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jadarnr · 6 days ago

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TRINITY BLOOD

RAGE AGAINST THE MOONS

(Sunao Yoshida)

Vol.1 From the Empire

FLIGHT NIGHT - Capitolo 3

Traduzione italiana di jadarnr dai volumi inglesi editi da Tokyopop.

Sentitevi liberi di condividere, ma fatelo per piacere mantenendo i credits e il link al post originale 🙏

Grazie a @trinitybloodbr per il suo prezioso contributo alla revisione sul testo originale giapponese ✨

“È ferita?”

Gli occhi di Jessica fissavano il vuoto senza espressione. “S—sono… sono tutti morti. Tutti…” balbettò. Crollò sul pavimento, stringendo le braccia attorno a sè.

Erano riusciti a correre via lontano dal ponte, ma non riusciva a fare a meno di guardarsi intorno nervosamente. Le sembrava che quel mostro fosse ancora con lei, ne sentiva ancora il sudiciume addosso.

Abel poteva quasi a vedere i pensieri che le passavano per la testa. Cercò di calmarla e portarla a concentrarsi su quello che avrebbero dovuto fare ora.

“Non ci seguirà. Persino un vampiro avrá bisogno di tempo per guarire da ferite del genere. Quello che il Duca ha detto é vero?”

“Sì, ha detto che avrebbe fatto schiantare la nave su Roma” singhiozzò “E il signor Dickins ha cercato di fermarlo, ma… e poi il capitano…” le sue parole si spezzarono a mezz’aria.

“Va tutto bene… Ora cerchi di calmarsi.”

Abel mise un braccio attorno alle spalle di Jessica scosse dai tremiti ed alzò lo sguardo verso il soffitto come se cercasse aiuto da Dio. Che incubo. Il computer di bordo era compromesso, c’era un vampiro terrorista a piede libero ed il ponte di comando era inservibile. Se i passeggeri lo fossero venuti a sapere, si sarebbe scatenato il panico.

“Padre, cosa dovremmo fare?” Chiese Jessica.

“Dobbiamo fermarlo.”

Ma come? Si domandò Jessica. Tutto l’equipaggio era morto ed il computer era stato sabotato. Non avevano possibilità di salvezza.

“Ho visto il progetto di questa nave. Ha un ponte inferiore, giusto? Si trova nell’hangar dove ci sono i tutti dispositivi di comunicazione. Possiamo controllarla da lì.”

“Impossibile” disse la ragazza, chiedendosi come avesse fatto il prete a mettere le mani sui disegni di progettazione della nave. “La Tristan ha inserito l’auto pilota al momento. Disabilitarlo manualmente è estremamente complicato, ci sono innumerevoli livelli di sicurezza. Dovremmo poterli sbloccare. Ed è tutto controllato dal computer.”

I computer erano una delle reliquie più misteriose lasciate indietro dopo l’Armageddon. Solo specialisti chiamati ‘programmatori’ erano in grado di decifrare l’enorme volume di codici e dare una logica a tutti quegli uno e zero. Non sapeva cosa il vampiro potesse avere fatto al sistema, ma un neofita ci avrebbe messo anni a capirlo.

“Ho un’idea. Potremmo disconnettere i controlli del computer e pilotare la nave dal ponte inferiore”

Lei esitò: “Tecnicamente… potremmo farlo. Ma non abbiamo un timoniere”.

Sia il timoniere che il comandante erano morti. Anche il navigatore era stato assassinato. Come mai avrebbero potuto pilotare la nave e farla atterrare?

“Il timoniere é proprio qui, davanti ai miei occhi”

Jessica sussultò: “Cosa?” Si allontanò da lui, con un’espressione come se fosse stata colta sulla scena di un crimine.

“Impossibile! Assolutamente impossibile! Non sono in grado”

“Ma prima stasera ha detto—“ iniziò Abel ma lei lo interruppe.

“Teoria e pratica sono due cose completamente diverse! Io sono solo una hostess…”

“Allora la situazione si complica…”

Gli occhi del prete si spostarono improvvisamente verso il corridoio. Si sentivano dei passi avvicinarsi lentamente.

“Oh no! Non può essere…”

“Non é lui, i passi sono troppo leggeri” disse Abel.

Il ragazzino con il palloncino rosso apparve timidamente da dietro l’angolo. Sembrava essersi perso. Quando vide Jessica corse verso di lei, scoppiando in lacrime.

“Piccolo, vieni qui. Ti sei perso?” Disse Jessica abbracciandolo ed asciugandogli le lacrime.

Il bambino annuì energicamente. Era spaventato anche lui, perché tremava tutto.

“Non ti avevo detto di tornare dalla tua mamma?” Gli chiese

“La mia mamma non è qui”

“Come?”

Il ragazzino tirò su col naso e continuò “La mamma sta lavorando a Roma. Il papà ed io stiamo andando a trovarla.”

Il bimbo sorrise, probabilmente pensando a quando avrebbe rivisto la sua mamma a Roma l’indomani.

Jessica si morse il labbro. Questo bambino non vedrá più la sua mamma. Probabilmente morirà. E non solo lui. Tutti gli altri passeggeri, compresa lei, sarebbero morti, e la nave che la sua stessa madre aveva contribuito a costruire sarebbe stata distrutta.

“Padre?” Sussurrò.

“Sì Jessica?”

Abel sorrise riconoscendo la luce nello sguardo di Jessica. La disperazione e lo shock avevano lasciato il posto ad una forte determinazione— ora era pronta.

“Mi può aiutare? Per prima cosa dobbiamo riportare questo bambino dal suo papà”

“E poi?”

Si strinse nelle spalle “E poi faremo ciò che si deve fare”.

“Sì, lo faremo insieme. Mi piace questa determinazione degli esseri uman—“ Abel si interruppe a metá frase e scosse la testa.

La trasmissione radio che arrivò alle 01.40 di mattina era forte e chiara, nonostante il suo significato fosse assurdo: Il Vaticano deve liberare tutti i vampiri prigionieri entro un’ora o distruggeremo Roma.

“Abbiamo ricevuto delle informazioni preliminari dal Dipartimento dell’Inquisizione!” Gridò un assistente.

“Il Duca di Meinz, Alfredo, vampiro— ricercato per sessantasette omicidi e furto di sangue. Come diavolo ha fatto quel pazzo omicida a salire sulla Tristan? Come ha fatto a superare la sicurezza in aeroporto?”

Era una follia. Al Castello di Sant’Angelo, il Salone dell’Angelo Messaggero, anche conosciuto come la war room del Vaticano, era in fermento—persone urlavano e volavano scartoffie da tutte le parti. Tutti quelli che contavano erano lì presenti: il Sacerdote Capo della Sicurezza Papale, il Ministro dei Trasporti e perfino la sorella del Papa, Ministro degli Affari Esteri. Erano stati tutti buttati giú dal loro letto, ma nessuno di loro mostrava segni di stanchezza.

Il ragazzo magrolino a capotavola, d’altro canto, sembrava sul punto di addormentarsi.

“Vostra Santità, siete ancora sveglio?”

Il giovane, Alessandro XVIII, trecentonovantanovesimo Papa, la bocca spalancata in un enorme sbadiglio, alzò lo sguardo sorpreso verso la bellissima donna in piedi accanto a lui, vestita con l’abito rosso da Cardinale.

“Scusa sorella mia, devo essermi assopito” disse imbarazzato.

“Non serve che tu stia alzato per questo, Alex. Possiamo occuparcene noi.” Disse la Duchessa di Milano, Ministro degli Affari Esteri Cardinale Caterina Sforza, guardando Alex calorosamente da dietro il suo monocolo. “Dovresti essere a riposare ora”.

Lui sbattè le palpebre rapidamente “Sto bene. Cosa sta succedendo?”

“Qualcosa di brutto”. La sua espressione calma minimizzò la gravitá della faccenda.

La situazione all’interno della nave era ancora poco chiara, e non c’era nulla che il Vaticano potesse fare a quel punto. “Nella peggiore delle ipotesi dovremo accontentare le loro richieste” disse Caterina.

“S—se gli ostaggi sono in pericolo, non c’è altro che possiamo fare, giusto?”. Balbettò il giovane Papa.

Annuendo seriamente, Alessandro tamburelló sulla superficie del tavolo. “Sì, rilasceremo i prigionieri.” Dichiarò.

