Youd Keep Me In Suspense About Such A Thing After I Revealed My Ankles And Toes To You? I Didnt Take

“You’d keep me in suspense about such a thing after I revealed my ankles and toes to you? I didn’t take you for such a petty man, Benjamin Tallmadge.” She hid a smile behind her hand, even though she knew her face was hidden from view. It was much easier to be brave when she wasn't face-to-face with him, so Anne let the jibes flow freely while she could. It felt nice to be able to fall back into their routine of banter, especially after their last meeting had ended so abruptly.

She listened as he trudged out of the water and onto shore. She practically held her breath, closing her eyes to imagine what order he might be dressing in. Would he put his breeches on first, or his shirt? Would he pull his hair up, or let it fall around his face? She shook the thought away, trying to rid her mind of the mental imagery of his undressed body. When he gave her the permission to turn around, Anne waited a moment, letting her heart steady itself before she dared to face him again.

“Is that so?" Hugging her arms around herself, she smirked and shifted her weight from foot to foot. "I’ll be sure to designate my dismembered head to you in my will.”

As lighthearted as the morbid comment was, Anne couldn't help but worry that losing her head was an entirely real possibility. Her very own Henry would find her at some point, and Anne wouldn't put it past George to order a beheading for her crime. He had always bore a flair for the dramatics. English men had that in common, it seemed.

“Tell that to Frances. She’s always rather intent on making me portray Anne Boleyn. And, knowing our luck, she’d assign you the role of my adoring husband.” Snorting, Anne looked away to hide the blush on her cheeks. While she certainly wouldn't mind being Ben's wife--on stage, of course-- she wasn't sure she wanted to assign herself to the same fate as her character. If she were to take on another life on stage or anywhere else, Anne would've much preferred a happy ending.

Anne had taught the girls about Henry VIII and his poor wives the first winter she'd been employed at the Pleinsworth house. Her lessons had been the very thing that had spurred an inspirational spark in Harriet and, ever since, Anne was the only one 'allowed' to play Boleyn. Both Harriet and Frances insisted it was because of the shared name, and Elizabeth often joked that Anne should be grateful her name wasn't Catherine.

When allowed her gaze to fall back onto him, it was just as he brushed a strand of hair out of his face and her stomach flip-flopped. Had he gotten more handsome in a mere two weeks? It was impossible. It was ridiculous. Charlotte had always said that absence made the heart grow fonder, but she couldn't imagine her heart could become any more fond of him. She didn't think her heart had that much space to lend.

"And what sort of idea would that be exactly?" She hummed, tilting her head to peer at him, a hint of a smile on her lips. "As far as I know, some people have already gotten the wrong idea. We had a play written about us, after all. About our love. Not many people can claim such a thing." Anne swallowed and fumbled to correct herself. "About the Fairy Princess and the Frog Prince's love, I mean. Not ours... Nevermind." Biting her lip, she wracked her brain for a change of subject, anything to pull her mind away from the topic of their love, real or fictional.

"Do you mind me asking how exactly you managed to get into this predicament in the first place? I saw Mister Bridgerton take your clothes, but... that doesn't explain why you were without them in the first place." Quirking an eyebrow, she bit back a smirk. "Care to explain yourself, Mister Tallmadge?"

The moment that all-too-familiar glint entered Anne's eyes, Benjamin realized she was about to make a razor-sharp quip. Sure enough, with a coy little smirk, she asked, "You don't normally swim, or you don't normally swim in such a bold fashion?"

Benjamin's laughter was husky with embarrassment. "Perhaps I should leave you in suspense," he deflected. "After all, what sort of charm would I have if you knew everything there is to know about me?"

Anne hummed. "So, I suppose this means I'm not invited to join you?"

Benjamin's smile instantly wiped clean. Although he knew she was teasing him -- surely, that was all? -- he still felt a strong, fiery lurch in his stomach that made him swallow low in his throat.

Mercifully, Anne turned and promised to stand guard. Had she kept quiet a moment longer, he feared what he might have proposed...

Exhaling once she was safely hidden from view, Benjamin rose and started wading for the shore. Despite there being no immediate danger of being seen, he felt utterly mortified and self-conscious as the pleasant afternoon air touched his bare skin. Naturally, he trusted that Anne would keep her word -- she was a lady -- but a small part of him feared she might chance a peek over her shoulder while he was at his most vulnerable.

Blushing furiously at the thought, Benjamin quickly splashed free of the water and grabbed his clothes, shaking with nerves as he quickly vaulted his shirt over his head. Due to the lengthy span of fabric, his indecency was almost instantly covered, and he breathed a little easier while tending to his breeches.

His stockings and shoes, though a necessary part of his ensemble, remained on the bank since the idea of traipsing about with wet garments -- or rather, even wetter than what he presently wore -- seemed utterly abhorrent.

