Ruin - Sea_Dragonfly - Bridgerton (TV) [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

His lips are cold, wet… wrong. Like oozing slugs on her neck. His hands are desperate, digging into the places she feels so much shame about, where she feels too soft, too much. The places she tries to hide from the world.

Despite the dark, she closes her eyes, searching for enjoyment.

Isn’t that what makes it so deliciously forbidden?

Isn’t that what leads to temptation?

To bad decisions?

To ruin?

She leans more into the kiss, clumsily matching his rhythm, yet still, she cannot understand it. Why would anyone risk everything for this?

Her back is pressed against what she thinks must be a shelf, it’s digging into her spine, blunt yet stabbing. She grunts and he seems to take her noise as encouragement, tugging at her bodice. It somehow stays in place, and she feels a swooping relief.

She pushes against his chest and he stumbles back, panting.

“Perhaps we should return to the ball, my Lord,” she says to his shadow.

She’s had enough. She’d asked him for a kiss, just one. This was more than enough.

She hears footsteps outside, voices, giggles.

“My Lord?” she whispers, and her voice trembles, as if her body knows what’s about to happen before her mind.

And then, a blinding light.

Her eyes burn, squinting, unseeing.

She hears him curse.

Gasps tear across the distance. Her stomach is twisted and knotted. Her blood scorches her skin even as ice descends on her organs.

And then laughter.

Not the kind that encourages a light bubbling feeling. But the kind that makes her want to disappear, to curl into herself and never leave the darkness.

—

Penelope awoke choking on air, her lungs stuttering, wrenching her from the now familiar dream. She sat up in bed and rubbed her dry eyes, feeling their sting. Once again she’d fallen asleep in tears. She glanced to the window, grey soft light peeped through her curtains. She could hear a cat yowling outside, the clatter of horseshoes against cobblestone; above she could hear the creaks of servants readying themselves for the day ahead. All of it so familiar, and yet so otherworldly.

She sighed and flopped back against her pillow, her heart still hammering against her chest. She wondered if the dreams would ever stop. She placed a hand on her neck where his lips had been, rubbing as if she could remove the memory of him. If only she could block out the echoes of their laughter too.

Groaning, she rolled over, her eyes landing on her desk by the window, sheets of blank paper judging her. The hours ahead of her deadline were dwindling. Genevieve had left her a note tucked within a dress she hadn’t ordered but had been delivered yesterday evening nonetheless; she had to go to print.

Not to would be damning.

But she already was damned. All possibilities in her life had been burned to ash. No longer could she dream of a husband, of family, children… No warm embraces, no safety, no escape.

In the four days since the scandal, her mother had already made plans to send her away to Scotland, as if she could physically remove the stink of her fall from grace. As if she hadn’t already damaged her sister’s prospects beyond repair, as if she hadn’t all but guaranteed their rejection from the ton.

Prudence had been on the edge of a proposal. Mr Harry Dankworth had been courting her for weeks, had made implications and indications. All had been on schedule. And Penelope had ripped that away from her.

While there was no love lost between them, the guilt of having not only destroyed her own future but her sister’s as well would forever linger. Neither Prudence nor her mother had been able to even look at her since that night.

She was a wallflower, who could have known her thorns were tipped with poison?

Sighing, she pushed herself out of bed, throwing the covers back and walking toward her desk. The morning air chilled her, goosebumps scattering across her flesh. She sat down in her chair, her finger tracing the familiar inlaid pattern that bordered her desk. How many nights had she spent here, her quill flying across the page? How many scandals had she luxuriated in detailing for the ton? How many names had she written, putting to ink their shame? Her mind flashed with Eloise’s outrage, Marina’s betrayal, Colin’s heartbreak.

She knew that there was justice in this.

Why should her name be protected? What made her any different?

She had made a choice, one that from the outside was stupid, without reason, yet from the inside had felt exciting and empowered. And now she had to make another choice. Should she write about it for the world to devour? Or should she remain silent, all but announcing to the world who she really was?

Penelope lifted her quill, twirling it between her fingers. Then, her hand trembling, she dipped it in her pot of ink, tapped it against the edge, and brought it to paper.

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

Every part of Colin ached as he slid out of the saddle, his ankles jarring on landing, thankfully missing a rather suspect-looking puddle. It had been a long ride from Dover; he’d spent part of it in a carriage but he preferred the fresh air that only came from riding horseback. He handed his reins to a groom, patting his mount on the neck before sending him off to rest.

His home was just the same; wisteria drooped while bees buzzed and weaved through the lilac petals. Carriages clattered by, and he could already feel the eyes of debutantes and marriage-minded mamas burning welts into the back of his neck. The London sky was a familiar, if moody, grey, a light breeze grazed against his raw cheeks. Only the Featherington home across the square seemed oddly still amongst the bustle of the street, its curtains shut.

Odd.

Perhaps they were not yet in Mayfair for the Season. Although, it had started a few weeks hence and Portia Featherington was nothing if not a dedicated matchmaker for her girls.

Colin had meant to be home for the start of the Season but he’d spent a while longer in Cyprus than intended, then his return to Paris had been delayed, which meant he had to wait a sennight for a ship to Dover. His travels this time around had proved to be more arduous than anticipated. His enthusiasm to depart at the end of this Season was lessened, but he assumed with time it would return.

His stomach grumbled, distracting him from the heavy feeling that had settled on his shoulders. He could do with a long bath, a nap, and a platter of sandwiches. Not necessarily in that order.

But first, his family.

—

It started out as a warm welcome home. His mother had thrown her arms around him, and he couldn’t help but lean into her softness, that offering of unconditional love a balm to his overworked muscles. Gregory and Hyacinth had shouted and chattered at him, unbelievably taller than he remembered them. Francesca was out on a promenade with a gentleman named Stirling, with Kate acting as chaperone. Benedict was out ‘Lord knows where’, and Anthony was attending parliament. Eloise was home but had not left her room in days.

That was when the edges of his warm welcome seemed to fray. A sombre, heavy sort of silence descended on his enthusiastic younger siblings. His mother’s eyes darted out the window, across the square.

“Is something amiss, Mother?”

Dread coiled in his stomach as his rambunctious and famously intrusive siblings left the room. Voluntarily offering them privacy… it was unheard of.

“Perhaps you should take a seat,” said Violet.

He wouldn’t remember the details of what she would tell him next. He remembered her hand warm on his knee, her eyes wide with concern, her voice gentle as velvet. All of it in stark contrast to the devastating news she imparted.

Penelope Featherington was ruined.

She’d been found with a gentleman—no a knave—in flagrante. The cad had disappeared, left London without a proposal.

He’d abandoned her.

“I believe she will be departing Mayfair in the coming days,” said Violet. “As you may expect, Eloise is inconsolable. I dearly wish there was something we could do, she was always such a wonderful friend to your sister but—”

Colin didn’t stay to hear the rest; he didn’t need to. Penelope was a fallen woman. She would be shunned from society. None of them would ever be able to see her again without risking their own disgrace.

He all but stumbled from the drawing room, his vision blurring, his heart in his throat. He vaguely nodded at footmen and maids as he mindlessly let his feet take the lead, until suddenly he was in his bedchamber.

He blinked, surprised to be there.

His room was just as he’d left it, and yet it could have been the setting of a stage. He felt as though he were on the outside looking in, everything was familiar, yet foreign. He grazed the tips of his fingers across cool marble trinkets he’d collected on his last Grand Tour. His bed was made to perfection, a knot formed in his throat at the sight of his yellow sheets.

When did he suddenly feel so old?

He looked out his window toward the Featherington’s, but their curtains were still shut. There was not a movement from their home, as if it were abandoned. He wondered if Penelope was in her room. His heart lurched into his throat at the thought of her alone, with no prospects.

What would become of her?

He should have known.

She hadn’t responded to any of his letters, he should have known something was seriously wrong. The Penelope he knew would never have put herself in such a situation. She was an innocent, completely naive to the ways of rakes and rogues.

His hands clenched.

How could she be so foolish?

He squeezed his eyes shut as if he could crush the awful, unfair thought. Penelope was his friend.

His lungs squeezed, his breath shortened, he ripped off his jacket pelting it onto the rug at his feet. Then came his cravat, stinging scratches from his nails left behind on his neck as he scrambled to take it off.

He couldn’t breathe.

He bent over, gulping for air, feeling it hiccup down his throat. His heart was hammering against his ribcage. His blood was hot, his skin itchy. And then it was as if he erupted, something aflame bursting from him. A savage roar ripped through his chest and he swung his fist.

Lancing hot pain brought him back to himself.

Blood dripped from his knuckles, spilling onto shimmering broken glass beneath him. His smashed mirror was at an odd angle above his mantlepiece.

“Damn,” he muttered, his hand throbbing.

What had overcome him?

“Mr Bridgerton,” came the nervous voice of a maid. “Your bath is ready.”

—

He should be asleep. It was torture to lie in his bed, staring at the hangings above him, his hand wrapped yet throbbing. His body was near screaming with exhaustion, his foot bouncing as if begging him to sleep. Yet his mind wouldn’t stop racing, replaying the events of that day. How had he gone from a happy return to… this?

It didn’t feel real. Couldn’t be real.

He wished he could see Penelope. He wished he could see her smile, her blue eyes dancing as she shook her head at him. “It’s only a jest, Colin. None of it is true.”

A soft thud outside his room made him sit up in bed. A floorboard creaking confirmed there was someone in the hallway. Sighing, he tossed his blankets off him and rolled out of bed. He wasn’t going to be falling asleep any time soon, anyway.

Quietly he crept across his bedchamber, slowly opening the door, and peering out into the dim hallway. He saw a shadow carrying a candle, before disappearing around the corner. Colin quickly reached for his own candle and followed.

The shadow led him to the kitchens.

“El,” he said, as he entered, placing his candle next to hers on the scuffed wooden table.

She was standing with her back to him, her long hair in a tangle, her dressing gown hanging off her narrow shoulders. She looked smaller than he remembered. She glanced over her shoulder at him, her eyes dark and shining in the dim light. “Go back to bed, Colin.”

Her voice was rough as sand.

“A warm welcome, sister.”

She scoffed quietly before pulling a loaf of bread out of the pantry, followed by a lump of butter on a small plate.

“Surely we can do better than that,” said Colin, striding over to the pantry, his hands reaching up high on the shelf where he knew Cook hid the biscuits. He felt an absurd moment of pride when he found the jar, before turning to show his sister his prize. The feeling quickly disappeared at the sight of her gaunt face; even in the darkness he could see the stark shadows under her eyes.

He swallowed and quietly placed the biscuits between them. “Mother told me about Penelope.”

Eloise squeezed her eyes shut before dropping into a seat at the kitchen table. “I don’t want to discuss it,” she mumbled.

“What was she thinking?” he whispered, shoving a biscuit in his mouth and pulling out his own chair.

Eloise’s head snapped up, her eyes flashing. “Do not blame her!”

Colin swallowed, the biscuit may as well have tasted of dust. “The man she was found with, was he courting her?”

Eloise shrugged, suddenly interested in a burn mark on the table.

“El, what happened?”

She made a wet gasping sound, a strand of spit bridging her lips as she shrugged again, wrapping her arms around her waist.

“I’m her friend too, you know," he said. "I know we weren’t as close as you two, but I do care for her.”

Eloise threw a poisonous glare at him, anger trembling at her features. “You don’t know the first thing about her.”

Colin jerked back at her words, delivered with such venom. “I want to help.”

Eloise stood suddenly, the wooden chair scraping against stone floors. “How could you possibly help, brother? Can you go back in time and stop her from making such a foolish mistake?”

“I thought you said she wasn’t to blame.”

She shook her head. “There are many things Penelope is to blame for.”

“You’re speaking in riddles, El!”

“What can you possibly do to help Penelope?” she demanded, leaning forward and placing her hands on the table, her nails digging into the wood. “Can you convince this rake to marry her? Can you convince anyone to marry her?”

“No, but I—”

“You cannot change the past, Colin. She has made her choices.”

She threw his jar of biscuits a look of disgust before she fled the room.

“But perhaps I can change her future,” he murmured to himself, a ghost of an idea forming at the edges of his mind.

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Colin visited Anthony in his study as soon as he’d finished his breakfast. After his meeting with Eloise in the kitchen, he’d spent the remainder of the night practising his speech. At first, Anthony had seemed happy to see Colin, but then Colin had told him his plan. Anthony’s face had turned to stone and Colin had started to perspire.

He wasn’t a fool, he didn’t expect Anthony to be thrilled. So, he sat straighter in his armchair, keeping his gaze fixed and steady on his brother, attempting to project his severity. Anthony had always had the ability to make Colin feel like a child, but he couldn’t afford to let that happen today. It was too important.

His eldest brother was leaning back in the chair behind his desk, his fingers steepled as he considered Colin’s proposal.

“Do you love her?”

The question was so surprising, Colin felt his heart skip a beat. He cleared his throat while he tried to think of the right words. “She is my friend.”

Anthony quirked an eyebrow. “The last time you–”

“This is not like the last time,” snapped Colin, his ears burning at the unwelcome memories of his failed engagement to Miss Thompson, now Lady Crane.

Anthony tilted his head slightly. “You are still young. This would change your life irrevocably.”

Colin dug his fingers into the coarse fabric of his armchair. “I believe it would change it for the better.”

“I understand she is a dear friend of our sister’s but she is also not your responsibility.”

“But she is!”

Anthony’s eyebrows raised.

Something hot flashed in his chest. Colin couldn’t allow his brother a chance to speak, not until he’d said his piece. “She has no father or brother to protect her, she only has me– us, she only has us, the Bridgertons. Penelope has been a friend of the family for many years and–”

“Her mother attempted to make a cuckold of you, if I recall.”

Heat blazed across Colin’s cheeks. “Pen– that is, Miss Featherington is not her mother.”

Anthony narrowed his eyes. “Who is she to you?”

Colin shifted in his seat. “As I said, she’s my friend, she’s–” he paused, considering the close relationship he had with Penelope, the way she supported him, listened to him, challenged him. “She is special to me.”

“And what if she is with child?”

Colin’s insides twisted, dragging at his heart. His saliva thickened, he felt as though he may cast up his accounts at any moment. “I did not realise it had–” He cleared his throat. “It went that far?”

Anthony lifted his shoulders, eyes still focused on Colin as if trying to unravel a mystery. “It is what I have heard, although I cannot be sure.”

Colin nodded, closing his eyes against images of Penelope and this rogue wrapped in a lover’s embrace. His hands began to tremble.

Still, he was resolved. He had to save Penelope, there was no other option.

“I would raise the child as my own.”

Anthony sighed, offering him a grim smile. “You do not have to do this Colin. The entire ton will believe you to be a cuckold, whether or not she is with child. Miss Featherington may still have a contented life as a spinster.”

“She will be outcast,” he replied, his voice sounding haunted, even to his own ears. “Never able to see any of us again.”

“Perhaps she will be able to find some peace in–”

“It is unacceptable.”

“I grant you Eloise would grieve the friendship at first, but time does heal–”

Colin shook his head, breathing deeply through his nose, he could feel desperation clawing at his skin. “It is unacceptable for me to never see her again,” he finally said, the truth of his words twisting his heart until he felt like he could not breathe. “I cannot allow that to happen.”

He closed his eyes a moment and then met Anthony’s gaze, rolling his shoulders back and tilting his chin up. He would not be convinced to stand down. He needed to do this.

A clock ticked in the corner, a breeze flicked the curtains. Colin heard the thundering footsteps of his younger brother and sister, racing down hallways outside the study, Violet shouting out after them.

Anthony pushed himself up out of his chair and strode over to where he kept his whiskey. “You will marry at Gretna Green,” he said.

Colin jerked in his seat, sure he had misheard him.

Anthony continued, “Mother will be disappointed to not witness it, of course, but there’s nothing that can be done. You’ll need to leave London immediately. Our name will protect you only so much, and we cannot risk her scandal staining our sisters’ reputations. You may take your valet and a lady’s maid for Miss Featherington. I’ll send word to Mr and Mrs Crabtree at My Cottage to expect you. You shall live there for at least a year or until the ton have moved on.”

Colin almost laughed. “You approve?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he said, pouring out two glasses. “But I can think of worse things than a marriage based on… friendship.”

The way he said ‘friendship’ made Colin’s brow furrow. It was almost as if he was trying to imply something more. “I’ve known her for years,” he said, suddenly feeling as though he needed to diminish his connection with Penelope.

“She’s a nervous little mouse, your future wife,” said Anthony, striding back across the room and offering Colin his glass. “I cannot say I know her well, but Mother has always had a soft spot for her, and Eloise too.”

Colin took a sip, the whiskey burning his throat. Hearing Anthony refer to Penelope as his wife was… disconcerting; his heart quickened.

“She hasn’t said ‘yes’ yet,” said Colin.

Anthony let out a bark of a laugh. “What other option does she have?”

Colin felt something curdle in his stomach at that.

—

Later that day, a small ring box in his inner jacket pocket, Colin approached the Featherington home. Silence seemed to soak into his surroundings as soon as he crossed the square. It felt heavier. Even the flowers, blooming in spring, seemed to droop slightly.

Colin glanced around, noting a few curious stares and raised eyebrows. His skin prickled and his cheeks heated. He briefly wondered if he should just turn around and march home.

The entire ton will believe you to be a cuckold, whether or not she is with child.

Colin’s heart hammered against his ribcage, the cravat at his neck felt too tight. Anthony’s echoing words clashed with visions of Penelope pressed against her lover, the mystery man’s desperate hands clawing at her dress, her lips parted–

He spun on his heel, head down, shoulders hunched, icy shame twisting through him. And that was when he noticed the yellow petals of a daffodil, a bee hovering above it, gathering pollen. And he thought of Pen. His Pen. The girl he had all but grown up with, the girl who had always managed to leave a warm feeling in his chest when she spoke to him. The girl who made him feel seen.

She was his friend. Nothing had changed that.

He had once promised he would protect her, he would keep his vow.

Rolling his shoulders back and straightening his jacket, he turned around again and knocked on the Featherington front door.

It took a while for the door to be answered. He was even more surprised to see the housekeeper; where was their butler?

She stared at him suspiciously, her eyes shrewd and lips pursed. “Yes?”

Colin’s eyes widened at her lack of etiquette. “I am here to call on Miss Penelope,” he said, handing the housekeeper his calling card.

She raised her eyebrows, not bothering to look at the card. “Why?”

Colin frowned at the impertinent question. “I wish to speak with her.”

The housekeeper looked over his shoulders as if expecting to see an angry mob behind him. Then she returned her gaze to him, her eyes darting from his face, to his cravat, down to his polished boots. Colin forced himself to remain still, to not give his jangling nerves away.

“Just a moment,” she said, before slamming the door in his face.

Colin’s mouth dropped open, never before had he been received in such a manner. He would have to speak to Penelope about the woman. Surely, she wasn’t aware of her behaviour. But then, perhaps the Featheringtons had fallen further than he imagined. A chilled feeling of unease raced up his spine.

Several moments later, in which Colin wondered if he should throw pebbles at Penelope’s window only to decide against it because he didn’t know which one was hers, the housekeeper reappeared. “Come in, Mr Bridgerton,” she said, although it seemed as though it was a strain for her to say it.

Colin followed her into the empty drawing room; he turned to ask if he might have a refreshment—his throat had suddenly become exceedingly dry—but the housekeeper had already left. Sighing, he slowly wandered the room, taking in the tired, worn furnishings, the dust on lampshades, sun stains on mahogany furniture where trinkets had once been.

Had it always been like this?

The last time he’d been there was to meet with the vagabond, Jack Featherington. Had he taken everything when he left?

Colin felt the sting of guilt. He should have remained behind a little longer after the Season to ensure the Featheringtons were unaffected by Jack’s disappearance. Perhaps he could have prevented what happened to Penelope if he’d been there to watch over her.

He heard the creak of a floorboard and spun around.

“Pen,” he breathed.

She seemed different than he remembered. She wore a simple, sage green day dress, without any adornments. Her hair was half pinned, the rest falling in pretty curls down her shoulders. He’d never seen her so… uncomplicated. She looked older, more dignified. It occurred to him then that Penelope Featherington was really rather beautiful.

But it was her eyes that were most changed.

They appeared wary. He was so used to seeing such open optimism and kindness in those eyes. He was half tempted to ask if perhaps the rude housekeeper had brought down someone else entirely. Someone who looked like Penelope, but just… wasn’t.

Finally, she spoke. “What are you doing here?” Her voice was deeper than he remembered, rougher, as if she’d just woken from sleep.

“I wanted to see you,” he said. “I’ve just returned from–”

“You cannot be here, Mr Bridgerton,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself. “You obviously haven’t heard, but it’s not safe for you to be here. You risk your family’s ruin just to be in the same room as me.”

Colin attempted a gentle smile, slowly stepping toward her. “I know, Pen. That is in fact why I am here.”

She shook her head, looking at anything in the room but him. Her voice caught as she spoke, “You have to go.”

Colin pressed his lips together. This wasn’t quite how he’d imagined the conversation proceeding. He decided perhaps it was best to put his cards on the table, as it were. “I’ve come to ask for your hand in marriage.”

Penelope appeared to choke, her eyes widening. “Pardon?”

Feeling his ears burning, Colin bounced on his toes. It wasn’t quite the romantic response he’d envisioned to his proposal. “I have been made aware of your unfortunate–” he paused searching for the right word, only to say an awkward one, “Situation.”

A laugh jolted out of her before she covered her mouth. “Is this some kind of jest?”

Colin frowned; this really wasn’t going to plan. “What I mean to say is, that I know that your options are limited. That this cad—” he paused to see if the word garnered a reaction from her, perhaps something protective or defensive of an old lover, but she didn’t even flinch. “I know that he did not act the gentleman, and should I ever cross his path, I intend to– to demand satisfaction–”

“That will be unnecessary.”

Colin’s brow furrowed, his heart quickening. “Has he returned, then?”

Penelope closed her eyes, shaking her head again. “Colin, you do not want to marry me. You do not love me.”

“I’ll admit that we may not share love in a romantic sense,” Colin replied, stepping closer to her and reaching for her gloved hand. “But I believe that friendship is a solid foundation for a marriage. There are not many in the ton who can say the same.”

Penelope stared at their joined hands. “You don’t even want to court me,” she murmured.

Colin dipped his head, willing her to look at him. He wasn’t sure why she was talking about courting at a time like this. Perhaps she didn’t quite understand the need for urgency. “I’m afraid we don’t have the time,” he said softly. “Anthony is already in the process of arranging a carriage to Gretna Green, so I hope that–”

“Gretna Green?” She whispered, pulling her hand from his. “You really have thought of everything.”

Colin nodded, feeling more confident now. “We would have to leave Mayfair as soon as we can, lest we–” he cut himself off, closing his eyes for a moment. It seemed he couldn’t help but say the wrong thing today.

“Tarnish your sisters with my disgrace?”

“I wouldn’t have put it that way.”

Penelope scoffed. “There’s no need to walk on eggshells now, Mr Bridgerton. I’m no longer considered a lady of the ton. I’m fallen.”

Colin swallowed. “If we marry, my name would–”

“I cannot marry you, Mr Bridgerton,” she said, her voice powerful in the quiet room. “Thank you, for your kind offer. Now, I ask that you please take your leave.”

Colin stared at her, utterly flabbergasted. “Penelope, I’m offering you protection,” he said. “If we marry, yes, we’ll have to stay away from London for a year or so, but we’ll eventually be allowed back. And your sisters–”

“Please, Colin,” she whispered, her eyes shining. “We cannot.”

Colin wanted to groan, he could feel his frustration racing hot through him. “Whyever not?” he demanded.

Penelope seemed to match his frustration, rolling her shoulders back, and narrowing her eyes at him. “I can think of a few reasons.”

He folded his arms. “Enlighten me.”

“You are a Bridgerton.”

“We are an upstanding family in society, I don’t see how–”

“You marry for love. You do not love me.”

“Well, that’s–”

“I am disgraced, you cannot be certain that our marriage will not harm your sisters’ prospects.”

“Anthony said–”

“And more importantly, you have never wanted to court me. Ever.”

“I don’t see how–”

“I overheard you. Last year, at my Mama’s ball.”

He blanched, his mind racing back to a conversation he’d barely taken any notice of at the time.

“You are embarrassed of me,” she said, her chin tilting upward in a way that brooked no argument.

Except that Colin wanted to argue. His throat was clogged with arguments. How could she think he was embarrassed of her?

“Of course you are,” she said, a heavy sadness dragging at her words. “I have always been the laughingstock of the ton, and now I’m even more so.”

His mind flashed back to the judgemental eyes that followed him to the Featherington’s, to the way his cheeks had burned, his head had ducked, to his sudden longing to run home.

Her eyes were resolute when she spoke her next words, “I cannot marry a man who is ashamed of me. I won’t.”

Deep, clawing shame twisted his stomach, silencing the excuses that begged to be released. He hated that she thought him embarrassed of her.

He wasn’t!

He just… well, it was difficult navigating the ton. The threat of disgrace was in every watchful glance, every whispered word, every goddamn Lady Whistledown column. Sometimes he felt like he was performing a role – the charmer.

He hated that his charm had hurt her. That she would think him embarrassed of her.

But did she not realise that he was saving her? Surely that spoke to his high regard for her. The entire ton would mock him for it. He risked his own banishment from society for her, he was risking everything.

And what other option did she have? Her rake or lover or whoever he bloody well was to her, was not here.

But Colin was.

It was he who was offering her a way out of this utter mess. They had been friends for years, and now she would rather be outcast, shunned, than marry him.

He felt the sting of that truth like a blade to the heart.

Still, he tried to untangle his thoughts, to explain this rationally to her, to beg her to take him, but he felt as if he were suffocating. There was too much to say, and too little of it was right.

His silence did him no favours.

“I find I am in need of a lie down,” said Penelope, her eyes hard as marble. “Our staff are limited these days, so please see yourself out.”

And then she disappeared, the scent of her delicate rose perfume lingering like a phantom in the room.

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

“You should have accepted,” said Genevieve, her gaze focused on the fabric she was sewing.

Penelope continued to pace Genevieve’s workroom, something she’d been doing since she arrived to deliver her final edition of Lady Whistledown. The room was lit with candles, and cold air crept through the window panes. It was late, she should be going home soon.

“He is the last person I could marry,” said Penelope, shaking her head as she rubbed her arms for warmth. “I cannot marry someone embarrassed of me. My family’s own shame is more than I can bear.”

“Then you are a proud fool.”

Penelope stopped in her tracks, spinning to stare at her friend. “I’m not, I–”

Genevieve stuck her needle in a cushion and stood tall, her dark curls flickering in the candlelight. “Perhaps you are naive to what lies ahead of you because you are blinded by your status. Miss Featherington, you are a fallen woman.”

“I am well aware.”

“Are you? Are you aware that after tonight you will not be welcome back into my shop, lest my business be tainted by your association?”

“Gen…”

“Not that it matters, I doubt you will ever return to London again.”

Penelope swallowed, her throat thickening. “I know what–”

“How far will your Whistledown earnings get you?” Genevieve demanded. “How long until you require the charity of your brother-in-law?”

Penelope flinched. “Mr Finch has said he will do what he can…”

“You are a burden.”

She felt like she’d been slapped. “I will find other work–”

“As what? No respectable family will allow you to step foot in their house as a servant, let alone a governess.”

“Perhaps I could sell my writing–”

Genevieve scoffed.

Penelope scowled at her. “You are forgetting that I built this from nothing,” she snapped, indicating the final issue of Lady Whistledown on Genevieve’s desk. “I may not have it all planned out, but I do not believe it is the worst thing for me to leave. I have never fit in here. I am a wallflower for a reason, perhaps once I leave the ton I will find a place for myself.”

“It is not a matter of fitting in,” snapped Genevieve. “It is a matter of security.”

“You have made a way for yourself–”

“And if you think it was easy then you are more fool than I thought!”

Penelope rolled her shoulders back, blinking at prickling tears. “You think I cannot do it.”

“I think you should not. You will be rejected by your own world for your shame, and rejected by my world for your class. You will be in purgatory and it will be a very lonely life for you.”

“I am not the first woman to have fallen.”

“No, I think you’ll find a great many of them stumbling through Covent Garden soaked in mother’s ruin.”

Penelope sank into an armchair, dropping her head into her hands. Genevieve’s words were brutal in their honesty, but she could not deny them. She felt as if the walls were closing in on her. Even when she’d stepped out on the street this evening to hail a hack, she’d been aware of the eyes that followed her. Ladies had walked to the other side of the road to avoid her, lest her disgrace be catching.

She knew that Colin offered her a lifeline. She knew that if she accepted him she would not be shunned forever–she might have a future, a life. She also knew he would be a kind and caring husband, which was more than what most young ladies in the ton could hope for.

But, in the end, it came down to one simple, devastating truth.

“He does not love me,” she whispered, her voice catching.

She couldn’t bear to live a life of yearning. One where Colin was in reaching distance, yet never truly hers.

She heard Geneieve’s footsteps on the floorboards, then felt her warm hand on her shoulder. “He loves you enough to offer you a future.”

Penelope sniffed, looking up at her friend. “That’s not love. That is nothing but misguided honour.”

Genevieve squeezed her shoulder. “In my experience, a man’s pride is louder than his honour. And there is no pride to be found in marrying a ruined woman.”

“There is also Lady Whistledown,” she said. “If he finds out about that–”

“He need not know,” said Genevieve. “You are intelligent and capable, Penelope. Now it is time to be practical. You must accept his proposal.”

—

Penelope removed the hood of her cloak as she settled into the lumpy seat of a hired hack. Her cheeks felt tight and itchy from dried tears, and her eyes still stung, but finally, she felt like she could breathe again, her heart settling back into a normal rhythm.

It was as if she were playing a game of chess, completely blind to what move was to be made against her next. Colin’s proposal had been a shock. Honestly, she hadn’t ever thought to see him again.

Her heart panged at that; there was so much of her previous life that she’d been grieving in the past few days, but she hadn’t allowed herself to mourn Colin just yet.

What she felt for him was far too complex.

She was hurt by what he’d said last Season. He might not return her feelings, but at the very least she’d thought him her friend. How idiotic she’d felt, how humiliated. How horribly, devastatingly unsurprised…

How could Colin Bridgerton ever be friends with the likes of her?

An insipid wallflower, indeed.

And yet… He’d proposed.

It had been like a dream when she saw him in her family’s drawing room. He’d looked so handsome, his hair longer than she remembered, swept back off his face in romantic waves. His shoulders were impossibly broader, his cravat tied neatly at his neck, his eyes determined. He was there to save her, to protect her.

But while he was a fairytale prince, she was a poisoned apple.

If he found out she was Lady Whistledown, he would hate her.

Just like Eloise.

No matter what Genevieve said, even if Penelope could bring herself to live a life of unrequited love, she couldn’t marry him knowing she was deceiving him. If he found out, she risked living the rest of her days faced with his disappointment and distaste.

If he even stayed.

Yet Genevieve’s words had shone a light on a festering fear that had been bubbling in her stomach, slowly consuming her very being.

What was to become of her?

Penelope looked out the carriage window, taking in the quiet nightscape of Mayfair. Gas lamps flickered a sickly yellow across shining cobblestones; a tramp dressed in rags stumbled on the street, a murky bottle sloshing in his hand. Her carriage shook as it rumbled down the uneven road, throwing her backwards in her seat.

She’d always felt a buzz of intrepid excitement on these nights after having successfully delivered another edition of Lady Whistledown. Yet tonight, the darkness seemed to be creeping into the carriage and smothering her. Suddenly the dangers that lurked out on a street in the middle of the night for a young lady didn’t seem at such a distance. She had a despairing flash in her mind of her on the street in the tramp’s place.

Her mother had been speaking of sending her to Scotland. Portia and Prudence would stay in England and reside with Philippa and Mr Finch. Their only hope was that the passing of time might allow Prudence enough distance from the scandal that she might meet a respectable soldier or clergyman.

Beyond her writing, Penelope had no skills to earn money. Genevieve was right; she wouldn’t be able to work as a governess, nor could she gain employment from any establishment that was respectable enough to service the ton. She glanced down at her gloved hands—they looked so delicate, so small in the carriage. They were a well-bred lady’s hands, useful for naught but cross-stitching and pianoforte.

She felt tears begin to burn again at the backs of her eyes, and she squeezed them shut. Genevieve had also said that she was intelligent and capable, Penelope would have to believe in that. She would have to find a way to support herself. Eventually, time would erode the judgements of Mayfair, and Scotland was about as far away as she could be.

She had to trust in herself.

—

Penelope’s stomach dropped as soon as she saw the soft candlelight glowing under her bedroom door. She pulled her cloak tighter around her, as if that might hide her from what was about to occur. Her mother must have found her room empty, must be waiting for her to return to scold her. It was just Penelope’s luck that after nearly five days of utter silence from her mother, on the one night she snuck out of the house, she noticed her disappearance.

Then she remembered that she’d left the draft of Lady Whistledown on her desk. It was so utterly careless, she wanted to wail. Her heart raced in her chest as she glanced back down the hallway from whence she’d came. She wondered if perhaps it might be better to leave now, to make a run for it. Her mother already wanted her gone, maybe she’d see this as a favour…

She heard a thunk from inside her bedroom, and she remembered that she had quite the pile of coins under one of her floorboards. She literally could not afford to leave now. There was nothing for it, she’d have to explain herself to her mother. Perhaps Portia might see the positive side of it; Whistledown had earned her enough to last her a few years without Mr Finch’s charity. And Portia was nothing if not an opportunist.

Taking a deep breath, she slowly pushed the door open.

Someone spun to face her, the draft copy of Whistledown in hand.

It was not her mother.

“El,” she breathed.

Eloise was standing in front of her desk, she was wearing a dark cloak, her long dark hair cascading down her shoulders. Her face was pale, even under the warmth of candlelight, she looked sharper, like she was all angles. Her eyes were fiery, though, filled with the same burning scorn she’d shown Penelope all Season.

Penelope’s heart was in her throat, her entire body thrumming. “How did you get in here?” she whispered, as she closed the door behind her.

Eloise folded her arms around her waist, the paper in her hand dangling. “Servant’s entrance. I still know the way to your room.”

Penelope could only nod dumbly. She’d practised what she was going to say to Eloise in her head for months, all the apologies, the explanations, the accusations and defences. Her mind was now utterly blank.

Eloise tilted her nose up; she was every bit the wealthy aristocrat she'd been brought up to be as she eyed Penelope. “I assume you’ve just returned from dropping off your latest edition.”

“I–”

Eloise held her hand up. “Actually, I’d rather not know,” she said cooly.

“It’s the last one,” Penelope said, ignoring her. She needed her to know, after everything, it was all over.

Eloise cleared her throat, toying with the paper in her hands. “You didn’t accept my brother’s proposal.”

Penelope gaped. “He told you?”

She’d thought he would have at least kept her rejection private, to save his own reputation and what was left of hers.

“He didn’t have to,” said Eloise, arching an eyebrow.

Penelope let that roll over her, guilt tugging at her heart. “I thought that would be a relief to you.”

Eloise huffed as she stepped toward her. “I have thought you many things, Penelope, but never a fool.”

Penelope let out a breath of a laugh at once again being called a fool this evening. “Surely you must know why I cannot marry him. Surely you do not want me to marry him.”

Eloise regarded her silently for a few moments as if she were trying unravel her. “I don’t believe you have much choice.”

“El, I–” she paused, swallowing the thick emotion that caught at her words.

Eloise took another step towards her, her eyes determined. “I cannot watch on as you– Penelope, you must accept his proposal.”

Penelope shook her head; she’d once prided herself on knowing Eloise better than anyone, yet in this moment her friend was a puzzle and she wasn’t convinced she had all the pieces. “Why would you want me to accept him when you hate me?”

“Because I want one day to have the option not to hate you!” Eloise exclaimed. “And I cannot do that if you are banished from society.”

Penelope’s cheeks were hot with tears, she could taste salt on her lips. She wanted to throw her arms around Eloise, to beg her to forgive her, to somehow go back in time and undo everything. “And Lady Whistledown?” she whispered. “He doesn’t know.”

“I won’t be the one to tell him. But you should.”

“He’ll hate me.”

Eloise sighed, before offering Penelope the draft. “Let him make that choice.”

