Work Text:
Anthony Bridgerton was a bastard.
Not in the literal sense, of course. No, his parents were married and very much in love. But he was a bastard in every other way that counted, at least according to Kate's most recent diary entry.
She had even underlined it for emphasis, twice.
She finished the sentence with an aggressive flick of her quill, sending a splatter of ink flying across the margin and onto her sleeve. She muttered something entirely unladylike and reached for the blotting paper.
It was not the first time his name had darkened the pages of her private thoughts, but it was certainly the most colorful.
And he had earned it. Oh, he had earned it - with that smug smile and his infuriating commentary about 'spirited young ladies who ought to mind their tempers, lest they frighten off their prospects.'
Prospects?
As if Kate would ever need the approval of Mister Smug, High and Mighty Bridgerton to secure her future.
She was the Queen's Diamond, for heaven's sake. She had no need of his interference.
She could still hear his voice - lazily amused, like everything and everyone bored him just a little - loud enough that everyone around them could hear it. She remembered him leaning in far too close and saying, "You certainly have a unique command of the waltz, Miss Sharma. Like a general leading troops into the battle."
As if Kate had invited him to comment on her dancing.
As if it were not his eyes that always followed her around the ballroom like a bored cat eyeing a canary, just waiting to strike with some smug, sideways insult.
She had smiled sweetly, inclined her head and then excused herself before she said something she couldn't take back. Like how the only thing more tiresome than a Bridgerton brother was a Bridgerton brother who fancied himself clever.
Sadly, even she knew that insulting the Bridgertons would be akin to social suicide.
But the fact remained that Anthony Bridgerton was all jawline and judgment, with no sense of when to shut up.
Kate closed her diary with a satisfying snap and tucked it beneath the false bottom of her writing desk. The only thing worse than thinking about Anthony Bridgerton was talking about him, and her younger sister, Edwina, had developed a most inconvenient habit of doing just that. Constantly, with stars in her eyes.
It was most nauseating.
Not that Kate cared, of course.
He could flirt with every debutante from Mayfair to Bath for all she cared. She just found it curious. Yes, curious that the same man who found her opinions 'excessively forthright' seemed to go out of his way to provoke them.
She stood, smoothed her skirts and looked out the window toward the street below.
And who should she see, but him - on horseback. Laughing at something his brother said, looking so thoroughly pleased with himself that Kate had the brief, treacherous thought that perhaps she hated him just a little bit less when he wasn’t speaking.
But then he glanced up.
Right at her.
And smiled.
That absolute bastard.
Anthony Bridgerton did not believe in fate.
He believed in strategy and structure. He believed in the reliability of a well-maintained schedule and an even better-maintained reputation. But if he had believed in fate, he would have assumed it had a personal vendetta against him. A vendetta named Miss Kate Sharma - Kathani to Hyacinth and Gregory, Kate to the rest of his siblings and Miss Sharma to him.
As if her sharp tongue and sharper stare were not enough, now the Queen and all of society had decided to place a crown of metaphorical roses atop her head and call her perfection incarnate. It was laughable and predictable.
But he could not say it was undeserved.
At precisely that moment, he glanced up and found her staring down at him from an upstairs window, framed like a painting come to life. She was glorious, infuriating. And radiating judgment from two stories above as though it were her birthright.
He didn’t mean to smile.
It just happened. A treacherous, reflexive thing that had more to do with her visible annoyance than any true amusement on his part.
Benedict, beside him on horseback, followed his gaze and groaned. "Oh no. Are we still doing that?"
Anthony did not respond.
Because the truth was, he wasn’t sure what they were doing.
All he knew was that every time he walked into a room and heard her voice, something in his chest tightened. It was like irritation, but both sharper and conversely, softer. Every time she laughed, he found himself bracing for impact. And every time she looked at him, like she was cataloguing his flaws for sport - he felt the uncomfortable urge to stand up straighter. To be better, somehow. Or possibly just throw her in a lake and then throw himself too, lest she float away from him.