"You can look now," Benjamin called over to Anne, though his voice was small. He managed a smile at her quip about Frances' plays.

"If this is a common happenstance for you, I should discourage you from reading The Shepherd, the Unicorn, and Henry VIII. As marvelous a story as it is, I am rather fond of my head."

Chuckling, he agreed, "You have quite a pretty head, so I'd hate to see it dismembered from your lovely shoulders -- if that's not too morbid a thing to say, of course."

Not quite the most endearing of compliments, he wryly thought.

Brushing back a soaked tendril of his hair, Benjamin tromped up along the bank to join her, squinting against the bright afternoon sun as he teased, "You know, you and I really need to stop meeting like this. Two instances of becoming drenched in a span of two or so weeks -- people might start to get the wrong idea."

He wasn't sure how he could tease her, all things considered, and catching her eye, his pulse wobbled before he looked away again, recalling how the last time he'd seen her so close, she'd been pressed up against him in a clashing of mouths, and a tugging of garments.

Anne turned to look at Elayne, a sincere smile taking hold of her features. There were certainly worse people to be trapped in the rain with, and she found that this wasn’t an entirely horrible situation. If not for the rain, Anne might never have had the opportunity to speak with her otherwise.

“Unfortunately, I’m more worried about the trouble that might occur from my lack of presence.” She could only imagine what sort of shenanigans Frances and her sisters would get into if their governess was gone for too long. “But perhaps this is the universe’s way of telling me to slow down and smell the roses. The tragically soaked roses.”

She was glad that the person who was to share this gazebo with her during the downpour of rain was one that she could see was tolerable. She was lovely and Elayne had seen Anne Wynter many times before although the two had never been properly introduced.

"I do think it is unfortunate, however I think that..." She tested the thought of what might this girl think were she to let out the thoughts that were there at the front of her mind. "...I think that we could very well take advantage of this opportunity. No one is about to get us into trouble."

“That must’ve been it, then. My rambling about A Midsummer Night’s Dream must’ve been what endeared you to me in such a fashion.” She smirked. “Perhaps I shall refrain from speaking of what novel I’m reading as of late, then, lest I seduce you any further.”

She couldn't drag her eyes away from him as he wrung out the moisture from his hair. Anne swallowed, watching his hands, yearning to reach out and hold him and never let go. Her fingers itched to reach out and comb back his hair and to savor the feeling of his closeness. But she shakes her head, trying her damnedest to shove any such thoughts out of the forefront of her mind.

“Well, my head and I thank you for your mercy.” Biting back a grin, Anne gave a dramatic bow. At his last comment, however, she couldn’t hold it in and a loud, rather unladylike snort escaped her. “Only comely? Here I thought I’d be at least a lovely or, dare I say, useful paperweight. Though I suppose I haven’t done very well at proving my usefulness thus far, have I?”

Out of the three girls, Harriet had been the one most taken with Shakespearean works. Frances held no strong opinions on many things unless they included unicorns and Elizabeth preferred her mystery novels over her younger sisters' plays. In reality, Anne herself wasn't very familiar with other playwrights. She knew authors and the historical figures her own governess had taught her in her youth, but she wasn't knowledgeable about, well, anything when it came to theatre.

"If you have any recommendations for better reading materials, I am open to suggestions. My knowledge of the performing arts is painfully limited to the great Bard, and Moliere." Anne let out a sigh, feigning distress at having to admit her own shortcomings. “If I were to be cast as Viola, I might have to rely on you for a costume. I’ve already worn your clothes once before. What harm could a second time do?” A lot, she thinks. An awful lot.

“You are not an idiot.” She pressed, a firm tone refusing to accept such comments. It wasn't exactly a scolding cadence, but it was incredibly similar to the tone she took on when the Pleinsworth girls took to fighting one another. “Foolish, perhaps. Naïve at times.” And incredibly, wickedly, tragically beautiful.

“Yes, it was clever, I suppose, but entirely uncalled for.” She blushed furiously, a mixture of anger and embarrassment colliding within the confines of her chest. If she hadn't been so struck by how badly she wanted to kiss him again, she might've shook with annoyance at such a careless prank.

“As much as I take pleasure in teasing you, I would never stoop so low.” Cheeks brightening and eyes wide, Anne lowered her voice, as though even the ripples in the water could not be privy to her sentiments.

“Someone could’ve seen you, Ben. Someone who would've admired the view much less than I.” Anne winced at her own words, but trudged on. “N-Nonetheless, I highly encourage a firm scolding when you return inside. And if you aren’t up for it, I certainly will. Mister Bridgerton may have thought it a measly joke, but he put you in danger. He… He could’ve gotten you fired, o-or worse.” She didn’t want to think about worse, not when a mere two weeks sentence had made her heart yearn so much. A lifetime without him would surely be enough to kill her.