Penelope took the paper from her, her eyes blurring. “I miss you,” she said, the words soft and limp on her tongue.

Eloise sniffed, dropping her gaze to her feet as she fervently wiped her eyes. “I must go. I’ll tell my brother to call on you tomorrow. Good evening, Miss Featherington.”

And with that she swept past Penelope and out of the room.

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

Penelope took careful time with her appearance the following morning, the most she’d done in the days since her scandal. She had her maid pin her hair just the way she liked, one side up and pulled back behind her ear, the other down in loose waves. She chose a simple periwinkle blue day dress, and dusted her cheeks with rouge. It didn’t do much to enliven her appearance. She hadn’t slept well the night before; her skin felt as though it were stretching across her skull.

Yet, she felt alight with nerves. Her hands trembled as she tugged on delicate lace gloves, her throat was dry, and her stomach queasy. The most she’d been able to stomach at breakfast was a cup of weak black tea. She was at once afraid that Colin wouldn’t return and afraid that he would.

What if Eloise wasn’t able to convince him to return?

What if he changed his mind?

What if Colin did come?

Her mind was a whirl and with it time flew past. Until she nearly fell out of her chair in the drawing room, when Varley announced Colin’s arrival. Penelope wasn’t sure where her mother was; she barely saw her mother anymore. So she was once again without a chaperone when Colin entered the room. She supposed there wasn’t much need for one now.

He looked different to yesterday, more guarded, his eyes not so bright with optimism. Still, he looked every bit the gentleman in his perfectly tailored navy blue jacket, and cream cravat.

“You came,” she whispered, before she could stop herself. She flushed at the yearning sound in her voice.

He cleared his throat and dipped his chin. “Yes, well, Eloise thought it best if I return.”

“Colin, I–”

“Pen–”

They both stopped to let the other speak, exchanging nervous glances.

Penelope twisted her hands. “I apologise for my rudeness yesterday–”

“No, it was me who was–”

They paused again, a nervous laugh escaping his lips.

“Would you like to sit down?” she said, pointing to the chaise behind her.

He nodded, offering her a grim smile before settling himself. She sat beside him, making sure there was appropriate space between them before turning to him. “Eloise thinks me a fool,” she said.

“Don’t take it to heart, she thinks that of most people.”

Penelope couldn’t help the smile that graced her lips. She realised it was quite possibly the first time she’d smiled in a week, it felt like a relief. For a moment it was as though nothing had changed between them. They were Colin and Penelope. Friends.

“Pen, what I said last year–”

She felt her cheeks heat, the awful shame of that evening in her Mama’s garden returning, and with it reality. Everything had changed. She was ruined, he did not and could not love her.

“I understand,” she murmured. She understood completely. He was a Bridgerton and she was a Featherington. They couldn’t be further apart.

“It was shameful.”

She shrugged. “It was the truth.”

He shook his head, looking at his hands. “I should never have spoken so about you, I swore to protect you and instead I failed you.”

She regarded him carefully. “I am not your responsibility, Colin.”

He rolled his lips together, looking up at her. “I’d like you to be.”

She felt her stomach flip, her heart skip in her chest. “Yesterday, when you–”

“I do not want to marry for love,” he said, barrelling ahead as if he had a speech planned. “I know it’s unusual for a Bridgerton, but I promise you it is not what I want.”

Penelope furrowed her brow at him. She knew Colin and she knew he was a romantic. He always had been, it was part of his very nature. He couldn’t possibly believe that.

Her disbelief must have been clear on her face, as he continued, “I’ve been stung by love before and have no wish to experience it again.”

Marina.

Of course.

She had thought perhaps his feelings for her were fleeting, yet nearly three years later he could not love another. Venomous burning jealousy twisted in her stomach. She would never be as beautiful, as loved as her cousin. Colin would never see her in that light. She would always be plump, quiet, yellow Penelope to him.

Worse, it was Penelope who had torn them apart. Long-held guilt weighed heavy on her shoulders silencing the detestable thoughts in her head.

He would hate her if she told him about Lady Whistledown.

There was not a doubt in her mind. She had exposed a painful truth to him that had made him give up on love.

Publicly.

While she she did not regret revealing Marina’s lie, she felt horrible that she’d humiliated Colin in the process.

Colin reached for her hand, and squeezed it. “I have spoken to Anthony,” he said. “We do believe that if you and I marry quickly and quietly, there will be no scandal to besmirch my sisters. He believes a year away from the ton will fix any damage.” He dipped his head toward her, lowering his voice. “And I don’t believe you and I should miss the ton all that much, would we?”

Penelope’s mouth quirked into a reluctant smile. “I suppose not.”

“And I would have liked to court you,” he said. “If we had the time, I would before marrying you.”

“If we had the time, we wouldn’t be marrying,” she replied softly, her throat thickening at his kind lie. He didn’t love her, couldn’t love her. He would never have courted her.

Colin shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “You are my friend, and I’ve missed you dearly. I believe we would make a fine match.”

Penelope bit her lip, her hands wringing in her lap. Now was the moment. She had to tell him. Because she wanted to accept his proposal. Every fibre of her being yearned to take his hand and accept his offer. He would protect her, save her family from scandal. She would be Mrs Colin Bridgerton. It was everything she’d ever dreamed of since she was fifteen.

And yet, she couldn’t accept if he didn’t know. She couldn’t do that to him.

He suddenly took on a look of determination, sliding off the chaise lounge, one knee on the floor. He pulled a box from his jacket, opening it to show her a glittering emerald ring.

“Will you do me the honour, Pen?”

She stared at his wide-eyed gaze, his cheeks slightly flushed, his fingers around the box whitening.

She could do it, she could marry him even if he would never love her as she did him. She would do that to save her sister, to save herself. She would force herself to shove down those feelings, to look the other way if he fell for another, to love him from a distance. She had lived through the torment of unrequited love for years, she would get used to it. He need never know of her affection.

But she couldn’t marry him without him knowing who she was. She couldn’t deceive him like that, not when he was being so honourable. She had to tell him. If he hated her, she would at least know that in the moment that mattered she had done right by him. She hadn’t trapped him. She loved him too much to do that.

She could feel the words tumbling up her throat, her mind trying to capture one or two, to sort them into something that would make sense to him, something that was kind or sensitive. Something that would prevent him from looking upon her as Eloise did.

In the end, the simplest ones were the easiest. “Colin,” she whispered. “I’m Lady Whistledown.”

His brow furrowed. “Pardon–”

“Oh, my! Mr Bridgerton!” cried out Portia Featherington, sweeping into the room in all her yellow and feathered glory, her eyes alight as she spied Colin on one knee. “You’ve saved us!”

A moment later, Varley entered the room, the latest edition of Lady Whistledown on a silver tray.

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

If Penelope were to describe what she had once dreamt it would be like to elope with Colin Bridgerton to Gretna Green, it would have been a far cry from their current situation. He’d have at the very least spoken to her, for one. And he definitely would have joined her in the carriage.

Instead, he rode out on his horse despite the constant drizzle, claiming he enjoyed the fresh air. She supposed he probably did prefer fresh air to the stale silence between them. Even her maid had been quick to suggest she ride in the second carriage with their luggage, while Colin’s poor valet was braving the weather with him.

When Portia had walked in on his proposal, a lesser man might have reneged after Penelope’s admission. But Colin painted a strained smile on his face, all but shoved the ring onto Penelope’s finger, and then fled, shouting on his way out that he would have the carriage ready the following day.

And ready it was.

Penelope barely had time to throw her meagre belongings into a trunk before Portia pushed her into the carriage. It would take four days to travel to Gretna Green. It seemed as though Portia was concerned Colin might change his mind if given even a minute’s more time.

They were saved.

Except it felt nothing like salvation. It felt rather like she’d been sentenced.

She needed to talk to Colin about Lady Whistledown. But he refused to be alone with her; for two days now he’d barely acknowledged her. Even when they arrived at an inn each evening, he’d take his meal in his room. And she was left to her own chamber, crying herself to sleep as she wondered again and again how she had gotten herself into this situation.

Perhaps he’d never speak to her again—he’d leave every room she entered for the remainder of their days, like she was playing chase as a child. Or perhaps, more likely, he’d dump her at a Bridgerton estate and leave her behind to travel the Continent.

Maybe that had always been his plan.

She felt ill at the thought. Colin could barely stay in England for a Season, let alone a lifetime. It was no wonder he had been so amenable to marrying her. Was it really a commitment if he need not see his wife day in and day out?

Perhaps he had mistresses on the Continent to return to.

Her stomach lurched and she rubbed at her stinging eyes.

Colin said he wasn’t looking for love, but she knew that a man had needs.

Her mother had been quick to inform her of them before she departed. Portia had told her it was her duty to see to them, but to Penelope it sounded more like she would have to survive them. She had told Penelope to lie as still as she could, to keep her mouth pressed closed, eyes shut, and to make use of the time by making lists of chores to be completed the following day.

She felt the carriage rumble to a stop, dragging her from her thoughts. She peeked out the window, rubbing at the condensation, the water was like ice soaking through her gloves. An inn, glowing from within, stood on the side of the road. She could hear the sounds of laughter and shouting. A young groom was running up toward Colin, reaching for his horse's reins as Colin dismounted.

Colin opened the door to the carriage; he was soaked. Again, she was reminded that he would rather be that physically uncomfortable than be alone with her.

“We’ll stay here for this evening,” he announced, looking anywhere but at her.

She wanted to shake him, to demand why he would want to marry her when he couldn’t even acknowledge her?

Instead, she swallowed down her burning frustration and quietly nodded, scrambling to leave the carriage. She sighed with relief when she was able to stand, even if she was instantly cold, her boots covered in mud.

As Colin spun on his heel and stalked towards the inn, she could do naught but follow, feeling as though she were a stray dog that he couldn’t quite rid himself of.

—

The following day, after a night of little sleep, Penelope had finally had enough.

It was more than just drizzling now, rain was lashing the sides of the carriage as they rumbled down muddy country roads. Every now and then she would catch a glimpse of Colin’s murky grey outline through the fogged window, his figure hunched over his horse, as the wind battered them.

He would rather risk catching a cold, or worse, than be in her company.

She wanted to scream.

Instead, with all her might, she banged on the roof of the carriage, her fist twinging with pain.

Nothing happened. The carriage kept jostling, as wind howled around them.

She did scream this time, letting her frustrations tear through her.

The carriage stopped.

Despite the rain still hammering against the windows, the sudden stillness felt like a quiet calm around her. She could hear her heavy breaths, the whine of the carriage as it settled, the sound of shouting and Colin dismounting.

A moment later, the door was wrenched open. His eyes were wide with concern, his hair wet on his forehead, rivers of rain trailing down his cheeks. “Pen,” he breathed, “Are you well?”

She glared at him, folding her arms and allowing her anger to fuel her. “No.”

Colin’s brow furrowed, his eyes darting up and down her figure as if searching her for a grave wound. “Whatever is–”

“Get in.”

Colin’s mouth fell open and he glanced over his shoulder toward the driver. “Pen, I–”

“Please, Colin,” she interrupted, her shaking voice giving away some of her desperation.

He pressed his lips together and nodded, pulling himself up into the carriage and shutting the door behind him.

He sat across from her, the smell of horse and rain filling the small space. She swallowed at the sight of him. She’d never seen him so… informal. His long brown coat was near black from the rain, his shirt was undone at the collar, she bit her lip as she watched a drop of water slide down his neck.

Colin raised his eyebrows at her. “What is the problem?”

She felt her cheeks heat and mentally shook herself. She was furious at him, and she couldn’t let the way his skin was shining distract her.

“The problem?” she echoed with disbelief. “The problem is that you will not even speak to me, Colin! If you’d just give me a moment to–”

“You do not want me to speak to you, Penelope,” he replied, his voice quiet, his eyes like stone.

Penelope felt her heart quicken. She’d never seen him look such as this; he seemed to be burning from within. “I know what you must think of me,” she said softly, her words catching in her throat.

Colin shook his head. “I think it is best we do not discuss it.”

Penelope gaped at him. “But surely we should–”

“Is that everything?”

“I– I– Colin, we’re to be married, we should at least talk–”

“I cannot talk to you when I feel like this,” he snapped. “No good will come of it. We will discuss it another time.”

His dismissive words felt like a blow to the stomach, she felt herself gasping for breath. “If you’d just let me explain–”

“Explain?! How could you possibly explain this?” he demanded, reaching inside his coat and pulling out a stained and battered copy of Lady Whistledown. Her final edition. “How can you explain any of it?”

“I wrote it before you proposed,” she blurted. It was only after the words burst from her lips she realised that she probably shouldn’t have reminded Colin that he had asked her twice to marry him.

If he was flustered by the reminder, he didn’t show it. Instead, his face darkened. “The danger you put yourself in! Why would you publish this? You should have just– How could– You are so damned careless, Penelope! So utterly reckless!”

“I was always very carefu! I–”

“Then why the hell am I marrying you?!”

She shot back in her seat, his words hanging in the air between them. She realised then that it wasn’t just Whistledown he was angry at her for. He blamed her for her ruin. He resented her for putting him in this position. Her heart hammered in her ribcage, her breath hitched as a knot twisted in her throat.

Perhaps he was right, perhaps it was her fault that she, an unmarried lady, was caught with a man. Perhaps she had been reckless, arrogant even.

All that might be true, but she never wanted Colin to become involved. On that point, she would not accept the blame.

Colin dragged his hands down his face, groaning. “I did not mean–”

“I did not ask you to propose, Mr Bridgerton.”

He swallowed thickly. “No, you didn’t,” he said. “But where was your lover?”

Her stomach dropped to her ankles, her cheeks were aflame. “He was not–”

“I apologise,” he said, cutting her off. He leaned back into his seat, rubbing his eyes. “It is not my concern, it is in the past. I’m tired. As I said earlier, I am not able to speak of this just yet. I do not want to upset you.”

She could feel her throat tightening, her cheekbones aching, the backs of her eyes prickling. How had it come to this between them?

Colin sighed. “I think it is best that I continue to ride out ahead. We will speak more on this tonight, once we have had time to cool down.”

Penelope let out a weak grunting sound, her throat clogged.

He didn’t spare her a glance as he left, shoving his copy of Lady Whistledown back in his coat.

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

Although Colin had promised they would speak that evening, Penelope had not held out hope. So she was surprised when she heard a knock on her door well after she had readied herself for bed. She opened it a sliver to see Colin standing on the other side, a piece of parchment in his hand. She wanted to groan, assuming it was Lady Whistledown again.

“It’s late, Mr Bridgerton.”

He nodded. “I apologise, I had some– uh, some thinking to do before I could see you.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Thinking?”

He nodded, before glancing back down the dim hallway. “May I come in?” he whispered.

“Wouldn’t that be careless?” she replied, narrowing her eyes at him. “Reckless, even? We are not yet married.”

Colin bowed his head. “There is much I must apologise for.”

Penelope eyed him, feeling her heart soften. He was still Colin. She knew that, despite the unkind things he’d said. So she opened the door and stepped aside and he quickly moved past her.

She shut the door gently and turned to face him.

That was when they both seemed to notice the other’s state of undress.

She felt his gaze as if he were tracing her with the tips of his fingers. His eyes trailed down her neck, to the tops of her breasts. Gooseflesh hummed across her chest, her heart quickened.

Colin had left his jacket behind and his vest hung loosely over his shirtsleeves. Her eyes lingered at the base of his bare throat, where she could see dark hair curling.

He would be her husband soon...

She flushed bright red and tightened her dressing gown. It would not do to imagine he might feel affection beyond friendship towards her. He’d confirmed he would never see her in that manner last year. And she’d been trying her best not to think about the wedding night. Right now, with him here, was certainly not the time to start.

“You wanted to talk?” she asked.

Colin blinked as if he’d been lost in thought, before gesturing toward the small settee in front of the crackling fireplace. “Perhaps we should sit.”

Penelope nodded, dragging her eyes away from where she watched his throat move, and quickly settling herself.

Colin fiddled with the corner of his paper a moment, curling it toward him. “There is a lot I would like to ask you,” he said softly. “I find it difficult to gather my thoughts.”

Penelope gave him a small smile. “I feel much the same.”

“Perhaps you might start with how Lady Whistledown came to be?”

She was grateful for his opening question. She knew there would be tougher ones ahead. So she gladly told him the story of how she’d started her Society Papers, an old rush of pride surging through her as she detailed the ways in which she’d learned to navigate the world of publishing and outsmart the Queen of England.

Inevitably she came to the topic of Marina and her words ran dry. “I did try to tell you,” she said, her voice sounding pathetic even to her own ears. “I never meant to hurt you.”

Colin’s jaw twitched. “If not for Sir Crane, Lady Crane would have–”

“If not for me, you would have been made a cuckold.”

Her harsh words sat between them a moment, before he let out a hollow laugh.

She flushed bright red. By marrying Penelope he’d been made a cuckold all the same in the eyes of the ton. The irony pierced her heart. “It is not too late if you want to–”

“It is in the past, she did not care for me. I know that,” he said, cutting her off.

Penelope tried to think of something to say to comfort him, she knew better than anyone the pain of unrequited love. Yet no words came. Perhaps because all she really wanted to do was ask him if he still loved Marina. But she was too much a coward to ask; she was afraid she already knew the answer.

Hadn’t he all but said it when he claimed he no longer wanted a love match?

He couldn’t have Marina, so he’d given up, resigned himself to a life without romance.

She understood him all too well. She’d made the same decision at the start of the Season… And yet here she was, about to marry the one man she had ever loved, the one man who could never love her in return. She’d laugh if she didn’t want to cry.

“I’ve been thinking about our marriage,” he continued, pulling her from her thoughts. “I believe that since this is a marriage of– of, well, convenience, we must agree to some terms.”

Her brows drew together, her stomach flipping in trepidation. “Terms?”

Colin unfolded the piece of paper he’d brought with him and handed it to her.

It was not Lady Whistledown.

“We will be making vows to one another tomorrow,” he said. “Here is a list of some additional promises I believe we should make.”

She looked down at the paper in her hands, his familiar looping cursive making her heart clench. How many nights had she spent pouring over his letters in the past? She’d all but memorised the letters he’d sent her that first summer. But when she’d heard his words last year, she’d decided against reading the ones that he continued to send. Even now, they were tied up in a bundle in her trunk, untouched.

She tried to focus on his list, words such as ‘honesty’ and ‘trust’ jumped out at her, making her chest pang. But it was only when her eyes caught on Lady Whistledown, she started to read it properly.

She glanced up at him. “You want me to stop writing Lady Whistledown?”

He nodded, his mouth in a grim line. “I do not mean to dictate what you can and cannot write, but I feel it would be safer for you, for our family, if you were to stop.”

Her heart stuttered at the idea of her and Colin having a family. “You have my last edition, I wrote that it would be my last, I–” She swallowed, attempting to steady her breath. “There is nothing for me to give up.”

“I read what you wrote,” he said, holding her gaze. “But I also…”

“Didn’t believe me?” she asked, her shoulders heavy with the weight of his newfound distrust.

“You goaded the Queen in it, I cannot predict what you will do next.”

She bristled. “You speak as if I am an unruly child! I needed to distract from– I couldn’t have people link my ruination with Lady Whistledown’s final column.”

He regarded her for a moment, she could almost see him turning over her reasoning in his head. “I suppose that makes sense,” he muttered, although it sounded like it pained him to admit it.

“I’ve been doing this a long while, you know,” she replied haughtily, rolling her shoulders back and tilting her chin up at him.

“You need not remind me.”

She shot him a glare before dropping her gaze back to the list. She felt her cheeks burn when he wrote that they would discuss and agree upon when they were ready for children. And how many.

He expected them to consummate the marriage, and then recommence relations once they agreed they were ready for children, but…

Her jaw dropped, her face was ablaze, her stomach seizing. “Colin…”

He must have known which item she’d reacted to as he stood up and started pacing before the fireplace, his shadow dancing on the walls around them. “I would recognise the child as my own, but I believe a part of me would always want to know. It would be a month at most that we would have to wait.”

“Why would you think I–”

Colin whirled toward her. “I do not know what to think! I cannot make sense of you. It is driving me to madness!”

Penelope sat up straighter, swallowing against the tide of tears that threatened to overwhelm her. With all the dignity she could muster, she spoke, “I admit I know little on the ways in which a woman becomes with… becomes with child. But I do not believe that I am at risk of that.”

His eyes searched her face. “How far did it go?”

She dropped her gaze to his piece of paper, where he’d scrawled, ‘We will wait to consummate our marriage until after your courses’.

She couldn’t speak for humiliation.

“Was he courting you?”

Penelope pressed her lips together, her mind flashing with blonde hair and a sweet smile. “Yes,” she gasped around the knot in her throat.

Colin began pacing again, raking a hand through his hair. “Did you care for him?”

“It does not signify,” she replied, her voice catching.

He spun on his heel to stare at her. “It does to me.”

She sniffed and quickly wiped at a hot tear on her cheek. “I don’t see why it should.”

“Why it should– Penelope!” he cried. “The knave seduced you, and then abandoned you. Surely you must see that it matters if–”

“He did not seduce me,” she snapped, pushing herself out of the settee and standing to face him.

“Pardon?”

She wiped fiercely at her cheeks. She had had enough. Enough of his accusations and his, frankly, insulting list. “It was only a kiss. A kiss I asked of him.”

“You asked him to–”

“I am not pregnant, Mr Bridgerton. We may consummate this marriage as soon as you deign your wife worthy.” She glanced back down at the list, her heart feeling as though it was tearing apart. “Lady Whistledown is finished, I will keep that a secret, and I agree not to start another gossip column in the future. As for– for–” her eyes blurred at his next request. “Honesty…” she breathed.

“Did you love him?”

She jerked her gaze up to him. How could he still be focused on that?

“Leave,” she said, her voice trembling. “I need you to leave.”

Colin stepped toward her, towering over her. “I must know.”

“Would you think me less of a harlot if I did?”

Colin jerked back. “I do not think you a harlot, Pen, I just–”

“Your list insults me, sir.” She screwed his list into a ball and threw it at his feet. “You said you could not make sense of me. Well, neither can I of you. I have never known you to be so cruel.”

“I only wanted to–”

“Punish me?” she demanded, stepping closer to him.

“No! I–”

“You knew I was ruined when you asked for my hand in marriage!” she cried. “I warned you against–”

“You made a fool of me!”

Penelope gaped at him, struck by the force of his words.

“You gladly printed my humiliation for the ton to read, and yet for him– You did not name him! You wrote as if it mattered not who he was! You wrote of your ruin as if it were you alone who– You protected him! When I–” His voice caught and he looked up to the ceiling. His throat bobbed and he breathed deeply.

She shook her head. “Colin, I–”

He dropped his gaze to her, his eyes shining. “How could I not be concerned that you would make a fool of me again? I will raise the child as my own, but I must know if he is mine. I must.”

“There is no child. It was only a kiss, I swear it.”

“Why did you not name him in Lady Whistledown? How could you– When– Why him?”

“Because I could not hurt him! It was my– I asked him, I–” she swallowed, trying to gather her thoughts under his aggonized expression. “You must understand, I’ve hurt so many people I care about, Colin. I just– I couldn’t.”

He nodded, closing his eyes a moment and sighing. “You care for him,” his words sounded hollow, resigned.

“I never intended to make a fool of you,” she said softly.

Colin moved past her and sat on the settee, dropping his head into his hands. “You must think me a fool,” he mumbled.

She sat down beside him, every fibre in her being begging her to reach for him. She clenched her hands together in her lap, as if to restrain herself.

He lifted his head from his hands, he looked desperate. “You wrote to me for an entire summer and I never once thought–”

“I think sometimes we see in others what we wish to see,” she said softly, her eyes tracing his features, thinking of the reverence she once held for him. He was so much more human now, more flawed, but real.

What was wrong with her that she loved him all the more for it?

“I cannot reconcile you with her,” he said.

“I imagine it has been quite the shock,” she murmured.

“She always wrote such horrid things about you.”

Penelope lifted her shoulders. “I only wrote what people were already saying.”

Colin stared at her a moment, then, his expression determined, he moved off the couch and picked up the paper she’d thrown to the ground. She watched as he tossed it into the fire, flames immediately curling around it.

“Forgive me,” he said softly, turning back toward her. “I should not have– perhaps a part of me did mean to punish you. I felt the fool and I wanted to avoid that happening again. I want us to be honest with each other.”

Penelope considered his words, his request for honesty. She could give him that to a point, she would love him wholly and completely as his wife, but he could never know how deep that love ran. He’d said it himself, he did not see her in that manner, could not. And yet even still, he had stepped in to protect her when no one else would, when anyone else would have shunned her.

There was no need for him to do so. Genevieve was right; there was no pride in marrying a fallen woman. There was love in that, even if not romantic. She could survive off that.

“I haven’t had the opportunity to thank you yet,” she said quietly. “I know the shame you have brought upon yourself by–”

“I do not feel shame,” he interrupted, sitting on the settee again and reaching for her hand.

She dropped her head, blinking back tears. “I have made you what I tried to protect you from.”

She felt his hand on her cheek, as he angled her face up toward him. She realised he was closer now, she could smell the soap on his skin. His thumb grazed back and forth across her cheek as his eyes shined down on her.

“I could not be prouder to have you as my wife, Penelope Featherington,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I made you doubt that.”

She leaned into the warmth of his hand on her cheek.

“I promise I will be a good husband to you. Despite– I know I am not the man you wished to marry.”

Penelope squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, her lungs hitching. How wrong he was. How little he knew of her wishes.

He moved closer to her, resting his other hand on her waist. She felt his touch like lightning, even through her robe.

“I will take care of you,” he whispered, lowering his head towards her so that she felt the heat of his breath dancing across her lips. “I will honour you. I will love you.”

Penelope’s heart quickened, her throat thickening as her cheeks ached. His words were so pure, so honourable, and yet she knew that he would never be able to offer her the love she craved from him. She’d spend the rest of her days living off scraps, wondering when he might someday meet a woman he could love, despite his claim that he did not want it.

He was a romantic, he was made to love and be loved.

He would regret this marriage. He would regret Penelope.

She breathed him in, feeling as though she were running out of time. As though she would only have so many moments with him before he left her.

His eyes traced her features, and then slowly, he dipped his head, crossing the small distance between them.

His lips were soft against hers, gentle.

He kissed her with reverence, as if he were making her a promise.

He tasted of vanilla and spices, of something richer, something she wanted to devour. She couldn’t help but press closer to him, eager to learn the plump shape of his lower lip, to make the most of a moment she already sensed was fleeting.

She felt his groan rumble through his chest, and realised her hand had somehow moved there. She could feel the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt, her fingers scrunched as if she could rid him of this barrier. He pulled her flush against him, kissing her with a sudden fierceness.

She felt it then, raw and desperate longing. Molten, glittering heat was spreading from every place he touched her, igniting her from within. A desperate ache throbbed between her legs, she felt his hot tongue and she gasped at the sensation.

He instantly pulled away as if burnt.

She stared at him in a daze, her heart thumping in her ears.

His brows were drawn together, his lips parted, his eyes dark in the dim room, before he audibly swallowed and pushed himself up from the settee.

She felt his distance like frost.

“I’m sorry, I–” He cleared his throat, his eyes looking about the room, looking anywhere but at her. “I– I will see you in the morning,” he muttered, offering her a stilted nod before leaving.

She blinked at his sudden departure. If not for the torturous and wonderful taste of him on her lips, she might have thought it a dream.

She felt part of herself shatter. Brief as it was, Colin’s kiss had meant so much more than Lord Debling’s.

That was what it was meant to feel like, that was ruin.

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

He couldn’t sleep. His body all but hummed with molten energy. He could taste the salt of perspiration on his lips, the bed like steel against his spine; his hands clenched as he resisted the demands of his aching co*ck. Groaning, he rolled to his side, dragging his blankets up to his neck before deciding against it and kicking them off.

Nothing would do.

He could not calm himself after what he’d just done.

He’d kissed Penelope.

Penelope Featherington.

His little sister’s best friend, the girl he’d known since childhood.

He’d kissed her, and worse, he’d wanted to do a hell of a lot more than just that.

He’d meant for it to be a sweet kiss, a promise. He’d meant to show her that he would be a kind and loving husband.

But when he’d pressed his lips to hers, she hadn’t felt like the girl he’d all but grown up with, she’d felt like a woman. Soft and lush and inviting.

She’d responded like a woman too, her hand on his chest, the moans from her lips, the way she’d melted against him. He’d hardly been able to stop himself from pushing her back down onto that settee and devouring her. He’d wanted to toss up her skirts and sink into her hot, tight, untouched quim, to make her his own.

What had become of him?

What was this utter madness?

He was a gentleman. He prided himself on his self control; while he was no green lad, he was no rake, either. Even when Lady Crane had tried to kiss him, he’d resisted.

But with Penelope…

He’d felt her kiss down to the very marrow of his bones. He’d breathed in her scent of roses, he’d tasted the sweetness of her lips, felt her gasps, her needy whimpers. One kiss was like a taste of ambrosia, and his appetite felt insatiable.

He rolled onto his back, squeezing his eyes shut and willing his aching member to remember she was his friend, an innocent.

Perhaps it was because he’d never seen that side of Penelope before. Their argument had sparked a fire in her eyes, she’d shown such passion. It made his blood heat and his throat run dry just to think of. She was not the demure, shy Penelope of his memory. She was so much more, and he wanted to peel back every layer.

Starting with her skirts…

Colin swallowed, gritting his teeth; the sheets tangled between his legs felt rough on his skin.

She was to be his wife tomorrow. Perhaps this was what happened to men the evening of their wedding, perhaps they all felt this near primal urge to claim.

He might not have been the first man to kiss her, but he would be the last. No other man would touch her again—he would be the first and only man to bed her. His heart hammered against his ribcage, his breath quickening, as he bit down on his fist. The sting of his teeth near piercing his skin was a tenuous distraction from the desperate desires of his body.

He was half tempted to write a letter to Anthony asking if he too had felt the same way when he married Kate.

Anthony would probably shame him for lusting after his vulnerable friend. She’d been through what were quite likely the worst days of her life this past week. She had been publicly shamed, shunned by the ton, jilted by her lover.

She was heartbroken.

That thought certainly lessened the steel in his co*ck.

He dragged his hand down his face, his fingers digging into his cheeks. Who was the man who held her heart? Who’d so carelessly dropped it? And why did she still feel protective of him, why did she care for him? Why did he deserve her heart when Colin was the one who’d proposed?

Colin had never been quite enough for anyone.

A third son, he wasn’t held in high regard by the ton. He was too young for his elder brothers to respect, seen as an aimless and purposeless wanderer by his family. His stories of his travels bored them. He was a second and desperate choice for Lady Crane, nothing but a naive fool. And now, once again, he was the husband his fiancee did not truly want. If anything, he was Penelope’s only option.

And what a mess he’d made of it already.

If she’d been a gentleman she could have demanded satisfaction and he wouldn’t have blamed her.

He’d argued with her.

He’d made her feel a harlot, made her cry.

Colin groaned, icy shame clawing at his heart. He hadn’t realised how much anger he held towards Penelope after discovering she was Lady Whistledown. He’d always considered himself a rational man, affable even. He’d never felt such burning fury.

It was just that, well… She was Pen.

His friend since childhood, his confidante, his… his person. And there was an entire side to her he’d never known. A dangerous side.

He could heave just thinking of the many nights she’d been alone outside of Mayfair, without a chaperone, without anyone to protect her. How many nights had she risked her ruin? What if she’d been attacked? The thought of her hurt or… or worse, it made him want to at once shake her and shield her.

And yet, she’d somehow managed to keep her identity hidden, even from the Queen of England. Penelope Featherington, sweet, quiet wallflower, had the entire ton eating out of the palm of her hand.

She’d had the last laugh.

The little minx had weaved her words like sorcery, controlling the thoughts and conversations of Society. And they’d paid her for it, practically been on their knees begging for her next edition.

His co*ck throbbed and he couldn’t help but reach for it, dragging his hand up and down his shaft at the thought of her smirking, of the laughter in her eyes as she watched them all perform for her. How wicked her words were, how witty and pointed. He groaned as he felt a heated wave of pleasure undulate through him, his hand picking up pace.

The cheek of her!

How many sordid tales had she overheard?

How much had she understood?

Had she blushed a pretty pink? Had she felt a thrill between her legs? Had she laid in bed squirming, aching for relief? Had she reached below her nightdress and touched herself? Had she thought of Colin…

He grunted and ripped his hand away from himself.

This was Penelope.

If she had heard anything untoward he should be outraged, not enflamed.

And she hadn’t just heard tales of others. She’d written such awful things about herself. As she’d said, she’d repeated what she’d overheard.

His gut twisted at that. Because it wasn’t a shock. He knew how the ton viewed his friend. He’d witnessed awful Miss Cowper’s cruelties, heard the whispered snide remarks from debutantes and their mamas, he’d seen Penelope standing by herself, chin down, hands wringing, ignored. While he always sought her out in those moments, had offered her a dance at every ball, he’d never outright stood up for her.

He’d thought himself the hero last year when he’d privately confronted Jack Featherington, and yet a mere hour later, when those men had asked if he was courting her, he’d been so quick to make his denials.

And why?

Any gentleman should think himself lucky to court Penelope Featherington. Colin pressed his fingers against his eyes until he saw stars. Why hadn’t he just said that? The gentleman who had her heart surely would have.

Although, the knave hadn’t proposed…

He’d been courting her, had been caught kissing her, yet he’d left her. It made little sense. If he was courting her, surely he’d been doing so with marriage in mind?

Unless he only meant to take advantage of her?

Something hot flashed in his chest.

Colin had never been a violent man, but he wanted the cad destroyed. He wanted to personally pulverise him, to splinter bone, to leave him bruised and bloodied, begging for mercy. He wanted to punish whoever he was; to make it known that Penelope was not a woman to be trifled with.

She was Colin’s wife.

Or, she would be.

Tomorrow night, she would be his.

She would be soft and warm in his bed, her eyes wide and shining as he showed her the pleasures her body could experience.

He bit his lip at the thought of her breasts, full and lush in his hands. Would her nipples match the pink of her lips? Would they be sensitive, eager for his attentions? Would she cry out when he took one in his mouth?

She’d be so sweet and unsure at first. He would take his time exploring all her curves, every part of her, he would find what made her moan, what made her sigh and tremble, what made her shout and beg. He would become an expert in his wife’s pleasure.

He’d make her forget that suitor.

He’d bring her to completion, as many times as it took to rid herself of any memory of the rogue.

It would be Colin’s name on her lips. The only name she’d ever scream.

He groaned as he finally gave into himself and reached for his co*ck, guilt and shame overwhelmed by need.

Tomorrow night might as well have been a decade away.

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

Colin damn near forgot to breathe when he saw her the following morning.

She walked almost tentatively down the inn stairs toward him, her powder blue dress flicking around her shoes. Her hair was covered by a bonnet, but one ginger curl had escaped, bouncing tantalizingly with every step she made.

Her eyes were bright and nervous, darting from him to the floor. After the way she’d spoken to him last night, the way she’d pushed back on his accusations, it was strange to see her so demure now. Something about her made him want to envelop her in his arms.

“You look beautiful,” he breathed, immediately regretting his words; ‘beautiful’ hardly described her.

“Thank you,” she said, a pretty flush on her full cheeks. “I thought Bridgerton blue might be…” She trailed off, her eyes unsure.

“It suits you,” he said, his throat welling with an emotion he could not put a name to.

She would be Mrs Colin Bridgerton soon…

He indicated to his butter yellow vest, threaded with gold. “It reminded me of you.”

Her lips formed a sweet smile. “I believe the colour suits you far more than it ever did me.”

“Nonsense,” he said before offering her his arm and leading her out of the inn to their waiting carriage.

She seemed surprised but pleased when he followed her in.

“Terrible riding weather,” he said with a sheepish grin, the sun shining through the carriage window and heating his neck.

She giggled and he felt her laughter bubble through him. He allowed himself to revel in it for a moment, to pretend that nothing had changed between them.

But his conscience had been gnawing at him all morning, swinging between guilting him for taking himself in hand over his innocent friend and shaming him for the awful list he’d written and the horrid words he’d said to her. While he might not be able to apologise for his debaucherous fantasies, he had to apologise for the way he had spoken to her.

