The Viscount Who Loved Me {Eight}
TVWLM Masterlist
An A Court of Thorns and Roses fanfiction, inspired by the first 2 seasons of Bridgerton.
Written alongside @snelbz
Ships: Nesta x Cassian x Elain (I said what I said) Feyre x Rhysand Elain x Azriel x Gwyn
Summary:
As the season begins, a new Diamond is named. She catches the eye of a prince whose feelings remain unrequited. However, the man who catches the eye of the Diamond remains off the market, refusing to get married as a jab to his late father. Meanwhile, the Diamond of the Season’s sisters have found themselves in a bit of a quandary. The elder is pushing the younger to get married to help her move on from the horrid disaster that happened last season, but in the process, the elder catches the eye of the younger’s match, even though she is considered to be an old maid and far past her time to be wed at the age of six and twenty. As they say, all is fair in love and war.
A/N: Sorry it's been a minute since we've updated this one! I was out of town for a few weeks. Let us know what you think! Your thoughts, likes, and shares are always so appreciated.
Tag list is at the end. If you’d like to be added, please comment below or submit an ask. :)
It was just after breakfast when Cassian found Nesta sitting on the patio, reading a book. She seemed to be enjoying it immensely. Her brows were furrowed, her lips pursed as she flipped the page. Cassian had been looking for a moment to get her alone, to speak with her about pressing matters, and he figured this was as good a time as any.
“Miss Archeron,” he said as he approached.
She jumped slightly, as if she had been fully involved in the world of her book, unaware that reality still existed outside the pages.
She looked at him with a frown as she slowly set it down. “Lord Cassian.”
“I was hoping to speak with you,” he said, gesturing to the seat across the white, cast iron table. “May I?”
“It is your home,” she replied, simply. “You do not need my permission.”
Cassian couldn’t help the chuckle of pure disbelief that radiated out of him. Nonetheless, he sat and cleared his throat. “Have you enjoyed your visit?”
“You have a lovely home,” she replied, simply, looking out at the vast landscape instead of meeting his eye. “And, I must admit, my lord, you have been a gracious host. My sisters have enjoyed their stay immensely.”
Cassian noticed that she did that often - spoke on her sisters’ behalf but never on her own. “And you?” He pushed.
Nesta’s lips formed a straight line but she soon said, “The silence has been nice. I enjoy the country for that reason.”
Cassian understood. The city, although he loved the energy of it, could be loud and distracting. Perhaps that’s why he loved it. He never had to spend too much time inside of his own head.
“Perhaps your sister and I will live here, then, and you may visit whenever you’d like,” Cassian said, and Nesta’s back straightened. “If, of course, Miss Archeron, I have your blessing to ask for Elain’s hand.”
Nesta did not, would not look at him. Her eyes remained staring at the green, rolling hills. Cassian waited patiently. He figured that Nesta Archeron was not a woman to be pushed.
Once the wait was over, however, he was only disappointed.
“No,” Nesta said.
“My intentions are—”
“I do not doubt your intentions, my lord,” she interrupted, her eyes still locked on the land in front of her. “But the season has just barely begun and I do not want my sister rushing into a marriage.”
“I would be a good match for Miss Elain,” he argued, sitting forward in his chair, resting his knees on his elbows. “I can give her everything she wants.”
“Do you love her?”
Cassian stared at her and Nesta finally turned to meet his gaze. “My sister will marry because it’s what my father wishes her to do, but the one thing she’s always wanted is to marry for love.” The words hung between them. “So forgive me if you claim you can give my sister what she wants when you do not even know what that is.”
Cassian was typically incredibly sure of himself and quick on his feet, but even he hesitated. Nesta was not a woman to be trifled with. She stood her ground and spoke without a second thought if it was what she thought should be said.
“I have spent hours with your sister,” Cassian said, calmly. “She has shared with me the life she sees for herself. I can give her that life. I will treat her kindly and I will respect her.”