Una profonda voce baritonale si alzò per obiettare: “Non possiamo farlo Sua Santità” tuonò la voce.

“Fratello maggiore?”

“Cardinale Medici” Caterina fece un cenno con il capo, salutando l’uomo che aveva parlato.

I fratelli si scambiarono un’occhiata gelida.

Il Segretario della Dottrina Papale Vaticana Francesco de’ Medici era un uomo grande e minaccioso. Il suo corpo era più adatto alla guerra che al clero. Si tolse il suo copricapo e si inchinò rigidamente al Papa, senza mostrare traccia di emozione. “Sono tornato dalla mia visita alla Base Aerea di Assisi”.

“Q—quando siete arrivato, fratello? Pensavo che saresti stato via fino alla p—prossima settimana” balbettò il ragazzo.

“Sono appena arrivato. Ed ho appreso dell’incidente sulla Tristan. Ebbene Caterina?” Chiese il Cardinale Medici.

La bellezza bionda si irrigidì al suo tono di rimprovero.

“Dovresti dare consigli migliori al Papa che dirgli di accontentare le richieste di terroristi vampiri. Così diventerá un debole ai loro occhi— un pupazzo che possono prendere in ostaggio ogni volta che lo vorranno. Dovresti vergognarti!” Abbaiò.

“Fratell… mi scuso, volevo dire Cardinale Medici” si rivolse al suo fratellastro “Cosa dovremmo fare? La Tristan viene da Albion, ed è piena di civili di Albion. La deadline per la firma del trattato di pace col Regno di Albion è la prossima settimana. Non possiamo permetterci che il minimo problema ostacoli i negoziati di pace. Le questioni riguardanti Albion devono essere trattate con delicatezza” spiegó. Il suo volto rimase sereno, ma i suoi occhi non mostravano la minima traccia di calore.

“Il Vaticano non negozierà con i terroristi. Specialmente terroristi vampiri!” si scherní il Cardinale Medici “Vostra Santitá, non dobbiamo sottometterci alle loro richieste. Bisogna impedire che entrino nello spazio aereo del Vaticano.”

“Obbediranno ai nostri ordini?” Si chiese il Papa. Nella sala calò il silenzio ed il giovane ed inesperto Papa sentì gli occhi di tutti su di lui. Deglutí faticosamente “Se fossero stati il tipo di persona che obbediscono agli ordini non avrebbero nemmeno dirottato la nave, giusto? Scusate, sono proprio inutile.”

“Sì, probabilmente sarebbe uno spreco di tempo” confermò Caterina.

“Allora cosa possiamo fare?” Chiese timidamente il Papa.

“Gli daremo un ultimatum. Se invaderanno il nostro spazio aereo, li abbatteremo. È molto semplice.” Disse il Cardinale Medici. Le sue parole si abbatterono sulla sala come una tonnellata di mattoni.

Caterinà protestò urlando “Sei forse fuori di testa, Cardinale Medici?! Ho appena detto che la Tristan é una nave di Albion!”

“Beate sumpto qui muribundum in Dominum. Beati coloro che muoiono nel nome del Signore. Stiamo parlando della gloria di Dio e della dignitá umana. Non possiamo dare ascolto a quelle empie voci!” Rispose Francesco, battendo con forza lo scettro da Cardinale sul pavimento come se fosse una spada, con un impeto degno di un rappresentante di Dio in terra.

“Il Vaticano è la più alta autoritá terrena ed il potere più forte dell’umanitá. Una tale istituzione sacra ed inviolabile non può piegarsi a nessuna minaccia! Non è questa un’opportunità perfetta per dimostrare a questi abomini che non esiste la parola ‘negoziazione’? Facciamo vedere a quei parassiti che non sanno qual’é il loro posto in terra quale sará il loro destino!”

“Beati coloro che muoiono nel nome del Signore!” ripetè con voce fervente uno dei sacerdoti in piedi accanto a Francesco. Un coro di voci eccitate si alzò da varie parti del Salone in risposta a quelle parole.

“Noi siamo il Vaticano—l’autoritá esecutrice della volontà di Dio in terra!”

“Non possiamo tirarci indietro!”

Caterina guardó ognuno degli uomini presenti in sala, ma vide solo bestie assetate di sangue.

Il suo fratellastro maggiore era un uomo molto carismatico, ma abusava troppo spesso della sua autoritá all’interno del Vaticano. I tempi sono cambiati. Il popolo non tollererá altra violenza inutile. Le persone non sono più un gregge di pecore senza opinioni. Il filo dei pensieri di Caterina fu interrotto da uno dei Diaconi.

“Cardinale, signora, abbiamo un’informazione urgente” disse il Diacono precipitosamente. Porse velocemente a Caterina una lista di nomi.

“È la lista dei passeggeri della Tristan? Ottimo lavoro”

Il cuore di Caterina sprofondò quando vide quanto lunga era la lista di nomi. Ognuno di loro era un fratello o una sorella, una madre o un padre, un figlio. Ed erano tutti in grave pericolo.

Ma quando si accorse di un nome in particolare, il suo atteggiamento cambiò istantaneamente. “Non può essere… Ne avete la certezza?”

“Sissignora. È stato confermato da tre fonti differenti” disse il Diacono avvicinandosi alla donna “È un’informazione certa. C’è un Crusnik sulla Tristan. L’abominio infernale era di ritorno al Vaticano dopo aver arrestato Padre Scott”.

“Faccia attenzione a come parla, Diacono. L’ ‘abominio infernale’ è uno dei miei più leali agenti. Convochi subito tutti gli agenti della AX. Chi di loro può essere immediatamente disponibile?

Il Diacono si inchinò: “Le porgo le mie scuse, Cardinale. La Iron Maiden e Gunslinger sono pronti a partire. Possono essere in contatto con la Tristan in quattro ore.

“Loro due potranno essere di supporto al Crusnik e mettere al sicuro la Tristan. Ci sarà dello spargimento di sangue…” si interruppe, prendendo un profondo respiro “Saranno accettabili vittime finchè rimarranno sotto al cinquanta percento dei passeggeri. Un numero più alto rovinerebbe le nostre possibilità di pace con Albion.”

Caterina si guardò intorno. Il Salone continuava ad essere in frenetica attività. Il Cardinale Medici abbaiava ordini. Sembrava un pazzo che riusciva a malapena a controllarsi. Nel frattempo il povero Alec sembrava completamente sopraffatto. Avere il suo piú fidato agente della AX a bordo della Tristan era stato certamente un dono del Signore.

Allora forse Roma era ancora tra le grazie del Signore. E così lo era anche lei.

#abel nightroad #sunao yoshida #trinity blood #flight night #jessica lang #rage against the moons #trinity blood novels #caterina sforza #francesco de medici #cardinale medici

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thecrayonindisguise · 1 month ago

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Chapter 6 Tangled in Desire|| Bonds and Barriers

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Original Female Character

Masterpost || << prev || next >>

Word Count: 10k

Warnings: slightly smut, just kissing and touching and smoking again.

Authors Note: Heyyy! How are you all? so this is gonna be a looong chapter! I must admit it was tough for me to put such a scene into words, it's my first time for everything so... sorry I will get better next time I promise. But until now I hope you enjoyed this chapter, I wrote way too much :) and it's only the beginning. Until next chapter! <3

Dearest Readers,

The event of the season is upon us, and I daresay all of the ton is positively vibrating with excitement.

Yes, darlings, I speak of none other than the upcoming Bridgerton Ball at Aubrey Hall, a grand affair that promises to be as dazzling as the illustrious family hosting it.

Rumor has it that this particular soirée will eclipse every other ball of the season, for not only will it be held at the Bridgertons’ stunning country estate, but nearly every notable family in London will be in attendance.

The invitations have been coveted, and sought after like the rarest of jewels, and only the most discerning and well-connected members of society will be counted among the guests.

The halls of Aubrey Hall will echo with laughter and music, while the grounds, with their picturesque lake and charming gardens, will be alive with activities.

It is said that the Bridgerton family has planned an array of delightful amusements to entertain their guests throughout the day before the grand ball.

A competitive game of pallmall is expected to take place (and we all know how fiercely competitive this family can be).

I do wonder, who will emerge victorious this year?

The ball itself, of course, is where all eyes will turn.