Colin turned to face her. “Pen, last night–”

She wrung her hands in her lap, her gaze dropping to them. “We need not speak of it.”

“Still, I’d like to apologise, I was not myself. The way I spoke to you was– was abhorrent.”

Her eyes darted up to his. “It has been a taxing few days. I expect you didn’t return from your Tour prepared to be married only days later. Least of all to me.”

“There is no one else I would rather marry,” he replied without thought. He didn’t need to think on it; it was true.

He knew that as a Bridgerton he should want a love match, but there was no part of him that felt like he was making a sacrifice. He’d been blinded by his sense of romanticism in the past, but he wouldn’t allow that to happen again. He would be far happier married to his friend, he was sure of it. Besides, the affection between friends was a kind of love, perhaps even a more solid form.

She opened her mouth to answer, but they were interrupted by her maid, Jane, entering the carriage. She sat opposite them, glancing between them with suspicion before pulling out her cross-stitch.

Colin wanted to groan. They were about to be married today, surely they did not still need to be chaperoned?

Penelope let out a breathy laugh, and Colin glanced back at her.

“You look as though Jane just stole the last biscuit,” she whispered.

He narrowed his eyes and leaned toward her, closer than was strictly proper. “I rather feel like she has, don’t you? I’d quite like another taste.”

He heard her gasp, longingly watched as she bit her lip – what he wouldn’t do to tug it between his own teeth. He raised his eyebrows at her, wondering if he might goad the forthright Penelope of last night to make an appearance.

The carriage lurching forward dragged Colin back into the very chaperoned reality of their current situation. Jane was watching them both sternly.

Penelope offered him a bashful smile before pulling out a novel to read. It was petty but he shot Jane a glare. They were a few hours yet from Gretna and it felt as though a snail might outrun their carriage.

—

The blacksmith in Gretna Green performed the ceremony, his eyes sparkling, his wide smile showing a missing tooth. He’d led them to his anvil, the heat of the forge thick and unrelenting around them. The fire making that ginger curl, which still sat unbound against her cheek, light up like copper. Colin’s fingers twitched to tug on it.

The ceremony was short. In fact there was hardly any ceremony to it at all, until the moment Colin and Penelope repeated their vows, his blood burning when she promised to obey.

Her hand was small in his as he placed a family ring on it. His voice was gravel as he made his final vow, “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.”

The fit was perfect.

Moments later they were back in their carriage, Jane thankfully excusing herself to ride with his valet and their luggage.

“So, Mrs Bridgerton,” he said as he settled next to her, enjoying the way her new name sounded on his tongue. “I believe we now begin the rest of our lives.”

Penelope smiled at him. “Yes, I suppose it’s done now.”

“Not entirely,” he replied, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Penelope’s brow furrowed and he wanted to press his thumb against the little divet there, or, better yet, to kiss it away.

“Our wedding night,” he said softly. “We cannot allow for our marriage to be annulled, can we?”

Penelope’s eyes widened and she flushed bright red, her mouth somewhat resembling the carp in the lake at My Cottage.

“I can feel the heat of your blush from here, Pen.”

“You’re wicked, Colin!” she breathed, glancing out the window as if half expecting an angry matron to be pointing a finger at them on the other side.

He slid closer to her, taking her hand in his, playing with the ring on her finger, and deciding that now was as good a time as any to start his plan to make her forget her old suitor. “I’d like to show you just how wicked I can be.”

She turned toward him, that copper curl floating with her sudden movement. She visibly swallowed, and he felt her hand in his tremble.

She was nervous.

Of course she was—she was an innocent.

He’d start slow, be gentle with her. He’d take care of her.

“What do you know of marital relations, Pen?” he asked, idly twisting her ring, marvelling in how something so small could mean so much; she was his for the remainder of their days. He was impatient to show her just what that meant.

She dropped her gaze to their joined hands and lifted her shoulders. “I know that– that a man has… needs?” she whispered. “And that I should lie still and be as quiet as possible, while he… er, sees to them?”

Colin raised his eyebrows, and used his other hand to tug on that delightful curl of hers. He was half tempted to push back her bonnet and let the rest of them spring free. Part of him felt smug at her admission; if that was what she’d expected of the rake who’d ruined her, then Colin was already off to a good start.

Penelope looked up at him, her eyes worried as she searched his expression.

He leaned closer to her, whispering in her ear, “Did you not hear my vow to worship you?”

He heard her take a sharp breath, marvelled in the way the lush curves of her breasts all but exploded with gooseflesh. He wondered if her nipples had hardened, were they pressing against her stays, eager for his attentions?

“If you are able to remain still, then I have not kept my promise,” he said softly, raising his eyes to meet her’s. “I intend to have you squirming, my love, begging for me. Loudly.”

The pet name fell naturally off his tongue, and he decided he quite liked it. It was something special between them, right for a married couple; a language between lovers.

“Colin,” she whispered. “What has become of you?”

He placed his hand on her cheek and angled her face toward him. “Shall I give my wife a little lesson?” he murmured. “A little taste of what happens between a man and his wife?”

The carriage whined around them, jostling them closer together so that he was all but pressed up against her now. He felt the soft weight of her hand on his chest through his coat and vest. He could feel the dance of her breath across his mouth, could smell the soap on her skin, the rose of her perfume.

He moved his other hand to her waist. “You are curious, are you not?”

Penelope whimpered and Colin felt a warm surge of pride.

“Has Lady Whistledown lost her words?” he teased.

She looked shocked at his mention of the nom de plume, her words stumbling out of her. “No– I mean, yes– I–”

Colin decided he rather liked shocking his wife, scandalizing her, even. He swiped his thumb along her lower lip, dragging it down. “Tell me, darling.”

She darted her tongue out to wet her lips, and he could hardly contain his groan. “Yes,” she breathed. “I want to know what will happen.”

Colin’s breeches tightened, and he breathed deeply, attempting to maintain some sense of control. “First, I will kiss you,” he murmured, before leaning down to capture her lips with his.

She gasped against him before eagerly returning his kiss. He dipped his tongue in her mouth and tasted her, feeling the vibration of her moan through his chest. She tasted tart yet sweet, her tongue shy against his. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her against him, relishing in the feel of her breasts soft against his chest.

He pulled away, his heart thundering in his ears, his breath short.

Penelope whined in protest, her breasts heaving, and it took every fibre of his being not to rip her bodice off.

“Patience, darling,” he whispered, although he felt he needed the advice more than his wife. “There is much to learn.”

Penelope wriggled against him, her hands sliding up his chest to his shoulders. “I can’t imagine anything more… well, more.”

Colin chuckled and pressed his lips against the crook of her neck.

“Come,” he said, slapping a hand on top of his thigh. “Sit on my lap.”

“I couldn’t!”

Colin held her gaze. “Did you not make a vow to obey me?”

She gaped at him, her eyes darting from his lap to his face before she looked to the window behind her. “But anyone could…” She trailed off; there was nothing but empty fields rolling by.

“My lap, Pen,” he said, his voice low, demanding. “Now.”

He saw her swallow, saw her hands clench, before she rolled her shoulders back and primly stood as tall as the carriage would allow her, unsteadily moving towards him. He reached for her waist and pulled her down onto his lap, where she landed with a soft ‘oomph’.

He pulled her back flush against him, his hard co*ck surrounded by her soft derriere. He hooked his chin over her shoulder and whispered in her ear, “Pull up your skirts.”

“Colin!” she exclaimed, her hands clenching the fabric of her dress. “What on earth–”

“Do you not trust me?” he murmured. “Do you not want me to show you where I will touch you? Where we will join?”

She squirmed in his lap and he groaned at the pressure on his co*ck, his blood humming.

He felt an irritating scratch of rough fabric against his cheek, and he reached up and tugged at the ribbon settled under her jaw holding her blasted bonnet in place.

“May I?”

He felt her nod and he grinned in victory as he pulled the knot free and tossed her bonnet to their feet, dirt from his boots dusting it.

“That was expensive,” she muttered.

“I’d offer to buy you more, but I find I like to see your hair,” he replied, running his hand through her curls and tugging a pin loose.

She twisted to face him. “Stop that! I’ll look a– a– mess!”

He smoothed a curl behind her ear. “I’d like to make a mess of you.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, that fire he’d witnessed the night before returning. He couldn’t help but take the opportunity to lean forward and kiss her. He didn’t give her a chance to respond before he moved his lips down her jaw to her pulse point.

He sucked her there, feeling the thump of her heart against his lips. She moaned and he was addicted, the sound like a symphony to his ears. He nipped her sensitive skin before soothing it with his tongue. He pulled away to admire his handiwork and pressed a finger against his rosy mark, watching her skin blush and bloom around it.

Penelope’s eyes were glazed as she watched him, her lower lip tucked beneath her teeth.

“Your skirts, darling,” he whispered in her ear.

He heard her swallow, then watched, his co*ck throbbing, as she shifted in his lap and pulled her dress up above her calves. His heart quickened at the sight, it was at once innocent and sordid.

His hand slid under the fabric and moved to her knee, her stocking soft yet warm from her skin. He wanted to feel her flesh against him, he wanted to strip her bare, but he had to be careful with her.

She squirmed and he wrapped his other arm around her waist, holding her in place. It wouldn’t do for him to explode before he’d even had a chance to properly touch her.

Slowly, he moved his hand upwards, the fabric of her dress bunching around his forearm. He paused when he reached the top of her stocking, the satin ribbon a pretty blue to match her dress. He wondered if she’d chosen them on purpose – had the little temptress wanted him to see her matching blues?

“I’ll take great pleasure in removing these tonight,” he said, nuzzling her neck. He felt her shiver as he toyed with the ribbon. “Or perhaps I’ll leave them on. Leave you in naught but your stockings.”

She sucked in a breath, her legs parting ever so slightly. He grinned like the devil at the sight, it was as if she were offering herself to him. He was almost overwhelmed with impatience to take.

He captured her earlobe between his teeth and tugged, his hand sweeping up her inner thigh. She whined and his blood burned.

He put some pressure between her thighs, spreading them further, relishing in her trust in him as she relented.

“Do you feel an ache, Pen?” he whispered.

She scrunched her eyes shut but she nodded. “Yes.”

“Where?” he asked, a smirk already forming on his lips. He was toying with her, and he rather liked the game.

Her eyes flew open, her rosy cheeks further inflamed. She tried to shut her thighs, but he kept his hand pressed firmly between them; he knew what she wanted, what she craved.

“Shall I take a guess?” he murmured.

The carriage groaned around them as it battled the uneven country road outside.

“Perhaps you might like some relief?” Colin coaxed, his fingers tracing light little patterns on her bare skin.

“Please,” she whispered, her thighs softening, parting again. He gladly continued his journey up her inner thigh. Until finally, he reached her soft curls.

She gasped as he trailed his fingers through them, marvelling at how silken they felt. He dipped his finger between her seam and she wriggled in his lap, her hand reaching for his forearm.

“Shh,” he whispered. “Let your husband soothe your ache.”

She turned her head to hide her face in his neck as he explored her, her hand clenching his forearm. He wondered if she might leave little blue fingerprints behind. He found he rather liked the idea of his wife marking him too.

She was wet to touch, his fingers gliding smoothly between her folds as he searched for that little hidden pearl. He knew as soon as he found it, her body jerking in his arms, her breath hot on his neck. He smiled to himself, massaging it lightly as she writhed against him.

Then a wicked thought came to him.

“Have you ever touched yourself here?” he asked, applying more pressure, his mind flashing with visions of her writhing as she explored herself in the dead of night, thinking of him.

She moaned, her thighs spreading further apart.

“Pen?” he prodded, stilling his hand. He needed answers, and he was more than willing to torture them out of her.

She whined, pushing her hips up toward him but he moved his hand further away, barely able to contain the chuckle in his chest. He loved this desperate side of her, he wanted to see just how far he could push her.

“Well?” he asked again, lightly pressing his thumb back against her.

She shook her head, a mumbled ‘no’ against his neck tickling him.

Colin pressed harder against her with his thumb, his fingers trailing down her seam to her entrance. He circled her centre for a moment, the wet hot heat tempting him. “And here?” he whispered.

She shook her head again.

“We will join here,” he muttered, remembering that this was supposed to be a lesson of sorts. His jaw was tense as he tried to ignore his baser instincts demanding that he shove his trousers down and push into her. “Tonight, I will sink into you and we will be as one.”

He gently pushed his index finger into her and she let out a sharp breath.

He groaned, his hips thrusting against her bottom as he felt her wet, hot, tight heat around him. With all the control he had left he kept his finger still inside her, letting his virgin wife adjust to him. She was untouched, he reminded himself, he must be gentle with her.

He kissed her neck, her shoulder, pulled her tighter against him. He felt her relax and he massaged her pearl with his thumb, applying more pressure as she let out desperate little cries against his neck. He could feel her body twisting and jerking, and he slowly started to move his finger, dragging it out to the tip before pushing it back in, imagining his co*ck in its place.

When her hips started to chase his finger, he picked up his pace.

Penelope moaned and he moved his hand from her waist to her jaw, guiding her away from his neck and pressing his lips against hers, his tongue diving into her mouth to taste her. She kissed him desperately, messily, all shyness a distant memory. He added another finger, and she whined as she stretched around him. He pressed harder against her button and she cried out, her head thrown back.

Colin took the invitation and kissed the creamy expanse of her neck, nipping and sucking, leaving more rosy marks behind. Her fingers dug into his forearm, her body trembling and writhing in his arms. He curled his fingers inside her, and she bucked up against him.

She was close, he could feel it. She was soaking his hand, her movements jerky, her cries louder and wilder.

“Say my name when you come,” he whispered in her ear, his voice ragged.

“I– I– I don’t–”

“When you hit your peak, love, you’ll know when. I want my name on your lips. Say it.”

She shook her head her eyes clenched shut, biting down on her lip. He pressed his hand harder against her, his fingers f*cking her, his thumb rubbing urgently against her pearl.

Her mouth flew open as she shattered, her quim clenching around his fingers, her back arching. Her cries bounced around the carriage, his name like a serenade on her lips. “Colin!”

She was glorious.

She collapsed against him, shuddering as he gently pulled away from her soaked quim. He brought his fingers to his lips and licked them clean; she was like tart summer berries and he couldn’t get enough.

“Colin!” she gasped, scandalized.

He kissed her then, running his tongue along hers, letting her taste herself. She shifted in his lap and he groaned, his member rock hard and aching. He couldn’t help but grind against her, seeking his relief.

She was like butter against him, and he knew then that if he undid the folds of his trousers, she would let him slide into her. She’d let him take her here in the carriage. His hands squeezed at her waist, imagining her cries as he ravished her.

She was completely and utterly his.

The carriage whining as it began to slow down reminded him of just where they were. Regretfully he pulled away, gently guiding her from his lap onto the seat next to him. He was losing control of himself. She deserved so much more than that. He was her husband not a rake.

And she was a highborn lady, he should treat her as such. He should be gentle with her, respectful. He certainly shouldn’t be telling her to lift her skirts and asking her if she touched herself!

What had become of him?

He had taken things much too far, he should have waited until this evening to seduce her. And he should have done so with romance, with candles and sweet words, the things young ladies dreamed about.

He’d been so overcome with a need to prove himself better than the man who’d ruined her, to possess her, that he had become the rogue he loathed.

She probably thought him no better than the beasti*al man who had kissed her and then abandoned her, utterly guided by his baser instincts. He’d probably scared her away with his eagerness.

“I’m sorry, Pen,” he said quietly, his chest squeezing as he dropped his head into his hands.

“For what?” she asked, placing a hand on his forearm.

He looked up at her, surprised she even had to ask. She should be furious with him. “I should never have– we should never have–”

She snatched her hand away, her body stiffening next to him.

He turned to face her, resting his hand on her cheek, willing her to look at him. When she finally met his gaze, her eyes guarded, he spoke, “I promise you this evening will be better. I will–”

“I cannot imagine it being better,” she blurted.

Colin let out a shocked laugh, his shame forgotten.

She made to move away from him, but he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her against his side. The carriage eased to a stop; it felt quiet without the constant trundle of wood and steel on dirt.

Penelope cleared her throat. “So, tonight, we will–”

He turned and kissed her temple, breathing her in. “Tonight we will lie with each other as man and wife.”

“Splendid,” she said, her voice higher than usual. “That will be– er, splendid…”

Colin had to press his lips together to keep from laughing.

What a minx he’d married.

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

Penelope fiddled with the end of her braid as Jane left the room, the door quietly clunking shut behind her. She breathed in deeply and sat on the bed, her fingers curling into the blankets. Jangling nerves pushed her back to standing, and she strode over to the crackling fireplace. She closed her eyes, hoping the warmth might soothe her; instead, it just made her robe feel itchy on her skin.

Rubbing her arms, she walked over to the battered vanity, moonlight streaming through the window painting it silver. She twisted in front of the floor length mirror beside it, frowning at her lumpy pink robe. She untied the belt, but then quickly retied it when she saw how sheer her chemise was underneath. She breathed in deeply, the scent of woodfire and bed linens filling her lungs, and she twisted the wedding ring on her finger, the silver band warm to touch.

She was married.

Mrs Colin Bridgerton.

How many times had she written their names together while daydreaming at her desk, wishing for it to one day be true?

Of course she’d never imagined it would come about like this.

She’d imagined he would be in love with her.

That one day he might see her across a ballroom and see something in her. Something that made his heart skip a beat and his breath shorten. He would look at her in wonder, and he’d push his way through the crowd, perhaps unintentionally tripping Cressida Cowper on his journey. He’d offer his hand to her, beg her for a waltz. He’d hold her closer than was proper, stare into her eyes utterly lost in them, and then he’d lean down and…

She groaned and leaned back against the vanity, dropping her head and staring at her bare feet. That had been but a dream. She’d heard it from the horse’s mouth, himself: ‘never in your wildest fantasies’.

He might as well have pointed at her fantasies and laughed.

Now, she’d all but trapped him into marriage. Denied him a lifetime of love and romance, denied him his own dreams.

She heard the creaking of a floorboard outside her room, and her gaze shot up to the door, her heart in her throat. But no knock followed, and the footsteps drifted down the hallway away from her room.

She clenched her hands on the wooden vanity. Colin would be here soon; they would consummate their marriage tonight.

At least in that he’d seemed… eager.

She had too.

Lord, he must think her an utter harlot!

She’d writhed and moaned on him like an animal in heat. Her face was aflame just thinking about it, her lower belly tugging with a now familiar ache.

She’d never felt such torment, such euphoria. And he’d promised tonight would be better. She stood by her words to him—she couldn’t imagine how that were possible.

And yet she already felt a strange type of longing for tonight, a desperate yearning, as if it were already a memory. He’d written on his list that they’d consummate the marriage, then recommence relations once they were ready for children.

It felt cruel to show her such heights and then snatch them away from her.

But she supposed he likely didn’t have the same experience as she. She was in love with him, she felt his every touch like lightning bolting through her. He likely compared her fuller figure to his lithe mistresses on the Continent and felt the heavy weight of disappointment.

An acidic knot twisted in her belly.

He would do his duty this evening, follow through on his vow to protect her from ruin, and then it would be as if nothing had happened. He’d leave her in her bed alone, they’d travel to wherever My Cottage was, and she’d have to sit in that carriage pretending she couldn’t remember the touch of his fingers, the taste of his lips, his skin, the sound of his groans, the scent of him.

He was everything to her, and she’d be but a fleeting memory.

Unless, of course, she convinced him that she desperately wanted children and somehow he felt the same. Perhaps children might even be a perfect distraction to her loneliness once he left her.

She sighed. Colin wouldn’t leave if they had children, he’d want to be there to raise them. As tempting as that was to a darker part of herself that she didn’t want to acknowledge, she couldn’t trap him in that too. He’d saved her, the least she could do was set him free.

She promised herself then that she would memorise every moment of this evening, every sigh, every caress. She’d have this one night to treasure. She’d let herself enjoy it, she’d return his attentions if not with experience then with enthusiasm. But she’d keep her gaze away from his, she wouldn't let him see the truth of her heart. She couldn’t put the weight of her love on his shoulders too.

That was her burden to bear.

A light knock on her door made her leap forward, the vanity creaking with the sudden movement. She stared at the ancient door; the cream paint was chipped in places, candlelight flickered shadows across it. Her breath was heavy in the room, her heart pounding.

“Pen?” came his muffled voice.

She swallowed, straightening her back and tilting her chin up, reminding herself that she was not only a well-bred young lady but Lady Whistledown. She could control her emotions.

Her heart had been breaking in solitude for years. She would survive this.

With a courage that felt feeble at best, she strode across the room and pulled the door open. He was taller than she remembered. Which was a strange feeling, considering how much time they’d spent together these last few days. Regardless, she felt as if she were staring up a sheer cliff as her gaze travelled from his chest to his bare neck to his jaw dusted with a faint shadow, his full lips, his straight nose and finally to his eyes.

His eyes would always be her weakness.

They shined bright, even in the dim lighting, tracing her own features with a mixture of concern and anticipation.

She dropped her gaze to her feet and stepped aside so he could enter; she could smell the soap on his skin as he moved past her. She closed the door behind him, allowing herself a moment to compose herself before she turned to face him.

She was reminded of the previous evening when he’d confronted her at the inn, when he’d brought his list to her. They were in much the same dress, him in nothing but his trousers and shirtsleeves, Penelope in her robe. She tugged at her belt, wishing she’d somehow magically had time to arrange for a trousseau from Genevieve. He probably thought she looked matronly in the thick pink fabric.

Genevieve had told her of garments in Paris made with lace, of sheer fabrics, silks and ribbons.

Had Colin seen that? Had women dressed for him? For seduction?

Penelope twisted the end of her braid around her finger, rolling her lips together as she tried to push the burning envy away. She’d promised herself she’d enjoy tonight, and thinking of Colin enjoying other women would only ruin it.

“I can practically see your mind running in circles, Pen,” he said, as he stepped towards her.

“I suppose I am a little nervous,” she replied, her voice catching.

He reached out and tugged on the end of her braid. “I’m half tempted to have a stern word with your maid.”

Penelope’s brow furrowed. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

He rubbed the satin ribbon that held it together between his fingers. “I don’t know if I should be vexed that she continues to hide your hair away like this or smug that I have the privilege of pulling it free.”

“Jane thought it would be best to have it out of the way.”

Colin raised his eyebrows. “Vexed, then.”

He undid the ribbon, his fingers gently stroking through each plait to loosen it. She held her breath as he did, her stomach fluttering. He loosened her braid with reverence, running her hair through his fingers as if it were silk, taking more care than any maid she’d ever had. She felt a light relief across her scalp as he did; her breathing slowed, and she closed her eyes, a buttery warmth flowing through her.

He tugged the last plait free and swept his hand through her hair, twirling a curl around his finger for a moment before releasing it. “Much better,” he murmured.

When she opened her eyes, he was towering over her. She wondered if she should touch him now. Is that what he expected? She shifted on her feet, her courage from just moments earlier evaporating.

Marina probably would have known what to do. She would likely have sauntered closer to him, hips swaying, eyes cat-like.

Colin reached for her hand and squeezed it. “You have nothing to fear, Pen,” he said. “There might be some… some pain that is unavoidable, but I promise I will do everything in my power to make it enjoyable for you.”

Penelope dropped her gaze to their hands and nodded. Physical pain she could handle, although she had no doubt that her body would enjoy whatever was to come tonight. It was everything else that would follow that made her heart want to tear at the seams.

He curled a finger under her chin and tilted her face up to look at him. “Did you not enjoy our time in the carriage today?”

She felt her cheeks flush. “You know I did,” she mumbled.

He smirked at her, pride puffing his chest. “There is more I’d like to show you.”

Penelope nodded, biting her lip. They had one night together, at least until they were ready to have children. She would make the most of it as she’d promised herself.

Colin reached for her belt, toying with the end. Penelope’s palms went damp, her skin tingling. “Did you want me on the bed?” she blurted.

Colin dropped her belt and moved closer to her, carding his hand through her hair, before resting it on her cheek. “I’d like to unwrap you first,” he whispered.

She folded her arms across her waist, pulling her robe tighter against her. “I’m not sure this is quite the wrapping you expected,” she said softly, shame blurring the edges of her voice. “I didn’t have time for a trousseau…”

Colin stroked his thumb across her cheek, and she scrunched her eyes shut. She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t feel this small, this wanting, and meet his eyes.

“It is lovely,” he said.

She shook her head; she didn’t believe that.

“It is lovely because you are in it.” His voice was firm yet somehow gentle.

She felt his sweet lie curl around her heart. He was always so kind. She loved that about him. And if he could be kind, she could be brave. So she opened her eyes and quickly undid her belt, shrugging her robe off. The fabric made a soft ‘thwump’ as it landed on the floorboards.

“I was hoping to do that,” he said, his voice lower than before, rougher.

Penelope squeaked out a ‘sorry’, far too concerned with the way her chemise felt as if it would barely stand against a stiff breeze to worry herself with having offended him. The linen might as well have been a silken web around her. She glanced down and blanched when she saw her nipples tenting the fabric. Jane had said not to bother with her stays but now she felt as if she were missing a vital piece of armor.

“Perhaps we might blow out the candles?” She all but curled into herself at how shrill her voice sounded in the quiet of the room.

Colin’s hand on her cheek moved down to rest on the crook of her neck. “I want to see you, darling.”

Penelope was trembling; she clenched her hands into fists hoping to hide the way they shook. She didn’t know how to feel about his new penchant for pet names. He only seemed to use them in these moments—they felt special, forbidden. Her heart skipped every time. And yet… How could she return to being just Pen to him? His affection felt like mist between her fingers.

“Perhaps it might help if I removed some clothing too?” he suggested.

Her eyes widened. She didn’t think that would help at all. Yet when he moved to unbutton his shirt, she couldn’t bring herself to say anything to stop him. Instead she was mesmerised by the way his fingers moved, so deftly, so confidently. And with each button more of his skin was revealed. It was like caramel under the candlelight, dusted with dark hair that she wanted to run her fingers through.

“You may touch me if you like,” he said softly.

Penelope jolted, momentarily concerned he could read her mind.

He smiled sweetly at her and reached for her hand, bringing it to his chest, just above his heart. She could feel it thumping. She curled her fingers in his chest hair, marvelling at how soft, yet rough, it felt.

He squeezed her hand, using his other to push a curl behind her ear. “You’re shaking.”

She made to pull away from him but he moved both his hands to her waist, holding her in place.

“Do you fear it will hurt?” he asked, his thumbs running up and down her sides in soothing motions.

She shook her head, keeping her gaze on the hollow of his neck.

Colin leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead. “What is it you fear, my love?” His words danced across her skin.

She clenched her eyes shut, willing the prickling burn at the backs of her eyes to disappear, swallowing desperately at her thickening throat. She couldn’t tell him that she feared what would happen when it was all over, the frost that would envelop her heart.

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her flush against him. “Pen,” he said, his voice drenched with worry. “Tell me.”

She burrowed into him, gripping his shirt, her nails digging through the fabric into her palms.

She felt him stiffen.

“Is it him?” he asked.

Penelope scrunched her face in confusion, his shirt scratching at her cheeks.

“Is it because I am not–”

She heard him swallow, and he pushed her gently away from him.

“Is it because you wish it were with him?” he asked, not quite meeting her gaze.

Penelope stared at him, his insecurities laid bare across his features.

He thought she’d prefer to be with someone else. She could have laughed for how wrong he was.

She realised then that perhaps the vulnerability she felt in this moment was a shared one. They would both be baring themselves to each other this evening.

There was something about him not being entirely confident in this moment that made her want to ease his nerves, to prove herself to him.

She looked him in the eyes, all the love she felt for him swelling in her chest so that she felt she might burst. “There is no one else,” she whispered, her voice catching slightly. “Only you.”

His eyes darted between her’s for a moment as if searching her for the truth of her words. She worried her lip, wondering if she had given too much of herself away. But then he let out a sharp breath and reached for her cheeks with both his hands, dragging her into a kiss.

She clung to his shoulders, pushing herself up against him and eagerly returned his passion. With a boldness she did not know she possessed, she slid her hands under the fabric of his shirt, shoving it over his shoulders and down his arms. It dropped lightly to the floor.

She felt the firm warmth of his chest through the sheer fabric of her dress, her nipples sensitive to his every movement. She gasped as her blood turned to honey, the ache between her legs starting to pulse. She met his tongue in her mouth, sliding her own against his, tasting a hint of whiskey and sugar.

His hands moved from her face, one sliding down her waist and squeezing her bottom. His other hand moved to her breast, massaging it, rubbing her nipple through her chemise. She gasped at the sensation, warmth charging through her. She felt a hardness against her belly, the same as she’d felt in the carriage earlier, and marvelled at the sound he made when she ground against it. She moaned, feeling as though she’d come alight.

She felt her chemise lift, baring the backs of her knees, as he gripped her derriere. He groaned and ripped his mouth from hers, their panting breaths filling the room. She stared at his bare chest, drinking him in. In everything he was her opposite; where she was soft curves, he was hard lines. He was so broad; dark hair dusted his chest, tempting her fingers to run through it. His muscles were carved into him, expanding and contracting as he breathed heavily. Her mouth ran dry just to look at him.

He was glorious.

He reached for her dress and tugged it up. She raised her arms in a daze and he swept it off her, dropping it to the ground.

Cool air brought her focus back to her now bare body. It took everything in her not to cover herself. Gooseflesh prickled across her skin as his eyes traced her like warm embers.

“You’re lovely,” he breathed.

Her stomach dropped and she ducked her head, her cheeks aflame. She’d heard many a snide remark about her appearance in the past, but for some reason, his compliment, his lie, was the most hurtful.

“You do not believe me,” he said.

She wrapped her arms around her chest, covering as much of herself as she could, and glanced over at the fire. “You do not need to–”

She felt his hands warm on her waist, his breath light across her ear as he whispered, “Do not need to what?”

She focused her gaze on his bare shoulder. “We are married, Colin,” she said, trying to lighten her tone, trying to appear as if she did not care. “You do not need to charm me, I know you do not– I– what I mean to say is, I know what I am.”

“It is not charm. You are exquisite, Pen.”

She pushed at his shoulder and forced out a light scoff as if his false words weren’t like poisonous barbs.

“A siren,” he said.

“Stop,” she snapped. That was enough; he was being unkind now.

Colin raised his eyebrows. “Can a husband not compliment his wife?”

She couldn’t look at him. Blinking at hot tears, she untangled herself from him and snatched her chemise from the ground holding it against herself. She wished he’d just let her blow out the candles and take her under the covers. Then he could leave and she could curl into a ball and pretend any of it had mattered to him.

She could feel him watching her, his pity crawling over her. Her chest tightened, the lump in her throat near choking her.

She nodded towards the bed. “Shall we just…”

He reached for her upper arm and gently tugged her towards the mirror. “Look at yourself,” he said, moving her in front of it and standing behind her.

“Colin,” she pleaded, her eyes looking at anything but her reflection. “This is unnecessary.”

“I disagree.”

“Can you not just do your duty and be done with it?”

“My duty? You insult me, Penelope. You insult yourself.”

His dark tone dragged her gaze back to meet his in the mirror. His brows were drawn together, his jaw tense, his eyes burning.

His anger fueled her own.

“I do not want your platitudes, Colin,” she ground out through gritted teeth. “I know how I look, I know I am not beautiful or exquisite or any one of your poetic banalities. Do not insult me by lying to me!”

His expression softened, and she wanted to scream.

“Do not pity me, either!”

He regarded her a moment, and she held his gaze, her chin tilted upwards in defiance.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” he asked.

Her heart flipped at his sudden change of topic. “I don’t know what that has to do with anything,” she mumbled, her mind already flying to a memory she’d held close to her heart for years.

“You threw your bonnet at me and I fell off my horse.”

“I did not throw my bonnet at you!”

His cheeky smile made her want to elbow him.

“It was windy!” she exclaimed. “It flew off!”

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back against him, moulding her to his warm chest. “We can argue all night on the details, Pen, but there is one thing I recall as if it were just yesterday.”

Penelope shifted on her feet, biting her cheek. “And what’s that?” she asked, trying to affect a carefree tone and utterly failing.

“Your hair,” he replied. “Bright copper curls, all but exploding from that awful hat. I remember them dangling over me as you checked on me, your little cherub face filled with worry. They looked so soft, so inviting yet wild. Beautiful.”

He nuzzled her hair. “You smell like roses,” he mumbled against her, his words buzzing down the back of her neck.

“I had a bath,” she replied, before shutting her eyes in mortification.

Colin chuckled, squeezing her a moment. “Open your eyes, darling, I’m not done yet.”

She looked at him again and marvelled at their reflection. She looked so different compared to him, her skin like clotted cream against his honeyed and sturdy frame.

“Your eyes are haunting,” he whispered.

Penelope snorted and tried to pull away from him, but he held her firm.

“It’s true,” he said. “They are the brightest of blues, you’d turn a sapphire green.”

“You should take up poetry, Mr Bridgerton,” she said lightly, clenching her chemise to her chest as she squirmed in his arms trying to loosen his hold on her.

“But it’s when you are your true self that they shine most brightly.”

She stilled, eyeing him warily.

“When you speak of your dreams, when you show me your wit, your heart. When you forget, just for a moment, to hide yourself. The look in your eyes…” he paused, his throat bobbing. “It stays with a man.”

Something in her chest bloomed as she let his words wash over her. He was so earnest, so sincere, she couldn’t help but believe him.

“There you are,” he whispered, holding her gaze. “I can see you now, shining for me. Exquisite.”

She’d lost her words—no, he’d stolen them from her.

He reached for her hands, still clenching her chemise to her chest. “May I?” he murmured.

She gave him a stilted nod, softening her hold on the fabric so that he could take it from her. All the while, her heart was racing in her chest as if trying to escape her ribcage.

Slowly, he pulled her chemise away from her and dropped it to the floor. She instantly dropped her gaze to her feet.

“Look at yourself,” he whispered. “Look at how lovely you are.”

Penelope forced herself to look up at her reflection.

For a moment she saw the same plain girl she’d always been, her hair too ginger, her body too soft, too… much. But then her eyes caught his gaze, and she caught afire. He was looking at her as if he wanted to devour her, as if he truly did believe her beautiful. She felt his reverence wash over her, and she started to believe it too.

He swept a curl behind her ear before trailing his finger down her neck, her chest, until he circled her nipple. He pinched the tip and she gasped. His hands moved to cup her, massaging her breasts.

“So, lush and soft and full.” His voice was ragged, rougher than before.

She whimpered at the sensation of him touching her so boldly, feeling fronds of electricity racing through her.

“So sensitive,” he murmured. “So eager for my attentions. I will worship you here, darling.” He dipped his head and kissed the crook of her neck. “Do you feel this?” he asked, pushing his hardness into her back.

She nodded, wetting her lips.

“I am mad for you,” he whispered. “You have stolen my mind from me, my control. Turned me into nothing but a beast.”

She trembled in his arms, the forbidden place between her legs aching for him. She knew that feeling. When he looked at her so fiercely, when he spoke to her like that, she felt as if she might explode. She had thought she was alone in it, she’d thought the madness to be love.

But he did not love her. He couldn’t.

So, it was lust, then.

A heady, heated, all consuming haze of lust.

He trailed his hand down from her breast over the curve of her belly, to her thatch of curls, lighting little fires in his wake. He found that spot that made her pulse with pleasure and slowly drew a circle around it.

She gasped as he dipped a finger into her centre, her hips rocking towards him. He caught her earlobe in his mouth and sucked on it, and she melted like butter against him, her body humming.

“I’m yours,” he breathed, his promise hot in her ear. “Utterly at your mercy, my siren.”

Her head dropped back against him as her body arched. His words surged through her, his hand pushing her closer and closer to the edge.

“I want to take you in front of this mirror,” he said, his voice a caress across her flesh, his finger massaging that spot at the crown of her quim, sending wave after heated wave of pleasure through her. “I want to show you just how sensuous you are, I want to watch as your breasts bounce for me, as your body shakes, as your mouth drops open when you cry out my name. I want to feel that greedy little cunny of yours surround me with its liquid heat.”

“Now?” she gasped.

Colin stilled and she wanted to wail. He looked at her, as if considering, and then he shook his head, pulling his hand away from her quim. “No,” he murmured. “This is about you.”