Nesta scoffed and Cassian’s anger took root inside his gut. “Do you truly wish me to believe that you will respect my sister?” She said, shaking her head. “I know of you, my lord, and with all due respect, I have heard of your reputation. You like women. You have seen your fair share of beds and, pardon my frankness, if you do not even love my sister how will you put aside such…such…” Nesta was getting frustrated. He could see it, and that frustration only grew as she said, “desires! You may think you want a wife, my lord, but I have known men like you. And, if you are not marrying for love, I know I cannot count on a faithful marriage, a respectful marriage. Forgive me, but I will not place my sister in such a position, not when she deserves better.”
This woman.
This insufferable woman.
She was almost enough to make him wish he’d never entered the marriage market.
“So unless I am in love with your sister, you will not give me your blessing?” Cassian asked, voice quiet.
“No, Lord Nazari,” Nesta said, picking up her book and clutching it to her chest. “I will not give you my blessing until I feel that you are worthy of it.”
With that, she turned, re-entering the house and leaving Cassian behind with her unfinished tea on the table.
He fought down the urge to cry out in anger, to tug at his hair and drag her back here and make her listen to all the reasons he’d be the best husband Elain Archeron could have. Most of all his loyalty. He could be faithful, he had no doubt. He’d never had a reason to be, had the opportunity to dally on the side and took it, with little thought.
But if his allegiance lay with one woman?
He would never betray the trust and loyalty she’d be putting in him.
His track record didn’t look stellar though, and he knew it.
Taking a deep breath, Cassian reached for the teapot and poured a cup with the remaining dregs inside. After splashing in some milk, he took a drink and looked out at the sunny day.
He would prove to Nesta Archeron that he could be a good husband, if it was the last thing he did.
<.>
Feyre did not sleep for even a minute. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him. And every time she saw him behind closed eyes, their encounter did not end when it did.
Her cheeks heated, even as she walked alone through the gardens. How could she have been so careless? The whole situation had been inappropriate. If someone were to have seen them, were to have walked in on them, their evening would have had an entirely different outcome.
She had been irresponsible.
She had been careless.
Now, she was embarrassed.
For the entirety of breakfast and lunch, Feyre had eaten with her eyes staring into her plate. She only spoke when asked a question which happened far more likely than she had cared for.
The worst part of it all was that she had liked it.
She had liked seeing Rhysand like that. She had liked getting close with him. She had liked feeling the warmth of his breath on her mouth, of imagining what it would have been like to taste him.
Even now, walking in the gardens, Feyre could not catch her breath. Her skin was on fire and she had to stop, close her eyes, breathe until thoughts of his fingers grazing her skin no longer occurred.
“Are you alright, Miss Feyre?”
Feyre’s eyes snapped open at that voice, knowing the face she would behold. Rhysand had just come around the corner of the shrubbery and was looking at her half in amusement, half in worry.
Clearing her throat, she curtsied and continued on, nodding once. “Yes, my lord, now if you’ll excuse me—”
She was almost around the corner when his voice reached her. “I didn’t mean to offend you last night.”
Halting, she turned back and met his dark eyes. Eyes that seemed impossibly darker in the daylight. “You didn’t, my lord, but it was highly inappropriate—”
He shrugged. “We happened to be in the same place at the same time after neither of us could sleep.”
“If you would let me finish a thought, sir,” she said, snapping her fan shut and advancing on him. “You were going to kiss me.”
His eyebrows raised, clearly not expecting her to be so blunt. “I had considered it.” The warm feeling his words evoked was forgotten as he spoke again. “But then I realized it would be the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.”
Hurt flashed across her face, her cheeks reddening. Her eyes found the ground as she turned and headed for the house again. “Good day, my lord.”
A string hand wrapped around her wrist. “That…came out wrong.” She froze again, didn’t pull her hand from his grip, but didn’t look back at him. “If I were to kiss you, Miss Feyre, and someone were to find out, we would be forced to wed.”
Forced.
The words clanged through Feyre like a knell.
“And that would be the worst thing, wouldn’t it?” She asked, before she could help herself, meeting his gaze. “To be wed?”
To me, were the words she refused to add, but flashed through her mind.