With the crème de la crème of society gathering beneath the glittering chandeliers, it shall be a spectacle of fashion and flirtation.

Who will wear the most talked-about gown? Who will step on whose toes in the first quadrille? But, most tantalizing of all, who will secure the attention of a certain eligible Bridgerton or other notable bachelors present?

There has been much speculation about possible matches. most notably, the presence of the intriguing Miss Caterina Medici and her twin sister, Teresa, who have captured the attention of more than a few eligible gentlemen.

Might a new romance blossom at Aubrey Hall? Or perhaps one already burning beneath the surface will finally reveal itself?

One can only wait with bated breath to see what secrets, alliances, and affairs of the heart will unfold amidst the glittering splendor.

One thing is certain, dear readers: Aubrey Hall will be the heart of society’s most scandalous gossip in the coming days, and your faithful writer shall be sure to report every delicious detail.

Until then, I remain ever watchful.

Yours truly,

Lady Whistledown

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The morning air at Aubrey Hall was alive with the hum of anticipation.

The time has come.

The arrival of the ton had begun in earnest, carriages pulling up the gravel drive in a stately procession, each more lavish than the last.

The sweeping lawns and manicured gardens of the Bridgerton estate were awash in the soft golden light of the day, reflecting off the glistening windows and the finely detailed columns of the great house.

The scent of fresh flowers filled the air, mingling with the crispness of summer, as liveried footmen hurried about, helping guests out of their carriages and escorting them toward the grand entrance.

Inside, the atmosphere buzzed with energy.

Servants moved swiftly, carrying trays of refreshments, and maids in their crisp uniforms hurried about, ensuring that every cushion was fluffed and every piece of silver polished.

The grand hall was already filled with clusters of elegantly dressed guests, ladies in their finest gowns, feathers, and jewels glittering in their hair, and gentlemen in their impeccable morning coats, exchanging pleasantries as they waited for the festivities to begin.

The tone was one of restrained excitement.

The Bridgertons’ annual ball at Aubrey Hall was the event of the season, and everyone who was anyone in the ton was in attendance. The whispers of expectation floated through the air, as some of the guests gathered in small groups near the large bay windows that overlooked the gardens, catching glimpses of more carriages rolling in.

The women fanned themselves delicately, eyes bright with curiosity about who would arrive next, while the men discussed matters of business and politics with a kind of relaxed authority.

In every corner of the grand entrance hall and the adjoining rooms, the chatter was vibrant, flirting, gossiping, discussions of the latest fashion in London, or murmurs of rumored matches that might be solidified at the ball tonight.

Outside, the steady procession continued, with each carriage door opening to reveal the grandest names of the ton. Lady Danbury, unmistakable with her bold cane and air of authority, was among the first to be greeted by Violet Bridgerton herself, who stood at the doors of Aubrey Hall, graciously welcoming each guest.

Lady Danbury offered a few sharp, witty remarks to the nearby ladies, sending ripples of laughter through the gathering as she made her way inside.

Behind her came the Featheringtons, Lady Featherington’s gown bursting with more colors than was appropriate for daylight hours, but her boldness was met with polite smiles from the surrounding crowd.

Penelope trailed behind her mother and sisters, her face a blend of excitement and nerves, already searching the room for familiar faces.

As each new guest arrived, there was a subtle shift in the air, whispers growing louder, glances exchanged, and hushed remarks as the most notable families appeared one by one.

The Cowpers arrived in perfect style, Lady Cowper with her cold, steely grace, and her daughter Cressida looking as pristine and calculating as ever.

The Langstones, ever the picture of elegance, descended from their carriage with an effortless grace that drew eyes, their beauty and poise commanding attention.

The Aubrey Hall gardens, however, were the true jewel of the day, and the guests gravitated toward them as they were guided by the Bridgertons’ staff.

The expansive lawns stretched out like a sea of green, perfectly trimmed hedges outlining pathways that led to delicate white gazebos.

A fountain in the center sparkled in the morning sun, its gentle trickle providing a soft, soothing background to the lively hum of conversation.

Guests strolled leisurely, admiring the flowerbeds and intricate landscaping, all meticulously designed to impress.

Ladies twirled their parasols, fanning themselves against the mild breeze as they gathered in groups on the garden’s edge, their gowns rustling as they exchanged gossip and stole glances at the men milling about.

There was a distinct air of competition in the air, as mothers eyed potential matches for their daughters, evaluating each eligible gentleman with a sharp, practiced eye.

Young women, eager to make an impression, fluttered about like butterflies, their laughter light and musical as they cast charming glances toward the men.

Among the crowd, the Bridgerton siblings were scattered, mingling with guests and doing their duty as hosts.

Anthony, ever the responsible eldest, moved about with a sense of duty and command, exchanging pleasantries with the more influential members of the ton while keeping a close eye on everything.

Colin was in his element, charming as ever, flashing his easy smile at every lady who crossed his path, while Eloise was already growing bored, her sharp tongue barely concealed as she made cutting remarks to anyone who tried to engage her in small talk.

But it was Benedict who seemed the most distracted.

He stood near the fountain, nodding absently at something Lord Dewitt was saying, though his eyes kept drifting toward the edge of the crowd, as though searching for someone.

His mind was elsewhere, replaying the memory of the previous day, the taste of that stolen kiss by the lake still lingering on his lips.

As the guests continued to arrive, Violet Bridgerton paused near the garden entrance, watching the scene unfold with a soft, satisfied smile.

This ball, this gathering of the ton, was her crowning achievement every season.

She greeted each new arrival with warmth and grace, always the perfect hostess, her sharp eyes never missing a detail.

And yet, there was something else stirring in the air today, something beyond the usual excitement of a ball.

It was as though the very atmosphere crackled with unspoken tension as if everyone sensed that tonight would be more than just a dance, tonight, something was bound to happen.

The whispers were louder, the glances sharper, and the possibilities endless.

All of the ton was here, gathered in one place, waiting for the sun to set and the night’s festivities to begin.

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Upstairs in one of the grand guest rooms of Aubrey Hall, the atmosphere was decidedly different from the lively excitement that had overtaken the gardens below.

Sunlight filtered softly through the tall windows, casting a golden hue over the room’s elegant furnishings.

A long vanity table stood by the wall, its surface littered with hairpins, ribbons, and delicate perfumes, all the trappings of a lady preparing for the day’s events.

Teresa, perched on the edge of the vanity stool, was buzzing with energy.

Her eyes gleamed with excitement as she inspected herself in the mirror, fastening a delicate bracelet around her wrist, her hair already styled in perfect soft curls.

She chattered nonstop, her voice lilting with anticipation, as she tried on different earrings, holding them up to her reflection, undecided.

“Oh, Kitty, just imagine today,” Teresa said, smiling brightly. “All the ton gathered here, the music, the dances… I can’t wait to see who is paired with whom at the ball later. And the garden is perfect, have you seen it? It’s like a dream!”

But Caterina, sitting on the edge of the bed, her dress half-buttoned and her hair still undone, barely heard her sister’s words.

She stared blankly at the intricate wallpaper, her mind far away.

The events of the previous day swirled in her thoughts, and even more vividly, the dream that had followed, the lingering sensation of Benedict’s kiss still burned on her lips, more real than she would have liked.

She could hear Teresa’s excitement, but it felt distant, like the buzz of a crowd from far off.

Caterina’s chest felt tight, an uncomfortable knot forming in her stomach.

She couldn’t shake that memory…the hunger in his touch.

She had been carried away in the moment, swept up in the intensity of it.

But now, in the sober light of day, it felt like a mistake, something reckless and dangerous.

Something that could ruin everything if anyone knew.

Teresa’s voice pulled her back, just as she finished fastening the last pearl earring. “Kitty, are you even listening?” she asked, turning around to look at her twin with a playful frown. “You’re acting like we won’t have the most exhilarating day ahead. Where’s your excitement? We have a full day, and tonight…” She grinned, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Well, tonight we’ll be the center of attention, you know…the only guests of the bridgerton who arrived earlier than everyone else”

Caterina forced a smile, the muscles in her face stiff as she turned to face Teresa.

“Yes, of course. I’m just… distracted,” she murmured, brushing a hand through her hair, trying to compose herself. “So much to think about, you know how these events can be. We must make sure we’re… perfect.” The word hung in the air like an obligation, something heavy and pressing down on her.