“It's funny, I was hoping the next time we met, we might speak about the... predicament we've found ourselves in.” Anne swallowed, desperately pushing the memory of his lips out of her mind. When she started again, her tone was softer but just as serious as she wrapped her arms tighter around herself. “But I'm not sure this is the right time to discuss matters of the heart, either. I'm beginning to think the time will never be quite right.”

Unbidden, flashes of skin came to mind and Benjamin flushed, the color burning along his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears. "I'm afraid it will take far more than ankles and toes to seduce me, Miss Wynter," he said. "I'm a man of simple tastes: one offer of opening a book, and I'm yours."

Wincing at the implication -- could he do or say nothing right as of late? -- he cleared his throat before taking hold of his hair, wringing excess water from his sodden locks while meeting her gaze. Anne's eyes were so wide and impish and blue -- so, so very blue -- that he momentarily lost his breath and looked away again, startled by the wave of yearning crashing restlessly against his heart.

"I’ll be sure to designate my dismembered head to you in my will.”

The joke startled him back to attention, and with a soft, husky laugh, Benjamin assured her, "I think I much prefer it attached, thank you very much, but I appreciate your generosity. If nothing else, I suppose I could use it as a comely paperweight."

Humming at her Anne Boleyn assessment -- it wasn't the most pleasing outlook -- he agreed, "Perhaps we need to get Frances to read some Shakespearean comedies for a while instead. I would much rather see you donning the garments of Viola than poor Queen Anne."

Unbidden, a hint of ruddy embarrassment nipped at his cheeks. The thought of her clad in men's clothes, albeit innocent on the surface, conjured thoughts of legs and hips, and swallowing low in his throat, he chuckled to mask the rising heat beneath his collar. "Um...on second thought, perhaps she should steer clear of Shakespeare altogether."

Anne continued to tease him -- Lord above, why couldn't he focus? -- and snapping his eyes back up toward her face, Benjamin blinked a moment as he struggled to comprehend. Her mouth was moving -- well, there he went being distracted again -- but he couldn't quite get a proper grasp of the words.

"I'm...sorry, I...think I must've gotten water in my ears," Benjamin deflected.

Right. Smooth recovery.

Anne narrowed her eyes. "Do you me asking how exactly you managed to get into this predicament in the first place? I saw Mister Bridgerton take your clothes, but... that doesn't explain why you were without them in the first place." Finally, her expression turned a touch mischievous. "Care to explain yourself, Mister Tallmadge?"

"Not in particular," Benjamin said, fighting back a smile. "But since you asked so nicely...Gregory convinced me to take a swim, so I agreed. I didn't want to get my clothes wet, and I also didn't wish to borrow anyone's garments, so..." He shrugged, sheepish. "In short, I'm an idiot, Miss Wynter. I should've seen behind his schemes the moment he spoke." A flash of fond amusement warmed his eyes. "Still, it was rather clever of him, wasn't it? I'd say I taught him well, but he's never been privy to my own pranks."

His moans of delight make her grin and her pace quickens just a bit more. Her prior experiences had all felt very one-sided. She was used to achieve a goal and her desires were never encouraged. She had never managed to reach climax the way George had, and it had never seemed fair to her. But with John, it didn't feel one-sided. She wanted to please him, to make him feel powerful and loved. It didn't matter if he had no intentions to reciprocate such actions, not when the moans from his lips sounded so sweet.

I trust you. It's not quite the dirty talk that she was used to, but it does more to arouse her than any of George's explicit comments. What was more risky than trusting another person? What was more dangerous than giving your body, mind, and soul in the hands of someone else?

She moves closer, still on her knees as he leans back. It was strange seeing him so vulnerable, so willing to give himself to her out of sheer desire. It made her heart skip a beat and the wave of heat spread further down, down, down until it was practically dripping down her thigh.

"Why did you marry me, John?" Her voice was low and breathy as she leaned closer, hand still stroking him with a steady rhythm. It was not the question she had expected to tumble from her lips, and yet its the one that fills the air as she lowers her head closer to his length in her hand, her breath hot against the skin of his erection. "Tell me what you like about me."

In the times before there was always an unspoken judgement with seeking monetary pleasure. He'd managed to keep his senses during his trips to Holy Ground only because it was fear, panic persuading him to go at all; most times he expected it to be his last visit, and then the strings of fate would unravel further and he'd find himself back in the very same worn canvas tents weeks later.

He didn't feel ashamed this time though, not with Anne knelt before him. It was a different kind of want, a different kind of understanding now that she could so clearly see her affect on him.

He wanted to feel her, needed to feel her, yet when she wrapped a delicate hand around his length, any inclinations were lost, his only focus on the cord of pleasure snaking up his spine as she made use of the precum leaking from his cock, her hand quickly sodden as she stroked him.

