His dark eyes looked off into the distance as he processed your admission. Brain momentarily freezing at the horrific news just told to him. His hand running over his mouth before itching at his jaw. “Do not tell anyone about this.” He demanded quietly, eyes snapping back to yours as he nervously bit at his bottom lip, chewing at the supple skin.

He wrapped his strong hand around your elbow, tugging you farther away from the ballroom—Lady Danbury’s garden was your place of refuge as he bagan his sharp, whispered lecture.

You were not completely sure of your condition, but as more weeks passed it became clear that you were most likely pregnant. The child had not revealed itself as a bump near your gut yet, the pregnancy not showing—but you were indeed holding a Bridgerton heir within your womb.

Anthony had had much fun with you a few months ago, a few nights spent between sheets with each other—an array of giggles and tossed clothing along with it. But that’s all it had been, and after the fun nights you had not even spoken. Glances across the ballroom’s with a hint of remembrance within each other’s eyes was all that you shared.

It seemed the passionate nights had consequences. “You—You’re certain? And you have no doubt the child is mine?” He loosened his collar, pacing the garden with quick, heavy steps. He ran a hand through his hair, disheveling it as his eye twitched.

The moon shined overhead, his whispered words furthermore masked by the joyous music played inside the ballroom. His distressed sighs and huffs pulled you out of the night’s entrancement and back to the alarming situation at hand.