Teresa waved her hand dismissively, clearly not sensing the weight behind Caterina’s words. “We’re always perfect. What are you so worried about?”

She returned her attention to the mirror, adjusting a pin in her hair. “It’s not like anything could go wrong. We’re always the best-dressed and the most charming”

Caterina swallowed hard, her eyes unfocused as she stood to finish dressing.

She moved mechanically, her fingers working through the motions of buttoning up her gown with the help of Vanessa, her personal maid, but her thoughts were elsewhere, lost in a fog of uncertainty.

She had spent her life perfecting the art of appearing unbothered, of controlling her emotions, of being exactly what everyone expected her to be, a polished, composed woman, always in control.

But now, with each passing moment, it felt like she was slipping.

The dream from the night before, the heat, the passion, the way Benedict had looked at her, touched her, lingered in the back of her mind, refusing to let go.

It had felt too real, too raw, awakening something in her that she had never allowed herself to acknowledge.

And that was the problem.

She couldn’t afford this.

She couldn’t afford him .

She had to keep herself in check, had to bury these feelings before they became a real problem.

She glanced at herself in the mirror, catching her own reflection, the tightness around her eyes, the faint worry etched on her brow.

She had to pull herself together.

No one could know what had happened by the lake.

She would be the same Caterina as always, the one who laughed at the right jokes, flirted with the right gentlemen, and never, ever let anyone see beneath the surface.

But it was harder than she expected.

Her thoughts drifted back to Benedict.

A warmth spread through her at the memory, followed quickly by a sharp stab of guilt.

No, she couldn’t think about it.

She had to focus, had to be the Caterina everyone expected, not this uncertain, restless version of herself.

She straightened, forcing herself to push the thoughts aside, to shove them deep down where they couldn’t reach her.

She plastered on a smile, glancing over at Teresa who was practically glowing with excitement.

“I’m fine, Tess. Really,” she said, her voice lighter now, though the weight in her chest hadn’t lifted. “I didn’t sleep very well last night.”

Teresa shot her a knowing look, mischief dancing in her eyes. “Well, get some rest after tea then, because tonight… tonight, my dear sister, will be magical.” She winked, clearly unaware of just how closely her teasing words hit to the truth.

Caterina managed a laugh, though it felt hollow. “Yes, magical…” she echoed, her voice soft as she turned back to the mirror, her reflection staring back at her like a stranger.

She had to make sure nothing slipped, not her emotions, not her thoughts, not the tiniest sign that she was unraveling.

The kiss, the dream, the feelings it had stirred, they were hers alone to bear, hidden beneath layers of charm and poise.

Today, she would be the same Caterina as always.

No one would see the turmoil beneath.

No one would see the way her heart had betrayed her the moment Benedict’s lips touched hers.

With a deep breath, she tied the final ribbon of her gown, her resolve tightening like the fabric around her waist.

She had to be perfect.

She had no other choice.

─────────

The sun continued to hang high in the pale blue sky, casting a warm glow over the lush green gardens of Aubrey Hall.

The delicate fragrance of roses filled the air as the Medici sisters, Caterina and Teresa, made their way across the perfectly manicured lawn.

The sisters moved with an air of confidence that had caught the attention of the ton from the moment they arrived in England.

Ahead of them, a group of ladies was already seated at a long table covered in a pristine white cloth, laid out for a morning tea.

At the center sat the Langstone sisters, Cynthia and Olympia, chatting amiably with Eloise Bridgerton and Penelope Featherington.

Other ladies of note were gathered as well, all delicately sipping their tea while shaded under the large garden parasols.

As the Medici sisters approached, the ladies fell silent for a brief moment, the two Italians always bringing a bit of excitement and unpredictability to these otherwise predictable social occasions.

“Ah, Teresa, Caterina!” Olympia exclaimed with a wide smile, rising from her seat to greet them. Cynthia followed, her curiosity barely concealed behind the politeness. “We were just talking about you.”

“Nothing too scandalous, I hope,” Teresa replied with a mischievous smile, her eyes gleaming.

“Of course not,” Olympia said with a laugh, giving Teresa and Caterina each a kiss on the cheek, as was their Italian custom.

The rest of the ladies exchanged polite nods and greetings, each careful to maintain decorum, though it was clear the Medici sisters stirred something beneath the surface of their proper exterior.

Caterina gave a courteous nod, her gaze briefly caught Eloise’s, who gave her a smile of acknowledgment.

“Come, sit with us,” Cynthia gestured to the seats across from her and Olympia.

The sisters took their places, Caterina, next to Teresa, while Eloise and Penelope remained seated to their right.

“It’s such a beautiful morning, isn’t it?” Penelope offered politely, though she remained as ever, reserved and quiet.

“Yes, lovely indeed,” Caterina responded, settling into her chair. “The gardens here are magnificent.”

As tea was poured and the idle gossip of the ton resumed, Caterina’s eyes flickered with amusement.

The conversation at the table drifted from the latest fashions to the upcoming balls and the recent appearances of certain members of the ton as well as the possibilities of imminent proposals.

“Oh, did you see Lady Wargrave at the theater last week?” Cynthia’s voice was delicate, yet ripe with curiosity, her hands wrapped around her teacup. “I could not help but notice she wore that same gown she had on at the Earl’s dinner. Such a disgrace.”

“Indeed,” a lady chimed in, her tone light but judgmental. “A lady should never repeat a gown. Especially one in such poor taste.”

Penelope nodded meekly, though her attention drifted toward Eloise, who, as usual, appeared bored.

Eloise tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair, her gaze wandering across the gardens as if seeking an escape from the endless prattle of gossip.

But then, something shifted.

Her eyes sharpened as Caterina shifted in her seat whose boredom took her over too.

Caterina, with an elegant but slightly mischievous smile, reached into her dress bodice, retrieving something tucked beneath the delicate fabric.

The other ladies continued their conversation, but Eloise watched with increasing fascination.

Slowly, Caterina pulled out a small case, its design sleek, with matches attached to its side.

She placed the case on the table with a soft tap , catching the attention of everyone seated.

The ladies fell silent as Caterina calmly opened the case and gave it a gentle tap to straighten its contents.

Each woman’s gaze now fixated on her with wide eyes, their mouths slightly agape.

“Miss Medici, what are those things?” A lady's voice broke the silence, her curiosity piqued but laced with disapproval.

Caterina glanced up, a smile playing at the corners of her lips.

She picked up one of the slender objects from the case, holding it between her fingers as though she were handling a fine jewel. “These, ladies” she began, “are cigarettes.”

She placed one on her lips with a casual air of defiance.

“Do you?” she asked Teresa, turning to her sister with a glint of amusement.

Teresa’s smile mirrored Caterina’s as she reached over and took one without hesitation, placing it between her lips as well.

The other ladies gasped quietly, scandalized.

Caterina, cigarette balanced delicately between her lips, scanned the table. “What?” she asked, her tone both playful and nonchalant. “You don’t have them in London?”

A few of the ladies exchanged nervous glances, and one of them whispered, “Yes, we have, but… it’s not appropriate for a lady to smoke in public. It’s something only gentlemen do.”

Eloise leaned forward, her curiosity growing as she observed the Medici sisters with admiration.

She’d never seen anyone break the rules of society with such ease and charm.

Caterina let out a low chuckle, her cigarette still balanced between her lips.

“Why not? In Italy, it is common for high-class women to smoke. Men and women alike.”

She struck a match against the side of the case, the flame flickering to life.

She brought it to the cigarette and lit it, the orange glow of the ember flickering in the sunlight.

Then, with a smile, she passed the match to Teresa, who followed suit.

As Teresa exhaled a cloud of smoke, she chuckled softly. “How antiquated you are, you British,” she teased, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

Eloise laughed, unable to contain herself, her admiration for the sisters growing with each passing moment.

The ladies' mouths hung open, their shock was evident.

Their gazes flit between the smoking sisters and each other.

Penelope looked particularly uncomfortable, shifting in her seat as if she were witnessing a scandal unfold before her eyes.

“So?” Caterina asked, amused by the stunned silence around her.

She inhaled deeply from her cigarette, then blew out the smoke with the grace of someone utterly unbothered by the judgment she faced. “Shall we continue gossiping?”

Her question hung in the air, jolting the group back into conversation.

