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The night was still, the garden wrapped in a cool, silvery mist as Genevieve stood before the fountain, her breath coming faster than usual. The words Anthony had spoken only moments before lingered in the air like an echo-heavy, undeniable, and unexpected. "Something I cannot ignore." She could still hear his voice, soft and hesitant, yet resolute in a way she hadn't anticipated.

Her heart fluttered in her chest, and despite the cool night, there was a warmth spreading through her veins-a warmth that made her both anxious and exhilarated. For a fleeting moment, she wanted nothing more than to turn on her heel and disappear into the shadows. To slip away from him and return to the safety of distance. But something in her, something deep and unspoken, held her still.

The flicker of his eyes, the vulnerability she glimpsed within them, caught her off guard. Anthony Bridgerton, the ever-dutiful Viscount, the man who had sworn off love, was standing here-open, searching, perhaps even uncertain. He was not the man she had expected him to be.

And yet, he was the man she couldn't stop thinking about.

"Lady Sinclair," Anthony's voice cut through the silence, his tone softer now, more measured. He stepped closer, the space between them shrinking until only the faintest of breaths separated them. "You must know by now that I do not take such matters lightly. When I say I cannot ignore you, I do not speak out of some passing infatuation."

Genevieve's breath caught. His words-gentle, but laden with meaning-resonated in a way she hadn't expected. He wasn't just playing the game of courtship. No, this felt... real. And that terrified her.

She swallowed, her composure fraying just a little under the intensity of his gaze. "And what exactly is it you think you cannot ignore?" she asked, her voice steady but betraying a slight tremor.

For the briefest moment, Anthony's face softened, his eyes losing their usual sharpness. He looked at her as if she were an enigma-an enigma that he couldn't solve, but couldn't turn away from, either. "Everything," he said quietly. "I cannot ignore how you make me feel when I am near you. How I cannot stop thinking about you when we are apart."

Genevieve's heart stuttered in her chest, a rush of warmth flooding her cheeks. His words were dangerous-too dangerous. They didn't belong in a world like theirs, where emotions were often dismissed in favor of duty, where the heart was considered an afterthought, something that could be easily sacrificed for propriety.

"I do not think it is wise to indulge in such feelings, my lord," Genevieve replied, her voice faltering despite her best efforts. She took a step back, needing space, needing distance to breathe. "There is too much at stake. For both of us."

Anthony watched her carefully, his expression unreadable for a moment, before he took a step closer. His gaze was intense, but there was something else in his eyes-something vulnerable, something that suggested he understood her hesitation, but couldn't seem to accept it.

"I know the stakes, Genevieve," he said softly, his voice almost a whisper. "But what if what we're afraid of... is exactly what we need?"

The question hung between them, raw and unsettling. He was a man used to control, to managing every aspect of his life with precision. And yet, here he was-standing before her, exposed, as though he had allowed his heart to slip from his grasp without fully realizing the consequences.

Genevieve's breath quickened, and for a moment, she considered his words. Could there be truth in them? Could the very thing she feared-the emotion she had spent so long guarding against-actually be the thing she needed most?

But just as quickly as the thought appeared, doubt crept in, pulling her back to reality. This was Anthony Bridgerton, the Viscount, the man who had sworn off love and promised to marry for duty. What future could there be for a woman like her? What place was there for passion in a world defined by alliances and carefully constructed appearances?

Her voice trembled as she spoke, despite her best efforts to remain composed. "You mustn't-" She stopped herself, not sure if she could finish the sentence.

Anthony took another step closer, now standing only inches from her, his presence overwhelming, his gaze fixed on her lips. "Mustn't what, Genevieve?"

For a brief moment, the world seemed to slow. There was only the sound of their breathing, the pulse of their hearts, and the unspoken tension between them.

"I cannot allow myself to fall into something that can never be," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Anthony's gaze softened. "And what if it could be?"

The question sent a shiver down her spine, one she didn't know how to answer. She had spent her life building walls around her heart, convinced that love, in all its messy, unpredictable forms, was a luxury she could never afford.

But now, in his presence, she wasn't so sure anymore.

As if sensing her internal struggle, Anthony reached out, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. His touch was light, but it sent a jolt of warmth through her. His eyes searched hers, not with expectation, but with a quiet plea.

Genevieve wanted to turn away, wanted to push him back into the world of duty and distance, where their feelings could remain buried, untouched. But when she looked at him, she saw not just the Viscount-she saw the man who, in the quiet moments when no one was watching, allowed himself to feel something real.

And she couldn't help but wonder: Was that man truly as unreachable as she had convinced herself?

The tension between them was unbearable now, and without thinking, she found herself stepping closer to him, drawn by a force beyond her control. Their faces were mere inches apart, the space between them filled with the unsaid, the forbidden.

"I don't know what to do with this," she whispered, her voice breaking.

Anthony's hand gently cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of her jaw. "Neither do I," he murmured. "But I cannot ignore it anymore. And I do not want to."

The words hung in the air like a promise neither of them was sure they could keep, but in that moment, it didn't matter. All that mattered was the undeniable pull between them, and the dangerous spark that had ignited, one they could no longer pretend wasn't there.

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