She was angry with him, how unfair his words her. 

"Moments- moments before you walked, you stood behind me and undressed me. How is that any different to what you claim could have happened. Reflect on your own hypocrisy before you lecture me,"

Anthony's jaw tightened at her words, not because she was right. But he had attempted to get the image of her cleavage and legs out of his head, how he had tried so hard to erase the feeling of his finger tips, how he still felt the softness of her back, the nape of her neck. "It is not the same, I was merely helping-,"

"Yes. Exactly, my Lord. Helping, which is what Markus Leonard did to me. He helped me just as you helped me. I'm sure your intentions were much better then his but you think I am weak of mind, that I fall at the touch of a man," She stated, this time taking a step toward him. She took advantage of the way his eyes shifted and he face relaxed as if he was thinking of something else. 

"You are-," Anthony began to speak but was once again cut off. 

"I hear before you started your escapades of finding a wife, you had a reputation. Money. Women. Bars. A man touched my waist and you think I should be married. Yet you've committed the same act many women are disgraced for, you do not get to lecture me. Where is your wife?" She said, she looked at him directly. Her eyes fixated on the brown of his iris. 

"You are right," He sighed, taking a step toward the girl. He found the fire in her eyes to be captivating, seducing even. He knew nothing would happen but he had the urge to be closer to her, to smell her scent and touch her waist, "But you know it is not the same for you and I. I simply ask you be careful,"

"Careful? I am plenty careful-," She began to speak again but this time she was cut of by Anthony voice which has dropped an octave. It deepened as he took another step closer to her. This time the two were less then a metre apart, he closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. Arabella stared at the features on his face, the curve of his jaw and the red of his cheeks, for a moment she wondered what it would be like to touch his face and run her hands through his hair. 

"Do not fall captive to someone will ruin you," He said. 

"Would you ruin me?" She asked rashly, consumed by the heat she felt. She met his eyes, his brown iris fixated on the curve of her neck and the colour of her lips. Anthony wanted nothing more then to touch the girl in places she had yet to discover. 

"I would love nothing more," He gulped, taking another step forward, his breathing lowered as he looked down at the girl. He dropped his head lightly and moved it to the side of her face, he breathed in and closed his eyes again. Arabella stood completely still, she felt the warmth of him on her cheek and wished nothing more then for him to touch her, "Which is why I cannot.".

"What if I asked you to?" She breathed, she tilted her head toward his face and their lips stood an inch away from one another, Arabella closed her eyes and breathed in, his smelled of whisky, smoke and a scent that only attracted her toward him more. 

"I could touch you in places that would make heaven crumble," he said, bringing a hand up to her chest, he used his pointer finger to stroke from the nape of her neck to her collar bone. She breathed out, Arabella gasped at the contact. Her skin felt like it was burning, she had never felt so hot, "I could give you more then any boy you marry would give you in a lifetime,".

"Show me," Arabella said, looking up at him again, her eyes drifted onto his lips, the way they moved, she couldn't help but crave to feel them on her, to touch his strong jaw and to feel how it clenched against her palm.

"I-. No." Anthony quickly moved himself away from the girl, he took a few steps backward and shook his head lightly. Arabella stood still, her body felt confused by his sudden escape, the warmth she once felt had dissipated, "I apologise. You are a lady. The daughter of a Viscount. The granddaughter of an Earl. Forgive me," Anthony said, bowing to the lady before turning around and walking toward his chair. 

"Of course," Arabella breathed out quietly, before quickly gathering her things and walking hastily out of the room. She ran up the stairs and laid on her bed, she stared at the ceiling. Wishing she had not gone downstairs in the first place because now her thoughts were even faster and her body felt as if she was a flame and only the Viscount could blow it out.