Teresa, tapping the cigarette and letting a small amount of ash fall onto the grass, leaned in toward Olympia with a sly smile. “Right. Olympia, you danced all night with Lord Cook at the last ball. How is he?” she asked, her tone dripping with suggestive curiosity.

Olympia’s cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink, and she stammered for a moment before finally responding. “He… He was quite charming. And very… attentive.”

The group erupted in soft giggles, except for Eloise, whose gaze remained firmly on the Medici sisters, her mind turning over the audacity of their actions.

She leaned closer to Caterina and whispered, “It’s incredible.”

Caterina, hearing her, smiled, a knowing glint in her eye.

She winked at Eloise before bringing the cigarette to her lips once again.

“You know,” Eloise spoke up suddenly, addressing the group, “I don’t see why it should be so shocking. Why is it that only men are allowed to smoke? It seems like yet another arbitrary rule imposed on us.”

The other ladies shifted uncomfortably at her directness, but Caterina grinned, clearly pleased with Eloise’s rebellious spirit. “Exactly,” she said. “Arbitrary rules. We should do what pleases us.”

Teresa nodded, exhaling another puff of smoke as she continued the conversation. “Now, speaking of rules… Did anyone else notice Lady Brinsley’s new suitor at the ball, last week? Quite the looker, wouldn’t you agree, Cynthia?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Cynthia replied, regaining her composure. “Though I heard he’s already courting Lady Hartford. It’s all very scandalous.”

As the conversation shifted back to gossip, Caterina found herself leaning back in her chair, taking another drag from her cigarette, and enjoying the brief lull of peace.

The soft murmur of gossip swirled around her like a gentle breeze, but her thoughts began to drift.

She had only half-listened to the last discussion, something about a new marriage proposal, when Teresa nudged her subtly under the table.

Caterina blinked, refocusing her attention just in time to catch Olympia’s amused expression as she recounted a particularly scandalous bit of news.

But her mind was elsewhere.

Where was h e ? The question tugged at the edges of her thoughts.

She had been on edge since the previous night, the vivid, nearly palpable memories of Benedict Bridgerton’s kiss by the lake haunted her every step.

A small part of her dreaded seeing him again, afraid that he would sense the very thoughts that had consumed her.

But then, this morning, over breakfast, she had overheard Lady Featherington’s mention of the hunt.

Benedict Bridgerton, along with his brothers and several other gentlemen, had departed early to spend the day hunting in the woods.

The news had filled her with a strange mix of relief and something else, a feeling that fluttered in her chest and left her more agitated than before.

Good, she had thought at the time, I won’t have to see him until the ball.

And yet, now that she sat here, surrounded by the chattering ladies and basking in the freedom of her cigarette, she couldn’t quite decide if she was truly relieved or deeply unsettled by his absence.

A part of her longed for the calm, to be free of the turbulent feelings that had come with their shared kiss.

But another part, a quieter, more daring part, wanted to see him again.

To see if he felt the same.

As she exhaled another soft cloud of smoke, she glanced over at Teresa, who was laughing easily with Eloise about something, seemingly unaware of her sister’s inner turmoil.

Caterina’s fingers twitched nervously, her cigarette hovering near her lips as she tried to ground herself.

No Benedict today, she reassured herself once more, her heartbeat steadying slightly.

He would be busy with the other men, out in the fields, far from her thoughts.

At least for now.

The ball tonight was when their paths would cross again.

She had until then to collect herself, to regain control over her emotions, to suppress the heat that flared within her whenever his name was mentioned.

With a small, determined smile, she crushed the cigarette beneath her shoe, feeling the slightest bit more composed.

Whatever happened next, she would face it tonight.

For now, she could enjoy the sun, the gossip, and the temporary absence of Benedict Bridgerton.

─────────

The moment that all the ton was waiting for has come.

In the bedroom, the atmosphere was charged with excitement and nervous anticipation.

Teresa, ever the social butterfly, was practically glowing with energy as she made her way between the mirror and the wardrobe, fussing over the final touches to her gown.

Beside her, the Langstone sisters, Cynthia and Olympia, were similarly animated, their faces flushed with the thrill of the upcoming Bridgerton ball.

Caterina, however, was less enthused.

She sat by the window, her fingers absently playing with the lace on her dress.

She had tried her best to remain calm, but the knot of anxiety growing in her chest was impossible to ignore.

The thought of seeing him again had lodged itself in her mind, and she couldn’t shake it, no matter how hard she tried.

The ball loomed ahead like a storm cloud, full of unpredictable possibilities.

“You know,” Cynthia said with a conspiratorial grin, interrupting Caterina’s thoughts, “we’ve been dying to hear more about your time here at Aubrey Hall. What was it like without the t on ? It must’ve been so… intimate.” She wriggled her eyebrows suggestively, prompting a round of giggles from Olympia.

“Yes, we can only imagine,” Olympia chimed in, tugging on one of Teresa’s curls playfully. “You were here for several days before everyone arrived, so much time alone with some of the most eligible gentlemen of the season.”

Caterina rolled her eyes subtly, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks as the Langstone sisters exchanged knowing looks.

Intimate , indeed. If only they knew.

“It was… quieter,” Teresa answered, smiling mysteriously.

She was clearly enjoying the attention, especially since she had the opportunity to drop hints about their time at Aubrey Hall.

“But we certainly weren’t bored, were we, Kitty?”

Caterina glanced at her sister, trying to maintain her composure.

Teresa’s gaze sparkled with mischief, her lips twitching into a grin that hinted at secrets.

“Not bored at all,” Caterina said dryly, her fingers still fiddling with the lace.

“And Lord Ducker?” Olympia asked eagerly, her eyes wide with curiosity. “You spent quite a bit of time with him, didn’t you? What do you think of him?”

Teresa laughed softly, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Lord Ducker…” she began, drawing out the name for effect. “He is quite… interesting. We may have had the chance to overhear a rather enlightening conversation one evening.”

The Langstone sisters leaned in, their curiosity piqued. “What conversation?” Cynthia whispered, her eyes gleaming with excitement.

“Well…” Teresa continued, lowering her voice to match the mood of the room, “Kitty and I may have found ourselves in the hallway, quite by accident, of course, when we overheard Lord Ducker and some of the other gentlemen discussing rather… personal matters.”

Caterina shot her sister a look, silently warning her not to reveal too much.

Teresa, however, was clearly enjoying herself far too much to stop.

“They were talking about us, you see,” Teresa added, her voice barely above a whisper. “Lord Ducker, in particular, seemed rather interested in a certain lady of the household.”

The Langstone sisters gasped in unison, their faces lighting up with excitement. “Who?” Olympia demanded. “Was it you?”

Teresa chuckled, casting a sly glance at her sister before answering. “Let’s just say there may be something brewing between Lord Ducker and myself. but I suppose we’ll have to wait.”

Caterina inwardly groaned at her sister’s theatrics, though she couldn’t deny that the Langstones were hanging on Teresa’s every word.

As much as she disliked gossip and these sorts of games, she knew Teresa thrived on them.

“Do you think something could happen between you and Lord Ducker, then?” Cynthia asked, her eyes gleaming with excitement.

Teresa smirked, glancing over at Caterina. “It’s possible. But we’ll see how the days unfold.”

The conversation drifted toward the men of Aubrey Hall and their reputations, but Caterina found herself retreating into her thoughts again, her mind circling back to Benedict.

As much as she tried to focus on Teresa’s banter, the pit of unease in her stomach grew deeper.

The ball was fast approaching, and she couldn’t help but feel both anxious and curious about what might happen when she finally crossed paths with Benedict again.

The sisters continued chatting and adjusting their gowns, completely oblivious to Caterina’s growing tension.

Teresa’s excitement was infectious, and the Langstone sisters were already speculating about who might win whose affections tonight.

But Caterina barely registered their words.

As the final preparations were made, the time to leave the bedroom and join the rest of the ton crept closer.

She took one last glance at herself in the mirror, her reflection revealing a woman who looked composed but whose heart was racing beneath the surface.

Tonight, the Bridgerton ball would unfold, and with it, the questions and desires she had been suppressing.

But for now, she focused on steadying her breath, reminding herself that she could survive the night without letting her emotions slip through the cracks.

As long as she could avoid Benedict Bridgerton for just a little longer.

─────────

The grand ballroom of Aubrey Hall sparkled with life, an opulent spectacle that reflected the radiant excitement of the evening.