"I am not doing anything," he muttered, adjusting the reins of his horse with a little more force than necessary.
Benedict made a sound, it was one of profound disbelief and barely concealed hilarity. "You are smitten."
"I am not."
"Then why are you smiling like a schoolboy with a crush on the girl next door?"
"I am smiling," Anthony said through gritted teeth, "because I know it irritates her."
"Ah," Benedict said. "So you're not in love. You're just this invested because you like annoying her."
Anthony glared at him.
Benedict grinned. "I take it back. It is true love."
The next morning, Anthony found himself riding in the morning.
Hyde Park was peaceful at this hour. The sky was a pale blue, the morning mist still clinging stubbornly to the grass and the air held that rare, crisp stillness before the fashionable set arrived to parade and preen.
Anthony Bridgerton was not here to preen.
He told himself it was a coincidence. A simple morning ride to clear his head. Nothing to do with the possibility - however slim - that a certain sharp-tongued lady might also favor early outings. Not that he cared. Of course not. He was merely enjoying the quiet.
And then he saw her.
Kate Sharma, walking along the path just ahead, her spine stiff, her mouth tight and beside her - Berbrooke, practically vibrating with misplaced confidence as he gestured too broadly and leaned too close.
Anthony's horse was moving before he fully realized it, hooves kicking up gravel as he rode toward them.
"Miss Sharma," he called, reigning in sharply. "Berbrooke."
Kate turned. Relief flickered across her face for one brief, glorious moment before it smoothed back into practiced composure.
"Lord Bridgerton," she said evenly.
Berbrooke puffed up like a toad in mating season, full of self-importance and absolutely no self-awareness. "We were just discussing her plans for the season. I've made it quite clear I'm willing to be flexible on the matter of children, haven't I, Miss Sharma?"
Kate looked like she might throw herself into the Serpentine.
Anthony dismounted in one fluid motion and held the reins in his left hand. "How generous of you, Berbrooke. Alas, I must steal Miss Sharma. Lady Danbury mentioned she wished to speak with her at once. Something about a misplaced corgi with a penchant for stealing cakes."
Kate blinked. "What?"
"Terribly urgent," he said breezily. "Come along, Miss Sharma."
Without waiting for her agreement, he offered his arm. After a second or so, she took it and they strode away together, leaving Berbrooke standing alone and confused, muttering something about his prospects.
Once they were out of earshot, Kate pulled her arm free.
"You didn't need to rescue me, you know."
He shrugged. "You looked seconds away from hitting him with your parasol."
"And somehow, that would've been less painful than your company."
Anthony let out a tight laugh. "You could just thank me for saving you."
Kate stopped walking and turned to face him, eyes narrowed. "I don't know why I even bother with you. Good day, Mister Bridgerton."
He opened his mouth, then closed it. For once, he didn't have something sharp to throw back at her.
She made a move to step away, but he reached out, catching her wrist gently. "Wait. Don't go, please."
She turned back, eyebrows raised.
Anthony ran a hand through his hair. "I don’t know how to talk to you without it ending in a verbal spat somehow."
"You could try being courteous to me."
"And blend in with the rest of the idiots trying to court you?" he shot back, before he could stop himself.
She stared at him. "This is you courting me?"
He flushed, quite visibly. "I am trying to, yes."
For a moment, Kate looked like she might laugh at him. But instead, she just shook her head, smiling in spite of herself. "Well, you're terrible at it."
"I know," he said with a crooked grin.
She looked at him for a long second, then tilted her head. "Fine."
“Fine?"
"I'll allow it."
His brows lifted. "You'll allow it?"
“But only if you can keep up with me,” she said, stepping back with a wicked glint in her eye. "Hyde Park. Tomorrow, six o'clock. Bring your fastest horse."
She turned, skirts swirling behind her and tossed over her shoulder, "and don't be late."
Anthony watched her walk away, grinning like a fool.
Courting Miss Kate Sharma was going to kill him. And he couldn't wait.