She saw her confusion painted in the reflection of her face. Her quim ached for him to touch her again.

“Colin–”

She forgot what she was going to say when he moved to stand in front of her, facing her before dropping to his knees.

She tried to cover herself, mortified that he was at eye level with such a private part of her, but he reached for her hands, stilling them.

“What are you doing?” she hissed.

She thought she saw a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth. “Do you trust me?”

She stared at him wordlessly, her mind racing as to what he could possibly be planning. She felt his hand warm on her calf, slowly sliding up to the back of her knee. He tugged it towards him, and she instinctively bent it.

“Pen,” he prodded. “Will you trust me?”

She pressed her lips together, her body trembling. Everything he had done so far had been… otherworldly. She’d never experienced the highs he’d shown her.

She nodded.

He shot her an almost smug smile before he reached to hold her hip with one hand and used the other to throw her leg over his shoulder.

“Colin!” she yelped, instinctively reaching for his head to hold herself steady.

She heard his dark chuckle, felt it hot across her quim. He held her in place, looking up at her. It was an image she would never forget: his eyes were that of a hungry beast, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. Her cunny pulsed at the sight, and she couldn’t help but curl her fingers, pulling at his hair.

“I need you to do one thing for me,” he whispered.

She shuddered as his hot breath danced across her most forbidden place. “Yes?” she breathed. She’d do anything for him at this point; she was entirely at his mercy.

“I need you to watch yourself.”

She shook her head. Anything but that.

It would be impossible. How could she drag her gaze away from the erotic sight of Colin Bridgerton kneeling before her, her leg slung over his shoulder? Even now, he was tracing tingling patterns on the flesh of her thigh.

“Pen,” he whispered. “Look at yourself.”

She forced her gaze away from his and to her own reflection. She sucked in a breath at the sight. Her hair was a wild and tangled mess, her curls gleaming under the candlelight. Her breasts were heaving, her nipples taught and pink, her lips were swollen, her cheeks flushed. She looked like a… a woman. A woman utterly debauched.

“Good girl,” he whispered and a thrill ran up her spine. “Now, don’t you dare look away.”

He surged forward and she cried out. He was kissing her quim!

She didn’t know a man could– she didn’t know a woman could–

It was marvelous.

His lips were hot on her cunny, his tongue delved into her seam, licking through her folds. His tongue swirled her pearl and a wrecked moan ripped through her. It was overwhelming; she felt as though her body might shatter, as though any second she would be nothing but stardust.

She tried her best to keep her gaze locked on herself, to keep her promise to him. She watched as her mouth dropped open, as her body jerked against him, her flush blooming across her breasts. She felt as though she were outside of herself; the woman in the reflection was a wanton. She was filled with such desire, such passion.

The woman in the reflection was desired.

Her husband was worshipping at her temple.

He’d called her a siren. Beautiful, exquisite.

She felt it.

She felt, for the first time in his presence, powerful. She was Lady Whistledown, she was Penelope, she was his wife.

He wanted her.

She might not have his heart, but she had him on his knees.

He sucked on her pearl and she moaned, her cry ricocheting around the room. The more noise she made, the more desperate Colin seemed to become. His tongue laved at her pearl, and she felt his finger at her centre.

“More,” she whined, unsure of what 'more' was, just that she felt needy, as if something were missing.

He added another finger and she keened at the glorious stretch. His hand on her hip was near bruising as he held her in place, the only thing keeping her from collapsing to the floor. She hoped he’d leave marks on her—she wanted to be marked by him. Her heart was already his, and now her body would be too.

Colin groaned against her, the vibration sending her soaring. She dropped her head back, her hips rolling against his mouth. She was getting closer and closer to the cliff’s edge. With every suck of his lips on her pearl, with every stroke of his fingers in her quim, she cried out his name.

He loved it when she called his name.

She loved that she knew that about him. That she could use that to drive him wild. She wanted her husband frenzied, crazed for her.

She opened her eyes and bit her lip at her reflection, she was grinding against him now, her fingers clenching his hair. She felt hot waves of pleasure crashing through her. Her eyes were hooded, darker. She pulled a hand away from his head and squeezed her breast, massaging it as he had. For the first time in her life, she felt no shame about them. She loved the size of them, how they overflowed in her small hand. She tweaked her nipple and a frisson of heated, delightful pain shot through her.

Colin grunted between her legs, and she dropped her gaze to him. He was staring up at her, his eyes fierce. She held his gaze as she squeezed her nipple again, moaning loudly. He groaned, the sound near primal. A wicked smile dragged at her cheeks; she’d found another thing to drive him wild. Her core pulsed with the knowledge.

He quickened his pace, his mouth devouring her, his tongue circling and sucking her pearl. She bucked against him, her body seizing and arching as she drew closer and closer to her crest. Colin added another finger and her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

She was so close. Her body was on fire, her skin damp with perspiration, she squeezed her nipple, twisting it. Colin curled his fingers inside her, hitting a spot that sent a surge of pleasure through her.

A surge so strong, she was catapulted off the edge and shattered.

Molten, honeyed heat coursed through her, her body jerking, her toes curling, her fingers tingling.

She collapsed against him, her leg sliding off his shoulder and her body falling into his warm embrace. He held her slumped frame tightly, his fingers still at her quim gently stroking her as she came down from her glittering high. She closed her eyes, snuggling into the crook of his neck, breathing in his familiar scent. She felt light, gooey, as if she were molasses.

They stayed like that a few moments, her heart slowing.

“Never doubt my words, Penelope,” he whispered in her ear, making her tremble. “They are not mere platitudes or banalities. You are my wife. On my honour, I will not lie to you.”

She pulled away from him and met his gaze, her heart hammering against her ribs. His hair was dishevelled, his lips shining, his eyes sincere. After what they’d just shared, what he’d just done, she had to be honest with him. At least in her fears.

“I find it difficult–” she cut herself off, closing her eyes and breathing deeply as she searched for the right words.

Colin waited patiently, his arms warm and comforting around her; she could feel the steady beat of his heart against her chest.

“I’m a wallflower, Colin, I’m not– The ladies you must have–”

“There is no one else. Only you.”

They were her words from earlier but they made her stomach flip and flutter when they fell from his lips.

She dropped her gaze from his. “I do not expect you to… I mean, I know that–” She rolled her lips together, forcing the words to form on her tongue. “Most men of the ton are not faithful to their wives, I wouldn’t expect you to–”

“Look at me,” he said, cutting her off.

She met his gaze, surprised by the fire in his eyes.

“There will only ever be you.”

She shook her head, feeling the weight of his vow on her shoulders. “I fear you will regret me,” she whispered, the confession tearing through her chest. She tasted hot salt on her lips.

He gently wiped a tear from her face with his thumb before cradling her cheek. “I could never regret you.”

“You cannot make that promise, Colin.”

"I can, and I will," he said. And with a grace and strength she knew she would never achieve, he stood, sweeping her into his arms as he did. "Now," he said, carrying her to the bed, "allow me to show you just how much I do not regret making you my wife, Penelope Bridgerton.”

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

Was there anything more erotic than the sight of Penelope Bridgerton writhing on a bed beneath him?

Perhaps the sight of her wantonly playing with her breasts in front of a mirror while he feasted between her legs.

Colin would never get enough of his wife. He was insatiable.

In his time since carrying her to bed and stripping himself bare, he’d made careful work of discovering her every response to him. He’d delighted in finding she gasped when he licked the shell of her ear, that gooseflesh scattered across her skin when he worshipped her neck. He’d revelled in the way she arched against him when he took her nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue and sucking until she moaned. He loved how she shivered when he kissed his way down the curve of her stomach, her fingers tugging his hair. She was ticklish just below her ribs, but she whimpered and squirmed when he skated his mouth along the insides of her thighs, his stubble brushing her flesh pink.

And there was so much more he wanted to learn.

Even now, when he was above her in bed, arms bracketing her, he craved her. The sheets were twisted beneath her, her hair crimson against the white linen. Candlelight danced across her creamy skin, painting her golden. Her plush lips were swollen and shining, her eyes glinting with desire.

She looked wild for him.

Like a forest nymph he’d managed to steal away and seduce.

He kneeled back between her legs and admired her. Her breasts were heaving, the tips glistening from where his mouth had been. Her legs were spread; his mouth watered at the sight of her pretty pink cunny. He reached forward and played with her pearl, his fingers dipping into her core. She near soaked his hand. He couldn’t help but drag his other hand up and down his co*ck, groaning at the rush of sparking heat that flared within him.

She was so tempting. He needed to be inside her.

But he wanted her to come undone once more before he took her. He wanted her ready for him, and he could sense she was close. Could feel it in her every jerking movement, in the desperation of her hands as she clawed his shoulders, his hair, his neck. His innocent wife was an eager little minx. She was made for pleasure.

He crawled back down to her, kissing her breasts, laving her nipple with his tongue. She whimpered, threading her hands through his hair and holding him to her chest.

She was so sensitive.

He wondered if he could make her come just from this. He tugged her nipple between his teeth, and she moaned his name, her damp skin sliding against him, pulling on his hair.

He grunted, near growled. His co*ck pulsed, demanding his attention or, better yet, her attention.

He moved his hand back to her quim, pressing two fingers into her. Her hips bucked up towards him and she keened. He lazily rubbed his thumb against her cl*t, as he dragged his fingers in and out of her. He could control himself—it was too delightful to watch her come undone. He’d happily stoke her fire, his own could wait.

“Colin, please,” she whined.

He grinned to himself then swirled his tongue around her nipple before pulling away to admire them once more. They were swollen now, a dusty pink. So beautiful, he might demand that Penelope never clothe herself again.

Although then anyone might lay eyes on her.

He really did growl this time.

He slid down the bed, felt her grasping at his shoulders as if to stop him from leaving her. But he wanted another taste. He laved at her centre, f*cking her with his tongue as his fingers massaged her pearl. Her moan vibrated through him and he couldn’t help but give in, just for a moment, thrusting against the mattress. He groaned as his co*ck throbbed, sending a wonderful shockwave up his spine. He fisted himself and closed his eyes for a second, gathering his composure. It was not the time… not yet.

He pressed back into her core with his tongue, tasting her tart ambrosia. He wanted to devour her; he was a man addicted. He rolled her cl*t between his fingers and she cried out, convulsing above him, her luscious thighs squeezing tight for a moment around his ears.

She was so close, he just needed to hold on a little longer.

He dragged his tongue up her seam, replacing his fingers at her pearl with his lips and sucked. She pulled his hair, the pain a sordid rush through his veins. He swirled his tongue, pushing back into her centre with his finger.

“Please, I— More!” she cried.

He happily obliged, pressing a second then third finger into her. She rolled her hips against him, moaning as he stretched her. She was nearly ready for him; he could feel her greedy little quim clenching around him.

He stretched a hand up between her legs, over her belly, until he had her breast in his hand. He twisted her nipple as he sucked her cl*t, f*cking her with his fingers.

It was just the push she needed.

She shattered and he felt every glorious moment. He felt her walls spasm around his fingers, her body convulsing and trembling, her cry vibrating through him.

He nearly cried with the relief of it.

He was moments from finally being inside her. From finally making her wholly his.

He moved back up her body and kissed her with passion, his tongue delving into her mouth, sliding against hers. He loved that she was tasting herself, that she made no hesitation in meeting his kiss. She was pliant beneath him, soft and rosy and languid. He pulled away and stroked her cheek, skating his thumb across her plump lower lip.

“Beautiful,” he whispered.

She gave him a shy smile, and his breath caught in his throat. He felt her hands on his back, lightly stroking up and down, sending delicious tingles sparkling across his skin.

Her eyes glittered as she looked up at him. Pure trust, shining brightly for him.

He felt the warm weight of that surround his heart. He was so proud to be her husband.

He had meant what he said earlier; there was only her, there would only ever be her. No one else existed beyond her, beyond this bed. Their souls were entwined, he was hers.

He loved her.

His heart skipped a beat and he scrambled away from her, kneeling at the end of the bed.

Penelope sat up, wrapping her arms across her breasts. “Is something the matter?” she asked, her voice a little husky.

Colin raked a hand through his hair, his heart thundering in his chest, his blood burning.

He was in love with his wife.

“Colin?”

He jerked his gaze to meet hers. Her eyes were wide with worry, her lip tucked beneath her teeth. He could see her curling into herself, could see her walls coming up, that brightness in her eyes that he loved… loved so much, was dimming.

He was in love with Penelope Featherington.

No, Penelope Bridgerton.

He was in love with his wife.

And she loved another.

His stomach twisted in on itself.

He could have laughed. Except that Penelope was looking more and more as though she might flee their bed. And he really couldn't have that.

He forced a smile at her, felt his lips near tear with the stretch of it. “It is nothing,” he lied.

A divet formed between her brows, and he rushed to move back on top of her, pushing her down onto the bed and pressing his lips to her frown.

“I just needed a moment,” he whispered. “Nothing more.”

He kissed her again, tracing her lips with his tongue until she opened up for him, and he felt her soften beneath him. He slid his body against hers, relishing in their shared moans. She was warm silk beneath him.

He would make love to his wife tonight, and then spend the remainder of his days earning her heart. How lucky he was that he’d married her, that he had saved her from that scoundrel. He had the rest of his life to court her, to romance her, to seduce her. He’d already planned on removing the blackguard from her heart, he was now more determined than ever.

He loved her!

Colin reached down between them, sliding his finger between her wet folds.

Penelope gasped, her breath dancing across his lips.

Colin rolled his thumb over her pearl. “Are you ready for me, darling?”

She bit her lip, her eyes shimmering with a tenderness that made him want to wrap her up in his arms and never let her go. He was near overwhelmed with a sudden need to protect her from some phantom threat. They were a family, a pair, partners. Everything that life might throw at them would be a shared burden.

He loved her, he loved her, he loved her!

He could feel the words on his tongue, begging to burst out. But he couldn’t see that light in her eyes fade. He couldn’t say the words she wasn’t ready to hear from him, not when she loved another.

He would ruin everything.

He would be ruined.

He felt Penelope spread her legs further apart. She rested her hand on his jaw, her nails lightly grazing his stubble, and he turned his head to kiss her palm, tasting the salt of her skin.

“I’m ready,” she whispered.

Colin swallowed, closing his eyes a moment to contain himself. Then he reached down for his member and lined the tip up with her entrance. He held her gaze as he slowly sunk into her.

He groaned, the sound rumbling deep from within his chest. She felt so hot, her quim clenching around the tip of his co*ck. It took everything in him not to slam his hips forward and encase himself in her.

Penelope squirmed beneath him, and he remembered himself.

He ducked down, his shoulders straining, and kissed her. He took his time, matching the rhythm of his lips to the beating drum in his chest. If he could not speak of his feelings, he would show her his heart. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her fingers playing with the the hair at nape of his neck. He felt as though his blood had turned to gold dust, as if he had ascended, his flesh humming.

Then he felt her relax around him, her hips canting towards him, and he dragged his lips away from hers.

“We must take this slowly, my love,” he said, his voice roughened. “It would kill me if I– if I hurt you.”

She shook her head. “You will not hurt me, you couldn’t.”

Colin’s throat thickened, his chest tightening as his heart flipped. How desperately he yearned to tell her he loved her. That he would never intentionally hurt her, that his pathetic heart belonged to her if only she would take it.

She smoothed his hair back off his forehead. “I will never forget this night,” she murmured. “Thank you.”

“You do not need to thank me,” he muttered. He couldn’t stand the idea that she thought he was doing her a favour, something that required her thanks. Not when it felt like this.

“You are my dearest friend.”

Colin dropped his head into the crook of her neck so she couldn’t see his expression. What a strange feeling it was to experience such despair and pleasure all at once. He was between her thighs but he might as well have been under her knife. He felt her lips on his cheek, her hands trailing down the back of his neck and along his shoulders.

“Colin,” she whispered. “Are you going to– I’m ready if you…”

He mentally shook himself. He was making love to his wife, his bruised heart could be attended to tomorrow. This evening was about her.

He kissed her neck, her jaw, her lips before slowly sinking further into her, sucking his breath between his teeth as she enveloped more of his throbbing co*ck. He clenched his hand in the sheets beside Penelope’s shoulder, pressing down on her cl*t with his other hand, circling it with his thumb. Penelope scrunched her eyes, her mouth twisting.

He brushed the tip of his nose against hers, their breaths intermingling, and he waited. “It will not always feel like this,” he whispered.

He heard her swallow, felt her fingers gliding up his chest. She was so warm and soft beneath him, their skin melding together wherever they touched. She trailed lightly up his neck, his skin prickling with gooseflesh under her touch. She traced his jaw, grazing her fingertips up his cheeks and over his damp temples to smooth the lines on his forehead he didn’t even know he’d grimaced into existence.

“It feels wonderful,” she breathed.

He raised his eyebrows, convinced she was lying.

She smiled at him, so sweetly his teeth ached. “Colin, I–” she paused, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. “Darling…”

Colin’s breath stuttered. She’d never used a pet name with him before. His heart swelled in his chest, his throat welling with thick, warm honey.

“I need– Please, move. Please.”

His co*ck twitched inside her. Much as he loved her begging, in this moment, she did not need to ask him twice. He pushed the last of himself into her, all the way to the hilt, and they both groaned. She clenched around him, shifting beneath him as he tried his best to remain still.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, already dreading her answer.

She rolled her lips, her eyes darting down to where they were connected. “Would you touch me again?”

He reached down but she grabbed his wrist, stilling him, before pulling his hand to her breast.

“Here,” she murmured, her voice soft, shy.

Colin groaned and surged forward, capturing her lips in his as he massaged her breast, thumbing over her pert nipple. She was so lush, so full. He would never tire of the feel of her in his hands, under his lips.

She gasped, rolling her hips as he slid his tongue into her mouth. He felt her every movement on his co*ck, each one sending a crashing wave of heated pleasure through him. He clenched the sheet under his hand, willing himself to keep from peaking too soon. He wanted her to come again, this time with him inside her, wanted to feel her shatter around him.

Slowly he began to pull out of her, trying with all his might to be gentle, before sliding back into her again, rolling his hips so that he ground against her pearl. She let out a whimper, her mouth slackening, her eyes closing.

“Oh, that’s– that’s lovely,” she sighed.

Colin pressed his lips to hers. He wanted to be in this moment for eternity. To have her warm, gently curving body beneath him, her cunny hot around him, her whispered words dancing across his skin.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he breathed in her ear, dragging his co*ck out to the tip. He needed to hear it, needed to know that she was his, even if not entirely.

She moaned, her fingers digging into his back. The pain was a thrill down his spine. He gasped, snapping his hips forward.

Penelope keened and he took her sounds as encouragement. He reached for her thigh, wrapping it around his hips, and she followed suit with the other. He quickened his pace, marvelling at the way her breasts jiggled with every movement.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he demanded, his voice ragged.

She bit her lip, her eyes were hooded, sultry, as she looked up at him. She held his gaze and reached for her breast, twisting her nipple.

She was toying with him.

She was toying with him and he loved it.

He loved her.

Colin growled and kissed her, thrusting his tongue into her mouth as he f*cked her. He could feel an aching warmth pooling in his lower belly and spreading through his veins. He was so close, but he needed her closer.

He pulled away a hairsbreadth, their lips just brushing as he moved in her. “Vixen,” he gasped, before tugging her lower lip between his teeth.

She gasped, arching towards him.

He soothed her lip with his tongue. “Say it.”

She carded her hand through his hair, her hips now rocking to meet his. “I’m yours,” she whispered, hot across his lips.

He groaned and reached between them, rubbing her cl*t as he thrust harder. “Say it again.”

“I’m– Oh! I’m yours!”

He lost all control.

He thrust inside her, again and again. His name burst from her lips, echoing around the room with every desperate drive of his hips. He could feel her tensing, her nails dragging red lines down his back, her thighs moulded hot around his waist.

Their skin slid and slapped together, accompanied by primal groans. The bed whined beneath them, their shadows dancing under candlelight against the walls. He could feel the telltale tightening at the base of his co*ck, his body aflame with molten heat.

With every roll of his hips, he wanted to shout it to the heavens:

He loved her, he loved her, he loved her!

He gritted his teeth, grunting as he kept the words locked up tight.

She was near crazed beneath him, her cheeks flushed, her skin shining, her mouth contorting. He felt her body jerking beneath him, her back arching. Her quim shuddered around his co*ck as she finally peaked.

At the last second, he pulled out from her, jerking himself once, twice, before he spilled on the sheet, shouting out as his org*sm crashed through him like a blinding light.

He collapsed on his back next to her and they both lay still, staring up at the canopy above them. No sound between them but their panting breaths and the crackling of the fire. Colin’s heart thundered in his chest, his body melting like wax on the bed.

“Is it always like that?” Penelope whispered after a few moments.

Colin grinned, then rolled over, tugging her back against him. “Only with us.”

He felt the vibration of her giggle through his chest. “Just us?”

He nuzzled the crook of her neck, his hand reaching for her breast as he tangled his legs with hers. “No one else,” he said.

She hummed, pulling his arm tighter around her. “I will have to take your word for it, Mr Bridgerton.”

He squeezed her breast for her teasing. “Trust me, Pen, I did not know what kissing was until I kissed you.”

She tensed in his arms and he wanted to shake himself. He’d given far too much of himself away.

“What I mean is, some husbands and wives have a– a connection,” he said, his mind fumbling for an explanation that didn’t entirely scare her away.

“A connection,” she repeated, as if tasting each syllable on her lips.

“Yes,” said Colin. “And ours is most, uh, remarkable.”

She kissed his forearm and her body relaxed against him. Colin breathed deeply; he needed to somehow control his feelings for her. Everything between them felt too delicate.

Just over a week ago, she’d been in another man’s arms for Christ’s sake!

He needed to give her time. It had been the same with Lady Crane, he’d rushed in and–

Well, actually it hadn’t been the same at all.

He never loved Marina. He knew that now.

He’d never felt this all-consuming need, this utter devastation.

This was entirely different.

This was love. This was Penelope.

He pulled away from her and reached for a blanket, dragging it over them as he wrapped himself around her again.

“You’re staying the night?” she asked, surprise clear in her tone.

Colin stilled, his heart tearing. Of course she wanted him to leave; they’d consummated the marriage. He’d fulfilled his vow, done his duty, and she didn’t want anything more from him.

He cleared his throat, closing his eyes as he prepared to have her slice his chest open once more. “Would you rather I–”

“No!” she blurted. “Please– uh, please stay. Stay.”

Colin swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and pulled her impossibly closer to him. “Very well, then,” he whispered. “I’ll stay.”

Penelope let out a smug little sound, and her fingers started tracing patterns on his forearm.

They lay like that for a while, her body moulded against his, like her very form was made to be encased by his arms. They breaths were slow, even, in rhythm, he imagined their hearts were matching beat for beat as well.

He had experienced such pleasure this evening but this… this was a light that bubbled beneath his skin, that swooped through his chest, that thrummed through his veins. This was bliss.

His eyes were starting to become heavy when he felt her shift.

“Colin…”

“Yes, my love?”

He felt her startle at the pet name and he winced. His heart might as well be waltzing about in front of her nose for all the subtlety he was showing. She’d been receptive to his pet names when they were in the heights of passion, but showing his affection so blatantly when they were outside of that sensuous world felt more… well, oddly, vulnerable.

“Where is My Cottage?” she asked. “We are to set off tomorrow, are we not?”

“Ah,” He grimaced. “I’d been meaning to tell you…”

She rolled over to face him, and he slung his arm across her waist, his eyes darting down to her marvellous breasts before he could help himself.

She prodded his chest. “Where is it?”

He pressed his lips together. He didn’t want to upset her but there was nothing that could be done. He of course hadn’t realised when Anthony had suggested they move to My Cottage how fractured Penelope’s relationship had been with Lady Crane. Then he’d been so upset about Penelope revealing herself to be Lady Whistledown that it had all but slipped his mind.

“Colin…” she coaxed, he could hear the nerves fraying her voice.

“Wiltshire.”

Her eyes immediately widened. “Wiltshire?”

“I know,” he said gravely.

“You know?” Her cheeks flushed red, her eyes darting across his expression. “Colin, I–”

“We do not need to see them, Pen,” he said, keeping his voice steady, soothing. He knew she’d be afraid to see the Cranes again, especially after… well, everything.

“Well, of course I wouldn’t expect– Wait…” Her brow furrowed. “Them?”

He trailed a finger down her cheek. “The Cranes. Surely that’s– I mean, that’s what has you concerned about our move to Wiltshire?”

She dropped her gaze down to his chest. “Oh! The– the Cranes,” she muttered. “Of course.”

“I suppose it’s Lady Crane who concerns you most,” he offered. “But as I said, we need not see them.”

Penelope nodded and he kissed the crown of her head, breathing in her roses.

“Do not fret, Pen,” he murmured. “You need not think any more on them. We will make a happy home in Wiltshire.”

She hummed in response, rolling over so that her back was melded against him once more. He happily threw an arm across her and tugged her closer. It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep.

Chapter 12

Chapter Text

Penelope swayed with the carriage as it moved over the uneven country road towards Wiltshire. Rain pattered against the glass windows competing with the rumble and whine of the wheels. It had been raining all morning; it was the perfect reflection of her mood. Although perhaps she would have been more thankful for better weather. It would have allowed Colin to ride out; he didn’t seem to be very happy inside the carriage.

She kept her eyes lowered to her novel, although she hadn’t read a passage in over an hour. Her maid, Jane, was to her right, happily working on her embroidery, and Colin was seated opposite them, constantly switching his gaze from glaring out the window to staring at Penelope. She could feel his eyes on her each and every time, her skin prickling under them.

She knew he was irritated that Jane had joined them in the carriage, but what he didn’t know was that Penelope had spent most of the morning before their departure begging Jane to do just that. Jane had been confused but thankfully, eventually, obliged.

Penelope did not want to be alone with her husband.

Not after yesterday evening.

Not after waking this morning to an empty bed, her heart disintegrating as she ran her hand through the cool sheets on his side of the bed, which still smelled of him. Was it so foolish of her to have hoped to awaken in his arms?

Of course she knew rationally that he’d needed to greet his valet early to ready them for their journey, that he’d likely tried to leave quietly so that she might continue her slumber. He was a gentleman; he took his responsibilities seriously.

She knew all that, but still, she wished he’d…

She wished he’d stayed.

She wished that they’d woken up together, that the fierce passion he’d felt for her last night had continued into the morning.

Her cheeks heated and she pressed her thighs together, wincing slightly at the soreness that still lingered between them.

She was a besotted fool.

Had she not just yesterday evening promised herself that she wouldn’t bare her love to him so blatantly? Had she not promised herself that she would appreciate the night for what it was? One evening to be treasured but not repeated. Not until they wanted children.

He’d spelled it out for her in his list. He’d announced it to the ton. He did not see her in a romantic light; he never would.

The consummation of their marriage was just that. A consummation. It wasn’t about love or romance or any of the other ridiculous fantasies her mind might run away with.

She loved her husband, but the feeling was not reciprocated, and if she was going to survive this marriage she needed to accept that once and for all.

Especially if she was going to see him with Marina again.

Her chest tightened at the thought, and she quickly flipped a page of her novel, the sound tearing through the quiet carriage. She kept her eyes down, but she noted Colin shifting in his seat, heard his grumble. Jane cleared her throat, and then once again they resumed their thick and heavy silence.

Marina.

He’d said they needn’t see the Cranes, but was that to protect Penelope from a potentially awkward confrontation? Or to protect Colin from having to see Marina married to a man that wasn’t him?

Of course, Marina hadn’t been her first thought on moving to Wiltshire. That had been Lord Debling.

He was from there. He’d spoken in great, loving, detail about the forests that surrounded his property, of the rare animals he’d sighted. He loved his home. At one point, Penelope had nearly convinced herself that she might join him there.

She supposed, in a sickening sort of way, she had fulfilled that naive wish. Just as she had fulfilled her wish to marry Colin Bridgerton.

Everything came at a price.

It was unlikely she and Colin would come across Lord Debling. He was a reclusive sort of fellow, the type to linger at the edges of ballrooms; that was what had brought them together in the first place. They’d had that in common.

Plus, she was still tarnished with the stain of scandal. Even after her marriage, and with the distance from Mayfair. It wasn’t as if they would be spending their year in Wiltshire attending country balls or socialising. And even if she saw Lord Debling, surely he wouldn’t say anything. Especially not in front of her husband. Despite everything, he was a good, honourable man. Of that she could be certain.

It was going to be a long and lonely year ahead. While she might have Colin’s company, she would have to create some distance between them to protect her heart.

That was why she’d begged Jane to join her in the carriage this morning. She’d needed a human barrier to being alone with her husband. She couldn’t sit in this carriage and continue on like everything hadn’t changed between them. Like she didn’t know what he felt like between her legs, like she didn’t know the sound of his groans and gasps, the taste of his lips, the salt of his skin, the strength of his hands and body surrounding her.

She needed time to regroup, to adjust, to convince herself to act as the same Penelope he’d always known. His friend.

If she couldn’t put physical distance between herself and Colin, Jane would have to do. She knew he was upset with her because of it, she hadn’t missed the shock and irritation that had flitted across his expression upon entering the carriage and seeing her maid beside her. She knew he probably would have preferred a less formal journey to Wiltshire – one had to comport themselves in a certain manner before their servants. But Penelope wasn’t ready to be alone with Colin.

Not yet.

She hoped she’d be ready by the time they arrived in Wiltshire. She couldn’t very well demand a chaperone in her own home. In the meantime, Jane joining them in the carriage would have to do.

—

The inn was rumbling around them, wood scraping on wood, country folk shouting, a man played a fiddle in the corner. Colin was eating his lamb and potato stew with the perfect balance of gusto and propriety. She wondered, if she wasn’t present, how long it would take for propriety to be thrown out the door. He was clearly famished.

Penelope picked at her own meal; her mouth felt too dry to eat. This was the first time since yesterday evening that they’d been alone together, and she found herself at a loss as to what to say or how to act.

Colin too seemed to be acting oddly, almost jittery. All day he kept touching her and then snatching his hand away as if burned. When he’d helped her down from the carriage earlier, his hand had lingered on hers. She’d relished in their shared connection before he clearly remembered himself and snatched his hand away. She’d then briefly felt his touch on her lower back as he guided her towards the inn, before it disappeared but a second later, as if he had never been there.

She was used to his familiarity, in the past he seemed to touch her without thinking. It had been torture, knowing that each one was as mindless as if he were touching a sibling, while to her it had been just another moment to endlessly think over, to keep her up at night.

Now it was even worse.

She knew the heights his touch could take her to, she knew the pleasure of his fingertips caressing her skin, the fire he stoked, the debaucherous ache he enticed with his lips. She was littered with his marks on her, those that could be seen – the bruises he’d left behind on her body from his passionate kisses and strong hands. And those that couldn’t be seen – the imprint of his touch on her heart, the knowledge that she would always yearn for more, that she knew there was more to long for.

The way he kept pulling away from her today made it clear that he was no longer ignorant to his physical affections, as if their night of making love had made him suddenly aware of her.

Was he fearful to touch her now lest it give her the wrong impression? Her stomach twisted at the thought.

Had one night of passion, of duty, ruined their friendship forever?

Would she never again feel the warmth of his touch?

Perhaps that wouldn't be such a bad thing, perhaps it would be for the best.

She sighed and forced herself to have a bite of her stew, thankful that at least she had her meal as a distraction because she certainly couldn't count on a conversation with Colin. They'd barely exchanged a few words since they'd arrived at the inn. She'd thought his reticence in the carriage was due to the company of her maid, but now she realised that this was just another way in which their friendship had been undeniably damaged the previous evening.

Usually, Colin was the one person she felt most comfortable to talk to, something she’d always felt was ironic considering how her heart raced every time she was in his presence. But there was only stilted silence between them now. Even Colin, ever the charmer, seemed to be at a loss.

She placed her cutlery back on the table. She couldn’t let this continue. While she might not be able to tell him she did not mind his touch, that she could control herself, she couldn’t live a life of silence. She’d been in denial in the carriage today, there was no way of avoiding being alone with her husband forever.

So she cleared her throat and rolled her shoulders back, finally meeting his gaze. “Have you visited this inn before?” she asked, the question sounding awkward and rehearsed on her lips.

Colin swallowed, placing his cutlery on the table. He appeared relieved at her attempt at conversation, his words eager when he spoke, “No, never.”

Penelope pressed her lips together, unsure of how to respond.

Colin grimaced, pausing a moment too long. “Er, have you?”

She barely contained a laugh. “No, I– I haven’t travelled far beyond the ton and our country home in Surrey.”

Colin smiled at her. “We shall have to remedy that, then.”

Penelope’s stomach fluttered under his gaze, and she quickly reached for her wine, the liquid sloshing in her glass. “I’m sure you do not want your wife to accompany you on your travels,” she said quietly before sipping, hoping the burn of alcohol might destroy the butterflies in her stomach.

“Whyever not?”

She snorted before she could help herself, her hand flying to cover her mouth.

He raised his eyebrows, leaning back into his seat to watch her. “Pen,” he prodded.

She felt her cheeks heat. He was being kind, but it felt mean. Colin Bridgerton was not going to bring his wife with him on his next Tour.

“I would only get in the way,” she finally said, blinking at images of him tangled in far-off beds with other women. Her throat tightened and she scooped some of her stew onto her spoon and shoved it in her mouth, forcing herself to contain her emotions. He’d promised her he would be faithful.

“You could never get in the way,” he said softly, his hand reaching across the table as if to take hers, before he quickly dropped it.

She swallowed, a chunk of dry lamb dragging down her throat. “That’s kind of you to say,” she replied, her voice slightly hoarse.

Colin furrowed his brow. “It is not kindness, it’s the truth.”

Penelope nodded and forced a smile at him, the raucous inn only amplifying her silence.

“You do not believe me.”

She shifted in her seat, glancing helplessly between her stew and his guarded face. “I believe you believe it,” she said, her insides curling even as the words lamely left her lips.

Colin’s face dropped. “Right,” he muttered. “Of course.”

“I do not mean to offend you, Colin, I just–”

“You think me a mere charmer. That’s how Lady Whistledown described me, did she not?”

Penelope jerked back in her seat, her mind scrambling to keep up. Why were they discussing Lady Whistledown again?

“You make it sound like an insult,” she managed to say.

He let out a dark laugh. “Why would I not want to be labelled an empty-headed charmer?”

“I never said empty-headed.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “It was implied.”

“If it was implied, then it did not come from me.”

He shook his head, taking a sip of his wine. “Of course not. What was it you said? You only repeated the words you heard.”

Penelope folded her arms, frustration burning her blood. “You should think yourself lucky that the worst thing a person could say about you is that you are charming.”

He frowned. “I just would have hoped that my– my wife might see me differently.”

“I was not your wife then!” she exclaimed.

“No, but you were my friend.”

She could barely contain her groan; they were running in circles. “Colin, of course, I see you differently to the rest of the ton. But being called a charmer is hardly an insult.”

“It was the only word you ever used to describe me. Am I so shallow, so bland, so aimless?”

“No! I– You are so much more than your charm, you must know that.”

Colin stared at her in challenge.

She mentally scrambled to find something to say that wouldn’t give her heart away. “You are… you are kind–”

He scoffed.

“What is so wrong with that?” she demanded.

“Kindness is hardly a descriptor a man might aspire to,” he drawled.

“Well he should,” she retorted. “It is rare.”

He pushed his plate away, rising from his chair. “Perhaps we should retire to our room.”

“Our room?” she echoed.

A muscle in Colin’s jaw twitched as he looked down at her. “Did you expect we would be sleeping separately?”

Her skin felt as if it were ablaze. While it was not unusual for a married couple to share a room when travelling, she had assumed that Colin would not want to. It was not as though he couldn’t afford an additional room.

Her silence seemed to upset him. “Would you prefer I arranged for another room?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

Her stomach flipped. She wanted to share a room with him, a bed. Her heart was hammering against her ribcage, practically begging to be flung at his feet. She could almost feel the ghost of his touch, the graze of his fingertips, the brush of his lips on her skin.

But she couldn’t.

She’d show too much of herself, he’d see her love for him clear as day. And what torture it would be to lie next to him and not be able to touch him, not now when she knew just how wonderful that was.

“Perhaps you might?” she asked.

“I suppose that would be the kind thing to do,” he muttered.