Chandeliers hung like constellations overhead, casting a warm glow over the swirling gowns and dapper suits of the ton.

The air was thick with the sounds of laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the soft strains of a string quartet weaving through the gilded space.

Caterina stood at the edge of the dance floor, her heart racing as she took in the sights and sounds of the ball.

A magnificent tapestry of colors unfurled before her, where ladies in vibrant gowns twirled like flowers blooming in spring and gentlemen in tailored coats moved with an elegance that only the elite could possess.

The energy was intoxicating, a mixture of anticipation and delight that hummed beneath her skin.

Yet despite the festivities swirling around her, Caterina felt a strange disconnect.

She adjusted the delicate lace of her gown, but the fabric felt heavy against her skin.

There was a weight in her chest, a tumult of emotions that threatened to spill over as she scanned the crowd.

She was searching, hoping to catch sight of one particular figure.

“Kitty!” The familiar voice of her sister Teresa broke through the noise, pulling Caterina from her reverie.

Teresa appeared at her side, her eyes shining with enthusiasm, a wide smile plastered on her face.

“Isn’t it just splendid? Look at everyone! Cynthia and Olympia are already plotting their conquests for the evening.” She glanced around, taking in the lively atmosphere, her excitement palpable.

Caterina forced a smile, her mind still wandering, still focused on Benedict across the room.

“Yes, quite splendid,” she echoed, though her heart was miles away.

“Come, Kitty,” Teresa said, nudging her gently. “You mustn’t stand here all night. I have the perfect gentleman I want you to meet.”

Caterina raised an eyebrow, her interest piqued despite herself. “A gentleman?”

“Yes! Lord Ashford,” Teresa declared, her voice bubbling with excitement. “He’s just returned from Paris, and I hear he has quite the reputation for being charming.”

Before Caterina could respond, Teresa grasped her arm and pulled her toward a tall figure standing at the edge of the dance floor.

“Lord Ashford,” Teresa called, her voice cutting through the din of the ballroom.

The gentleman turned, and his gaze landed on the sisters, a look of genuine pleasure crossing his features.

“Miss Medici, how delightful to see you!” he replied, bowing slightly.

His eyes then shifted to Caterina, a hint of curiosity sparking in them. “And who is this lovely lady?”

“This is my sister, Miss Caterina Medici,” Teresa introduced a hint of pride in her voice. “Kitty, meet Lord Ashford.”

Caterina felt a flutter of nerves as Lord Ashford extended his hand toward her.

“A pleasure, Miss Medici,” he said, his voice rich and warm. “Your sister has spoken quite highly of you.”

“Only the good things, I hope,” Caterina replied, attempting to match his ease.

“Only the best,” Lord Ashford assured her, his smile widening. “And I can see why. You are quite the vision tonight.”

Caterina felt her annoyance grow and masked her response with a dry smile “Thank you, my lord. You are too kind.”

The lively chatter of the man faded into the background as her gaze landed on Benedict across the room.

He was stood in a cluster of people, laughing with a beautiful blonde lady, his face glowing with that easy charm he seemed to carry so effortlessly.

The way his hand rested gently on the woman’s arm as they spoke sent a sharp pang of something through Caterina, unsettling her in ways she hadn’t anticipated.

She tried to shake the feeling, but it clung to her.

The sight of him being so close, so animated with someone else stirred something visceral inside her.

Jealousy? she thought, but immediately pushed the notion away.

No, she wouldn’t give herself that label.

But the more she watched, the more difficult it became to dismiss the feelings swirling in her chest.

The ballroom seemed to shrink, and the sounds of laughter, music, and conversation faded into the background.

All she could focus on was Benedict and that woman.

The man who just met continued his conversation, but his voice turned into a distant hum, lost in the roaring rush of blood in her ears.

She could hardly hear anything over the storm inside her head.

“Miss Medici?” Lord Ashford called, his voice filled with a hint of concern. “Miss Medici?”

Caterina blinked, snapping out of her trance, her grip tightening on the glass.

She cleared her throat, trying to gather herself before facing the man with a practiced, polite smile.

“Yes?” she responded, though her voice felt strained, distant.

He gave her a curious look but returned the smile. “I was just asking your thoughts on the upcoming event. Your sister was telling me about how splendidly planned everything is.”

Caterina blinked again, struggling to pull herself back into the conversation. “Oh, yes,” she answered briefly, her voice distracted. “It will be quite the evening, I’m sure.”

But even as she responded, her gaze slipped back toward Benedict and the woman.

She couldn’t stand here and watch this any longer.

Her heart pounded in her chest, and before she could think better of it, she excused herself from Lord Ashford.

Without hesitation, she made her way toward him, her steps quick and determined, cutting through the crowd as if she were drawn by an invisible string.

When she reached him and the blonde, she smoothly inserted herself into the conversation, standing between them with deliberate confidence.

“Mr. Bridgerton,” she said with a sweet smile, though her voice carried an edge. “The dance is about to start.”

Benedict turned, his face lighting up in mild surprise. “Is it?”

“Yes,” Caterina replied, her tone casual yet firm. “You promised to be my partner for this one.”

Benedict blinked, clearly puzzled. “Did I?” he asked, his brow furrowing.

Caterina chuckled, the sound light but hiding something more. "Yes, of course. Mr. Bridgerton, you wouldn’t break your word to me, would you?"

His gaze flicked to the blonde lady, who seemed taken aback by Caterina’s boldness, before returning to Caterina.

Amusement danced in his eyes as he gave her a crooked smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

She smiled wider. "Then shall we?"

She turned to the blonde woman, her tone as polite as ever. “You must excuse us.”

Without waiting for a proper farewell to the woman, Caterina took his hand, leading him toward the dance floor.

She could feel his eyes on her, his smirk not fading as they found their place among the other dancers.

As the music began, Benedict’s hand rested gently on her waist, and they moved in rhythm with the melody.

He was watching her intently, his smirk still playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Is there something amusing, Mr. Bridgerton?” Caterina asked, her voice sharper than she intended.

Benedict chuckled softly, his grip on her hand firm but playful. “I’m just marveling at how you asked me for a dance, Miss Medici. Quite forward of you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I did not ask. I merely reminded you of your commitment.”

“You just asked me for a dance” He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself.

“No, I did not,” she said, her tone clipped.

“Yes, you did.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

“No,” she repeated, more firmly this time.

“Yes,” Benedict insisted, his smile widening. “You did.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “Miss Medici, it’s alright to admit it. There’s no shame in wanting my company.”

“I don’t want your company,” she snapped, her cheeks flushing slightly. “You’ve misunderstood.”

“Have I?” His smile widened as he spun her gracefully. “Because it seems to me that you’ve gone out of your way to claim this dance.”

“I did no such thing,” she replied, but her words lacked conviction.

He grinned, his signature crooked smile making an appearance as he shook his head. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

Caterina clenched her jaw. “Of course, I am not.”

“You are,” he said, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “That’s why you interrupted, isn’t it?”

“I interrupted nothing,” she retorted, her tone icy.

She glanced away, her grip tightening around his hand.

Benedict laughed softly, the sound rich and teasing. “You don’t have to deny it, Miss Medici. It’s rather flattering.”

Caterina clenched her jaw, her heart pounding in her chest.

She wanted to deny it, to brush him off, but the truth had already slipped through the cracks in her resolve.

She was jealous.

Jealous of that blonde woman.

Jealous of the way Benedict had looked at her.

But she wouldn’t admit that.

Not now, not to him.

“You’re infuriating,” she hissed, though there was a hint of breathlessness to her words that she couldn’t quite hide.

Benedict’s grin softened into something more tender. “And you’re the most beautiful woman in this room.”

Her heart stuttered at the softness in his voice, the way his gaze seemed to shift from playful to something deeper.

Caterina’s breath hitched, but she kept her gaze averted, refusing to show how his words affected her.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he murmured, his voice so close, sending shivers down her spine. “I can’t stop thinking about it either… about the lake”

Caterina’s breath hitched, and she turned to face him, her expression hardening. “Stop.”

But Benedict didn’t pull away. “Stop what?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

The music slowed, signaling the end of the dance, but neither of them moved.

They stood in the middle of the ballroom, the world fading around them.

Caterina released Benedict’s hand immediately and dropped into a quick curtsy, her face flushed.