He knew it, too, could tell by the way his body tensed. His fingers were still wrapped around her wrist. She still made no move to escape.
“Would you have liked me to kiss you, Feyre?” He asked, quietly.
She was at a loss for words, swallowing harshly instead. He tracked the bob of her throat and then his eyes met hers again.
“You don’t want to marry the prince.” It wasn’t a question. It was a blatant statement, one he had no right to make.
But he was right. She didn’t. The thought of marrying Prince Tamlin, of being shipped off to Spring and likely end up locked in his castle to breed little heirs, title or no…
She shook her head.
Rhysand was watching her intently. There seemed to be a war raging inside him and she swore she could see the exact moment one side won out.
“I have a proposition for you, Miss Feyre,” he said, closing the distance between them. She held her head high, looking up into his face. “You seem to need a believable out from your courtship with His Highness. I am in need of a shield to protect me from the wolves of the ton.”
Feyre’s eyebrows bunched. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”
“The mamas, Feyre, darling,” he sighed, taking both of her hands in his. “I need a reprieve from their constant and incessant badgering. But you,” he stepped closer again. “You could be my saving grace, Feyre.”
Feyre blinked, registering his words all at once but not at all, all at the same time. “I’m not certain I know what you’re suggesting.”
His jaw ticked. “We will create a facade, a courtship that seems realistic in the eyes of the ton but remains nothing more than mere friendship. We will dance, we will promenade, and all the while I am not getting attacked by ladies and you are not getting attacked by the prince. It’s a simple solution to both of our problems.”
Feyre stared at him for a moment before barking a laugh, snatching her hands from his. “That’s absurd.”
Rhysand was not offended. He simply lifted a dark brow. “How so?”
“There is a flaw in your plan, my lord,” Feyre went on, and now she was pacing between the shrubbery. “If I were to accept this madness, I, the Diamond, would not be ending the season with a husband, now would I?”
The Viscount actually rolled his eyes, dramatically and with humor. “As you say, you are the Diamond. Of course you’ll get a proposal. Multiple proposals, I have no doubt. As the season comes to a close, I will step back and make way for the offers to roll in. My plan simply gives you a little breathing room until then.”
A little breathing room. Such a thought was lovely. There was a second fault in his plan, however. “Except I will be spending that spare time with you, my lord, and you do annoy me so.”
“And you frustrate me to no end,” he replied, “so it’s a good thing we have no intention of actually marrying at the end of the season.”
Feyre paused, actually thinking this charade through. She chewed on her bottom lip, looking up to find him watching the movement. “You truly think this could work?”
“As long as we play our parts well, which I have no doubts we will, I don’t see how it could fail.” He gestured around at the beautiful gardens. “You visited my best friend’s country home and spent time with me. No one would doubt that I charmed you while we relaxed, and it gives you a reason to reject that pompous princeling’s proposal.”
Feyre walked away a few steps, stepping out of the shade the two of them had been hiding in. She let the sun grace her face and turned up to bask in it. Finally, she turned back to him. “At least three dances at every ball, for the rest of the season.”
His dark brows rose. “Two,” he negotiated.
“Three,” she replied, opening her fan and fluttering it just beneath her chin. “All of the eligible bachelors must see me in your arms, my lord. That includes those that arrive early, those that arrive late, and those who are there the entire time.”
Pursing his lips, he nodded. “Fine, but one promenade week and one social visit.”
Feyre barked a laugh. “That’s just pathetic.”
“Pathetic?” Rhys replied, face incredulous.
“Pathetic.” Pointing to the house and its owner within its walls, Feyre went on, “Lord Nazari visits our home almost every day and they promenade at least three times a week.”
Rhysand, to her utter delight, hesitated. “Fine. I’ll move it to two. But don’t expect me to stay too long for the social visits.”
Feyre, in a very unlady manner, rolled her eyes. “Fine.”
“Fine.” He held out his hand.
Feyre’s brows shot up. “Shaking like gentlemen, are we?”
“You’re a menace,” Rhysand muttered, and Feyre grinned as she shook his hand.