She stood up from the table, the legs of her chair scraping against the floorboards. “You are vexed with me.”

“I’m vexed with you?” he exclaimed.

The sound of voices around them dropped, Penelope could feel the eyes of curious patrons on them.

Colin scowled, glancing around at their onlookers. “I will arrange for another room for myself, if that is what you wish.”

Penelope clasped her hands together, attempting to stop them trembling. “It is.”

Colin gave her an abrupt bow and Penelope forced a smile at him before she fled to her room with all the dignity she could muster.

—

Penelope could not sleep. Her hair was still damp against her cheek from her bath, her bedsheets too hot, scratching against her skin, yet when she pushed them away a chill dusted her with gooseflesh. She could hear the sounds of drunks shouting outside the inn, the whinny of a horse. Yet in truthfulness, it was her mind that kept her awake.

It was Colin.

She’d left things terribly with him. She’d been a coward.

But what did he expect?

Did he truly feel so little for her that they could share a room and he would be unaffected?

What must that be like?

She imagined him in bed now, his warm body, so large compared to hers. She thought of the rise and fall of his chest as he slept soundly, perhaps with an arm slung around her waist. She breathed deeply and pretended she could smell him, his scent of leather and linen and soap. She traced his lips with her finger in her mind’s eye; they had felt so soft yet demanding against her.

Penelope groaned as the ache between her legs pulsed. Between her guilt and her want, she would never sleep again.

A soft knock on the door jolted through her. She held her breath, her heart in her ears as she listened out. Perhaps it had been but a figment of her imagination.

The knock came again, followed by a muffled, “Pen.”

Colin.

Chapter 13

Chapter Text

Penelope scrambled off her bed, tripping on the blankets tangled around her legs before rushing to the door. She quickly attempted to smoothe her hair before she opened it a sliver, peaking through the gap to see her husband was indeed waiting outside.

“Might I come in?” he whispered.

Penelope nodded, though he could not see her, and opened the door, stepping aside for him. Colin moved past her and started pacing her small room, his shadow flickering on the walls from the low light of her fireplace. Penelope locked the door shut, the latch clunking into place.

“Is something the matter?” she asked, her heart racing as icy dread filled her stomach.

He stopped to look at her. “I cannot allow you to be alone tonight. Not here.”

Penelope furrowed her brow in confusion. “Here? Is there something amiss?”

She heard a distant shout of laughter. “Those men,” said Colin, nodding towards her window.

“Do you know them?”

He shook his head. “No, but I know of men, and I cannot in good conscience let my wife sleep alone at an inn where anyone might– might try to– It is not safe, Pen.”

“I am perfectly safe, the door was locked and those men seem–”

He scoffed, raking a hand through his hair. “You would rather put yourself in danger than share a room with your husband.”

“That is not what I said!”

He took his jacket off, flinging it over the back of an armchair. “We won’t share a bed, I will sleep on the settee.”

Penelope looked doubtfully at the settee before the fireplace; it looked rather battered, and with Colin’s height there was no way that he would comfortably fit on it. “That really won’t be necessary.”

“Then I will sleep out in the hallway, I cannot just leave you, Pen. Like it or not, you are mine to protect.”

She stared at him; he did truly look concerned for her, his hair was mussed as if he’d been constantly running his hands through it. His jaw was clenched and his shoulders tensed, and she could see his bare throat bob, his chest expanding and contracting at a rapid rate. She felt his concern warm around her heart, her stomach buzzing. She wrapped her arms around her waist, as if to physically contain the swell of her emotions. She was suddenly conscious that she was in naught but her chemise.

“We may share the bed,” she whispered, already resigning herself to a sleepless night. It wasn’t as if she’d been able to fall asleep, anyway.

“I will not force myself into your bed, Pen, the settee will do.”

She raised her eyebrows at him, her skin prickling with gooseflesh as the chill from the evening air outside seeped in through her window. The fireplace was mere embers now; he’d freeze even if he did fit on the settee. “You were right before,” she said. “It is not uncommon for a husband and wife to share a room whilst travelling.”

Colin’s jaw twitched. “Have I done something to offend you?”

Penelope’s eyes widened, hot guilt swirling in her stomach. She hadn’t meant to hurt him in putting distance between them, but she could see in the way his eyes shone at her now, the way his brows drew together, that she had done so. “Of course not,” she said, her voice catching slightly as her throat thickened.

He studied her expression for a moment as if searching her for the truth. “Did you not enjoy last night?”

She glanced over at the fireplace, rubbing her upper arm. “I did.”

He stepped towards her. “Then why–”

“We should sleep,” she said, striding over to the bed, not looking at him as she pulled back the blankets. “We have a long day of travel tomorrow.”

Colin rolled his lips together, his face covered in shadow as he watched her get into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. She stared up at the canopy above her, her skin heating under his gaze. The floorboards creaked as he walked over to the bed, his boots thunked as they hit the ground when he removed them, his trousers rustled as he shoved them off and then the bed dipped and groaned as he climbed in. She breathed in his scent of soap and linen, shutting her eyes against the swelling sensation in her chest.

The bed was small, but he somehow managed to maintain a slight distance from her. She heard him swallow. “I suppose you believe this to be a nefarious scheme on my part to end up in your bed,” he said, his voice a low rumble.

Penelope clenched the sheets. “No, I–” she cleared her throat. “I understand that you would worry for me.”

The bed creaked as he rolled over to face her. Penelope kept her eyes firmly shut. “You underestimate me, then,” he whispered.

Her eyes snapped open, her heart quickening. She let out a breathy laugh. He was jesting, surely. It was Colin. He would not come to her room in the middle of the night in hopes to seduce her.

“Ah, but you believe me too kind for that.”

She turned to face him too; his expression was shadowed, and she could barely make out the outline of him. “You are kind, it is what I–” she snapped her lips shut. She’d very nearly told him it was what she loved about him. “You do not understand how rare that is, Colin. For someone like me. When people do notice me, they do so with distaste, as if my very existence is an irritation for them, or worse, a jape.” Her mind flashed to memories of curled lips and sneering laughter. “Your kindness, it is rare, you are rare.”

His hand moved to cup her cheek. “I’m sorry, I did not–”

She placed her hand on top of his, the knot in her throat twisting. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I have not always been kind.”

She offered him a wet smile. “And neither have I.”

His thumb stroked her cheek, sending tingles humming across her skin. “Pen, I–” he paused a moment. “You must know you are important to me.”

She closed her eyes against the burning prickle. “As are you to me.”

“Yesterday evening, if I hurt you–”

“It was perfect,” she whispered, shaking her head. She could not have him think anything less of it. “Wonderful. I– I could not have imagined…” she trailed off, her cheeks heating.

Colin shuffled closer to her. “Are you in pain?”

She pressed her legs together, aching want pulsing between them. “Not much,” she murmured.

He trailed his hand from her cheek, to play with her hair, stroking it behind her ear, sending tingles across her skin. She clenched the blanket. Her mind was at once racing to understand why he was touching her so intimately, whilst her heart was begging her not to move, lest she break whatever the spell was that had overcome him.

He tsked lightly. “Is my wife being stoic?”

Her stomach flipped at his question. “No, I–” she narrowed her eyes. “You’re teasing me.”

“It is only fair,” he murmured, tugging on one of her curls. “You have been teasing me all day.”

Penelope shook her head, unsure what he meant by that. If anything, she’d been trying to avoid him. “If I have teased you, it was not my intention.”

He twisted a curl around his finger before letting it drop against her cheek. “You did not wear a bonnet today.”

She scrunched her face in confusion. “You do not like my bonnets, I would have thought–”

“Ah, so it was intentional, my little flirt.”

A thrill raced through her. “I’m not– I– I wasn’t–”

“Why are you avoiding me?”

Penelope’s mind was spinning, it was as if they were fencing and he was parrying at her from all angles. “I do not know what you speak of.”

“Is it because I left you abed this morning? You must know I had to meet with my valet and you looked so beautifully peaceful, I could not bring myself to awaken you.”

“No, it’s not that,” she lied, because it was only partly that.

“Then what is it?”

Penelope huffed in frustration. “It is nothing, Colin.”

He pulled away from her. “We promised we would be honest with each other.”

She wanted to groan; he was relentless. “I am being honest, I–”

“Penelope,” His voice was low, warning.

She sighed, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket; she had to give him something, so she decided to settle on a partial truth. “You wrote on your list that we would– we would consummate our marriage,” she paused, her embarrassment halting her words.

Colin lay in silence, watching her.

She took a breath, attempting to gather herself, wrapping the blanket around her hand. “You wrote that we would consummate our marriage and then we would not re– resume relations until… until we wanted children. So, I–”

“You mean to say you are avoiding me because of that damned list?”

“Colin!” she exclaimed, shocked at his cursing.

“I burned that list.”

“Yes, but I thought–”

“I truly am sorry that I ever wrote it, you must believe me.”

“I do, it is just that, I thought… well… That’s what it said…” she replied, trailing off helplessly as she smoothed the blanket back down.

Colin sighed, flopping onto his back. “Well I did not know then that…”

“You did not know what?”

He remained silent a few moments and Penelope’s nerves scurried under her skin.

“Penelope,” he finally said, her name dragging out of his lips. “Have you been avoiding me because you wanted to recommence our relations?”

She might as well have caught aflame, her skin all but melting. She stammered her denials, dragging the blanket over her head, but she felt Colin tugging it away from her.

“It is perfectly normal, Pen!” he laughed, finally managing to relinquish her grasp on the blankets so she had no choice but to look at him.

She flung her arm across her eyes. She had never felt so utterly humiliated. She’d practically admitted to him that she lacked all self control in his presence. She was a wanton, a–

“Personally, I find I can think of little else around you,” said Colin.

Penelope slowly removed her arm. He was on his elbow looking down at her. “You do?” she whispered.

He stroked her hair back from her face. “As I said,” he murmured, “You’ve been teasing me all day.”

“I did not mean to,” she whispered, unable to think of anything else beyond the delightful sparking trail he left as he dragged the tip of his finger down her neck.

“It is not your fault,” he replied, his eyes following his finger’s journey as it slid over the round of her shoulder. “Your very existence is torment for me.”

Penelope’s breath hitched. She knew she should pull away, that in all honesty it wasn’t just because of the list that she’d kept her distance, that she was using it as an excuse to protect her heart. To give in to him now would only make it hurt more if she awoke to an empty bed tomorrow, if she awoke to his disinterest. Had he not done this to her before? Had he not waltzed with her, touched her, held her hand in public, made promises to protect her, only to disappoint her?

How could she believe that he would still want her tomorrow? How would she survive it if he didn’t?

He leaned down and pressed his lips against her shoulder, the shadow on this jaw grazing her delicate skin. His hand moved to her waist, sliding down to rest on her derriere. “We need not fight it, darling,” he whispered, his breath waltzing across her, coating her in tingling gooseflesh.

She reached for his shoulder, intent on pushing him away, on telling him they should keep their distance. Instead, she slid her hand up to the back of his neck, dragging him into a kiss.

Colin did not hesitate in ripping his shirt off and rolling on top of her, his hot tongue delving into her mouth. It was as if his hands were everywhere, one sliding up her thigh, pushing her chemise to her waist before tugging it off her altogether. His other hand massaged her breast, thumbing her nipple and sending bolts of energy through her. She arched against him, reveling in the feel of his hard muscles against her soft belly. He moved a hand between her legs and growled against her lips as he dipped a finger inside her. She gasped at the stretch, the slight sting that lingered from yesterday evening. He tried to pull his hand away but she grabbed his wrist, holding him there.

“Do not stop,” she whispered, desperate to ignore the doubts that niggled at the edges of her mind. She could face her heart tomorrow, tonight her body needed him.

Colin kissed her fiercely, his hand returning to her quim, his thumb playing with her pearl. She moaned beneath him, sliding her fingers through his chest hair, down his stomach which hitched at her touch, until she reached under his drawers for his manhood. He stilled above her, dragging his lips from hers. “You do not need to–”

“I want to, I– would you mind?” she asked.

He smiled at her, and she wondered if he might be laughing at her politeness when they were in such a moment. “I promise you, my love, I will never mind.”

Tentatively she wrapped her hand around him, and Colin sucked in a sharp breath, dropping his head. “Am I hurting you?” she asked, jerking her hand away from him.

“No!” he gasped. “Quite the opposite.” His voice sounded strained, and she felt a surge of pride warm her.

She returned her hand to him, surprised at how hot and hard he felt, yet like silk. Colin placed his hand over hers, guiding her up and down his shaft, applying more pressure.

He grunted. “Like that.”

He removed his hand, returning it to her quim and she moaned as he placed another finger inside her. She shoved his drawers down before returning her attentions to his manhood, dragging her thumb over the tip where some liquid had gathered. Colin rutted in her grasp, and she spread her legs further, guiding him to her entrance.

He looked down at her, his brows furrowed. “You’re not ready.”

“I need you,” she replied, wrapping her thighs around his waist. She could feel her cunny pulsing for him, all but begging to be filled by him. “Please.”

He dropped his forehead against hers, their breath intermingling. “Forgive me,” he whispered before sinking into her.

She moaned, her voice ragged at the feel of him stretching and filling her. She was sore from last night, but hot pleasure overwhelmed that feeling as he pulled away before driving back into her. She threaded her hands through his hair, pulling him down for a kiss. He sucked on her tongue, before dragging her lower lip between his teeth; she gasped at the sting.

He took her harder than the night before, their skin slapping together as he thrust into her. He delved a hand between them, rubbing at her pearl with desperation. She could see his neck straining, his muscles rippling as he continued to drive into her. She felt a rag doll beneath him, a babbling, writhing, desperate rag doll.

Waves of heated pleasure rushed through her, she keened beneath him as he ran his fingers through her hair, tugging on her locks. She had never thought such pain could cause such pleasure—she cried out and he tugged harder, wrapping her hair around his hand. She pleaded with him to keep going, to never stop, to push her harder, faster towards the edge.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered.

She could do naught but obey, one hand twisting her nipple, the other replacing his at her pearl. Colin’s eyes were glazed over, as he watched her, his jaw clenched. She tried to replicate the way he’d touched her pearl, massaging it, pressing against it. But she wasn’t as adept as him. He must have seen her frustration, as he suddenly pulled away. She whined pathetically in protest, but then his hands were on her hips and he flipped her over.

He pulled her to her knees, her back against his chest, his rough leg hair grazing the backs of her thighs. He held her breast with one hand, the other playing with her pearl. She gasped as she felt him at her entrance again and then he started driving into her from behind. He was wrapped around her, his lips worshipping her neck, sucking at her pulse point as he took her. She felt as if she might explode, every part of her burning and pulsing and sparking.

The bed groaned and creaked beneath them as Colin thrust into her; she cried out as he hit a spot that made her near burst with pleasure. Still he clung to her, his breath hot on her neck, his skin damp against hers. She felt surrounded by him, owned by him.

How could she ever have tried to deny herself such pleasure?

She cried out as she reached her peak, her body jerking against him, her blood turning golden.

She felt him try to pull away from her, but she clung onto his forearm. “Don’t leave me,” she breathed, her voice desperate with yearning.

She couldn’t let him leave yet, she couldn’t feel that awful, empty, cold distance again. Not now. Not when she was still glittering with bliss.

Her pathetic heart wasn’t ready.

He grunted, as he continued to make love to her. “I’m so close, Pen,” he gasped.

“Stay with me,” she whispered, her voice stretched and tearing. “Please.”

“There is a risk.”

“I need you,” she begged with no thought at hiding her feelings for him. It was impossible when he was wrapped around her like this. He might as well have had her heart in his hands.

He bit down on her shoulder when he finally shattered. She felt his seed spill, hot inside her as he shuddered against her, holding her tightly. He placed gentle kisses along her shoulder, soothing her with his tongue. She could feel his heart thundering against her back, their panting breaths matching in rhythm as they came down from their euphoria.

She hummed; a joyous warm heat had melted her mind.

Colin made to pull away from her but she grabbed his forearm again, holding it in place around her waist. “Just a few more moments,” she whispered, not wanting to feel the ice of his departure just yet.

He hugged her tighter against him in response.

She was dozing when she felt him pull away from her, guiding her onto the bed. She felt a damp cloth against her entrance as he cleaned her, then the blanket was pulled over her and he wrapped himself around her from behind. Her heart somersaulted in her chest, all of the walls around it crumbling to sand. She knew tomorrow she must start to rebuild them but, for tonight, she let herself descend peacefully into slumber.

Chapter 14

Chapter Text

It was raining outside, the sound a gentle rush. There was a chill in the air, the fireplace having long gone out, and yet she felt a luxurious sort of warm. Colin’s arm was slung across her waist, their shared blanket cocooning them both. His chest hair was rough and comforting against her back, their breathing slow. The soft grey light of a wet dawn was creeping through the window. The inn creaked and groaned around them as staff and patrons readied themselves for the day.

Penelope snuggled back against Colin, wanting to stay in this moment forever. He let out a quiet grunt and she felt him hard against her bottom. She wiggled against him and this time he groaned; Penelope could not keep the smug smile from her lips. His hand moved to her breast, his lips nuzzling the crook of her neck, and her body tingled in response.

“I could get used to this,” he mumbled against her skin.

She hummed in response. So could she.

He was a tempting vice. Every moment in his arms was at once euphoric and peaceful, as if her body both rejoiced and relished in his presence, the rest of the world, all her worries, fading to nothing.

His hand moved down to stroke through her patch of curls. “I was rather rough with you last night.”

“I enjoyed it,” she replied without thought, her voice husky from sleep.

His chest rumbled against her back as he chuckled. “Minx.”

She ground against his manhood, biting her lip from giggling at his deep groan. He tugged at her thigh, guiding her leg so that it was bent towards the canopy above them. Then he slid his finger through her seam and she whimpered at the sensation.

“Always so ready for me,” he whispered against her neck, sending gooseflesh scattering across her skin.

“I could say the same for you,” she breathed.

His member slid hot between her folds, his fingers playing with her pearl, as her quim pulsed with want.

“Then we are the perfect match, are we not?” he teased before sucking at her pulse point.

Her body arched and he slid his other arm underneath her to cup her breast, holding her in a warm embrace. She felt perfect for him in this moment, as if she were an instrument carefully carved for him, one that he played with ease. She was entirely his, utterly at his mercy.

She wondered if he might grow tired of that, if she should be doing something to him that might make him feel as wondrous.

Her mother had told her to lay still, but she had a feeling that other women in Colin Bridgerton’s bed would be more active partners. Her stomach twisted at that thought, but she scrunched her eyes against it, wanting to stay in this moment that now felt all too delicate. She’d touched his manhood last night, and he’d seemed to enjoy that, perhaps she should–

But her arm was trapped under his, as he massaged her pearl. She could do naught for him but grind against his member. She turned her head, near straining her neck to kiss him. His tongue was hot in her mouth, and he tasted a little sour, of sleep. It was raw, primal, intimate. She melted, her worries once again evaporating as his body slid against hers, his hands pushing her towards her peak.

He entered her and she moaned at the stretch, the surging heat that torched her blood.

“You feel so good,” he groaned. “So tight, my sweet.”

He pulled away so that the tip of him was at her entrance.

She clawed at his forearm, writhing against him. “Please,” she gasped.

“Please what?” he whispered, his hot lips on the shell of her ear.

“More,” she begged. “I need more.”

“More of what, darling?”

She whined, wriggling her bottom towards him. “You know– You tease me.”

His breath danced across her ear, as he idly played with her pearl, his fingers too light. “I am merely asking you what you want, my love.”

Her mind was a heady fog as she blindly grasped for an answer. “You,” she moaned, hoping that would be enough.

“You have me.”

“Colin!” she cried, her voice tearing with frustration. He knew what she wanted.

Still, he did not press into her.

She clawed helplessly at his arm. “I want– I want–”

“Yes?” he drawled, his tone all too smug for her liking.

She shook her head, she knew what he wanted her to say. She couldn’t say it, couldn’t imagine such words falling from her lips. Her cheeks, her chest, her heart was aflame. “Your– your–”

“My co*ck?”

And, oh, but the word raced down her spine. “Colin!” she exclaimed, at once shocked and excited.

“Say it, darling, and it’s all yours.”

She rolled her lips together, trying to cant her hips back towards him – a feeble hope for mercy. But he held her in place.

“Don’t tell me I’ve scandalised my Lady Whistledown into silence?”

“I thought you hated Lady Whistledown?” she whined.

“I find I quite like her in my bed.” He rolled her nipple between his fingers, and she squirmed, lightning bolting through her.

Her desperation took over. “Please, Colin!” she cried. “Your– your co*ck, I– I want– Iwantyourco*ck!”

“That’s my girl,” he growled as he thrust his hips forward, filling her to the brim.

She moaned, her body thrumming with pleasure. Colin’s face was buried in the crook of her neck as he made love to her, his fingers on her pearl. With every surge of his hips he pushed her closer and closer to her pinnacle. She clung to his forearm, her body convulsing as wave after wave of electrified heat rushed through her. Her skin was sparking, her veins alight, the tips of her fingers tingling as her heart thrashed in her chest. Colin held her tightly through it, dragging her to the cliff’s edge, until she was flung, soaring off it.

She cried out his name as she exploded, her pleasure blazing through her.

Colin pulled out of her, thrusting between her thighs, once, twice, before he spilled hot between her legs, a groan shaking through them both.

He rolled her over and she curled into him, her arm across his chest as she rested her head on his shoulder. He idly stroked her hair as they lay there quietly, their breaths slowing.

“Who knew you had such a filthy mouth, Mrs Bridgerton,” he murmured.

She pushed his chest, her head snapping up towards him. “Colin! You– I– I didn’t–”

He shifted on top of her, tickling beneath her ribs and she squealed, giggling and wriggling beneath him.

He laughed and kissed her, his hands sliding up her waist, one tangling in her hair. “I lo–” he cleared his throat and jerked back from her.

She looked up at him in confusion and he cupped her cheek.

“I love–” He paused again, staring at her.

Her eyes widened, her heart leaping into her throat.

His throat bobbed. “I love how passionate you are in bed,” he said softly, before leaning down to kiss her deeply.

She scrunched her eyes shut as he kissed her, willing the burning, prickling feeling to go away.

What had she expected him to say?

She was a fool.

—

“Are you well, Mrs Bridgerton?” asked Jane, as she did up the last of the buttons on Penelope’s dress.

Penelope blinked rapidly, wiping her face and sniffing. “Excuse me, I was just– uh, wool-gathering.”

Jane gave her a doubtful look before dropping her gaze to the vanity. “Would you like a bonnet?”

“No,” she replied, shaking her head, her voice hoarse. “Mr Bridgerton does not like them, and I find I’m in agreeance.”

Jane smiled grimly at her. “Would you like me to travel with you in the carriage today, ma’am?”

Penelope bit her lip, unsure how to respond. She felt as if she were in a game of tug-of-war. Her heart dragged her towards Colin, while her mind begged her to rebuild her defensive fortress. Colin wasn’t helping matters much, either.

He was so tempting, so seductive—every time they shared the same air she felt as if she were losing a battle. All he had to do was look at her, touch her, and she’d crumble before him, ready and willing to do whatever he pleased.

She’d thought he was about to tell her he loved her this morning, what an outrageous fantasy!

Clearly, their new physical intimacy was making a mess of her mind. It was as if she were seventeen again, accepting any crumb of affection as a declaration of his heart. She couldn't bear to feel the fool again, to suffer that humiliation.

But she couldn’t keep avoiding him, he’d made that much clear.

“Might I say something, ma’am?” Jane asked.

Penelope’s cheeks flushed as she’d once again been caught in her own thoughts. “Yes, of course.”

“If you do not, er, enjoy his attentions, you must know that it will fade.”

Penelope’s brow furrowed. “What will fade?”

Jane flushed a deep red, her eyes darting down to her hands as they wrung together. “His er... passion; all men eventually lose interest. In time he will stop making such demands of you so often, it is only that you are newly married. He will tire of you soon.”

Penelope’s heart plummeted to her shoes. “Of course,” she muttered, her throat thickening. “I– of course.”

Jane offered her a strained smile. “I only mean to say, if you are not enjoying it, perhaps you might take some comfort that he will eventually stop pestering you.”

Penelope nodded dumbly at her maid.

Pestering.

She’d hardly call it that.

But Jane’s comments rung true. Had she not thought the same? Penelope knew enough of scandal and ruin to know that passion burned hot but quickly. How many ladies had been caught in a moment with a gentleman, only for him to abandon her to scorn and gossip? Or, perhaps worse, a marriage of resentment.

Passion was not love. Passion was fleeting.

“I’ve said too much,” said Jane. “Forgive me.”

Penelope cleared her throat, avoiding her gaze. “Perhaps you might run downstairs and let Mr Bridgerton know I will be with him shortly?”

Jane ducked her head. “Of course, ma’am.”

Penelope regarded herself in her vanity mirror as Jane made a swift exit. Her eyes were a little red, but otherwise, she didn’t appear as if she had been crying. She could take some comfort in that.

According to Jane, she could also take comfort in Colin tiring of her soon.

She placed a hand on her swirling stomach, feeling as though she might cast up her accounts. What an awful thought. She’d been so desperate to put distance between them that she hadn’t considered what it would be like when he stopped seeking her out.

His attentions would fade.

His desire for her would fade.

She couldn’t imagine what that would be like; she didn’t believe she could ever be in his presence and not want him. It made a certain amount of sense, though; she loved him. Love was a flame not so easily doused. She should know, she’d been trying for years.

She thought of the way he’d surrounded her this morning, the way he’d taken her so fiercely the night before. He had told her she tormented him, that he wanted her. But for how long? How many more moments like that would she have?

How many more moments like that could she have?

He’d told her he loved her passion in bed. Part of her loved it too—she felt bolder, wilder, sometimes even powerful when he looked so desperate for her.

She pressed a finger to the violet mark he’d left behind on her collarbone, it twinged and she felt the thrill of it race through her.

Should she be fighting this? Or should she be enjoying it while she could?

He would tire of her soon.

Chapter 15

Chapter Text

Penelope had just turned in her seat to tell Jane that she needn’t join them in the carriage that day when the carriage door was swung open.

Colin’s face dropped from an easy smile to a scowl as soon as he noticed Jane, embroidery already in her lap. “Out.”

Jane jumped in her seat, glancing at Penelope with wide brown eyes.

“Now!”

“Colin!” exclaimed Penelope, as Jane all but scrambled from the carriage.

He held out a hand and helped her down, his gaze narrowed and still on his wife. “Why the devil was your maid in our carriage again?”

He heaved himself in, slamming the door shut behind him before banging on the rooftop. The carriage jerked forward and swayed as it moved down the country lane away from the inn.

“That was incredibly rude!” Penelope snapped, folding her arms across her waist as she glared at him in the seat opposite her. Poor Jane was probably terrified, and now likely uncomfortable in the second carriage that carried their luggage.

Colin returned her scowl. “What is incredibly rude, dear wife, is your nonsensical need for a chaperone with your own damned husband!”

“I’ll have you know, I was just politely asking Jane to leave when you appeared like a beast,” she replied, her chin tilted up.

That seemed to make him pause, his ears turning red. “Right,” he muttered. “Well, that’s er… My apologies.”

She arched an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. “It is Jane you should be apologising to.”

“I will, at the next stop.”

She nodded, her mouth still set in a thin line. What had come over him? This was not the man who had so reverently made love to her this morning.

He seemed to gather himself though as he raised his eyebrows at her, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Of course, I wouldn’t have had to ask her to leave if I didn’t believe you to be putting distance between us again. So, perhaps it is you who should apologise.”

Her mouth dropped open. “I was not putting distance between us,” she lied, glancing at the carriage door as if searching for an escape.

“I should punish you for lying to me, Mrs Bridgerton.”

Her cheeks flushed. The way he’d said ‘punish’ hadn’t sounded so bad—in fact, it had sounded rather promising. She mentally shook herself, willing the ache between her legs to die down. She truly had turned into a wanton of late.

“I am not putting distance between us,” she repeated, holding his gaze. And that was true, she wasn’t currently putting distance between them. In fact, since her conversation with Jane that morning she was decidedly against it.

“So then you’ll be sharing my bed this evening?”

Her eyes widened a moment before her expression dropped into a glare. He was teasing her, her frustration at which was slightly muted by the flutter in her chest at his obvious flirtation. “We shared a room yesterday evening for my protection, but I’m beginning to believe it is you I need protection from.”

“Oh, darling,” he sighed, shaking his head as he smiled like the devil at her. “Sharing a room with you had nothing to do with your protection and everything to do with your seduction.”

“Colin!” she exclaimed, shocked at this rakish side to him. He’d flirted with her before, but never such as this. Never so outlandishly.

“Careful, sweet, you know how much I adore you crying my name.”

She stared at him in shock, her mouth opening and closing as she searched for her words. Was this what it was to be under the full force of Colin Bridgerton’s charm? She was starting to worry that she might never be able to speak in his presence again; he’d stolen her words from her.

Colin shot her a roguish grin. “Come here,” he said, slapping a hand on his thigh.

Penelope glanced between his hand and his face. She shifted in her seat and Colin leaned back in his own, obviously confident in this belief that he would momentarily have his way with her.

Penelope considered him for a few moments. Jane had confirmed her fears that Colin’s desire for her would eventually fade, so perhaps she should be resisting him, perhaps that might make it hurt less when he stopped flirting with her, seducing her. But, she had a long life ahead of loving her husband in isolation; there was now a larger part of her that was worried she might regret it if she didn’t have the full experience. If she was only going to have such a short period of passion with her husband, she should make the most of it. She had once accepted that her life would be a solitary one, that she would be a spinster, worse, a ruined spinster. She imagined she would have dreamed of moments like this with Colin Bridgerton. Who was she to refuse him now?

Except that, well…

She wanted to be an equal participant in their lovemaking, or, given her lack of experience, somewhat equal.

“No,” she said, rolling her shoulders back. It was time she did this on her own terms.

His shock was clear in his expression, and she felt a little victorious at the sight. Penelope Featherington, Penelope Bridgerton, suddenly had the upper hand.

“No?” he asked, his jaw rolling.

She arched an eyebrow, lifting her nose in the way of a true aristocrat. Still, she played with her gloves, giving away some of her nerves. She thought back on everything they’d done together, on the ways she’d driven him wild for her, she wondered if she could stoke that passion in him now.

She wondered if she could keep him so mad in his desire for her that perhaps its waning might be put off just a little longer.

“You said you like it when I call out your name?” she asked, thinking back on the moments he’d all but demanded it of her; he loved his name on her lips.

Colin furrowed his brows. “Yes?”

She swallowed down her buzzing anxieties. “And you like it when I– when I touch myself?” She forced herself to hold his gaze despite the way it felt as though her cheeks had caught fire.

Colin’s eyes widened and he leaned forward, clearly very interested in her line of questioning. “Very much.”

She bit her lip, her eyes dropping to his lap, which appeared to be tented, before she looked up at him again. “And when I say c-co*ck?”

She closed her eyes briefly, wishing she hadn’t so obviously stumbled. There was still a lot of this world that she was attempting to get used to, but she wanted to throw herself into it. She wanted to be his siren, his seductress. For as long as he would have her.

“Specifically when you say you want my co*ck,” he said, his voice a low husk.

She licked her lips, her heart hammering against her ribcage as she saw his obvious desire for her burning in his eyes. “And when I touch you?” she whispered.

Colin clenched his hands, his throat bobbing. “I’d very much like you to be touching me right now.”

She offered him a shy smile, one that she knew he’d want to devour. She had learned a thing or two since they’d consummated their marriage. As predicted, he made to push out of his seat but she held a hand up. “No.”

Colin fell back into his seat, groaning. “You’re toying with me.”

“You seem to enjoy it so much, I thought I’d try it out,” she said, her voice smug. It was working. He was desperate for her, and she found that to be a rather powerful feeling. It was addictive.

“Enough,” he said, the strain in his voice gave away his fierce need for her. “Come here.”

Feeling an utter vixen, she giggled and shook her head. “I want to discover what else you like,” she said.

“I’d like you in my lap,” he retorted.

She smirked. “You are a true romantic, Mr Bridgerton.”

“And you are a tease, Mrs Bridgerton.”

She regarded him carefully for a moment, wondering how amenable he might be to her next request. “You have had your way with me, have explored every inch of me, I only ask to do the same to you.”

“Is that what you’re asking?” he replied, arrogant satisfaction curving his lips. “You should have said so. I’d be more than happy to oblige.”

“Undo your trousers.”

That certainly wiped the smug grin off his face. She’d have laughed if she wasn’t so terrified at what his response might be.

He stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. It took everything in her power to return his gaze, to not scramble to apologise, to take her words back. She wanted to do this—wanted to live her life knowing that while she had Colin Bridgerton in her bed, or in this case, her carriage, she had made the most of every single moment. Perhaps it would make it hurt more when he inevitably tired of her, but her heart was already a battered bruised thing, what were a few more knocks?

She would survive it. She always did.

“Your trousers, my love,” she said, her stomach flipping as the pet name fell from her lips. She wondered at how blind he must be to her love for him. Was it not clearer than the sun bursting through clouds?

In fairness though, he rather looked like he might combust as he continued to stare at her with wide eyes. She bit her lip, considering. Perhaps she was being too forward? Perhaps he preferred her more submissive? Wasn’t that what every gentleman of the ton expected of their wives?

She wrung her hands together. What if he thought her a harlot? What if he stopped the carriage and tossed her in with the luggage and Jane for the remainder of the journey? How would she even explain that to Jane? How could she ever look at Colin again?

But Colin seemed to shake himself, and then he tugged at the buttons of his trousers, his fingers appearing somewhat clumsy as he did. Momentary relief swept through her lungs and Penelope removed her gloves, placing them next to her. Then, with more courage than she ever believed she possessed, more than she’d ever needed to publish Lady Whistledown, she moved from her seat and fell to her knees before her husband.

“Penelope,” Colin whispered as she slid her bare hands up his thighs, the fabric of his trousers rough, his muscles moving beneath her. The carriage vibrated under her knees, and she wondered if she might have bruises when she was done.

He reached for her shoulders “Pen, you do not need to–”

She ignored him and undid the last of his buttons, his member hot and hard through the thin fabric.

Colin had apparently lost all of his rakish confidence as he stammered above her. “I do not expect you to– I mean, it would not be– I–”

She looked up at him, wrapping her hand around his manhood as she did, pulling it free of his trousers. His mouth was parted, his eyes searching her expression, one hand raking through his hair, while the other remained on her shoulder, clenching.

“I want to taste you,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. She was unsure if that was the way to describe such an act, but he’d said it to her when he’d feasted between her legs. She cleared her throat, attempting to appear more confident than she was. “I want to taste your co*ck.”

She rolled her lips together, as if she could lessen the shock of the word that had just left her lips. Although she couldn’t deny the certain amount of pride that followed having finally said the word without a stammer. His eyes immediately lost their concern, instead replaced with a fervour that near took her breath away.

She was powerful, a seductress.

His seductress.

Colin’s hand moved from her shoulder to caress her cheek, his tongue wetting his lips. “You are my lady, my wife, I would never expect you to do such a thing.”

At once she felt the fool. Her confidence extinguished. She jerked back from his touch, humiliation coiling around her throat. “You do not want me to,” she said, hurt lacing her tone. She had literally fallen to her knees before him and he was rejecting her.

“I certainly did not say that,” he replied, his voice roughened.

She dropped back to rest her bottom on her heels, staring at her hands folded primly in her lap, as if she were in prayer. “I thought you might… enjoy it,” she said, her voice soft against the rumble of the carriage around them. “I would need your, uh, your guidance but I–”

“I have never had it done to me before,” he said, the words rushing from him.

She jerked her gaze up to him in shock. “You haven’t?”

He shook his head, his throat bobbing.

“Is it not… done?”

His cheeks flushed red. “I have, er, heard of it, I have just not… experienced it.”

Penelope pushed herself back onto her knees, steading herself on his thighs as the carriage swayed.

She would be the first to… The only woman to…

“Then we will learn together,” she said, her heart swelling in her chest. What had felt like an utterly debaucherous act now felt… well, oddly special.

She reached for his co*ck again, shuffling closer to him. Colin threaded his fingers through her hair, his other hand cupping her face.

“You’re sure?” he asked.