Without another word, she turned and fled the ballroom, her heart racing.

She couldn’t handle another moment like that, not with him.

As she hurried down the hallway, away from the music and laughter, her heart raced with frustration.

Pushing through a side door, she found herself in an empty parlor, the dim lighting and silence offering a brief reprieve from the chaos of her emotions.

Her hands trembled as she closed the door behind her, moving around the room.

What was wrong with her?

Why had she reacted so strongly?

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to calm the whirlwind inside her.

What was happening to her?

Moments later, the door creaked open again…

─────────

The grand ballroom was alive with the glittering lights of chandeliers and the sound of lively chatter, but Teresa Medici was not in the mood for any of it.

She stood beside her mother, Lady Medici, whose sharp gaze flitted from one guest to another, taking in every subtle detail of the evening’s social maneuvers.

Teresa, however, was preoccupied.

Her eyes darted constantly toward her sister, Caterina, standing across the room chatting with Lord Ashford but with an unreadable expression.

Teresa had been worried about Caterina since yesterday, ever since she had found her locked away in her room, pale and distracted, her normally composed demeanor fraying at the edges.

It wasn’t like Caterina to lose her composure like that.

Something had happened. But what?

“Teresa, darling,” Lady Medici’s voice interrupted her thoughts, a question hanging between them. Teresa blinked, realizing her mother had been speaking to her.

“I’m sorry, Mama,” Teresa said, her voice soft, distracted. “What did you say?”

Lady Medici arched an elegant brow, a look of mild disapproval crossing her features. “I asked if you’ve seen Lady Ducker this afternoon. She asked what were your favorite flowers, maybe it could be a sign of - ”

Lady Medici followed her daughter’s gaze, her expression softening slightly. “You’re worried about your sister,” she observed, her voice quieter now, understanding threading through the words.

Teresa sighed, finally turning to face her mother fully.

“I am. She hasn’t been herself since yesterday, and I can’t figure out what’s bothering her.” Her brow furrowed as she searched for the right words. “She seems… distracted. As if her mind is somewhere else entirely.”

Lady Medici glanced at Caterina across the ballroom, her eyes narrowing slightly in thought.

“I noticed it too…,” she said thoughtfully. “It is rare to see her so unsettled.”

Teresa nodded, her anxiety growing. “She’s barely spoken to anyone all night, and she hasn’t danced at all, which is unlike her even though she hates it. But tonight she seems… lost.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a sudden movement in the room.

Teresa caught sight of Caterina, her posture rigid as she abruptly excused herself from Lord Ashford with whom she had been standing with.

Without a word, she turned and began weaving her way through the throngs of guests, her expression tight, her steps quick.

She observed her moving toward Mr Bridgerton and a blonde lady, they exchanged some words until the music started and she and Mr. Bridgerton started dancing together.

So a this action Teresa didn't place much importance until the dance finished and the music stopped… and then she saw her sister quickly exit from the crowd.

Something happened between them.

Between her sister and Mr. Bridgerton.

It wasn’t the graceful exit of someone in control, it was the hurried retreat of someone desperate to escape.

Teresa’s heart leaped in her chest. “Mama,” she whispered urgently, her eyes widening. “Look.”

Lady Medici followed her daughter’s gaze just in time to see Caterina disappearing through the large double doors leading out into the hallway.

“What on earth…?” Lady Medici began, her brow furrowing in concern.

But before either of them could move, Teresa saw something else that made her breath catch.

Benedict Bridgerton followed swiftly after her, his steps purposeful, his expression unreadable.

Lady Medici’s stomach tightened. “Why is Mr. Bridgerton following her?” she asked, her lips thinned into a tight line, her eyes narrowing as she watched the scene unfold.

“This is not proper,” she murmured, her voice low and tense. “Teresa, find out what is going on. Now.”

Teresa didn’t need to be told twice.

Without a second thought, she gathered her skirts and moved quickly through the crowd, her mind racing.

She had no idea what had passed between her sister and Mr. Bridgerton, but the fact that he had followed her so urgently, it all felt far too intimate, far too personal.

─────────

Caterina could barely breathe as she stepped away from the dance floor.

The music, the people, the laughter, all seemed to close in on her.

But more than anything, it was Benedict.

Benedict Bridgerton

His smile, the sound of his laughter, the way his eyes lingered on her, it was unbearable.

No matter how hard she tried to push it away, it haunted her.

Her breathing was ragged as she stepped inside, her hands trembling as she clutched the door behind her as if closing it could keep out the torrent of emotions threatening to overtake her.

She needed space, to clear her head, to breathe.

But all she could think of was Benedict, his touch, his voice, the way his eyes followed her.

It consumed her, every moment they shared.

A moment that should have never happened, but now lived in her thoughts like a ghost she couldn't escape.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart, but it was no use.

The memory of Benedict’s lips on hers, the warmth of his body so close, the way her heart had skipped at the feel of him, it all came rushing back in vivid, tormenting detail.

She had no business thinking about him, but her mind betrayed her.

But the door creaked open behind her.

She froze, knowing who it was before she even turned around.

“Miss Medici…”

His voice.

The very sound of it sent a wave of emotions crashing over her, but she couldn’t bring herself to face him.

She remained where she was, in the middle of the room with her back turned to him.

“Is everything all right?” Benedict asked, his voice soft, but she could hear the concern in it as he took a few tentative steps toward her, entering the room and closing the door behind him.

Her heart ached at the sound of his voice, but she forced herself to remain composed, her voice cold and detached as she replied, "You should leave Mr. Bridgerton, before anyone could see us."

Benedict stopped moving, standing only a few steps away from her now, his eyes fixed on her back.

"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked again, his tone gentle. "If I said something that made you uncomfortable, I’m truly sorry."

Caterina bit her lip, the weight of his words pressing down on her.

She knew it wasn’t what he said, but his very presence that made her feel this way.

It was him. It was always him.

“It’s you,” she finally said, her voice stronger now, though it wavered with the emotions she was trying so hard to suppress.

She turned slowly to face him, her eyes locking onto his. “It��s you that makes me so uneasy. Your look, your voice, your attitude, your, your everything.”

Benedict’s brow furrowed, his confusion clear, but beneath it, there was something else, a flicker of understanding. “So… are you feeling the same?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost hopeful.

Caterina’s pulse hammered in her ears, but she kept her expression steady, unwilling to let him see how deeply his presence affected her.

She didn’t answer, didn’t trust herself to.

The truth was far too dangerous to admit aloud.

Benedict took a tentative step closer, his voice softening.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. About you . ” His eyes searched hers as if looking for any sign she felt the same way.

“The way we kissed, the way you looked at me that day… I thought, no, I know there’s something between us. So why are you running from it?”

She clenched her fists at her sides, fighting the heat rising in her chest.

She couldn’t let him break through her defenses.

“I’m not running,” she said, her voice biting, though her heart screamed otherwise. “I’m being cautious.”

“cautious?” Benedict echoed, his brow furrowing in disbelief.

He took another step closer, his hand almost reaching out to her before stopping himself.

“Is that what you call this? Ignoring what happened between us? Pretending that you don’t feel what I do?”

Caterina’s breath hitched.

His words struck too close, like a blade digging into an open wound.

She wanted to scream at him, to tell him to stop, to leave her alone, but a part of her, the part she fought so hard to suppress, wanted him to stay.

To keep pressing.

Her voice came out in a harsh whisper, brittle and full of anguish, “You think this is easy for me?”

Benedict’s eyes softened, and he closed the distance between them in a single stride.

Now only inches separated them, his presence overwhelming, intoxicating.

“Then why are you doing this? Why are you pushing me away?”

Her chest heaved, her emotions threatening to spill over.

“Because…” She faltered, her voice cracking under the weight of her words. “Because it shouldn’t have happened, Mr. Bridgerton… it was wrong.”

“Wrong?” He looked at her in disbelief. “How can it be wrong when it feels like this?”

He reached out, gently cupping her cheek.

His touch was warm, and tender, and it made her want to collapse into him, to let herself feel everything she’d been trying so desperately to deny.

His thumb brushed softly against her skin, sending a shiver down her spine.

Caterina closed her eyes, her resolve crumbling as she leaned into his touch, just for a moment.

But then the fear crept back in.

The fear of what this would mean, of what she would lose if she let herself fall for him completely.

