Day 11 - Naughty Notes

Day 11 - Naughty Notes

It had started innocently enough. A short, anonymous note delivered with Colin's morning correspondence, the handwriting unfamiliar yet elegant, the words both tantalizing and cryptic.

Mr. Bridgerton,

Your charm is well-known, but I wonder... are you as skilled in other, more intimate matters?

—Whistledown

Colin had been intrigued, to say the least. He had heard rumors of Lady Whistledown's biting wit, her ability to uncover the most well-guarded secrets of the ton, but this? This was something altogether different. He had read the note several times, the hint of challenge in her words sending a thrill of excitement through him that he couldn't quite explain.

He had sent a reply almost immediately, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips as he penned his response.

Lady Whistledown,

I have many talents, most of which I prefer to demonstrate rather than discuss. Should you be inclined to challenge me further, I daresay you may find your curiosity satisfied.

—C. Bridgerton

He hadn't expected a reply. In fact, he had assumed that Lady Whistledown's playful banter was nothing more than a fleeting amusement. But the next morning, another note arrived, slipped discreetly into his pocket during his morning ride.

Mr. Bridgerton,

How bold of you to assume I would wish to witness such talents firsthand. Perhaps I am merely testing the limits of your wit.

—Whistledown

Colin chuckled to himself as he read the note, his mind racing with possibilities of how she had managed to slip the note in his pocket. He was sure it hadn't been there that morning. There was something thrilling about this exchange, something intoxicating in the anonymity of it all. He had no idea who Lady Whistledown truly was. He knew he should've followed the messenger the day before.

He had no clue how to reply to this note. Instead, he simply handed it to their steward with the directions that if someone came for a reply, give them his latest reply and then discreetly follow them. Of course, the scruffy streetboy who had come for the note instantly lost the stuart in the carriage rush, but it had been a good try.

Lady Whistledown,

I believe a sharp wit is best tested in person. Or perhaps you prefer the safety of your quill and ink? A pity, if that's the case, as I imagine you would prove most interesting face to face.

—C. Bridgerton

The next reply came swiftly, this time slipped into his coat during an evening ball. Colin had been dancing with the less than charming Miss Cowper when he felt the note tucked into his pocket, his heart racing as he excused himself and stepped outside to read it under the moonlit sky.

Mr. Bridgerton,

I assure you, I have no need for safety, quill or otherwise. But as for meeting face to face... I prefer to keep certain mysteries alive. For now.

—Whistledown

Colin's heart raced as he folded the note, his mind filled with images of the mysterious woman behind the name. Whoever she was, she knew how to play this game well. She was certainly not Miss Cressida Cowper—the girl's hands had been in his own for that particular dance. It must have been someone else nearby. That left any number of ladies—or even gentlemen—as the dancefloor had been rather crowded.

His thoughts lingered on the possibilities. Every glance, every smile from the women at the ball now seemed tinged with potential. He couldn't stop himself from imagining who among them might be bold enough to exchange such letters with him. There was something deeply enticing about the mystery, but more than that, there was something inherently seductive about the words she chose.

The next morning, Colin awoke to find another note slipped beneath his bedroom door at Aubrey Hall. His pulse quickened as he picked it up, eager to see what Lady Whistledown had written this time.

Mr. Bridgerton,

I've often wondered... are you as talented with your hands as you are with your words? You speak so confidently of your... abilities. Perhaps you would care to demonstrate, should we ever find ourselves in a more private setting.

—Whistledown

Colin's breath hitched, the words sending a rush of heat through him. This was no longer playful banter—there was something more carnal in the tone now, something that sent a shiver of anticipation through his body. His thoughts drifted to what it would be like to meet Lady Whistledown in private, to put her teasing words to the test.

His reply came swiftly, his heart pounding as he wrote.

Lady Whistledown,

My hands are at your service. Should you ever wish to test my skills, I assure you, you will not be disappointed. I wonder, though... would you be as daring in person as you are in your letters? I suspect you would enjoy being proven wrong.

—C. Bridgerton

Colin waited anxiously for her response, his mind wandering back to the memory of her words over and over again. The idea of her watching him, her sharp gaze appraising him, filled him with a desire that was growing harder to ignore.

When the next note arrived that evening, slipped into his coat pocket while he dined with the family, Colin's heart raced. He excused himself from the table, making his way to a secluded spot in the garden to read it in private.

Mr. Bridgerton,

I daresay I would enjoy watching you. Imagine this: we find ourselves alone. I am seated comfortably, and you... are standing before me. Your hands, those skilled hands you've spoken of, are busy with the task at hand. Tell me, Mr. Bridgerton, do you think you could maintain your composure as I watch?

—Whistledown

Colin swallowed hard, the vivid image her words conjured nearly sending him over the edge right there in the garden. His breath came in shallow gasps as he imagined her sitting there, watching him with those piercing eyes as he slowly unraveled under her gaze. The very idea of it made him ache with need.

His reply came quickly, his hand shaking slightly as he wrote.

Lady Whistledown,

I assure you, I could maintain my composure—for a time. But I suspect you would enjoy pushing me past that point, wouldn't you? Watching me lose control, knowing you're the reason for it...

—C. Bridgerton

The next day, the note that arrived was different. The paper felt softer in his hands, and when he unfolded it, the scent of her perfume drifted up to meet him. The words that followed made his pulse quicken.

Mr. Bridgerton,

I wonder... do you think of me when you touch yourself? Do you imagine my gaze on you, my breath warm against your skin as you take yourself in hand? I daresay I would enjoy seeing that—watching you succumb to your own desires, knowing you are thinking of me as you reach your peak.

—Whistledown

Colin's breath caught in his throat, the heat between his legs growing unbearable as he read her words. His fingers tightened around the note, his heart racing as he imagined the very scene she had described. The thought of her watching him, her eyes on him as he lost himself in his pleasure, was almost too much to bear.

He set the note down on the small table in his room, his hands trembling as he reached for the waistband of his trousers. His mind was filled with images of her—Lady Whistledown, watching him, her lips curled in a knowing smile as he took himself in hand.

His breath came in ragged gasps as he began to stroke himself, his hand moving in time with the vivid fantasies playing out in his mind. He could almost hear her voice, soft and seductive, teasing him as she watched.

"Show me," he imagined her whispering, her breath hot against his ear. "Show me how much you want me."

Colin groaned softly, his body trembling with need as his strokes quickened, the pressure building inside him. He could feel himself teetering on the edge, the sensation of release just out of reach as he imagined her standing before him, her gaze fixed on him as he came undone.

With one final, shuddering gasp, Colin's body tensed, his release hitting him with a force that left him breathless. His hand slowed, his body trembling as he rode the waves of his pleasure, the image of Lady Whistledown still lingering in his mind.

For a moment, he lay there in the quiet of his room, his breath still coming in uneven bursts as he tried to collect himself. The note sat on the table beside him, a tantalizing reminder of the woman who had driven him to the brink with nothing more than her words.

He knew he needed to respond, but in that moment, all he could think about was how desperately he wanted to know who she really was—to meet her face to face, to put an end to the mystery that had consumed him.

But for now, the game would continue.