She’d never been more certain of something in her life. She wanted this experience with him, she wanted to bring him pleasure. So instead of answering him, she leaned forward and kissed the tip of his manhood. Colin gasped, his hand clenching in her hair. She wet her lips, taking his response as a positive sign, before leaning down to slowly lick the length of him, from base to tip. His thighs tensed, and she did it again, careful to make mental note of his reactions.

She remembered what it was like when he kissed her quim, the utter joy that flooded through her when he sucked her pearl. So she did the same, wrapping her lips around his tip and sucking.

Colin groaned. “Christ, Pen, just like that.”

She tried to keep from smiling as she took more of him in his mouth. His hand at her head guiding her up and down as much of his shaft as she could take. She sucked with each pull and he jerked beneath her, cursing. Every filthy word might as well have been poetry to her ears, her husband had come undone, and by her mouth. She slid her hand up and down his member as he’d shown her the night before.

Colin’s hips canted towards her and he hit the back of her throat making her cough, her eyes watering.

“Sorry!” he gasped, as she jerked away.

He looked wild above her, his hair tousled, his lips swollen from where he was biting down on them, his eyes glassy. Her lower belly tugged at the sight, that familiar fire returning to her veins.

He looked on the cusp of madness.

And she wanted to push him over the edge.

Keeping her gaze on him, she lifted her skirts until she could reach her quim. He loved to watch her touch herself.

He swore as she started playing with her pearl, her body pulsing with pleasure. “You will be the end of me,” he growled.

A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips before she returned her mouth to him.

She took in as much of him as she could, bobbing her head up and down his shaft, clumsily playing with her pearl as she did. She moaned around him and he jerked, a wild groan tearing from his chest through the carriage.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Are you enjoying it, darling?”

She hummed in response, sucking harder on him, sliding her hand down his length. She was enjoying every moment, the taste of him, the heat of him, the strength of his hands on her. And yet all the while, it was he who was at her mercy.

He belonged to her in this moment.

She pressed her fingers against her pearl, pleasure flooding her veins.

“Christ, look at you,” he murmured. “You were made for me. Made to suck my co*ck. Look how desperate you are, touching yourself like that.”

She moaned at his praise, felt it like a wave crashing through her body.

She was made for him.

She’d always been made for him. It was time he saw that.

He clenched her hair, the pain shooting like hot lightning through her.

“That’s it darling,” he hissed, throwing his head back. “f*ck.”

His filthy words consumed her—she increased her pace, saliva drooling down his length, her hand sloppily attempting to match her rhythm. Colin jerked towards her, hitting the back of her throat again. She gasped and pulled back, her hand still jerking him.

She made to take him again, but he tugged her hair. “Stop,” he grunted through gritted teeth. “I’m about to spill.”

She raised her eyebrows at him. “I said I wanted to taste you,” she said, her voice hoarse.

He groaned and nodded abruptly.

“Penelope” fell like a prayer from his lips as she claimed him with her mouth again. She swirled her tongue around his tip and sucked. He cried out, his body convulsing as he reached his peak, his seed spilling hot inside her mouth. She tried her best to swallow him down, but she felt him on her chin, warm drips on the swell of her breasts.

He looked down at her in awe, his chest contracting and expanding, before he quickly yanked at his cravat, pulling it off to wipe at her chin and over her heaving breasts. Then he tucked himself away before placing his hands under her armpits, and lifted her to his lap, kissing her. She delved her tongue into his mouth, sharing his primal taste. He groaned, and she felt his hand battling with the fabric of her skirts, attempting to lift them up. She giggled and pulled away from him.

“Did you enjoy it, my love?” she asked, her smug tone giving her away.

“I must return the favour,” he said, dragging clumsily at her dress.

“It was no favour,” she said with a breathy laugh, squirming in his lap already. “I rather liked it, myself.”

He stared at her, his brows drawing together, his hand cupping her face. “I love you.”

She immediately scrambled off his lap to the seat opposite him, her heart in her throat. “Pardon?”

Colin blanched. “I mean– I– what I mean is–”

Her skin was on fire, her stomach somersaulting. “You…”

“When you’re like this!” he exclaimed, clumsily doing up the fall of his trousers. “Your confidence, I, uh, I love it.”

She stared at him. He could not so carelessly play with her heart like this!

Not after… Not after she’d performed such an act. Not because she’d performed it.

How could he be so thoughtless?

Did the words mean so little to him?

Fury bubbled in her stomach, twisting her insides.

“You cannot say such things,” she hissed. “Not when I–” she pressed her lips together, attempting to stop the tidal wave of emotions that threatened to explode from her lips.

“When you what?” he asked, leaning towards her.

“We are friends,” she said.

“We are husband and wife.”

“And it is not a love match. You said so yourself, you do not want a love match.”

He jerked back, as if she’d struck him in the stomach. “I am aware,” he said, his tone colder than before.

She shook her head; he could not play the victim when it was her feelings he was toying with. “Then do not say such things,” she said. She closed her eyes, her throat thickening. “If you love my passion, my confidence then say you love that, do not say you love me.”

For him to say such things when he could not mean them was needlessly cruel, even if he did not know the depth of her feelings.

“Would it be so abhorrent for me to love you,” he murmured.

Her heart clenched. “A week ago you said you could not love again, you said you did not want to love again.” Even if his feelings for her could change, surely they could not do so in a mere matter of days.

“But–”

“You said you wanted a marriage based on friendship, we– we agreed. Do not confuse a moment of– of passion with something that it’s not.”

He regarded her a moment, his hands clenching on his thighs. “Do you regret our marriage?” he asked.

She gaped at him, her mind spinning at his sudden change in topic.

“You also did not marry for love,” he said softly, lifting his shoulders. “Perhaps you could have.”

Penelope scoffed. “You mock me.” Everyone knew that Penelope Featherington, consummate wallflower, would never marry for love. Even Colin Bridgerton knew that.

“You had a suitor,” he said, jutting his chin out. “You cared for him.”

“He is in the past!” she cried, frustrated that they were talking about Debling again. Why did he insist on continuing to throw her past indiscretions in her face? Was it to remind her that he’d saved her? That she owed him?

“He is who you would rather have married!”

“And you would have preferred Marina in my place,” she snapped. “But here we are.”

He jerked back in his seat, her words hanging in the space between them.

“I never loved Lady Crane.”

She wanted to shake him, anger clawing at her ribs, tearing at her voice. “You could not even dream of marrying for love once she broke your heart—you swore off women for a year! Do not attempt to rewrite the past, Mr Bridgerton. I was there!”

“You do not know my heart!” he roared. “You do not know my mind. I never loved her.”

She stared at him, shaking her head. He was lying to her, and for what?

“It was wounded male pride,” he said. “That is all.”

She raised her eyebrows, unconvinced. “So when you see her in Wiltshire…”

“I will feel nothing and I will not seek her out.”

She studied his expression; he seemed honest, or at least he seemed to believe his own words. “I never expected to marry for love,” she said. “I do not need– You must not exaggerate your affections toward me. I know what we are.”

Colin’s throat bobbed. “Your suitor, did you love him?”

She sighed, annoyed that they were still having this conversation. “No.”

“Could you have?” he asked, his voice lowered.

She grimaced. It was the question she’d been asking herself ever since she’d met Lord Debling. Could she love someone who was not Colin?

“I had hoped so,” she said softly, and it was true. She had hoped that eventually with time her heart might have flipped. But as soon as she’d kissed Lord Debling, she’d known the truth of it. “In the end, I couldn't.”

“Because the choice was taken from you,” he said, his voice hollow.

She lifted her shoulders. “It was never a choice.” And it wasn’t. There was never another option for her heart. It was always Colin. She would always belong to Colin.

He leaned forward and reached for her hand across the carriage. “I cannot lie and say I wish things had turned out differently.”

She furrowed her brow. “You cannot mean that.”

He shrugged. “I do. Granted, the circ*mstances were not ideal…”

She couldn’t help but let out a breathy laugh at that. That certainly was an understatement. Although part of her couldn’t help but be a little thankful. Whilst the circ*mstances were indeed not ideal, in all honesty, this was the only way she would ever have wound up married to Colin Bridgerton. And try as she might, she could never regret that.

“I am glad to be married to you, more than glad,” he said.

She was glad that he too appreciated their marriage for what it was. They would always be great friends; not many marriages amongst the ton that could claim that.

Colin drew in a breath and continued, “I apologise if I… If I was overzealous in my affections toward you. I will not do so again.”

She felt the backs of her eyes prickle, a knot forming in her throat. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I…”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

She grimaced. There was a lot she should be sorry for; she was lying to him near constantly by hiding her feelings for him, but it really was for the best. Perhaps there was something to that. “I reacted rather strongly.”

He moved across the carriage and sat beside her, reaching for her cheek and tilting her chin up towards him. “I believe I’ve already told you my feelings for your passionate side,” he murmured.

She couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her lips, the surge of want that returned, that was always there really, humming in the background. “Perhaps you might be rested enough now to satiate your wife’s passion again?”

He smirked. “I am forever your servant, Mrs Bridgerton.”

And then he kissed her fiercely.

Chapter 16

Chapter Text

“We look a mess,” muttered Penelope, attempting to smooth her curls as she and Colin all but stumbled out of their carriage on arrival at My Cottage.

Colin couldn’t keep the wide grin off his face, his cheeks aching from it as he held out his arm for her. “We certainly do.”

Their third and final day of travelling to Wiltshire had flown by in a hazy, heady blur. He would have to tip their driver heavily; Penelope was rarely quiet in her passions.

One might have thought that after a night of little sleep in their shared room, Colin’s ardour for her would have lessened. That had not been the case. He felt more awake than ever, ready to take her straight to their new bedchamber.

The sound of crunching gravel pulled him from his wicked thoughts. He glanced up to see Mr and Mrs Crabtree walking towards them and smiled.

“Mr Bridgerton,” called out the older man, bowing. “It is good to see you again.”

Colin shook his hand, before introducing Penelope to them both, a surge of pride rushing through him as he announced her as his wife.

Mrs Crabtree immediately took to telling Penelope about the area, offering her a tour of the small country home.

“I’m sure Mr Bridgerton will love to take you out to Stonehenge,” he heard Mrs Crabtree say to Penelope, who offered her a shy smile, her cheeks flushing under the attention of a new acquaintance.

“Of course!” he said, wrapping a supportive arm around his wife’s waist. It would take her a day or so to accustom herself to new people. The confident Penelope he knew was a privilege to few.

“I had heard there are some rather lovely gardens at Stourhead?” Penelope said, her voice soft yet steady.

Mr and Mrs Crabtree nodded eagerly. “So you are familiar with Wiltshire, then ma’am?” asked Mr Crabtree.

He felt Penelope tense a moment in his arms before she dipped her head. “I have heard of it in passing.”

Colin pressed his lips together, something niggling at the edges of his mind. He cleared his throat. “It’s been a long journey; perhaps we might be shown to our room?”

“Of course, sir, we will have a maid ready a bath for you both as well.”

“Wonderful!” said Colin, the sun shining warmly on his face as he squeezed Penelope’s waist.

Penelope and he would spend a year here, even longer perhaps. It would be their home. There was a delightful comfort in that.

—

Colin was in heaven. Roses filled his lungs, his body was surrounded by warm water, Penelope’s naked back rested against his chest. He hadn’t hesitated to pull her giggling into the tub with him as soon as the maid had left them. He’d held her and coaxed her to her peak with his fingers, and she was now deliciously languid in his arms. He was hard against her soft bottom, but he made no movements to see to his need, instead relishing in the feel of her perfect fit against him. She hummed as he dragged a bar of soap along her skin, flushed pink from the heat.

He kissed her neck, breathing her in, her curls tickling his cheek. Birds twittered outside, a breeze rustled through trees, but inside it was sweetly quiet. He hadn’t realised just how luxurious the silence of their country home was.

He dipped the soap under the water, gliding it over her belly. “I know you are excited to explore Wiltshire, darling,” he murmured. “But perhaps we might rest a week before we do?”

Penelope hummed. “Yes, I’d like that,” she said. “I am rather hesitant to step foot in a carriage for a few days at least.”

Colin wrapped an arm around her stomach and squeezed. “I have some rather fond memories of that carriage.”

She giggled, the vibration of it absorbing into his chest, surrounding his heart. How he cheered to make her laugh.

“I’m sure there’s some more memories we could make in our new home,” she said, her voice teasing.

He tugged her earlobe between his teeth, making her gasp. “I rather like the sound of that,” he said. “Home.”

She sighed, sinking against him. “Home.”

They lay together for a while, the water cooling. He felt blissful, mindlessly stroking her hair as she dozed against him.

This he could get used to. This calm, this feeling of utter relief. As if he were exactly where he needed to be. It hit him, then, that he’d never quite felt that in his entire life. He’d travelled the continent searching for this feeling, nearly wedded himself to Lady Crane, tried mind-altering tea, written letters at length philosphising and reflecting, and in the end, it had been Penelope all along.

Home was with Penelope.

Of course this feeling was slightly dampened by the fact that she insisted he never share the full extent of his affections towards her.

Theirs was not a love match, she’d been clear on that. She’d practically thrown herself across the carriage at the very idea.

The problem was it was rather difficult to keep his emotions in check. Every time she offered him the smallest of smiles, a sweet sigh, or a wicked quip, he wanted to shout it to the heavens.

He loved her.

How devastating that she refused to let him.

He wasn’t quite sure what to do about it. While he’d thought he might be able to win her affections by seducing her, she continued to keep her walls up. Even when Mrs Crabtree had shown them to their room, he hadn’t missed the way she’d looked about as if desperate to find another bedchamber for herself.

Colin could have been the gentleman and offered her another room – the country home, while fairly small, was no humble dwelling – but he could not bear the thought of separating from her. He knew that if she slept in another room, she’d only put more distance between them. He just wasn’t sure why she wanted that.

Surely if she opened her heart to him, she’d see that they were made for each other? Why was she hiding from him?

The answer was clear. There was really only one answer.

Her suitor, the man who had jilted her.

He sighed, and Penelope stirred against him. He needed to know more about this man. He needed to know who he was being compared to and judged less than by her heart. She’d said she never loved him, that she hadn’t had the chance to, but she had hoped to.

Perhaps there was something Colin was inherently missing to win her heart. And maybe that was something he could change about himself.

“Pen?” he murmured.

She hummed in response.

“Would you tell me about your suitor?”

He felt her tense, the water rippling around her. “Colin, I’m not sure if that’s–”

“I promise I will not tear off in the middle of the night to demand satisfaction.”

She didn’t say anything in response, and he pressed his lips against the crook of her shoulder while he let her think.

“We are friends,” he said. “I should like to know about him. What was he like?”

Penelope audibly swallowed.

“Was he charming?” asked Colin, half tempted to prod her side to get her talking.

She let out a sharp breath and shook her head. “No,” she said. “He was not charming, per se. He was– well, he was a little quiet, like me, I suppose.”

“You’re not quiet,” said Colin.

She turned her head to raise her eyebrows at him.

“Well, perhaps at first,” he acknowledged.

She smiled. “That’s how we met,” she said. “Quietly, on the edges of a ballroom. He was sweet.”

“Sweet,” echoed Colin, straining to keep a neutral expression.

Was sweet better than kind?

Did she like the fact that this man was more reserved?

He supposed he could be a little quieter, perhaps more thoughtful, or less expressive of every emotion he felt. She had in fact asked him to keep his emotions to himself.

“He enjoyed nature and wildlife; he loved to travel.”

Colin tensed at that. He wasn’t sure how he felt about having something in common with him.

“I think you’d have liked him,” she continued.

Colin furrowed his brow. He couldn’t imagine a world in which he liked the man who courted Penelope, kissed her, only to abandon her. “I doubt that.”

She turned in the bath, the water sloshing. Colin’s hands moved to her waist, helping her to straddle him. She combed her hands through his hair, and he closed his eyes, as his scalp tingled. She pressed her lips to his, and he ran his hands up her water-slicked back. She pulled away an inch, her breath dancing across his lips.

“Is there anything else you’d like to know?” she whispered. “Or will you take me to bed?”

“Was he titled?”

Penelope pulled away from him, her hand cupping his jaw. “Why should that matter?”

Colin’s stomach sank. “He was.”

He was a third-born son; he had no title. He could not compete with that.

She reached down between them and stroked his length. He closed his eyes, a wave of warmth rolling through him. “If you will not take me to bed,” she murmured. “Perhaps, I will take you here.”

He gripped her waist, trying to focus his thoughts. “Was he much older than–”

Penelope sank down onto his co*ck and he groaned, all thoughts beyond her wet, tight, heat escaping him. She rolled her hips and they both gasped at the glittering sensation.

“You’re distracting me,” he whispered, as she kissed his neck in a way that sent sparks shooting across his skin.

He felt the vibration of her laughter, then she reached for one of his hands at her waist and brought it to her breast.

He was done for.

He surged forward, capturing her lips in his, thumbing her nipple as he thrust up into her. Water splashed around them, their moans echoing off the tiles. She ground against him as she rolled her hips, her arms thrown around the back of his neck, her breath hot across the shell of his ear.

The tub was slippery and he struggled to gain purchase to take her as he truly wanted to. So he let her take the lead, to take her pleasure from him. He gripped her bottom, guiding her up and down his shaft, his other hand playing with her nipple. She moved to kiss him, her tongue hot as it slid against his, her lips desperate. Her scent of roses flooded his lungs, her slick body sliding luxuriously against his. He could feel himself getting closer to his peak, that warm, heated build.

His mind flashed to her wrapped around some strange, faceless lord, and he gripped her tighter. No man would ever know Penelope as he did. No one else would ever bring these cries from her lips, have their name on her tongue. He twisted her nipple and she cried out, dropping her head back. He immediately brought his lips to the creamy expanse of her neck, marking her. She was his.

She was his, she was his, she was his.

“I’m yours,” she gasped, as she ground against him.

He reached for her jaw, making her look at him. “And I’m yours,” he breathed.

She nodded, her eyes glazed with pleasure, her lip tucked behind her teeth.

“There’s no one else,” he whispered, his breath harsh.

She moaned, her back arching towards him. He reached between them and massaged her cl*t. She cried out, her hands clenching bruises into his shoulders.

“I want to come in you,” he growled, his mind flooding with images of her rounded with his child. The world would know then. She was his.

“Do what you will with me.”

He groaned; she had no idea what she’d just offered him.

He shouldn’t.

He wanted to—he had already. They had risked it once before. But he wanted to take her travelling first, to show her the world. Moreso, he wanted her to be fully his before they started their family.

He wanted her heart, damn it.

He felt her walls clench around him, her body convulsing as she cried out. He pulled her off him and wrapped his hand around his co*ck, only for her to reach for him too. She held his gaze as she dragged her hand up and down his shaft until his org*sm rocked through him, his body exploding into stardust.

He collapsed back against the tub, watching lazily as Penelope stepped out, reaching for a towel. She glanced around, pursing her lips. “We’ve flooded the place.”

Colin chuckled. He couldn’t bring himself to care.

Her cheeks flushed pink. “Mr and Mrs Crabtree will think I’m–”

“A newly married woman,” he supplied with a smirk.

She shot him a playful glare. “We should have gone to bed.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You say so as if I were the one at fault, but I believe it was you who was trying to distract me.”

Penelope flipped her hair over her shoulder. “You did not seem to much mind.”

Colin pushed himself to standing, water streaming down his body. He didn’t miss the appreciative look his wife gave him before she handed him a towel. “Will this be my reward every time I ask about your previous lover?”

“He was not my lover!” she exclaimed.

Colin couldn’t deny the satisfaction that statement gave him. He sauntered towards her, wrapping his towel around his waist. “No, but he wanted to be.”

She frowned at his jest. “You act as if you are jealous.”

He paused. “Should I be?”

“No!” she exclaimed, frustration burning the edges of her voice. “He is in the past, leave him there.”

Something heavy dragged at Colin’s heart. There was plenty more he wanted to ask her about him. Starting with who was the cad, and why had she cared for him?

Why couldn’t she love Colin?

What did she find in him that was so… lacking?

He decided then that he would write to Anthony. His brother would be able to give him all the information he required. There was no need to remind Penelope of past pains.

“Very well, then,” he said. “I believe you were saying something about my taking you to bed?”

She shook her head at him, her lips twisting as she tried to fight a smile. Colin bent down and swept her up into his arms, making her yelp, before he carried her to their bed chamber.

Chapter 17

Chapter Text

Colin flipped the invitation in his hands as he settled behind his desk. The paper was thick, expensive, their names in fashionably looping cursive. He shouldn’t have it, really. Mrs Crabtree should have given it to Penelope as soon as she’d received the mail, but by some miracle Colin had been there when it was delivered and he’d been able to snatch it from their housekeeper.

Yesterday he’d stashed it in his desk drawer, deciding to think on it before he presented it to his wife. He needed to handle the matter carefully, lest he unintentionally hurt her. He knew how sensitive she was when it came to the topic of Lady Crane.

But now the time had come to tell her; if he left it any later the Cranes might be offended by the slowness in their response.

He felt so content though—they’d been at My Cottage for a fortnight, and the time had flown by in a blissful haze. They were both comfortable in their new home, away from the prying and judgmental eyes of Society. Penelope wore her hair down more often than not, and her day dresses were simple and unadorned, pliable under his greedy hands. Her cheeks were always a little flushed, dashed now with freckles from their long walks in the countryside and warm afternoons by the lake.

It was as if they were in a warm, cosy bubble. He could reach for her, flirt with her, make love to her whenever and wherever they liked. The staff had given them an understanding and generously wide berth since their arrival. It felt as though Penelope and Colin were the only two people in England.

He’d even taken her out to Stonehenge one day and marvelled at the way the wind caught her hair and her eyes shined as she gazed in wonder at the ancient, eerie structures. He’d decided then that he would plan a tour for them. He wanted to show her more of the world, to see that look in her eyes again.

The invitation to dinner with the Cranes had been a brutal assault on their bubble. Even if Penelope wasn’t aware yet.

She was currently sitting at the desk Colin had asked be brought into the study for her. He’d had it placed against the window so she could look out at the gardens. And while she was lost in the gardens, he was lost in her. The sun beamed through the window, lighting up her hair in a way that made him long to thread his fingers through it. Her nose was scrunched as she concentrated on the letter she was writing, a sweet little attribute he’d discovered to be her ‘writing face’.

Colin was a man very much enamoured with his wife.

He was glad his siblings weren’t there to tease him about it. Although at this point, he imagined their barbs would barely graze him, so blissful was the soft cocoon of their home.

She bit her lip as her quill paused over her paper, her cheeks turning a pretty rose. Colin narrowed his eyes; he knew that look.

That was his look.

The one she gave him when he whispered something wicked in her ear or when she was gathering the confidence to seduce him. She was imagining something wanton.

Yet she was staring at a letter to another.

He cleared his throat, and her gaze darted up to him, her mouth open as if he’d caught her in the middle of something she shouldn’t have been doing.

This would not do at all.

“Who are you writing to?” he asked, setting the invitation on his desk. He would bring it up later, for this seemed far more pressing.

“No one!” she replied, guilt clear on her face.

Colin raised his eyebrows, attempting to ignore the flare of heated jealousy in his stomach. It wasn’t her suitor. She wouldn’t write to him. There must have been some other explanation. Still, he clenched his fists under the desk.

She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, placing her quill back on its stand. “A friend,” she said, very clearly lying to him.

Colin’s insides twisted. “A friend?” he repeated.

She scrunched the paper up. “It’s all nonsense really, so I won’t be sending it.”

He immediately pushed himself out of his chair and moved around his desk to stand before her, holding his hand out. “Perhaps I might read it and tell you if it’s nonsense.”

Penelope clenched the paper and shook her head, furiously. “No, it’s– er, it’s not for your eyes.”

His blood heated and he took a deep breath. She wasn’t writing to her suitor.

She wasn’t writing to her suitor.

“Penelope,” he said, his voice low in warning.

“It’s silly!” she finally exclaimed.

He folded his arms and stared at her in challenge.

She sighed. “If you must know, it’s not a letter.”

He furrowed his brow in confusion. “Then what is it?”

She wrung her hands together and lifted her shoulders. “A– well, a novel.”

“A novel?”

“I suppose ‘novel’ is quite an over-important word for what it really is at the moment, which is something silly. Something that would be much more suited to a wastebasket than a book.”

“I doubt that very much,” he said, smiling as his shoulders relaxed. “May I read it?”

She bit her lip before uncrumpling the paper in her hands and handing it over to him. “It is only a first draft,” she said. “I just had a thought about the lake and well...”

He walked away from her, moving to sit behind his desk, as he read her words. He could feel her eyes on him as he did. It was a simple little passage, yet vivid: he could taste the air in the woods she wrote of, could smell the pine, could feel the chill on his skin. A woman was walking a familiar path, one she walked every day, except today she’d stumbled upon a man bathing in a lake.

That was where she’d trailed off.

Colin raised his eyebrows, remembering the way she’d flushed as she wrote.

“It’s a romance,” he said.

Penelope rushed to stand by his desk, nodding. “Yes, well, at least I think it will be. I’m not sure…”

He looked up at her; her eyes were shining with nerves. “It’s very good.”

She ducked her head at his words. “It’s not, but thank you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were writing a novel?”

She traced the brass inlay that bordered his desk with her fingertip. “It was just something I wrote today.”

“I think it’s marvellous.”

She looked up at him. “You do?”

“Yes, I–”

“I just thought after Lady Whistledown, well, I do love writing and I wanted to try my hand at something else. And then I thought of your letters and...”

Colin tilted his head to the side, unsure what his letters had to do with a novel. “My letters?”

She nodded eagerly. “Whenever I read them, it was as if I were magically transported somewhere else. Like I was on the journey with you; it was as good as any novel I'd ever read. And I thought, well, perhaps I might try to do that as well.”

His mind whirled, his heart in his ears. “You think that way about my letters?”

“I love your letters,” she said, before dropping her gaze from his again. “I always– well, I always thought you should consider turning them into a book.”

“But everyone hates my letters,” he replied without thought. And it was true; his family barely wrote back to him, and when they did they often would make a teasing aside at his overly descriptive words costing them a pretty penny on delivery.

Penelope smiled at him, her eyes bright and earnest. So earnest he couldn’t help but believe her, just a little.

Good god, did he want to tell her he loved her.

“I think with a few edits, you could certainly–” she cut herself off, as her eyes caught on the invitation on his desk. “Colin, what’s this?”

His heart dropped. He wanted to smack himself; he should have put it back in his drawer.

She picked the invitation up. “It’s from the– When did we receive this?”

Colin grimaced. “Yesterday.”

Her expression went blank, as if she were suddenly wearing a mask. “When were you going to tell me?”

“Today!” he blurted. “I swear it. I was just waiting for the right moment…” He trailed off and grimaced at how limp the words sounded on his lips.

He could almost see her walls forming as she glanced from him to the invitation and back.

“We can decline their invitation,” he rushed to say, desperate to put their happy bubble back in place, to pretend that reality hadn’t smashed it to smithereens. “I should have declined it straight away, I just–”

“I understand,” she said, her voice hollow. “You would like to go.”

He heaved a sigh, raking a hand through his hair. He’d bungled this. “I think it might be good for you to see Marina.”

Her eyes snapped up at him and he mentally cursed himself for being so casual in his reference.

“Lady Crane, I think it would be perhaps beneficial for you to see her again. To see that she is content in her situation, to meet her children.”

She flipped the invitation in her hands.

“And Sir Crane is an affable sort of fellow, I think you’d like him.”

“You said we wouldn’t need to see them,” she replied, her voice trembling. “You said you wouldn’t want to seek her out.”

Colin’s entire being curled inwards. He had said that, and he’d meant it at the time, but he genuinely did believe that if Penelope met Lady Crane again, she’d see that she should harbour no further guilt about her situation. It would be good for her. “I know, but–”

She spun on her heel and strode back to her desk, reaching for her quill.

“What are you doing?”

“Accepting their invitation.”

Her posture was stiff, her expression like stone as she wrote out a reply.

“Pen, we needn’t–”

She stood abruptly, her chair scraping on the floorboards. “I’ll be sure Mrs Crabtree sends this off today.”

He didn’t miss the catch in her voice. “Penelope, stop,” he said, striding over to her.

She made to push past him, to make her escape through the study door, but he placed a hand on her wrist, holding her still.

“We will decline the invitation. If you do not want to go, we will not go.”

“But you do!” she snapped. “You want to go.”

He cupped her cheek, angling her chin to look up at him. “For you,” he said. Everything he did was for her – if only he could say it without sounding an utterly besotted fool.

She shook her head. “I’m not sure if I can just sit there and see you with– with her.”

Colin furrowed his brow, a tiny bloom of hope forming in his chest. “You almost sound jealous, darling.”

She tried to pull away again but he held her by the waist. She kept her gaze on his chest. “You are my husband,” she muttered. “I wouldn’t want to see you uncomfortable.”

Hope swelled, and he tried to keep the smile from his lips. She was jealous. He knew he shouldn’t feel happy about that, for jealousy was an uncomfortable feeling. One he was very familiar with by now. But if she was begrudging of his past with Marina, perhaps that meant he was slowly weaving his way into her heart.

He gently stroked her hair behind her ear. “I feel nothing for her,” he whispered. “I want to go because I think it would do you some good. That is all. Lady Crane is of no consequence to me.”

She closed her eyes, a tear escaping, running down her cheek. He cursed softly and kissed her cheek, the salt tearing at his heart.

“I should have declined their invitation, forgive me.”

She shook her head. “No,” she said. “We should go. If it does not affect you, then it shan’t affect me. It will be good for me to see– to see her.”

Colin kissed her lips. “All will be well, Pen,” he promised, pulling her into an embrace.

He felt her nod against his chest, her arms hesitantly wrapping around him. He nuzzled her hair, smoothing his hand down her back in soothing strokes. He hated that he’d unintentionally upset her, but he also couldn’t deny the way his heart was hammering in his chest.

Jealousy was an irrational feeling, not born of logic.

Jealousy was an emotion of the heart.

Chapter 18

Chapter Text

Penelope twisted in front of her mirror, running her hands down her waist. She’d chosen a seafoam blue dress for dinner, which glittered under the candlelight. Colin had often remarked he loved her in blue, so she’d picked the dress for him. Although she couldn’t deny that she had Marina in mind. She wanted to make it clear she was a Bridgerton this evening.

Penelope bit her lip, tugging at one of her curls. Her maid had pinned half her hair back with a silver clip, carved to resemble a feather. Her curls hung in loose waves down her shoulders. She knew Colin would appreciate that too.

But now she was starting to wonder if she looked a little… young.

Childish, even.

Marina had always had a certain way about her that made Penelope feel foolish.

Perhaps she should have chosen her emerald dress? Or, Genevieve had sent her a ruby one too. That had felt a little too scandalous, when she’d first laid eyes on it. But maybe it would show Marina how much she’d grown since they last met. Penelope was a woman now, a wife.

Colin’s wife.

For the thousandth time that day her stomach twisted. Marina knew of Penelope’s feelings for Colin. And she knew that Colin did not return them. No dress would protect her from that humiliation.

Still… She strode over to pull the bell for her maid, deciding that maybe the ruby red would be more appropriate.

But she was interrupted by Colin walking into their bedchamber. Her heart skipped at the sight of him. His hair was swept back in handsome waves, his cravat tied to perfection at his throat, his navy blue evening coat stretching across his broad shoulders. He was wearing a seafoam vest, and she marvelled at how his valet knew to match them.

“You look beautiful, darling,” he murmured, his voice a deep rumble that vibrated straight through the marrow of her.

She blushed, smoothing the fabric of her gown. “I had thought maybe I should try the ruby dress.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head and reaching for her waist. “The colour is perfect. Exquisite.”

She bit her lip as the memory of the last time he’d called her exquisite flashed in her mind’s eye – the night he’d shown his passion for her in front of a mirror. From the wicked smile on his lips, he must have been thinking the same thing. He ducked his head and kissed her.

“We should be leaving soon,” he said.

She tensed. “I hadn’t realised the time.”

He squeezed her waist. “Just think, in a few hours it will be over with, and I’ll be making love to you in our bed.”

She swallowed, her nerves tingling beneath her skin. Even the promise of Colin’s passion couldn’t quite distract her. She’d had two days to prepare herself, to practise what she might say to Marina when she saw her again.

She felt almost strangled by how much there was to say, yet how little she wanted to say it.

She at once felt as if she should apologise but also entirely unrepentant. She couldn’t claim that she wished she hadn’t revealed Marina’s secret to the ton; she would do anything for Colin. Even if he didn’t wish it.

Yet, she did regret the pain she had caused. And she knew that if Sir Crane had not come for her that Marina would have been ruined. Penelope had had a taste of that now. She wouldn’t wish it on any woman, especially one with children.

She did want to apologise for that. If she could only do so in a way that wouldn’t reveal she was Lady Whistledown. Granted, Marina likely had her suspicions.

“She is content, Pen,” Colin said softly, drawing her from her thoughts. “And her children are happy. She wants to leave the past in the past. You will see that all is well.”

Penelope forced a smile at him, reaching to straighten his perfectly tied cravat, which certainly didn’t require her attention. Colin had been trying his best to calm her nerves since she’d agreed to attend dinner. Of course he didn’t realise that her nerves went beyond just the Lady Whistledown of it all, although that was more than enough.

She couldn’t bear to see the look of longing that would surely shine in his eyes as soon as he saw Marina.

Despite his claims he'd never loved Marina, he'd certainly felt something for her. Penelope had witnessed his heartbreak first-hand. She’d watched as he’d run away to the Continent, listened as he swore off women, accepted his declaration that he would never marry for love. This evening would be torture for him too. And it would kill her to see it. To see him hurt was one thing, to see him hurt over another woman…

It stole the breath from her lungs.

“Do not fret, sweet,” he said. “I will be by your side all evening.”

She leaned against him, resting her cheek against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. “Promise me we won’t have to see them again after tonight,” she whispered, her voice shaking slightly as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

She closed her eyes as soon as the words left her lips, cold shame twisting around her heart. How selfish of her to make such a demand of him.

“If that is your wish,” he said, his words muffled as he kissed the crown of her head. He slid his hand up and down her back.

“You are too good to me,” she murmured, her throat thickening. She did not deserve such kindness when all she wanted to do was to keep him from Marina. She was utterly selfish.

“Impossible,” he replied.

A knock on their door separated them.

It was Mr Crabtree, offering them a kind smile. “A letter for you, sir,” he said.

Colin strode over and took the letter from him, flipping it in his hands. “It’s from Anthony,” he murmured.

Penelope smiled; Colin so loved to hear from his family. She knew that he missed them. “We can wait if you’d like to read it. It looks rather… long.”

He shook his head, his brow furrowing a moment. “No, I shall read it when we return home.”

—

Romney Hall was an expansive, cold building, despite the candles that lit their way to the drawing room. Portraits of disdainful ancestors watched on as Colin and Penelope followed the footman, Penelope's heart racing, her hands clammy as she heard a familiar voice get closer and closer.

When they finally entered, Penelope's stomach flipped as Marina turned to greet them. She was wearing a midnight blue evening gown, her hair pulled up in an intricate style, dotted with sparkling gems.

Marina looked devastatingly beautiful in blue.

Penelope couldn’t help but glance up at Colin to see his reaction, but he seemed to be distracted by amiably greeting Sir Phillip Crane, Marina’s husband.

Penelope forced herself to keep her hands at her side, to not fidget as Marina and her husband greeted her.

“You are the first to arrive,” said Sir Crane, as the footman handed them glasses of champagne. He and Colin immediately started discussing the local area and their recent visit to Stonehenge. Penelope tried her best to pay attention, to add her thoughts to the conversation, but she could feel Marina’s eyes on her.

Eventually, she took a breath, a quick sip of champagne and turned to face her. “Are you well, Lady Crane?” she asked.

Marina raised her eyebrows, glancing from Penelope to Colin. “Not as well as you, Mrs Bridgerton."

Penelope flushed. “Yes, well, we er–”

“We are enjoying life as newlyweds,” said Colin, placing a warm hand on the small of Penelope's back.

She looked up at him, offering him a grateful smile but his eyes were on Marina, as if challenging her to say something else.

“As well you should!” said Sir Crane, his tone a little brittle.

“Was it a long courtship, then, Penelope?” asked Marina.