The deal was done.
<.>
“Azriel.”
Elain’s sweet voice floated from behind him as he sat in the sitting room, sketching. It was the first time she came outright and used his given name, which pleased him considering he had asked her to call him only Azriel at least a hundred times.
“Lady Elain,” he said, setting down his charcoal and wiping his hands off on his trousers, which he realized just after was not very proper.
Her smile was radiant. “If I am to call you Azriel, you must call me Elain.”
As she sat on the couch across from him, he couldn’t help but notice how the rays of sun lit her hair up, how her eyes were molten in the early afternoon light.
He cleared his throat, but sat up and crossed an ankle over a knee. “Very well, Elain.”
He said her name as if it were a secret and it thrilled her. She was realizing she enjoyed spending time with Azriel, enjoyed how easy it was to be around him. He didn’t expect anything from her, didn’t push her to talk about things that, truthfully, she found quite trivial.
“What are you doing up here, all by yourself?” She asked, though it was clear he’d been absorbed in his art before she came in.
Cheeks heating, Azriel flipped his sketchbook shut. A metallic silver and grey thumbprint was smeared across the top, his hands still covered in charcoal. “Sketching,” he admitted. “It settles me when…” He froze realizing what he’d almost revealed. “When nothing else can settle me.”
She looked at him like she caught the misstep, like she wanted to ask what was wrong, if he was alright. But instead, she surprised him when she asked, “Can I see?”
Azriel looked down at his sketchbook before looking back up at her hopeful, curious expression. The second he handed it to her, she had it open.
“They’re not that great,” Azriel said as she flipped through page after page after page. “Although, I did just get accepted to the summer program at the art academy.” That felt like bragging. “Not…that that’s a big deal.”
It was.
Still, she said nothing as she studied each drawing she came across.
“So,” Azriel continued, having nothing to say after that, but fearing the silence.
“These are beautiful,” she said, at last, looking at a messy sketch of Cassian and Rhysand sitting on the couch, sipping their magical tea. “The day I met you, you got charcoal on my dress,” Elain said, laughing quietly, although she was not specifically speaking to him, just aloud.
“I apologize, yet again,” Azriel said, his voice light.
That quiet laughter returned, and it was a lovely sound. “No need. I did not mind.”
He smiled, but she didn’t see it. She turned to the next page where she found a portrait of a woman.
Elain tilted her head to the side. “She’s beautiful.”
“Miryam,” he explained. “She works for Rhys. We’ve known her our entire lives. Grew up together. I feel it easier to sketch those I know. I can feel their personality as I draw. I feel it helps guide me.”
Elain nodded thoughtfully before asking, “Could you draw me?”
Azriel started, surprised by the question, and Elain must have seen it as hesitation because her cheeks turned pink.
“Not that-“
“It would be an honor to draw you, Miss-.” He caught himself, and Elain laughed, loud and bright. “Elain.”
Her laughter died but it lingered in her deep, brown eyes. She handed him back his sketchbook. “When shall we do this?”
“I have time if you have time,” Azriel said, opening his book to a blank page.
“I have time,” she said, voice growing quiet. “Where would you like me?”
“Right where you are is perfect,” he assured her, but then thought again. “If you could just move your hands…maybe so they’re not…”
Elain looked down at her clasped hands and laughed, unclasping them and holding them out, palms up. “Where would you like my hands?”
He set down his sketchbook and leaned across the space between them. “May I?”
Elain nodded, smile growing soft as Azriel took her hands and put one palm down atop her skirts, then placed the other one just on top. He took her chin in his fingers and Elain’s breath hitched as he turned her face, just slightly until the light hit her just right.
“Now you’re perfect,” he breathed, his fingers still on her skin.
She blinked at him, knowing she shouldn’t move now that he’d placed her how he wanted her. Realizing what he’d said and how close they were, Azriel cleared his throat, jumping back. “Forgive me, sometimes I get so focused on a piece coming together that I can forget to heed acceptable social niceties. Act undignified and all that.”
