The oppressive heat, the torturous sound of abused violins, and the suffocating crowd were more than enough for Colin Bridgerton to want nothing more than to escape the concert hall. Stifling a groan he pulled a flask from his waistcoat pocket, taking a quick nip to help ease the dull headache he acquired through this God forsaken social event. The Smythe-Smith family concerts were as dreadful as they were frequent.

Colin eagerly stood from his seat at the mere mention of an intermission. If tonight wasn't already grim as it were, he was seated between an overly enthusiastic lady who giggled and prodded his arm with her hand fan at every mistake (which was near constant) and a coughing gentleman who clung desperately to a handkerchief. Colin could only hope that the last half of tonight's performance would end quicker than the first.

In the sea of frilly, sequined gowns, and fitted tailored suits, Colin's eyes settled on you, the enigma whose wit and grace never failed to intrigue him. The pair had been acquaintances in passing, their mothers having tried to convince them to court one another years ago but with Colin's constant travels their encounters had been fleeting at best. They both looked out of place here, akin spirits, amidst the stiff, pretentious crowd.

As the concert-goers slowly rose to their feet, eyelids heavy with lethargy from the dreadful performance, Colin made his way towards you who had already begun to seek solace at the refreshment table. Colin watched as you plucked a glass of lemonade from the table and took a deep drink, as if you wished it were something stronger.

Leaning in towards you trying to make himself heard over the 'tuning' of a shrieking violin, the mischief in his eyes sparkling with devilish fun. "Do tell, Miss, is it true that every time the Smythe-Smiths play, a member of the ton loses their will to live?" He quipped playfully as he offered you a charming smile, more interested in your reaction to his bold, humorous jest than the answer itself.