Colin’s hand tensed on Penelope’s back. “Some might say it was years in the making,” he said.

Penelope’s cheeks heated, her stomach roiling. His lie was so blatant, and to the one person who knew the truth of his feelings for Penelope, the truth of her feelings. Humiliation burned through her. She wanted to flee the room, to go home. She should never have accepted the dinner invitation.

Marina’s eyes were cold as she assessed Colin, and then Penelope. “I am glad you finally came to your senses, Mr Bridgerton,” she finally said.

Colin’s ears burned red and Penelope shifted closer to him. “You have a lovely home,” she said, hoping to change the topic. It was clear Colin was uncomfortable with the conversation, as was Penelope.

Marina lifted her shoulders, the smile on her lips not quite reaching her eyes. “My husband takes great care in the gardens.”

Penelope glanced toward Sir Crane; he did not seem to take Marina’s comment as a compliment, his mouth tilting down into a frown.

Penelope cleared her throat. Colin had said that Marina was content, but she could not sense much warmth between her and her husband. “And your children, they are well?” Penelope asked.

Marina nodded, taking a sip from her glass. “Quite.”

Penelope was saved from having to think of another insipid question by the footman announcing the arrival of the Bexleys, an older couple who lived on an estate north of Romney Hall, and Lady Stilwell, an ageing widow with startlingly pale eyes. Penelope was thankful for their arrival. Mrs Bexley was a chatty woman who drove much of the conversation and seemed intent on impressing Lady Stilwell, allowing Penelope to fall back into the comfort of the periphery.

She quietly sipped on her champagne, answering the odd question that Mrs Bexley deigned to throw her way. Colin remained by her side, despite the odd looks from the other gentlemen who clearly expected him to join them in conversation.

At one point, during one of Mrs Bexley’s soliloquies on the local shortage of silk ribbons, Marina shot Penelope a knowing, almost laughing smile. And Penelope finally let herself relax. Colin was right, it was good that she saw Marina was doing well, even if she didn’t appear entirely enthused by her circ*mstances. Sir Crane seemed gentle and gracious, and their home was comfortable. It alleviated any guilt she might have held. All she had to do was get through dinner, and then she’d be back in their bedchamber with her husband. She couldn’t help but flush at Colin’s earlier promise to make love to her.

Penelope smiled up at him, and it must have been clear on her face what she was thinking, as he shot her a wink that made her stomach flutter, his hand returning to her back.

“Ah,” said Marina, pulling Penelope back into the room. “Our final guest has arrived.”

Penelope mindlessly glanced over at the door to the drawing room and her stomach dropped. All conversation seemed to mute around her, replaced by the thumping of her heart in her ears. She was vaguely aware of Colin removing his hand from her back to greet the gentleman who had just entered.

A gentleman Penelope was well acquainted with.

He was just as she’d remembered—tall, as tall as Colin. His blonde hair was neatly swept back, his beard trimmed.

His smile sweet, if shy.

“Lord Debling,” said Marina. “Welcome.”

Chapter 19

Chapter Text

Penelope didn’t miss the flicker of surprise in Lord Debling’s eyes when she was introduced to him as Mrs Penelope Bridgerton. With all her might, she tried to keep her own expression blank, even as her heart raced.

“Mrs Bridgerton and I are acquainted,” said Debling in response to Marina, offering Penelope a tight smile as she gave him a feeble curtsy. “I was briefly in London for the Season. Although, you were not married then. Much has changed, I see.”

She swallowed, twisting her hands together as she nodded her acknowledgment. “It is good to see you again, Lord Debling,” she said, her voice unnaturally high.

She felt Colin’s curious gaze but refused to meet his eyes in case he saw the truth of the situation.

She would tell him, just not here, not now.

They had to get through dinner first, and then she’d explain everything.

A dark part of her wondered if somehow Marina had known, if she’d set this up. But Marina seemed outwardly surprised at their acquaintance. Fortunately, Sir Crane immediately started questioning Lord Debling on his estate’s crop output, and Penelope was able to let herself be pulled back into conversation with Mrs Bexley, Marina and Lady Stilwell. Colin, however, was no longer by her side; instead he was cornered by Mr Bexley who wanted to discuss a local hunt. He shot Penelope a beleaguered look, and she couldn’t help but smile, despite the nerves itching across her skin.

She tried her best to focus on her conversation, but she felt every one of Lord Debling’s fervent glances.

It was going to be a long night.

—

Colin proffered his arm to Penelope as they were led toward the dining room. He dipped his head so that he could whisper in her ear. “Do not fret, darling,” he said. “I’m sure Lord Debling will not speak of what happened in London.”

Penelope’s eyes widened, her stomach flipping. “Of London?” she blurted, her mind racing. How could Colin know?

He gave her a grim smile. “Debling will not speak of your scandal,” he said. “He wouldn’t dare to. I can talk to him after dinner and make sure he stays silent on the matter. I will not allow salacious gossip to upset our new lives here.”

Penelope let out a breath; he thought Lord Debling might spread rumours about her ruin. Colin still didn’t know. But she couldn’t have Colin pull Debling aside later—what if Debling told him the truth of the matter? Colin was so protective of her, she didn’t know what he would do if he knew he was facing the man who was involved in her ruin.

“That won’t be necessary,” she said, attempting to keep her voice steady. “He left before the scandal happened. He won’t know of it.”

Colin furrowed his brow. “You’re sure? You seemed out of sorts when he arrived.”

Penelope pressed her lips together, silently cursing her husband’s observational skills. “I was only shocked to see a familiar face, it was nothing.”

She was saved from any further questions by the footman seating them. Penelope nearly groaned aloud when she saw the arrangements. Marina was at the head of the table, with Colin and Mr Bexley on either side of her. While Penelope was at the other end of the table, seated beside Sir Crane at the head, and to her other side, Lord Debling.

While it was perfectly normal for couples to be seated separately at dinner, she had somehow held onto Colin’s promise earlier that evening that he wouldn’t leave her side. Not that he had any control of the seating arrangements. She sighed; her feelings on the matter might not be entirely rational.

But in her defence, she certainly hadn’t expected to be seated beside Lord Debling, the man she wanted to avoid most in the world. Her despair must have been apparent on her face, as Colin squeezed her hand.

“You are stronger and braver than you know, darling,” he said under his breath. “Never forget you had the entirety of London wrapped around that pretty little finger of yours.”

Penelope’s heart skipped a beat at his kind words. She wished it wouldn’t be entirely inappropriate to kiss him right now; instead she settled with squeezing his hand in return.

Colin, for his part, ignored propriety and cupped her cheek. “We will have much to discuss this evening when we return home, I’m sure.”

Penelope’s brows drew together in confusion.

He smirked. “I look forward to hearing Lady Whistledown’s version of events, straight from the horse’s mouth.”

Penelope let out a gasp of a laugh, glancing around to see if anyone had heard his whispered words, but no one seemed to have paid them any mind. No one except Lord Debling, who was watching them from where he was already seated at the table. Penelope flushed, feeling a twisted sort of shame at so flagrantly displaying her affections for her husband.

“We should be seated,” she said to Colin.

Colin reached for her gloved hand and kissed it, holding her gaze as he did. Her breath stuttered at the burning promise in his eyes. They would be home and in bed soon.

She watched with no small amount of longing as Colin seated himself beside Marina. It was only when the footman quietly cleared his throat that Penelope realised he’d been waiting for her to take her own seat. So, cheeks flushing, Penelope quickly settled herself into the mahogany chair beside Lord Debling, cringing as it creaked with her movements.

The dining table was set immaculately, candles dotted down the centre along with beautifully arranged flowers. The footman filled her glass with champagne and she took a sip, appreciating the immediate warmth that filled her chest.

She was overtly aware of Lord Debling as he shifted in the seat beside her. She breathed in his scent of tobacco and herbs and was flooded with memories of his cold lips, his prickling beard, and his unsure hands.

He had been nothing like Colin.

Once again that twisted, heated guilt jolted through her at such an unkind thought, and she quickly reached for her champagne again, the liquid sloshing with her urgent movements.

She heard Marina laugh at the end of the table, too loudly in Penelope’s opinion, at a jest made by Colin. Her suspicion that Marina might have known what happened with Debling started to fester. But, again, when she regarded Marina, she seemed unconcerned, offering Penelope a polite smile before turning back to Colin.

Debling cleared his throat. “Mrs Bridgerton, you are… well?” he asked, his voice barely audible above the Bexley’s chatter around them.

“Quite,” Penelope replied, glancing over at Colin. Her stomach roiled at the sight of Marina leaning towards him, a gentle smile on her lips. Colin, for his part, seemed disinterested, turning to engage Lady Stilwell in conversation.

“And your family?” asked Debling.

Penelope narrowed her eyes at Marina, who now seemed to be far too interested in making sure Colin’s plate was filled by the footman. The lady of the house was supposed to be a good host, Penelope knew that, but did she have to be so… doting?

And on Penelope’s husband?

“Penelope?” prodded Debling.

Her eyes widened at his familiarity, and she all but whirled in her seat to face Debling. “What did you just–”

“Miss Feath– Mrs Bridgerton, I mean,” stammered Debling, and they both fervently glanced about the table. Fortunately, nobody seemed to have heard him.

“You musn’t call me that,” she hissed.

He nodded, his ears burning. “My apologies, I– It was a slip of the tongue. Forgive me.”

Penelope drank more of her champagne, the bubbles making her feel a little hazy. She forced a smile at him. She shouldn’t have told him off, so. He knew it was inappropriate, and he had always been an honourable gentleman. She could not believe his familiarity had been intentional—it was not so long ago he’d asked her to call him by his given name and she the same. Besides, it was not Debling’s fault this entire evening was so uncomfortable.

It was Marina’s fault, even if Penelope could not prove it. She was sure of it.

Debling had always been amiable with her, and there was no reason she shouldn’t attempt to make amends. Marina’s meddling be damned.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You were asking me…”

“Your family,” he replied, a relieved smile quirking at the corners of his lips. “They are well?”

“They’re well,” she said. “And– and your family?”

“Yes, they’re erm, well too.”

Penelope felt as if her mind were made of mush as she searched for something else to ask him. While she had always appreciated Debling’s quiet nature, they had never truly struggled for conversation. But now there was just so much to say, and none of it appropriate for the dinner table.

They both stared at their plates as the footmen served them turtle soup.

Turtle soup.

Penelope spoke before she could stop herself. “Lord Debling is a vegetarian.”

The entire table went silent.

“Pardon?” asked Marina.

Penelope’s cheeks burned with guilt as she glanced helplessly between Colin, who looked a mixture of surprised and confused, and Debling, who looked slightly aghast.

“I, uh, just– erm– you see–” she shut her mouth, closing her eyes briefly to gather herself. She’d given everything away. Surely, Colin would realise and–

“You read Lady Whistledown, I see, Miss– Mrs Bridgerton,” said Debling.

Penelope’s eyes widened. “Oh– I–”

“Lady Whistledown thought my eating habits rather odd and took it upon herself to announce it to the ton,” said Debling to the rest of the table, a put upon look on his face.

Penelope was speechless. Debling was lying for her. She certainly had never reported such a thing in Lady Whistledown, as interesting as it had been. The ton had already had a lot to say about Debling, and she hadn’t wanted to add to it. Not when it was something he took such pride in.

Debling tapped his hand against the back of Penelope’s under the table, and he raised his eyebrows at her.

She startled at his inappropriate touch, before remembering herself. He was urging her to confirm his story. She quickly nodded, clearing her throat. “Yes, I must have– I must have read it in Lady Whistledown.”

She felt Colin’s eyes on her and offered him a small smile, but his brow was furrowed in concern.

“My apologies, Lord Debling,” said Marina. “I personally could never bring myself to read that rag again so I was not made aware of your… tastes.”

Marina’s jab near stole the breath from Penelope’s lungs. She could feel Colin’s eyes on her but couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. She couldn’t bear to witness the return of past pains in his eyes.

The entire table sat in silence as they watched the footman serve Lord Debling asparagus and peas. Penelope couldn’t help but think the vegetables looked rather sad and limp.

“So, how long were you in London, Lord Debling?” asked Marina, a smile that did not quite meet her eyes straining across her cheeks.

Penelope’s heart leapt into her throat and she felt Debling stiffen beside her. The last thing Penelope needed was the focus of the conversation to be on Lord Debling’s time in London.

“Only a month or so,” replied Debling.

Penelope let out a breath at his succinct response but her relief was short.

“Such little time!” exclaimed Mrs Bexley. “Did you not find London to be diverting?”

Debling reached for his wine and took a long sip before responding, his forehead shining under the candlelight. “I tired of it quickly.”

“I’m sure the matchmaking mamas were sad to see you go,” drawled Lady Stilwell.

Everyone except Penelope and Debling laughed.

“Do you intend to marry soon?” asked Mrs Bexley.

Penelope nearly choked on her drink. She was reminded of her mother at the impertinent question. She desperately looked to Colin, hoping he might change the topic, but he was looking with interest between herself and Debling, as if he were attempting to solve a puzzle.

Debling audibly swallowed. “I had hoped to marry, but it was not meant to be.”

Penelope forced herself to take a mouthful of her turtle soup in an attempt to appear unconcerned. The soup might as well have tasted like cotton.

“I would have thought a Baron to be popular amongst the ton,” said Marina. “Penelope?”

Penelope jolted in her seat; she could almost feel the scorching burn of Marina’s gaze on her. “Yes?”

She raised her eyebrows. “You were acquainted with Lord Debling in London. Was he not swarmed by debutantes?”

Penelope glanced at Colin, who, despite his obvious concern, smiled encouragingly at her. She wanted to crawl under the table and hide.

“Penelope?” prodded Marina.

She cleared her throat. “Yes, he was– Lord Debling was popular,” she said, her voice a little hoarse.

“All this marriage talk is rather dull,” said Sir Crane. Penelope did not miss the glare Marina sent his way.

“Agreed,” said Mr Bexley, “Let us not pressure the poor fellow, far be it for me to push the man towards the gallows.”

An awkward titter spread across the table and everyone returned to their conversations.

Debling leaned toward Penelope, lowering his voice. “Might we have a word after dinner?”

She glanced over at Colin but he was in conversation with Marina. Oblivious to his wife.

“I’m not sure if that would be appropriate,” Penelope replied under her breath, her hand clenching around her spoon as she watched Marina titter at something Colin said.

“I would only need a few moments of your time.”

Penelope dragged her focus from Marina and searched Debling’s expression. He was the same earnest, sweet man she remembered. Not a hair out of place, his beard perfectly groomed, his blue eyes crinkled at the corners.

In another life, he would have made a wonderful husband.

They hadn’t had a chance to talk after everything that had happened. She imagined he was shocked, and perhaps hurt, at his discovery of her marriage to Colin. Guilt once again tugged at her heart.

She owed him an explanation.

“After dinner,” he said, apparently noting her wilting resolve. “There’s a terrace just off the billiards room. I shall meet you there.”

Penelope swallowed and looked to Colin again. He was now devouring his soup as Marina chatted away at him. She’d never known Marina to be so lively.

“Please, Penelope, ” whispered Debling, his hand brushing against the back of hers beneath the table again.

Penelope jerked at his touch, accidentally knocking the table as she did. Her cutlery clattered loudly, and she barely managed to catch her champagne glass before it fell over. Once again the entire table quietened and stared at her.

“Apologies,” she muttered, cringing as she pushed an errant curl behind her ear. She might as well have been ablaze, the way her skin was flushing.

Colin looked very concerned now, his mouth opened as if to say something. Penelope tried to relax her expression, to not so obviously appear as though she were sitting next to the man who ruined her, that he hadn’t just inappropriately touched her hand under the table for the second time this evening.

Luckily, Mrs Bexley took it upon herself to continue with her declaration that the fashions coming out of Paris were both scandalous and tawdry.

Penelope offered Colin a grim smile and lifted her shoulders before turning back to Debling. She lowered her voice as she spoke, “My lord, you should not–”

“There’s much I wish to say,” he said, his words rushing out of him. “Much I should like to apologise for.”

Penelope’s heart hammered against her ribcage, her stomach swirling. He looked so utterly wounded, and yet so filled with shame. She knew that feeling well. Yet he had nothing to apologise for. He should know that.

She should make sure he knew that.

She folded her hands in her lap, resolved. She had to make things right. “I would only be able to sneak away for a few moments,” she said. “If anyone saw us…”

She’d said ‘anyone’ but she meant Colin. She was a married woman, to be alone with a gentleman was not so scandalous anymore. Yet she knew that Colin would not be happy to find her with Debling—she couldn’t imagine the conclusions he might draw.

“No one will,” he replied. “I promise you, it won’t take long. I wouldn’t do anything to put you in a compromising position.”

They both looked away from each other at that, fidgeting in their seats. Debling had of course compromised her before, but she had been party to that and it had been entirely unintentional.

Her eyes darted to Colin again and he winked at her. She returned his smile, her lips stretching across her teeth.

It would only be a few moments.

She would explain everything to Debling, hear him out, and then she’d return to the drawing room to enjoy tea with the other women. She would tell Colin everything as soon as they were home.

“After dinner,” she whispered, ignoring the icy dread coiling in her stomach.

“Thank you.”

She heard Marina laugh at a jest made by Colin, and Penelope placed her spoon down, finding she no longer had an appetite.

Chapter 20

Chapter Text

The stone balustrade was cool to touch and the evening air chilled her cheeks. Penelope wrung her gloved hands together, trying to at once soothe her nerves and warm herself. The grounds seemed almost otherworldly in their serenity, the full moon painting them silver, an owl softly hooting in the distance. They were in complete contrast to her internal world, which may as well have been alight with her near blazing anxieties.

As soon as she’d claimed she needed to freshen up and left the ladies enjoying tea after dinner in the drawing room, Penelope had known she shouldn’t have. She should have stayed. She should definitely not have snuck out onto the terrace to meet the man who ruined her.

Colin would be outraged if he knew.

But she owed it to Debling. He had been blindsided by her marriage and by her sudden appearance in Wiltshire, of all places. She had to explain herself—she couldn’t just let him hurt needlessly. She remembered the look in his eyes the last time she’d seen him, the raw pain that had shone in them.

He was a sweet, gentle man. He was the first man to ever see her as a lady, the first to call her ‘beautiful’, even if she may not have believed him at the time. He was the first to see her as someone to be courted.

He was the only man to court her.

And what a courtship it had been.

Penelope had started the Season intent on finding a husband, on making the practical choice for her future. Colin did not love her, she’d lost Eloise, and, unless she wanted to spend her life a spinster caring for her mother, she needed a way out of her family home. So, she’d done the only thing she could think to do: she had Genevieve completely change her wardrobe.

Yet even with a wardrobe filled with new dresses and hairstyles that weren’t so… curly, she failed to attract a suitor.

The problem was with her; she could not speak.

She’d found herself, once again, firmly planted on the wall. It had been a devastating blow. She had almost resolved herself to running away with all her Whistledown earnings when Debling had appeared, as if by magic.

He’d been patient with her, smiling kindly as she stumbled in her attempts to converse with him. He loved animals, she later learned. She often wondered if he saw her as one of his injured rescues.

He’d started slowly, making passing comments to her at the edges of balls, asking after her health. Eventually, it was as if he unfurled her layers one by one. They spoke of her favourite books, his decision to never eat meat again after attending a particularly trying hunt, and her love of writing. He seemed interested in the things she had to say, even laughed at her jests. Although he never quite caught on to her puns.

After a while, it was… easy.

She’d never felt at such ease with a gentleman before—aside from Colin.

When he’d asked her to dance at the third ball of the season, Penelope had felt a rush of fluttering elation. Her heart had beat so loudly in her ears she’d barely been able to hear the music. Lord Debling had guided her expertly through the quadrille, and then later a waltz.

The waltz had made it official; he was courting her.

Debling called upon her home almost daily, they promenaded along the Serpentine, and he even bought her flowers. Penelope had never received flowers before. Every experience she had with Debling was new.

Portia Featherington had been beside herself. Not once in her life had Penelope felt the warmth of her mother’s pride. It had been a near addictive feeling, to suddenly be heaped with praise she’d so rarely been given as a child. All eyes were on Penelope for the first time in her life, and all eyes expected her to make the right decision.

If only there wasn’t that ever present undercurrent of nerves in their every interaction. If only she could stop dreaming of Colin Bridgerton. If only Colin had stopped writing to her.

Debling was the practical choice. It wasn’t even a choice.

Colin would never court Penelope Featherington, let alone marry her.

Debling was kind, intelligent, and intent on finding a wife.

He was the perfect solution.

Colin was her past; Debling was her future.

Penelope had just about readied herself to accept his proposal, to accept a loveless, if amicable marriage, until he… well, he made it impossible.

They’d just danced the waltz at the Trowbridge ball. Penelope could barely keep the smile off her face, her cheeks aching. She so loved to dance, and she thought herself rather accomplished at it. The evening felt akin to a fairytale, the full moon shining brightly on the grounds outside. Inside candles appeared to be floating above their heads, flowers perfumed the air with roses, and the sounds of strings and chattering vibrated around her.

Her skin was flushed and damp from her exertions – Debling had asked her to dance three times. It was against all propriety, but Portia was delighted. He would be proposing soon. Perhaps even tomorrow.

Penelope ignored the way her stomach flipped at the thought, shoving down thoughts of kind blue eyes and dark hair.

Colin was her past, Debling was her future.

“Would you like a refreshment?” asked Debling, polite and thoughtful as ever.

Penelope smiled and nodded, accepting his proffered arm as he took her to the refreshments table.

She could feel the envious gazes of other debutantes as they passed. Debling might be considered a little odd, with his love of animals and his strange diet, but he was still a handsome baron.

And he’d chosen Penelope Featherington.

She tried to listen out for whispered words and asides, as they walked. Searching for anything that might be of use for Lady Whistledown. The one downside to being courted was that it was becoming more difficult to obtain bits of gossip for her columns. She wondered if it would be easier to blend into the crowd again once she was Lady Penelope Debling, or if she’d find it even more trying.

She wondered what Colin would think of her new title on his return…

Debling pulled her from her thoughts as he handed her a glass of cool lemonade. She drank it with an eagerness born of guilt at once again allowing herself to think of Colin Bridgerton in Debling’s presence. It felt like an odd sort of treachery.

“Perhaps we might have a quiet word?” asked Debling.

Penelope’s heart skipped a beat; she was suddenly irrationally concerned that he could tell she’d been thinking of Colin. Debling’s affable and soft features seemed somewhat hardened, his eyes darting across her expression. He’d always appeared so steady, so confident. Yet now she could detect the slightest tremor of apprehension in his expression.

“Are you well?” she asked.

Debling glanced around, as if to ensure they weren’t overheard. “I am very well, I would just like to speak with you. In private.” He raised his eyebrows at her.

Penelope’s pulse quickened, her stomach swirling. He wanted to propose. It was happening. She felt uncomfortably hot as she placed her lemonade back down, her hand trembling as she did. She couldn’t help but search out an escape route. The doors to the terrace beckoned.

“Penelope?” prodded Debling.

Her chest tightened at his look of concern. He was so sweet.

He would make a wonderful husband.

She mentally shook herself, pushing down on the foolish uneasy feeling that was practically begging her to disappear.

“Of course, my lord,” she said, her voice far steadier than she expected it to be. “Where would you–”

“The library,” he said, with no small amount of relief. “I shall meet you there momentarily.”

Penelope nodded and excused herself, hoping beyond hope that she had managed to do so without any curious eyes trailing her. Meeting Lord Debling alone in a library was sure to be a scandal if she were caught. Although, if he proposed… well, then everyone would look the other way.

She kept her head ducked as she weaved her way through the crowds away from the ballroom. As she got further and further away, she kept checking over her shoulder. No one seemed to have followed her. The Trowbridge home was typical of any home amongst the ton, it wasn’t difficult to find the library, portraits of Trowbridge ancestors followed her with haughty eyes as she quietly and quickly made her way down another corridor.

If she was caught, she’d claim she had lost her way on the way to refresh herself. No one would expect that Penelope Featherington, quiet wallflower, was on her way to a clandestine meeting. This was another new experience Lord Debling was giving her; despite her apprehension about what he wanted to discuss with her, she couldn’t claim she wasn’t excited. It was somewhat akin to the rush she would feel on delivering the latest Lady Whistledown.

As she stepped into the library, she couldn’t help but think ‘library’ was a generous description. It was a rather small room, clearly unused. No candles were lit; the only light was from the full moon outside streaming silver through the windows. Dust tickled her nostrils, and she barely contained a sneeze. But it was quiet, the sounds of the ball in the distance muted.

Her stomach bubbled with nerves as she heard footsteps drawing closer, Penelope tugged on her gloves before forcing herself to keep her hands by her side, her shoulders down and back. Debling was about to propose; she wanted to accept his offer with all the dignity of a future Baroness.

Her mother would be so proud.

She blinked at the prickling behind her eyes, breathing deeply as her lungs squeezed.

Colin was her past. Debling was her future.

Debling quietly and swiftly snuck into the room, closing the door behind him. Penelope felt the clunk of the door shutting thud through her.

He glanced around the room. “My apologies, I did not expect the library to be so…”

“Small?” she suggested, biting her lip.

He smiled at her, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “I confess I had hoped for a more romantic setting. I know how you so love your books.”

“Romantic?” she echoed, her heart was thumping in her ears now, her fingers tingling.

He nodded and stepped towards her, she could smell a hint of whiskey on him. “I will of course do the proper thing tomorrow, but I wanted to make my intentions clear to you this evening,” he said. “Neither you nor I like to be the centre of attention, so I thought perhaps a moment between just us two would be more amenable to you.”

It sounded rehearsed, which she thought was… disconcerting. He’d practised this moment. Had he done so in front of a mirror? Had he written it down? Had he planned for all of her possible responses?

She felt as though she’d entered a battle she was entirely unprepared for, and her opponent was about ten steps in front of her.

Except it wasn’t a battle, it was romantic. If only she could make the acidic bile in her belly agree.

“Miss Featherington, Penelope, since we first met, I have found you to be the most interesting and delightful lady of my acquaintance.”

Penelope wrung her hands together, her cheeks heating in the darkness. She felt as though she should say something, anything. “You too, my lord,” she said, her words stumbling from her lips. “That is, I mean, you are a gentleman, of course, not a lady so you…”

She trailed off as he reached for her hand. “You are beautiful,” he said.

That sounded rehearsed too. She dipped her head to hide her disbelief.

“While I had hoped I might find a love match this Season in my search for a wife–”

“A love match?” she echoed, the disbelief clear on her tongue. He wanted a love match?

He continued as if she hadn’t interrupted his speech. “I am also a practical man, so I knew that I would be content in a marriage based on shared interests and mutual respect.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. He did not see her as a love match. Perhaps part of her should have been insulted, but all she felt was–

“And then I met you.”

Penelope stilled, her eyes wide.

“I am falling for you, Penelope,” he said, so simply as if he were merely commenting that the sky was blue and the grass green. “And I would like to make you my wife.”

She stared at him wordlessly. The small library might as well have been a coffin, the way she suddenly felt as though she were confined. The air escaped her lungs, her heart was in her throat, her stomach lurched. The noise from the ball seemed to fade entirely, and all she could hear was her short breaths.

He looked at her with quiet expectation, his eyes shining with unfiltered hope and… adoration.

He loved her.

Well, he was on his way to loving her. He was falling for her.

And Penelope could never love him in return.

Her heart had been stolen years ago, and try as she might, she could never quite snatch it back.

Lord Debling cleared his throat. “I had hoped this wouldn’t be such a shock, but perhaps I overestimated the clarity of my intentions toward you?”

Penelope swallowed the thick and caustic knot in her throat. “I did not– I was not aware that you… that you…”

“You were not aware of the depth of my feelings?” he offered.

Lord Debling was always so sweet. Even now, it was as if he were kindly and patiently leading her through this conversation. Just as he had done throughout the Season. She blinked rapidly at the tears that were horrifyingly on the brink of escape.

He would make a wonderful husband.

All she had to do was say ‘yes’.

Debling grimaced at her continued silence but he did not let go of her hand. “While it might be a slight wound to my pride, I will not begrudge you for not returning my feelings,” he said. “Love is not the usual requisite for a marriage. Though I cannot claim that I would not hope your feelings toward me might change or grow with time.”

She shook her head before she could stop herself, it was an instinctive response.

He dropped her hand.

“My lord, I–” her words were thick with tears. “My lord, I cannot–”

“Even if you do not love me,” he said, desperation trembling at the edges of his words. “I believe we will make a happy marriage, I would still– I would still like to make you my wife. I would be a good husband.”

She wiped her cheeks, tasting the salt of her tears on her lips. She should say ‘yes’. She needed to say ‘yes’. He was offering her a future.

Colin was her past.

Her mother would be so proud.

But then why did it feel like such a betrayal?

Why would the one simple word, the only word she needed, not fall from her lips?

Debling ran a hand through his hair. It was the first time she had ever seen him look even a little dishevelled. She remembered Colin returning from his travels the year prior, the dusting of hair on his jaw that made him look so distinguished. She felt as though her ribcage was splintering as her heart smashed against it.

The answer was clear.

Colin was her past.

But he would always be her present.

She belonged to him, even if he did not belong to her.

“I cannot marry you, my lord,” she breathed.

His face crumpled, and she felt his anguish as if it were her own. She knew that heartbreak, she knew the sting of rejection at the worst possible moment, when one was feeling the highest of highs. And she’d done it to him, she’d hurt this sweet, gentle, patient man. This man who had been the first to ever really truly see her as a lady, as a woman. This man who had seen a future with her, who had known her and fallen for her.

She was a fool.

Her mother would be distraught.

She’d be the laughingstock of the ton once more.

She’d live the rest of her life as a spinster, caring for her ungrateful and demanding mother.

She was utterly alone.

And she’d chosen that for herself.

Because she could not marry Lord Debling. She could not marry a man who loved her, knowing she could never return his feelings.

That would be cruel.

Although to say that she did not feel cruel in this moment would have been a falsehood. She reached for his hand. “Please understand,” she said. “I cannot marry for love.”

He furrowed his brow, his eyes searching her expression. “I find that hard to believe,” he said. “You have always given me the impression that you are a romantic at heart.”

She closed her eyes, gathering herself. It was because of her idiotic, romantic heart that she could not do it. “It is not in my future,” she said.

She couldn’t blame him for the continued confusion in his expression. That was hardly an explanation. How could she tell him that the problem was he just wasn’t Colin Bridgerton?

That had always been the problem, much as she’d tried to deny it.

She thought she might have been able to accept a marriage that was mutually practical, that was not based on romantic affection on either side. But Debling deserved her entire heart, and unfortunately it was not hers to give.

Her future tore to shreds as he dropped her hand and turned to leave. With him he was taking all of her hopes and dreams for a family, for a life beyond the ton. For love. She would never have children, she would never escape her mother, she would never be kissed.

Debling had given her so many wonderful new experiences—would it be so awful to ask for one more? One last adventure before she submitted herself to a life of watching society from the edges of a ballroom.

That was when she made the most selfish, idiotic decision of her life.

“Wait!” she called out.

He turned toward her but she couldn’t see his expression; he’d stepped back into the shadows of the room, away from the moonlight.

“I know that I– I might be asking a lot,” she said. “But before you go, before we say farewell, would you–” she pressed her lips together. It was foolish, mean even. She should not play with his heart so, but she also could not regret this one thing. She could not live the rest of her life not knowing what it was like.

“Anything,” he whispered.

She swallowed. “Would you kiss me?”

If only she’d known at the time that someone had seen her leave the ballroom. That Cressida Cowper would always have an eye on Penelope Featherington.

Footsteps dragged her almost gasping from her painful memories back to the present. Back to her final clandestine meeting with Lord Debling. She saw his shadow approaching her from the otherside of the terrace and Penelope wrapped her arms around her waist. “We cannot be long,” she whispered.

“I know,” said Debling, stepping closer to her, his eyes roving over her. “You look beautiful.”

Penelope blanched, tugging at her gloves. “You shouldn’t say such things!”

He grimaced. “Forgive me, I– are you well? Truly?”

“I’m well, I’m happy,” she replied, her eyes wide. She needed him to believe her. She also needed this conversation to be over as quickly as possible. Someone would notice they were missing soon.

“You said you could not marry.”

Penelope pressed her lips together. She was expecting him to say it, yet it still felt like a blow. “I said I could not marry for love, I– Colin, he’s…” She trailed off, unsure how to finish. Because she had married for love, even if it was unrequited.

“If I’d known that I even had a chance of marrying you,” said Debling, raking a hand through his hair. “I would have– Penelope, I never would have left you. I should never have left you. I should have convinced you to marry me. I have thought of nothing else since. The next day, after I kissed you, when I called on you and proposed again. I told myself I couldn’t force you into marriage but–”

Her mind flashed with the memory of him calling on her the following day. He had looked so utterly desperate, his usually neat appearance dishevelled. He had begged her to accept his hand, his eyes shining with frustration and confusion. Even then, when she’d had no other option, when she was all but cast out from society, she could not do it to him. She could not trap him in a marriage with her, a marriage where he loved her and she could not return his feelings.

She realised the irony of that now. That she’d willingly done the same thing to herself with Colin – at least Colin was not aware of her feelings, though. Perhaps there was some mercy in that.

Besides, Debling had been so kind to her in his courtship, she could not do it to him.

Penelope reached for his hand now, holding it between hers and squeezing. She wanted to ease his regrets, there was nothing for him to regret.

“I am happy, my lord,” she said, her eyes wide as she earnestly tried to convince him. “Everything is as it should be; you must not blame yourself. It was I who foolishly asked you to– to kiss me.”

“I did not take much convincing,” he murmured, holding her gaze.

Penelope swallowed, trying her best to ignore the way his eyes darted to her lips. She looked over her shoulder. “We should return to the– we should return.”

He moved closer, and she tried to pull her hand away but he held firm. Penelope’s heart leapt into her throat. She needed to get back to the party. She shouldn’t have met him.

“I must apologise for the part I played in your ruin,” he said. “I knew better than to kiss you, to take you away from the ball.”

“I wanted you to!” she exclaimed. She wished he would see that everything that had happened between them, between her and Colin, everything was her choice. It was her decisions that had gotten her here, and she would not regret them. “You have nothing to apologise for!”

He shook his head, stepping closer to her. “Why him?” he asked. “I would have happily married you, more than happily. I love–”

Her breath caught. “My lord, I really must return to the party. As I said, there is nothing you have to apologise for. Everything has turned out as it should.”

His brow furrowed. “I do not understand it. I’m a baron, a good man, we were well suited. We are well suited. I know you did not want a love match, but I had no expectations beyond us having a happy home.”

She felt her heart breaking for him; she hated that she’d hurt him. She’d hated herself that she’d had to at the time.

He placed a hand on her cheek. “I would have made you a good husband.”

Penelope closed her eyes a moment, willing the burning at the backs of them to subside. “I know,” she gasped, reaching for his hand at her cheek to remove it. “You would have made a wonderful husband, but you’re just not–”

“Unhand my wife.”

Chapter 21

Chapter Text

The evening so far seemed to be going smoothly. There had been no obvious contention between Marina and Penelope, and the other dinner guests were proving to be a good buffer. While Penelope had clearly been surprised by a familiar face from London, Lord Debling seemed an amiable fellow and certainly not the sort to spread rumours.

Although one could never be too careful.

Colin eyed Debling over his glass of whiskey as he watched him leave the dining room to use the chamber pot. Perhaps he should pull Debling aside before they rejoined the ladies. If only to settle any unease his wife might be feeling.

Penelope’s nerves at dinner had been painfully apparent to Colin. He’d had to clench his hands under the table to prevent himself from striding over to her and pulling her into his embrace. Every question about London, every mention of Lady Whistledown had her startling in her chair. Colin had been ready to step in if Debling had said so much as a word against her, but his answers had been perfectly acceptable.

Marina had seemed particularly interested in Debling’s acquaintance with Penelope, so Colin had tried his best to keep her distracted. Although he knew that any interest Lady Crane showed in conversation with Colin was feigned.

She did not respect him, nor did she give the impression she much liked him.

The feelings were mutual in that regard.

