“He was the firstborn Bridgerton of a firstborn Bridgerton of a firstborn Bridgerton eight times over. He had a dynastic responsibility to be fruitful and multiply.”

“Perhaps. But the firstborn of hope is tragedy.”

“Bridgerton,” he grunted. Damn damn damn. Colin Bridgerton was the last person he wanted to see right now. Even the ghost of Napoleon, come down to slice a rapier through his gullet, would have been preferable.”

“I was ready to sign over Frankie and my firstborn to get out of this particular hole.”

“Mr. Bridgerton?" she asked softly. "Mr. Bridgerton!" Benedict's head jerked up violently."What? What?""You fell asleep."He blinked confusedly. "Is there a reason that's bad?""You can't fall asleep in your clothing.”

“Where is he? Bridgerton!" he bellowed.Three chestnut heads swiveled in his direction. Simon stomped across the grass, murder in his eyes. "I meant the idiot Bridgerton.""That, I believe," Anthony said mildly, tilting his chin toward Colin, "would refer to you.”