She pulled back abruptly, stepping out of his reach, her hand trembling as it fell away from him. “I can’t , ” she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears. “We can’t.”

Benedict’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening. “Why? Why can’t we? Tell me the real reason…Caterina”

Caterina’s breath hitched, her chest tightening at his words, at her name pronounced that way.

She looked away, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze, her mind racing.

She felt vulnerable, and exposed, and she hated it.

“You don’t… you feel something for me,” Benedict continued, his voice firm but filled with something tender, something raw. “When you saw me before, with Miss Strain, you felt something. You were jealous.”

Her head snapped back to him, her eyes wide with indignation. “Of course, I wasn’t!” she protested, though the words felt weak even to her own ears.

Benedict smiled then, that familiar crooked smile that always disarmed her.

“You were,” he said softly, his voice filled with a quiet certainty. “That’s why you interrupted us. You couldn’t stand to see me with someone else.”

Caterina’s mouth opened, but no words came out.

She wanted to deny it, to brush it off, but deep down, she knew he was right.

The jealousy that had clawed at her, the desperate need to pull him away from that other woman, it had been undeniable.

Caterina’s heart clenched painfully, her breath catching in her throat.

Benedict stepped forward again, his gaze intense, pleading. “Caterina, please. You don’t have to keep running. Just… let yourself feel this. Let yourself feel us.”

She shook her head, backing away even as every fiber of her being screamed at her to close the distance between them again.

“No,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I can’t. I won’t.”

Benedict’s shoulders slumped, and the anguish in his eyes nearly shattered her.

He opened his mouth to say something, but she didn’t let him.

She couldn’t bear to hear anymore.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Caterina could barely breathe as she stepped back, her mind racing, her pulse pounding in her ears.

She couldn’t do this.

She couldn’t be near him any longer, not when every second in his presence felt like it was unraveling her from the inside.

Her instincts kicked in, and without another word, she turned to run again, anything to escape the pull he had over her.

But this time, Benedict was faster.

Before she could make it to the door, he moved with a speed that left her no room to escape.

In a matter of seconds, he was in front of her, blocking her path, his broad form filling the space between her and the exit.

She froze, her back pressed against the door, her breath caught in her throat as he stood there, so close, too close, his eyes burning with a mix of frustration, longing, and something deeper that she was terrified to name.

“Stop running,” he said, his voice low but firm, barely controlled.

His chest rose and fell rapidly, his own emotions mirroring the tempest inside her.

Her eyes flicked to his, a storm of conflicting feelings crashing through her.

She tried to move, to sidestep him, but his hands came up, gently resting on either side of her, caging her in without touching her, leaving her nowhere to go.

The door was cold against her back, but Benedict was all heat, his presence overwhelming, consuming.

“Mr Bridgerton” she whispered, her voice cracking as she tried to hold onto her composure.

“No,” he cut her off, his voice soft but unyielding. “No more excuses, Caterina…”

Her heart raced, her chest tightening with panic, but also with something else, something she couldn’t deny any longer.

His eyes bore into hers, dark and intense, searching for any hint of the truth she was hiding behind the walls she’d built so carefully.

“You said it’s wrong,” he murmured, his voice a little gentler now, but there was an edge to it, a desperation that matched her own.

“You said you don’t want this, that we can’t - ” He shook his head slightly, his jaw clenching. “But you feel it, too. I see it in your eyes every time you look at me.”

Caterina’s breath hitched, her back pressed so tightly against the door she could feel the cool wood through the fabric of her dress.

She couldn’t move, couldn’t escape him. Not now.

And worse, she didn’t want to.

“You’re afraid,” he whispered, leaning in closer, his face inches from hers now, his breath warm against her skin. “You’re afraid of what this means, of what you feel for me.”

Her pulse raced wildly, her breathing uneven as his words sliced through her defenses like a knife.

He was right, and it terrified her.

She was afraid, afraid of how easily he made her lose control, how much she wanted him, how much she needed him.

His hand hovered by her face, not quite touching, as if he was giving her one last chance to push him away, to stop him.

“Tell me,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t feel the same way.”

She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

She tried, tried so hard to deny it, to push him away with cold indifference, but the truth was written all over her face.

Her silence was all the answer he needed.

In an instant, Benedict closed the remaining distance between them, his hands slipping to her waist as he pressed his body against hers, pinning her gently but firmly to the door.

She gasped, the heat of him overwhelming, the proximity setting her nerves alight.

His lips hovered over hers, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath, but he didn’t kiss her. Not yet.

“You can’t keep running from this,” he whispered, his voice a mix of frustration and tenderness. “I won’t let you.”

Caterina’s hands trembled as they came up to rest on his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring herself to him despite every instinct telling her to pull away.

“I don’t like you,” she whispered, her voice shaking with the rawness of the lie.

Benedict’s lips quirked into a small, knowing smile, his eyes never leaving hers. “No, you don’t.”

Before she could respond, he closed the final gap between them, his lips capturing hers with a force that sent shockwaves through her entire being.

The kiss was hard, hungry, desperate like all the emotions they’d both been holding back had finally erupted in this single, intense moment.

Caterina melted against him, her hands sliding up to tangle in his hair as she kissed him back just as fiercely.

Every fear, every doubt, every wall she had built around her heart crumbled in that instant.

There was nothing but him, the taste of him, the feel of him, the way his body fit against hers like they had been made for each other.

Benedict groaned softly against her lips, his hands gripping her waist tighter as he deepened the kiss, pulling her even closer as if he couldn’t stand the thought of any space between them.

His body pressed against hers, pinning her firmly to the door, and she couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped her lips as the intensity of his touch set her skin aflame.

His lips moved from hers, trailing down her jawline with heated urgency, before finding the sensitive skin of her neck.

He kissed her there, the warmth of his mouth sending shivers down her spine, before his teeth grazed her skin ever so slightly, drawing a sharp gasp from her.

She could feel the way her pulse quickened, and as his lips alternated between soft kisses and playful bites along her collarbone, her body betrayed her, arching toward him.

“Fucking hell, I have never kissed anything so beautiful,” he groaned against her skin before continuing to torture her neck again.

Her hands could only tangle in his hair, pushing him even harder against her.

Her breath ragged as his touch grew bolder and soft moans continued to come out from her mouth.

One of his hands slid from her waist, tracing the curve of her body until his fingers found the edge of her bodice.

Slowly, almost teasingly, his hand moved upward, brushing against the swell of her breast through the fabric, sending a jolt of electricity through her that made her breath hitch.

“Mr Brigerton,” she whispered, half a plea, half a surrender.

“No,” he said firmly, “Benedict, I want you to call me Benedict” he paused, and then Caterina opened her eyes, and looking at him she whispered “Benedict”.

He only answered with a growl almost primitive, his mouth finding hers again in a kiss that was all-consuming, fiery, desperate.

His other hand slid down her side, fingers grazing the soft fabric of her dress before slipping beneath it, finding the smooth skin of her thigh.

He gripped her gently at first, then with a possessiveness that made her legs weak, pulling her against him in a way that left no space between their bodies.

She gasped at the sudden strength with which he grabbed her thigh but the sensation of his hand on her bare skin, so close, so dangerously close, made her heart race and her head spin, making moaned her even more.

His touch, his breath, his presence overwhelmed her senses, and for a moment, she forgot everything, where they were, who they were, and the consequences of what they were doing.

The world outside ceased to exist; it was just them, lost in the heat of the moment, consumed by their undeniable desire for each other.

How much she would have wanted this moment to never end…

But then -

“Kitty!”

The voice was distant at first, like a faint echo in the back of her mind, barely penetrating the haze of passion that had enveloped her.

But it grew louder, more insistent.

“Kitty!”

Her sister’s voice.

Teresa.

Caterina froze.

Her body tensed in Benedict’s arms, the sound of her sister’s panicked call shattering the spell that had been cast between them.

She pulled back abruptly, her breath ragged, her heart racing for an entirely different reason now.

The reality of the situation crashed down on her like a cold wave, and suddenly, she was acutely aware of how dangerously close they were.

“Caterina!” Teresa’s voice rang out again, closer this time, filled with worry and rising urgency.

Benedict stiffened too, his hands still holding her as their gazes met.

The weight of what they had been doing, what they had almost let happen, hung between them like a heavy fog.

They both knew it was only a matter of time.

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