Bridgerton Novels & Stories

I realized that many of them had some sort of sexual undertone, and maybe Kimia didn’t want that. “I’m going to assume you don’t want John Hughes either?” I asked. She shook her head. Kamron groaned. “It’s going to be a period drama, isn’t it?” I glanced at Kimia, and saw her grinning. “Ah, but what kind of period? Regency? Western? TV series? Actual movie?” I was getting into teasing Kamron about all the options when Kimia interrupted me. “I’m thinking maybe Bridgerton or maybe Charade?” Her eyes were brighter, and showing excitement.

Emily St. Laurent, the Duchess of Essex, sat in the drawing room of Lord Denbruck's townhouse in Mayfair, sipping tea. Beside her, Horatia and Audrey were also holding teacups. Lord Denbruck, an older man who still bore the vestiges of his handsome features, had been delighting the ladies with tales of his youth.

“You don’t trust me? At least I’m a virgin. I know you have Groupon dick. I did my research. If anyone should be worried it’s me.” My fingers froze and I stared at her in shock. “You’re a virgin?” I hate to admit it but I was literally squeaking. “You don’t have to sound so surprised. I am a bratva princess after all.” “Who’s brother lets you run wild.” “Who said that?” I shrugged, “Everyone knows Roman indulges you.” “Yeah well…that doesn’t mean I’m out here like that.” I took a step closer to her. “So why am I the lucky guy who gets to pop your cherry?”

“You follwed me. Do you even realize how criminal that sounds?” He bows. Again. What is this? A remake of The Bridgerton series with a 21st century theme? Wonderful series by the way, but I digress. “Please accept the envelope, Miss Amani.” He even knows my name. Pushed by pure curiosity, I accept the envelope and flick it open. The moment I get the weird seal thingy off the flap, the scent of rosemary filters into my nostrils — one of my most favourite scents in the world.

A collective gasp rippled through the hall at the security guard’s words. It was shocking enough that Aria Vale—long mocked as Meridian City’s “ugliest girl”—had shown up looking breathtaking. But this? Damian Cross—the supposedly unwanted, disfigured, forgotten eldest son—was not only devastatingly handsome, but also the new head of the Cross Consortium? Had everyone been living under a rock?

Leaning sligtly on the doorway, in his fitted cobalt blue suit, with it’s little stripes and the flower embridery gracing some choice sides of his outfit, i don’t think i could stay angry at Tieran even if i wanted to. That’s one of the perks of looking like a CEO with the world fully at his feet but who lets none of it get to his head. Bridget pulls my attention to her as she quips in, “Any chance you’ll accept my apology as easily as you accepted his?” I roll my eyes and raise my nose into the air. “Whoa whoa miss. Are you sure you want to get out of the bed in that?” Bridget again, but this time i actually have to stop and listen to what she’s saying. The night gown i chose is an incredib

"Sorry I'm late." I heard a voice breach the room. I turned around to see Bridget walking in, shimmering in silver. Literally. I looked cute at the most, maybe princess like but Bridget, she was dripping in chic glamour. She was a long silver strapless dress that kind of looked like the kind they wore in the seventies, as if to emphasize on the look, her blonde locs were done in perfect ringlets around her face. "Wow." Peter spoke, his arm still around May. "Looking good, Bridge."

A couple of days ago, Billionaire CEO to Bridger Empire, Christopher Bridger ties the knot with his bride, Ahsley Grander, in a discreet, but elite manner. Then the screen was filled with the latest couple in the country, and Rudney’s breath caught in his throat; that had to be Lily Bashwood!

“No idea. Really, I couldn’t care either. All I care about is revenge.” She nods slowly, then smiles brightly. “Alright. I’ve saved up enough to get you out of jail if I need to. Go break a leg, babe.” I can’t help but laugh, almost choking on the ice cream in my mouth. Christie is such a dork. “Thanks but I won’t need to.” She grins cheekily. “I don’t know but this has the makings of an enemy turned lovers story written all over it. More like Anthony Bridgerton and Kate Sheffield…but the note action is giving Carrie Bradshaw and Jack Berger,” she chuckles.

She trails off, blinking. "London what?" I prod. She waves her hand. "You know, they’ve got a matchmaking market that’s booming. Discreet wealth. Aristocratic lineage. It’s like Bridgerton, but real. We’d kill there." I nod slowly, watching her more than listening. She’s flustered. Unfocused. And she never forgets her pitch. If Elena Vasquez is rambling, something’s rattled her. Or she’s so tired she’s going to keel over any moment now.