Elain’s eyes softened and her smile was demure and pretty. “If that was undignified, I think I may prefer you like that.”
Azriel’s eyes left her face as he flipped his sketchbook open again and found a blank page. Her cheeks heated as his gaze looked over her entire body, but it was not done in a leering way. He was taking all of her in, memorizing her form, and then his hand was moving across the page.
It was quiet for a few minutes, neither of them speaking. His eyes would move between his book and Elain, sometimes getting caught in her own gaze, while his hand flew. Twice, he retrieved a fresh piece of charcoal, needing the thinnest edge possible to focus on a tiny, but important detail. His thumb was shiny and metallic from where he’d used it to soften edges and fade the lines he deftly drew.
“I’ve never really been one to fit into the ton.”
His words were so unexpected, so quiet, that Elain jumped slightly when he spoke.
With his eyes cast on his sketchbook, she took the chance to really look at Azriel. She’d, of course, noticed he was handsome before, but now, she gave herself a moment to appreciate his hazel eyes, the green a little stronger than the brown today, and his full mouth. His lips looked soft, where they were parted slightly in his concentration. His cheekbones were high and his jaw was strong. Those sparkling hazel eyes looked up and met with hers.
And Elain realized she was staring.
Clearing her throat, she asked, “Why is that, my lord?”
His eyes narrowed, but he ignored her. “Because I was never supposed to have my title.”
Azriel had been the illegitimate heir to the Draeven line, a placeholder of sorts until his wife gave him a son. The child the household laundress had bore him after he’d forced himself on her was never meant to lead the house and rule the land, but his wife never conceived. Likely due to the same beatings and bruises he and his mother received from him.
And then the man had died before Azriel had even turned four, just a few months after his mother had been unable to recover from a beating so horrible that Azriel could still hear her screams. His horrible step-mother remarried, bearing twin boys less than a year after his father’s death. As he got older, he would have thought it a fitting punishment for the piece of shit who sired him, had his half-brother’s not made his life a living hell every chance they took. Had his step-mother not squandered their money away, claiming she and her new husband were acting as Azriel’s stewards until he reached maturity.
All the while, Azriel waited, knowing there had to be some other member of the Draeven line who would take the title. Into his teen years, he’d heard his step-mother talking about this cousin or that cousin who could be coming any day to oust them from their home and take the title, and Azriel almost prayed someone would.
But no one ever did.
He would not tell Elain that. No one truly knew every little detail but Rhysand and Cassian, so when Elain asked, “How so?” Azriel casually answered, “Complicated family history.”
Elain wasn’t fond of that answer, he could tell she wanted to push, but like the lady she was, she didn’t. Instead, she said, “I am glad for your title. It means that you and I may spend time with one another.”
Azriel watched as she repositioned herself, a small smile on her lips. For the first time, Azriel thought that he may not mind his title either, if only for that reason.
<.>
Nesta knew she shouldn’t be out on her own at such an hour, but she had to get away. Supper had been excruciating, Cassian looking up at her with his stupid, cocky grins for the entirety of it. It made her skin crawl, how he thought it was all just a game.
She didn’t give him her blessing, and she wouldn’t.
She could not have such a rake as a brother-in-law.
She fled down the steps and into the garden, only to find a stone bench to fall on.
Once seated, she closed her eyes and took one deep breath, then another.
Listening to the breeze rustling through the shrubbery around her, she waited a moment, before opening her eyes. When it was clear no one had seen her flee her rooms, Nesta reached into the pockets of her robes and produced a small metal case, which she flipped open. A strike and a flush of light and Nesta was inhaling deeply from the clove cigarette between her lips.
Cassian, with his pretentious attitude and constant smirking. She scoffed as she exhaled and it almost sounded like a growl.
He was handsome, Nesta could not deny that, but a pretty face and a title wasn’t enough to win her over for either of her sisters.
Thank the Cauldron, Feyre was smart enough to align herself with the Prince. Nesta needn’t worry about his honor.
But Baron Cassian Nazari?
Over her dead body would he marry a member of the Archeron family.
