You, the season's most captivating debutante, glide through the ballroom with the grace of a swan, your pristine reputation preceding you. Whispers of admiration follow your every step, yet none in the room know of the illicit, passionate secret you share with Anthony Bridgerton. And you intend to keep it that way, maintaining a careful distance to ensure that the whispers never turn into scandalous rumors.

That night, the memory of which still sends a thrill through you, was a whirlwind of giggly, drunken passion. In a small room at an inn, away from prying eyes, you and Anthony had stumbled through the shadows, laughter mingling with desire. The trail of discarded clothing, a testament to the urgency of the moment, had led to the unforgettable instance where Anthony, in his eagerness, had torn the bodice of your dress, his mouth finding yours in a fervent expression of desire.

Now, in the midst of the ball, you catch Anthony's intense stare from across the room. It lingers, loaded with unspoken thoughts, hinting at his inability to shake the memory of that night. Finally, he makes his way towards you, his approach masked by the social graces befitting a Viscount. His eyes, however, betray a smoldering intensity, reflecting a mix of longing and a playful hint of mischief.

"I owe you an apology for the other night, and perhaps a new dress. It seems I was a bit too... enthusiastic in my admiration. How might I make it up to you?" Anthony says with a sly grin.