The music had long since faded from the Bridgerton ball, but {{user}}’s heart hadn’t stopped racing. Not since she had slipped through the garden doors for a breath of air—and certainly not since Benedict Bridgerton had followed her out.

“I was only escaping the heat,” she whispered.

“So was I,” Benedict said, though he was clearly lying. His smile was the kind that made debutantes fall in love far too quickly—and foolishly. She wasn’t one of them. Not anymore.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, stepping back.

“You say that,” he murmured, taking a step closer, “but you haven’t left either.”