The thought was haunting her and she suddenly had a new loathing for her father.
She had always loathed her father, had never gotten along with the man she had hailed from, but now, giving her this responsibility instead of taking it on his own…
Nesta loathed him.
She loved her sisters, but this was not her job. In her father’s defense, she didn’t know what her job was, she supposed. Not anymore.
She had forgotten what her job was a long time ago, when she refused to marry and became the mocking center of the ton.
Nesta took a long drag and closed her eyes.
She had no idea who she was.
All she knew is she couldn’t get Cassian Nazari out of her head.
It seemed that rather than prove his worth to Nesta, he’d decided to spend the rest of their visit getting under her skin. He infuriated her to the point of no return, having consumed her every thought while she lay in bed.
She wondered if he knew he wore every emotion and thought on that handsome face. How his jaw ticked when he was frustrated, his eyes would trail down and to the left when he was deep in thought. She didn’t want to think about the fact that his hazel eyes lit up when the two of them spoke. Not every time, but often, and when they did, he looked so…alive.
But that was not the point.
Even thoughts such as those were highly inappropriate.
Infuriating.
Nesta heard a crunch and just as she jumped to her feet, a figure came around the corner, emanating puffs of smoke.
Lord Azriel froze, looked at Nesta, looked down at the cigarette between her fingers, then cleared his throat. “Apologies, wasn’t aware this bench was already occupied.” Nesta must have had a look of pure panic written across her features, because he continued with, “No need to worry. Everyone else has gone to bed and your secret is safe with me.”
Azriel did not threaten her in the slightest, but still, being alone with a man in the middle of a garden at night felt wrong.
Once again, highly inappropriate.
Better Lord Azriel than Lord Cassian, though.
“Please,” he went on, when she said nothing, gesturing to the bench. “Do not let me interrupt.”
Nesta slowly sat back down and gestured to the opposite end of the bench. “Feel free to join, if you wish. It seems this is your smoking bench, after all.”
Azriel chuckled as he sat, a couple feet away. “Perhaps it is. I love my brothers, but some days I need to come out here and…breathe. Without them.”
Nesta snorted. “That seems fair, my lord.” A moment of silence passed before she said, “You call each other brothers. Are you related by blood?”
She hadn’t thought so, but she didn’t want to assume.
“No, though my mother and Rhysand’s were close friends growing up, so we met young. And Cassian?” Azriel chuckled, affectionately. “We met him in finishing school and the three of us were pretty much inseparable after that.”
Nesta had to resist the urge to snort. “Finishing school? Lord Cassian attended finishing school?”
He chuckled, the tip of his cigarette lighting up as took a long drag. “He may be a lot to take in, but do not mistake his fervor for life as disregard for his honor and respect.”
Nesta was quiet for a moment and Azriel feared he may have said something wrong. “You probably think I’m a hateful woman,” she said, quietly. “I don’t withhold my blessing out of spite.”
“You want what’s best for your sisters,” Azriel replied. “No one can fault you for that.”
Nesta wasn’t sure what she had been expecting Azriel to say, but that was not it. They did not know each other; yet, he seemed to understand more than anyone else.
“We are all each other have,” Nesta said, simply, before putting the cigarette between her lips. “After this season…” her words trailed off as she shook her head. “After this season, our lives will be forever changed. We have been through enough change in our lifetime, enough scandal. If our lives are to change, then I want it to be for the best. They deserve that. Both of them.”
Azriel blew a puff of smoke into the cool, night air and watched it fade away into nothingness before he said, “Contrary to popular belief, Miss Archeron, you are a good woman. A good sister.”
“That is very kind of you to say,” Nesta said, quietly. “You may be the only one in the ton who believes such a thing.”
“Yes, well,” Azriel began, snorting, “the ton does not think fondly of me, either, so do not let it upset you. You and I will be much happier in the remainder of our lives than most of them will ever be.”
Nesta looked over at the young lord, and found him smiling softly at her. He took another drag of his cigarette, before saying, “Like I said, Miss Archeron, your secret is safe with me.”
__________________________________________________________
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