"Is this okay?"

"Mhm," his eyes were closed, his breathing haphazard as he fought to find his words.

"Tell me if I do anything you don't like."

Her lips dotted kisses on his thighs and he groaned, utterly lost to her touch; slowly falling to lay on his back on the bedding, he surrendered to her.

"I trust you," spoken clearly before his voice fell apart at another wave of pleasure, moaning her name, "Anne... "

PROMPTS FOR A LITTLE JEALOUSY *  assorted dialogue for when you see the person you're interested in with someone else and go... hey wait a minute, adjust as necessary

are you two... together?

i should probably ask if you're single first.

who was that you were talking to?

did you two have a nice chat?

are we really doing this now?

what was that all about?

i don't like it when they touch you.

they need to learn to keep their hands off you.

are you trying to make me jealous?

you just gave me the impression we were exclusive.

who was that, anyway?

was that someone you know?

it's completely innocent.

were you flirting with them?

that was a little bit excessive.

they were flirting with you.

i'm not jealous.

i'm upset with you.

they didn't mean anything by that.

i just thought we had something going on.

they know i have feelings for you.

i hate it when you get jealous.

i'm two seconds away from throwing a punch.

they did that on purpose.

wait a minute... are you jealous?

you have no reason to worry.

i'm not interested in them, i promise.

they do get a little touchy-feely, i'll admit.

they don't mean anything by it.

did they just try to kiss you?

we're just really good friends!

you know i only have eyes for you.

please ignore them, okay?

it's not like i'm in love with you or anything.

they're just trying to upset you.

i just don't like it when someone else flirts with you.

i don't blame them, of course, but you're mine.

next time someone tries to hit on you, call me over.

i'll give them a piece of my mind.

they know you're taken, right?

i didn't want to get in your way.

clearly your mind is elsewhere.

if you'd rather be with them, then just tell me.

i need to know where we stand.

can we be more exclusive?

i just don't like it when they talk to you like that.

you have absolutely nothing to worry about.

if they make you happy... i can't stop it.

maybe i have a crush on you. so what?

there was a better way to go about this, you know.

you could have been a little bit nicer.

did you have to be so nasty about it?

i'm going to scream.

i don't want anything coming in between us.

you trust me, don't you?

if you trust me, you have nothing to worry about.

this jealousy of yours is getting a little bit out of control.

i love only you.

why do they have to hold your hand like that?

they couldn't keep their hands off you.

i hate watching you deal with that.

i should give them a piece of my mind.

what? me? jealous? never.

i think i'm allowed a little jealousy every now and then.

you're mine, and i want everyone to know that.

did you just... get jealous over me?

you said you weren't the jealous type.

“It’s not a slight against you, Lord Bridgerton, I swear it. I just... don’t think it would be wise for you to be seen with me.” Her cheeks burned with shame. She felt awful rejecting his offer, and his gentle humility only made her feel worse. In truth she would have minded dancing with him. Although it had been a long time since she’d taken to the dance floor, there were times when she missed it. And the idea of dancing with a handsome bachelor made it even more alluring. But it was too risky. And she valued her job more than her pride.

“Dinner?” She blanched. How would she go about such a thing? It would be impossible to slip out unnoticed but it would be equally as difficult to explain to Lady Pleinsworth why a governess was attending the dinner of a viscount—and a notoriously rakish one at that. Being seen with him could very well be enough to get her fired, and then she would be back to square one.

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly… I-I would not dare to impose on something as sacred as family dinner. Though I have a feeling you are not likely to accept that as an answer.” Smiling sheepishly, she bit at the inside of her cheek. “My Lord, I insist there is no favor to repay. Just your gratitude is sufficient. I need not ask for anything more than what you've already given me.”

In all his years, both as an eligible bachelor and an infamous Rake (with a prominent capital ‘R’), Anthony Bridgerton was certain he’d never once received such a blatant declination from a woman – any woman, for that matter. None but this one, anyway. It surprised him, intrigued him even. 

While it stood to reason that holding fast to the arm of a Viscount would certainly earn Miss Wynter plenty of attention (albeit of mixed opinions), he simply couldn’t fathom why she wouldn’t relish the opportunity to have it, excluding the wagging tongue of one Lady Whistledown. Aside from that nuisance of a gossip column. Wouldn’t any young woman want to be the center of attention? 

Furling his fingers into his palm, Anthony retracted his hand and straightened his stance, though he could hardly accept the defeat. 

“I respect your refusal to take to the dance floor, however you must permit me to compensate you in some way, Miss Wynter.”

But how? How could he possibly demonstrate his gratitude if the woman wouldn’t so much as be seen with him? 

“Perhaps you’d be more inclined to join my family and I for dinner tomorrow night?”