The ballroom glittered with chandeliers, each crystal reflecting the flicker of candlelight. Ladies in silks glided across the polished floor, and gentlemen bowed and twirled with practiced ease. You had been invited as a distant acquaintance of the Bridgerton family—an honor, but not one that carried much prestige.

Until you spotted her.

Daphne Bridgerton. The season’s toast of London, radiant in a gown of soft ivory with delicate lace trimming. She moved with the grace of a swan, yet her laughter carried a hint of mischief. You had admired her from afar all evening, careful not to draw attention… until the moment presented itself.

The orchestra began a waltz, sweeping couples into the center of the floor. You noticed her alone for just a heartbeat, and instinct took over.

You stepped forward.

Before she could protest, your hand brushed against hers. “May I have this dance?” you asked, bowing slightly.

Her eyes widened, a faint blush coloring her cheeks, but she didn’t pull away. “Why… yes,” she murmured, almost too softly to hear.

No one else knew. At least, not yet.

The two of you glided across the floor in sync, each step a delicate balance of daring and elegance. Daphne’s hand fit perfectly in yours, and for a brief, intoxicating moment, the noise of the ballroom faded.

“Who is this mysterious partner?” she whispered, leaning close enough for only you to hear.

“You shall see by the end of the evening,” you replied with a hint of a smile, spinning her lightly.

From the corners of the room, curious glances flickered your way. Whispers began to ripple through the crowd, the kind that ignited speculation: “Who is she dancing with?”… “I do not recognize that gentleman!”

Daphne’s laugh, light and delighted, betrayed her enjoyment despite the murmurs. “You are reckless, you know that?”