Their conversation had been superficial at best, but he hoped that if they were at least on polite terms it might ease some of Penelope’s worries about their shared history. He wanted Penelope to be able to connect with Lady Crane on any level she deemed tolerable. If she wanted a return to their friendship, well then, wary as he might be, he would support her. Although Colin supposed it would be more likely that Lady Crane and Penelope end their acquaintance on civil, if cool, terms. The past was better left in the past, after all.

Colin turned his glass on the table, watching the whiskey run rivers down the sides. He scrunched his nose at the scent of tobacco from Mr Bexley smoking his pipe. Bexley and Sir Crane were conversing about a horse breeding program run by a lord just north of Wiltshire. Well, Bexley was talking about it; Crane was merely nodding along and adding the odd sound of acknowledgement here and there. Colin got the impression that Crane was more comfortable in his own company.

Penelope could be a bit like that too. His chest squeezed at the thought of her. She had not long gone with the ladies and he already missed her company. It was the first time they’d been truly separated since he’d convinced her to let him sleep in her room the night after they consummated their wedding.

Was it normal to miss one’s wife when she was just in another room?

Perhaps he’d ask Anthony in his return letter to him. Although that might open him up to teasing. He sighed, Bexley’s constant chatter beside him covering the sound.

Anthony’s letter.

His gut twisted at the thought of its contents. Guilt weighed heavy on his shoulders. Penelope would be distraught if she discovered he’d gone behind her back to ask his family for information on her suitor. He’d been desperate in his jealousy when he’d sent it off.

But now… well, it felt like they were finally turning a corner. They had built a life for themselves in Wiltshire; they were happy. She’d even seemed jealous about his past with Lady Crane. He was terrifyingly hopeful that perhaps his plan to seduce her into loving him was working.

Would Anthony’s letter undo all of that?

Did he really need to know the details of her ruin?

Penelope did not want to relive it, and he should respect that. Although he couldn’t deny that there was a primal part of him that wanted to punish the man who had crossed his wife.

Perhaps then that was his answer. If he found out who had hurt Penelope, he might not be able to control his response, and that would only make things worse.

It was settled. He would burn the letter on his return.

He heard a distant feminine laugh, and he jerked out of his thoughts. He wondered if Penelope had said something clever to the ladies to cause such loud mirth.

He pushed himself to standing, Mr Bexley and Sir Crane instantly falling silent. He gave them his most charming smile. “Excuse me, gentlemen, I find I also need a moment to refresh myself.”

They nodded and Bexley tipped his glass of whiskey toward Colin before returning to his lecture. Colin didn’t miss the almost desperate look in Crane’s eyes as he watched him depart the room.

Colin grinned to himself as he ambled down the corridor toward the drawing room, candlelight flickering his shadow against the walls along the way. He knew it wasn’t strictly within the realms of propriety but he wanted to see his wife and he had promised Penelope earlier this evening he would stay by her side. It was the right thing to do.

So, he would stick his head into the drawing room and tell them in his most serious voice that he had an urgent matter to discuss with Penelope. Perhaps he’d take her out on that lovely little dark terrace off the billiards room and kiss her senseless.

Yes, he would definitely do that. He could almost feel her gasping breath across his lips as he drew closer to the drawing room.

“Featherington, you say?”

Colin stopped short outside the drawing room, the door opened slightly so that a shard of warm candlelight cut across the corridor. They were talking about Penelope, which meant she wasn’t in the room. Colin tensed, ready to interrupt should the conversation be anything but complimentary toward his wife. He glanced back down the corridor, almost expecting to see her walking toward him, but it was empty, every door shut except that of the billiards room.

“Yes,” he heard Marina say. “Her maiden name is Featherington, her father was Baron Featherington. I don’t believe the family have ever visited Wiltshire. You must have read about them in Lady Whistledown.”

“You know it’s my guilty pleasure,” replied Lady Stilwell.

“Did you read much of our Lord Debling this Season?” asked Mrs Bexley.

“Well, yes, although I confess I do not remember his, erm, intriguing diet. He was courting someone, much as he might have avoided the topic at dinner,” said Lady Stilwell.

“Do not be so coy, Lady Stilwell,” said Mrs Bexley.

Colin stiffened.

“Well?” prodded Mrs Bexley. “Who was Lord Debling courting? I confess I have not kept myself abreast of London Society, so it is likely I won’t know them.”

“Oh, I think it is very likely that you do,” said Lady Stilwell, in a sing-song voice that made Colin’s blood run cold.

His heart started thudding in his chest, his throat going dry.

It couldn’t be…

Lady Stilwell lowered her voice, yet Colin heard her clear as day. “He was courting Mrs Bridgerton, although I suppose she was Miss Featherington then. Now, you know I do not like to gossip but apparently they were caught…”

Colin didn’t stick around to hear the remainder of the conversation. He didn’t need to. What he needed to do was find his wife.

Now.

His wife, who was not where she should be in the drawing room. Who had disappeared, along with Lord Debling.

The man who’d been courting her.

The man who ruined her.

His blood burned through his veins, his breath shortened as he raced towards that damned terrace. The terrace he’d wanted to take his wife to. The terrace he just knew, deep within the marrow of his bones, that she was on.

With Debling.

All the while he was chanting ‘no’ below his breath: this couldn’t be happening, it couldn’t be true. She wouldn’t betray him like this, lie to him like this, humiliate him like this.

Not again.

Not after everything.

He wrenched open the terrace doors, the cool evening air a momentary relief on his heated skin. And then he saw them. Bathed in silver moonlight. They were practically in an embrace: Debling hunched over her, his hand on her cheek, their other hands clasped together.

They looked like lovers.

“You would have made a wonderful husband,” she whispered.

She might as well have thrown daggers at Colin’s chest.

His words burst from his lips – a deep, rumbling demand. “Unhand my wife.”

They jerked apart but it was not far enough.

He flew across the terrace, his fist slamming into Debling’s jaw. Sharp pain burst through his knuckles and up his arm. He vaguely heard Penelope crying out and Debling’s grunt as he fell to the floor. Colin grabbed him by the lapels, his muscles near ripping as he hauled Debling up and slammed him against the terrace wall.

“I will destroy you,” Colin growled, his entire being vibrating with scorching rage.

Penelope grabbed Colin’s arm, but he barely felt her.

“Colin, stop!” she cried.

“It was not what it seemed!” gasped Debling.

“You were touching her!”

“I love her!”

He gripped Debling harder, shoving him against the wall again. “She is not yours to love! To touch! To so much as look at!” he roared.

“Please, stop,” begged Penelope. “It’s nothing, I swear it!”

Colin barely registered her words. “You compromised her!”

Debling shook his head, his eyes wide and desperate. “I wanted her for my wife!”

Colin shook his head in disbelief. “You left her!”

“I proposed! Twice!”

His words rocked through Colin and he dropped him. Debling stumbled, leaning against the wall, breathing heavily. Penelope was crying, her hands on Colin’s forearm. He shook her off, stepping out of her reach.

“You proposed?”

“Yes!” gasped Debling, tugging at his cravat. “She rejected my proposal. Both of them. Before and after we— we kissed.”

Colin swung around to face her. None of it made sense. He must be lying, trying to claim a false sense of honour.

But her expression said it all. The tears shining in her eyes, her cheeks wet, her mouth open as she searched for words...

It was true.

“She said she would not marry me for love,” said Debling. “I wanted– I wish I’d…”

Bile swirled in his stomach. She didn’t want to marry for love. And so she hadn’t.

She’d married Colin.

“I had every intention of making things right, but I couldn’t force her to marry me,” said Debling, his voice pleading. “I had to respect that.”

Colin scoffed, tearing his gaze away from his wife. This man did not know the meaning of respect. His burning fury returned, thrumming through him. “You did not respect her or our marriage this evening, when you met with her in secret. You did not respect me.”

“I only wished to–”

“It matters not what you wished,” snapped Colin, his voice trembling with searing anger. He clenched his fists and stepped back into Debling’s space. “You met my wife in secret, you touched her, you compromised her, attempted to seduce her. You have offended my honour as a gentleman and my wife’s honour.”

“I did not mean– I only– I love her.”

“Please stop saying that!” exclaimed Penelope.

Colin curled his lip in disgust at Debling’s stumbling words. It took everything he had in him, every lesson on honour and respectability, to not hit him again.

There was only one thing Colin could do.

“Pick your second. I will have my satisfaction.”

“No!” shouted Penelope, desperately tugging at his arm.

Colin stepped away slowly, breathing hard, his knuckles aching as he unfurled them. “I will see you at dawn,” he said, quietly, his voice simmering with fury. “Leave.”

Debling glanced helplessly at Penelope. White hot fury surged through Colin at the man’s boldness to even look at his wife in his presence.

“Leave.”

Debling visibly swallowed before quickly departing, offering Penelope a jerky nod as he did. The terrace doors slammed behind him.

“Colin, you cannot duel him!” exclaimed Penelope as soon as he’d left, her hands still on his arm, her words breathless.

“Do not touch me.”

She gasped, snatching her hand from him as if she’d been burned. “It was not what you think!”

His heart was tearing in his chest, his stomach filled with acid. Penelope looked distraught, her eyes wide, her mouth open, her hands guilty as she clasped them together.

Her hands which had been in Debling’s, which had been holding his hand to her cheek.

After everything they had been through, she had lied to him. She had betrayed him.

You would have made a wonderful husband. That’s what she’d said to Debling.

His throat thickened, his eyes burned.

“Please,” she begged. “I– I only met him to apologise.”

“He was touching you.”

“It was nothing!”

“Do not lie to me!” he roared, his throat tearing as the words ripped through him. “You made a vow!”

“I’m not! I–”

He pointed towards the terrace doors. “You let me meet him, converse with him, share a meal with him.”

“I’m sorry, I–”

“You made a fool of me! Were you laughing with him out here? Did it amuse you so that I was utterly naive to your treachery?”

She shook her head, tears shining on her cheeks. “No, please, it wasn’t like that! You must believe me! I only wanted to make things right.”

“Did you know he was here?” he demanded. “Did you plan this?”

“No! I– Marina she– Colin, I had no idea! How could I–”

The terrace doors opened once more, revealing Lady Crane, her brows drawn together. “Lord Debling just departed, is there something amiss?”

Colin raked a hand through his hair. The last thing he needed was an audience to his heartbreak. “I am not well. I’m leaving.”

Marina glanced between him and Penelope, quietly assessing them. “Would Mrs Bridgerton like to stay the night?”

“Yes,” said Colin as Penelope said, “No.”

Marina bit her lip before she nodded and excused herself to call for the carriage.

“Colin, please just let me explain,” said Penelope, her voice shaking.

He shook his head, gritting his teeth at the tears that threatened to overwhelm him. He would not cry. Not here. “You could not love Debling, you cannot love me,” he said, saliva thick in his throat. “Who can you love?”

“That is not what I said!” she cried, her eyes flashing. “I am your wife, listen to me! I only met with him to explain why I married you, why I chose you.”

“You did not choose me!” he snapped. “You had me practically begging you to marry me! And for what? When you had a Baron waiting in the wings!”

“I could not marry him! I couldn’t! I couldn’t do it to him! Not when I– Colin, I love you, you’re my– my–”

“Friend?” he offered, his voice dripping with sarcasm, a hollow laugh bursting from his lips. “You disrespected me and our marriage this evening. You lied to me. That is not love, that is not friendship. That is cruel.”

A sob hiccuped through her, and dammit he was a foolish, heartsick sod, because all he wanted to do was wrap her up his arms. What was wrong with him that he wanted to comfort her? To ease her pains, to kiss her, to love her, to pretend that she hadn’t hurt him, that they could go back to the way things were. To the time before his heart had been crushed at her hands. She was the only person who could comfort him right now, and yet she was the one who had so deeply wounded him.

He hated that he could not hate her.

The door to the terrace whined as it opened once more.

“Your carriage is ready, Mr Bridgerton,” said Lady Crane, her voice soft and a little hesitant. It was the first time he’d ever heard her sound unsure.

“Please,” whispered Penelope, tears running down her cheeks. “Please don’t leave me.”

His heart lurched at the sight of her, at her desperate words. Even now, despite everything, she looked so otherworldly in her beauty under the moonlight.

Would this be his last impression of her? Would he ever see his wife again after this evening?

Could he?

Could he spend the rest of his days in the same home as her, knowing she had betrayed him so? That she had secretly met another man, the man who ruined her, the man who had kissed her, alone on a terrace? While Colin was just a room away?

That she could not, would not, love Colin?

The image of them standing so closely, Debling’s greasy hands all over her, flashed in his mind. His stomach pitched and he swallowed down the acid in his throat.

He had to leave.

Now.

He didn’t look at Penelope as he swept past Marina back into the house—he couldn’t. “I will send a carriage for Mrs Bridgerton tomorrow.”

He heard her sob, felt it rack through him as if it were his own, but he did not look back.

After the duel tomorrow, if he survived it, he would leave. Go on tour again. He’d provide for Penelope, but he could not be in her presence when he could not have her fully. It hurt too much.

But what if she met someone else while he was away?

What if she met Debling again?

His throat thickened and he brought his fist to his mouth, as if to catch the gasping breath that was punched from his lungs at the thought.

He couldn't leave her.

Nor could he have her.

He didn’t know what he could do.

He suddenly longed for the warm, soft embrace of his mother. As if he were a child again, who had scraped his knee whilst playing with his brothers. He missed his family, his home. He missed Penelope. The Penelope he’d known just hours ago, in her pretty blue dress, her head against his chest, her roses in his lungs.

He didn’t realise how fast he was moving until he burst through the front doors of Romney Hall, the evening air frigid against his burning skin. He hadn’t bothered to offer his hosts a farewell. Lady Crane would explain his sudden departure to Sir Crane. Colin couldn’t bring himself to care how much information she might share with him.

What was a little more humiliation at this point?

The whole of London thought him a cuckold, so what difference did it make if Wiltshire knew it too?

He barely acknowledged the footman as he pulled himself into the waiting carriage, slamming the door shut behind him. The carriage rocked with his forceful movements.

It was only when the carriage lurched forward, gravel crunching beneath the horses’ clopping hooves, that he allowed himself to collapse under his devastation, his body all but crumbling against the seat.

He’d lost her.

He dragged his hands down his face at the foolish thought.

He hadn’t lost her.

She was never his to lose.

Chapter 22

Chapter Text

The study door clunked shut as Mr Crabtree took his leave to ready the horses. Colin leaned forward in his desk chair, dropping his head in his hands. Anthony would murder him for asking Crabtree to be his second. If Debling didn’t tomorrow.

But he was out of options. He knew no one in Wiltshire aside from Sir Crane, who he assumed would be Debling’s second. They had history; Colin had only met Crane once before.

It was pathetic, really.

He’d always rolled his eyes at the dramatics of gentlemen who willingly laid their lives on the line because of the slightest offence. Now he was one of them.

But the offence was not slight.

Debling had compromised his wife. Twice. Even if he had initially tried to do the right thing by her, he’d blatantly attempted to seduce her this evening. Whilst Colin was in the other room. Anger bubbled in his chest and he pushed out of his chair. He strode across the study and grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the side bar, not bothering to pour it into a glass as he took a swig. Spices and smoke danced across his tongue; he relished the burn of alcohol down his throat and the warmth that spread through his veins. It was a momentary distraction.

He walked over to Penelope’s desk, painted caramel by the flickering flames in the fireplace. It was piled with papers: letters, writings, little notes she’d left herself. He traced his index finger over her elegant looping cursive that ran across an excerpt of the novel she was drafting. He used to feel such thrilling joy on receiving her letters when he was on Tour. She had always written so thoughtfully, so generously, as if she wanted to unpack and examine every thought in his mind. As if he had something interesting to say. He would read her letters and feel as though she truly saw him—she saw him and she liked him.

Of course, her words weren’t always so kind.

Lady Whistledown was dismissive in her assessment of Colin.

He took another drink of his whiskey, gasping at the sting of alcohol down his throat, his skin heating. Who was she, then?

The sweet girl who’d written to him on Tour?

The scathing Lady Whistledown?

The seductress in his bed?

Debling’s mistress?

He groaned at where his mind had taken him—it was a hateful thought. But he could not understand her. It felt like every time he peeled back a layer, there was something else she was hiding just out of reach. Some new secret, some new reveal. And each and every time it was a devastating blow.

Debling had proposed.

Debling had proposed and she had said ‘no’. He remembered how hesitant she’d been about accepting his own proposal. Perhaps it had been his promise that he did not want a love match that had finally convinced her.

Why wouldn’t she let him love her?

He slammed the bottle on her desk. The ink pot rattled and sheafs of paper floated to the floor, but Colin paid them no mind. He started pacing the room.

Marriage to Penelope was at once wonderful and torturous. He loved her deeply but she kept so much from him. How could he love her so, when sometimes he felt as if he barely knew her?

He was missing something; there was a reason she’d said ‘no’ to Debling and ‘yes’ to him. Debling had said it was because she didn’t want a love match.

But who in their right mind did not want a love match?

Granted, Colin had said much the same when he proposed, but that was before he knew what love was. Before he’d opened his eyes to what was right in front of him.

Before Penelope.

He’d thought he’d been so badly hurt by love that he couldn’t do it again. But all that had been hurt was his pride.

Had Penelope experienced heartbreak?

Surely Colin would have known of it. Surely he couldn’t have been so blind to her that if she’d been in love with another man he wouldn’t have seen it. They were friends before he’d left for his Tour, before she met Debling.

He couldn’t understand her.

He knew love matches were rare, that the main aspiration in marriage was in bettering one's circ*mstances. But Debling was a Baron, and Colin, while a third son, was wealthy enough that they would never want for anything. Was love not the diamond on top?

He rushed back over to her desk and picked up the piece of paper he’d been looking at before. It was her novel. A lady walking through the woods only to stumble upon a charming man.

It was a romance.

How could she write of love and not wish it for herself?

She was a romantic, dammit!

He scoffed to himself. It was clearly not that simple.

How could she enter a marriage, make a vow to be true to him, and meet another man alone on a terrace?

Debling was touching her.

Perhaps he didn’t need to know the truth of it then, perhaps he didn’t need to know her. Penelope might always have her walls up. She might never let him love her. She might never show him the truth of her.

Was that worth fighting for? Was that worth feeling like this? Like she’d ripped his heart from his chest, torn it to shreds and shoved it back in.

How much more of this could he take?

He glanced over at his desk. In neat piles were his plans for their journey across the continent. He’d been so excited to show them to her, to see her face light up as he told her they’d be visiting all the places he’d written to her about and more. He’d imagined her in Crete, her skin tasting of the sea, her curls wild, her cheeks kissed pink by the sun. He’d seen her in Florence, her plush lips parted as she marvelled at the art of the Medicis. She was a vision in Paris, draped in lace and silk, her eyes burning with desire for him.

Colin swallowed the knot in his throat, clenching his eyes shut for a moment. He wished he hadn’t left her at the Cranes. He knew how much that would have hurt her; he hated to think of her hurting. He’d broken his promise to stay by her side all evening and left her alone in the worst possible place. He wished he had her here now.

But would she be honest with him?

Would she fight for him? For their marriage?

Or would she once again shut him out? Put her walls up? Keep her secrets?

Was all this worth fighting for?

She’d said Debling would make a wonderful husband. Perhaps she wished she’d accepted his proposal instead.

He raked his hands through his hair, his eyes burning. He missed his brothers. He wished he could speak with them, wished they were here. At least then he’d have a second who wasn’t a horrified sexagenerian.

What the hell was he doing?

He could almost feel Anthony’s hands on his shoulders, attempting to shake some sense into him as Benedict laughed and shook his head.

Benedict would have been his second until Anthony forced his way in to replace him.

God, what if he died? What if Debling’s shot was true? What if he killed Debling? Could he live with himself?

He glanced at the clock on his desk; it was nearly dawn, and he would have to leave soon.

He should write to his brothers to tell them of what was happening before it got back to them by other means.

That was when he remembered the letter waiting for him.

Anthony’s letter.

—

She was a caged animal pacing the hallway outside Sir Crane’s study. Her jaw ached from clenching it, her feet stung from biting blisters, and her nails dug sharp crevices into her palms. Her heart hammered against her ribcage, her blood racing hot through her veins.

She knew she should be heartbroken, devastated, distraught even. She knew that she had made a monumental error in meeting Lord Debling this evening; she even knew that she should be upset that she’d hurt Colin.

But right now, all she could feel, all she could let herself feel, was fury.

She wanted to rage against Sir Crane’s study door, bang her fists until her bones were powder, scream until her throat was torn.

She had never felt such scorching anger.

Her throat was clogged with it. She was shaking, hot frustrated tears burned tracks down her cheeks.

It was all she could do not to explode.

Mr Crabtree had arrived what felt like hours ago and straightaway he’d been ushered quietly into Sir Crane’s study. Penelope had tried to follow them but the door had been shut in her face.

This was gentlemen’s business.

She scoffed, throwing a scathing look at the door. Such gentlemen they were. A duel was archaic, illegal, foolish! How could they even entertain the idea of one, let alone negotiate it!

She needed to speak with them, and if not, she’d demand that Mr Crabtree take her home with him. Then she’d speak with Colin.

She glanced out the window, cool air seeped through the glass. Her heart lurched at the sight of grey on the horizon. It would be dawn soon. She was running out of time.

She had to get back to My Cottage before Colin left. Once again she glared at the study door; how long did it take to negotiate a duel?

Challenging one had only taken seconds.

She still couldn’t believe that Colin had done it. She’d never seen him so angry before; she hadn’t even known he could be that angry. And over an idiotic conversation!

She spun on her heel and started pacing the corridor again. She should never have met Debling. She should never have held his hand.

But it meant nothing to her! Debling’s touch was so different to Colin’s, she didn’t feel it.

When Colin touched her, he touched her soul. A graze of his fingertips sparked like lightning, his hands soothed old wounds and cruel words, he made her come alive.

His touch was everything.

She hadn’t thought anything of Debling’s hand in her’s, other than as a means to comfort him. She’d only wanted to apologise and tell him that he had nothing to regret, that she was happy.

Of course, Colin wouldn’t hear her on it.

He’d hardly let her speak.

He’d acted like a crazed, jealous lover.

Something that might have given her some hope. Yet when she’d told him she loved him, he’d ignored her. He didn’t care. It meant nothing to him.

And then he’d abandoned her at the Cranes.

She wanted to shake him. She wanted to hold him, to kiss him, to pretend that none of this had ever happened. They’d been so happy in their lives before this evening.

Penelope blamed Marina; she must have known. And she’d insisted that Penelope stay the night. She wanted to come between them; it was a sick and twisted punishment.

“I was wondering where you were. I had hoped you wouldn't still be here.”

Penelope swung around, her heart in her throat. At the end of the corridor, her severe expression glowing golden under the candle she held, stood Marina.

—

Colin rushed out of the study, hurtling down the darkened hallways, his steps thudding on the rug. He threw open the door to his bedchamber, ignoring the way it banged and quaked against the wall.

There on their bed was the letter, stark in its cream colouring against their green bed linens. It was slightly battered from its journey, Anthony’s familiar, efficient cursive neatly penned across it.

Colin flipped it in his hands, rolling his lips. It was worryingly thick; Anthony must have had a lot to write.

Did Colin want to know more about Penelope’s courtship with Lord Debling? Were there more secrets to be revealed?

Would reading it only leave him more injured?

He sighed and sat down on the bed, and slowly unfolded the letter. He had nothing more to lose now.

Out dropped a second note, folded and sealed. Colin placed it by his side to read later; that explained why the letter had seemed so thick. He focused on the note in his hands.

My Dear Brother,

I have pondered your letter for a few days now. I’ll admit Kate was the one who implored me to do so. I was tempted to write back promptly with something simple, if direct, but Kate thinks I should be more… sensitive.

Colin snorted. He could almost imagine Kate over Anthony’s shoulder as he wrote and Anthony’s lip curling in distaste as he penned the word ‘sensitive’.

I do have the information on this gentleman that you seek, I’ve written it in a separate note.

Colin glanced at the sealed paper beside him. His fingertips tingled and his pulse quickened. He swallowed his nerves, deciding to read on.

Now it is I who is imploring you: burn it.

Not because there is anything particularly scandalous in what I’ve written or anything that I think might wound you to know. But because a marriage is between two people.

You and your wife.

Your concern about this gentleman is unwarranted. Focus on your own happiness and on your wife’s happiness. You have a family now: protect it. Especially from your own fears and imaginings. He is the past, but you are your wife’s present and future. Treasure that.

Our parents had a happy marriage but it was cut short; I’ve vowed to make the most of every moment I have with my wife.

I hope you do the same.

Sincerely,

Anthony

P.S. In case you need it, the simple but direct version of the above is: You’re in love with your wife, you imbecile. Don’t bollocks it up.

—

Penelope’s heart was thundering in her chest as she stared down Marina. “What do you mean? You’re the one who trapped me here!”

Marina raised her eyebrows. “I see no chains, no locks.”

Penelope’s hand was shaking as she pointed at Marina. “You insisted I stay here! Colin would never have–”

“Well, that was before I knew he’d challenged a man to a duel. You both seemed like you needed time to breathe.”

Penelope wanted to scream, her heart racing in her chest. “You purposely invited Debling! This was your plan all along!”

Marina’s mouth was set in a thin line. “I had no knowledge of your prior connection to Lord Debling. I do not read Whistledown.” Distaste all but dripped off her lips at the word ‘Whistledown’.

Penelope folded her arms; she was lying, she had to be. “I know you knew, this is some kind of– of punishment.”

“For what?”

Penelope pressed her lips together. She wasn’t going to fall into that trap. Marina knew very well what she was punishing her for. “My husband’s life is in danger,” she said, hoping that Marina still had some kind of heart she could tug on. “Surely we can set aside our differences now.”

“I suppose it can be a fearsome thing knowing the man you love might be in danger… or dead.”

Penelope stepped back, her stomach flipping. “What happened to George was–”

Marina rolled her eyes. “Save me the false comforts. I do not read Whistledown, so I didn’t know of your connection to Debling. Lady Stilwell, however, has it delivered to her from London.”

“Lady Stilwell?” echoed Penelope, her mind racing.

Marina lifted her shoulders. “She told Mrs Bexley and me of your scandal this evening. After dinner, when you were meeting Lord Debling on our terrace.”

“I only met him to apologise,” she snapped, before wanting to smack herself. Why was she defending herself to Marina? It would only show chinks in her armour.

“Colin challenged him to a duel over an apology?” asked Marina, disbelief clear in her tone.

Penelope narrowed her eyes at Marina’s use of Colin’s first name. She was too familiar. “Mr Bridgerton misunderstood the situation.”

“And yet it is all somehow my fault?”

Penelope glanced briefly over her shoulder at the study door. Still no movements from inside. “I find it hard to believe it was a coincidence.”

“Debling went to Cambridge with George.”

Penelope’s heart jolted in her chest. “Oh, I–”

“I had not met him before, but–” Marina’s voice caught and she closed her eyes briefly. “George spoke well of him and Phillip does too.”

“He is a nice man,” said Penelope, tugging at her gloves. She couldn’t help but feel the wretched pain she saw flicker across Marina’s expression.

Marina let out a breath of a laugh, her stone mask back in place. “I’m not sure your husband would enjoy you singing such praises of him.”

Penelope did not have time for this. “Perhaps you might leave me–”

“Does Colin know you’re Lady Whistledown?”

Penelope’s eyes widened, her jaw dropping open. “Pardon?”

Marina held her gaze.

Penelope sighed; she supposed there was no point in hiding it anymore. The damage with Marina had been done long ago. It was no surprise that she’d uncovered Penelope’s secret. “Yes, he knows.”

“And does he know you’re in love with him?”

Penelope’s cheeks flushed red; she couldn’t bring herself to answer, such was the cold and heavy shame that dragged at her throat.

“So not much has changed, then,” said Marina, taking her silence as an affirmation.

Penelope blinked at the prickling behind her eyes, her chest tightening. She hated that Marina could still make her feel so small. “It’s easier this way.”

Marina raised her eyebrows. “Your husband is about to attend a duel because he saw you alone with another man. How is that easier?”

The lump in her throat twisted. She supposed it wasn’t. Perhaps if Colin knew of her feelings he would know that there was nothing to be concerned about. She didn’t care for Debling the way she did Colin, she couldn’t. Perhaps if Colin knew the depth of her feelings, even if he did not return them, then he would trust her.

But could she live with that? With the knowledge that her husband might feel pity for her? Would his behaviour toward her change?

Would he stop touching her?

Making love to her?

Would they lose all intimacy?

How could she live without that part of their relationship now that she knew just how wondrous it was?

She just knew she had to see him. “Marina, please leave me be,” she said. “I need to wait for Mr Crabtree and then I’ll be on my way home.”

Marina’s brows drew together. “Mr Crabtree left some time ago.”

Penelope’s stomach dropped to her ankles. “Excuse me?”

“That’s why I– I thought you knew.”

“No, I–” Penelope’s stomach roiled, her lungs stuttering for breath. “No, I need to– I was going to– how did they leave?”

Marina stepped towards her. “There’s a back entrance to the study, I suppose they used that.”

Penelope shook her head. “No, no, no! I have to– I can’t let this happen!” She spun around, as if searching for an escape. Anything that would magically transport her to My Cottage, to Colin. This couldn’t be happening.

But there was no escape. She was trapped here. Out of options. She glanced out the window, the black night sky was turning grey.

It was nearly dawn.

Marina grabbed Penelope by the wrist and started dragging her down the hallway.

Penelope could do naught but follow, her mind scrambling. She needed to get out of there. She’d run to Colin if she had to. It didn’t matter that it was still dark out, that she had no idea where this damned duel was. She couldn’t just stay here while her husband risked his life!

What if he died? What if he was shot dead in the middle of a field in Wiltshire? She could see him now, his beautiful blue eyes cold and empty, the green grass painted maroon around him, his mouth slightly slackened. A heaving, wrenching sob racked through her.

He was going to die and he hated her. He’d left her. She was never going to see him again. And it was all her fault. She’d chosen to see Debling, she’d chosen to hide her feelings from Colin. If she’d told him before tonight he never would have doubted her.

Her husband was going to die and it was all her fault.

—

Colin let out a gasping laugh, saliva thick in his mouth. He gruffly swiped at his wet cheeks with his hand. Anthony might as well have been in the room with him, he could hear him so clearly in his words.

Anthony was right, there were two of them in their marriage. While Penelope may have been the one to meet Debling on the terrace this evening, Colin could not lie to himself; it had been Colin who had let Debling come between them. In the few weeks they’d been married, the idea of Penelope’s suitor had haunted him. He’d been the one to continually bring up Debling, unable to put that ghost to rest. Colin had been so focussed on her ruin, he hadn’t been able to enjoy his present. Not fully.

Penelope was his friend, above everything. She had always been his friend. She always meant to do the right thing, it was just that her methods were somewhat questionable. Even when she’d written of his humiliation in Whistledown it had been to protect him. She hid herself, whether it was behind her society papers or in secret meetings.

Tonight was another example of that. She’d met Debling to apologise; it was not her fault that Debling meant to seduce her. It was a foolish choice, one that had hurt Colin beyond measure, but perhaps her intentions weren’t so cruel. Maybe she hadn’t meant to hurt Colin but soothe her own guilt. She had rejected Debling’s proposal, it cannot have been a comfortable experience seeing him again. Perhaps Colin was putting his own insecurities onto her. He was hiding his heart from her by using her past as a means to push her away.

And for what?

Penelope had told him she did not love Debling.

She had married Colin, not Debling.

Debling might think himself in love with Penelope, but Colin loved her more. Colin had the advantage of intimacy, of history, of friendship.

He knew Penelope.

He loved her in detail.

He loved the slight quirks in her expression when she was concentrating, or daydreaming, or seducing him. He loved that she hated peas unless they were doused in butter. He loved that she slept on the right side of the bed, that she stole the blankets, that after a few glasses of sherry she snored. He loved that she would lounge in the bath until her skin pruned, that when her quill was flying across a page at a certain pace she should not be disturbed. He loved all her sighs, her gasps, her moans, he loved that he alone knew how to make her tremble and squirm and beg.

He knew his wife. He loved her.

His love was so obvious it was apparent to his brother who was miles away. How could it be that Penelope was so blind to him?

He supposed she just didn’t want to see it.

But maybe it was time he made her. Maybe it was time he told her, showed her, proved to her that he loved her. She didn’t have to love him in return, but she did have to accept his feelings. He could not change them and he could not hide them any longer.

He was her husband, and his feelings towards her were his own.

He had vowed to love her, to worship her, until death.

She had made no such vows with Debling. She had rejected his proposal. Twice.

And Colin was not willing to let her go.

He pushed himself up from the bed, picking up Anthony’s additional note. Without hesitation he strode over to the fireplace and tossed it in the flames, watching in satisfaction as it curled and smoked before turning to ash.

Anthony was right; Debling was her past. Colin was her present, her future, her everything.

She did not need to return his feelings. He would love her enough for the both of them.

He just needed her to let him.

A knock on his door drew him from his thoughts. He looked over to see Mr Crabtree standing in the doorway, hands clasped together. “The horses are ready, sir.”

Right, he had a duel to attend.

—

Fresh air smacked Penelope in the cheeks, and she glanced around. Marina had led her to the back of the house, down a winding path towards a large dark building. Penelope heard a whinny.

The stables.

The scent of hay and manure flooded her senses as Marina pulled her inside. A groom was saddling two horses under candlelight.

She turned to Marina. “What’s–”

“You will take my horse,” she said, nodding toward the grey. “I overheard them as Mr Crabtree left, I know where they are. Geoffrey will escort you, he knows the way.”

Penelope glanced between them, the groom, Geoffrey, offering her a grim smile, his face lined with wrinkles. “You’re helping me,” she said to Marina. It made no sense! Marina hated Penelope, she hated Whistledown. And quite frankly, Penelope had not had many kind words to say about Marina after the way she’d tried to deceive Colin.

Marina nodded. “I loved George very much, but we never– He told me we’d be married once he returned from war. I thought we had all the time in the world.”

Penelope reached for her hand, she couldn’t help herself. Her heart ached for Marina, despite their history. Penelope couldn't imagine losing Colin. There wasn’t a world she could exist in where Colin wasn’t alive and well.

She had to stop this duel.

“I don’t like to think of the past,” said Marina softly, staring at their joined hands as the groom yanked at the girth, the horses were nearly ready. “It’s too painful,” she continued. “I have much that I regret, much that I still carry anger for. But the thing I regret most is that I never demanded that George marry me, that I never fought for him because I was too scared I would lose him. And then I lost him anyway.”

“He loved you very much,” said Penelope, her voice thick. “I saw the letters.”

Marina nodded but didn’t meet her gaze. “You are running out of time. I will leave you to it,” she said. “Good luck, Mrs Bridgerton.”

“Thank you,” Penelope called out as Marina walked away. She did not look back.

“Your horse is ready, ma’am,” said Geoffrey, his words rumbling across the stable.

Penelope mentally shook herself. Now was not the time to concern herself with Marina and her intentions.

She had a duel to stop.

Chapter 23

Chapter Text

Icy wind sliced across her cheeks, her skirts whipping up as Penelope’s horse galloped across another country field. Geoffrey was riding just ahead of her, mud flying up behind him. Penelope’s heart was in her throat, her legs aching from clinging onto the saddle as they raced the sunrise. She had only ridden astride a few times in her life when Eloise had challenged her. She clung tightly to the reins, her fingers burning from the friction. She could not afford to fall.

“Is it much further?” she called out to Geoffrey for what was likely the hundredth time since they’d departed Romney Hall.

She couldn’t hear his response over the wind. She wasn’t even sure if he’d heard her.

It was still dark, not yet dawn. They had time. Surely it couldn’t be much further. They’d been riding at full pelt since they left Romney Hall; her horse’s coat was damp and steaming from exertion. Marina hadn’t told her where she was going, neither had Geoffrey. Although it wouldn’t have mattered, she was unfamiliar with the Wiltshire countryside.

She dug her heels into her mare, pressing her forward. The men had a headstart on them. She cursed herself for letting Crabtree depart Romney Hall without her knowledge.

Geoffrey steered them up a hill, large boulders looming around them. The clouds were starting to turn pink. Birds flitted overhead, a crow wailed. Hot tears rushed down her cheeks. She was in a living nightmare, forever moving forward but never reaching her destination.

Finally, Geoffrey slowed to a trot, before stopping at the top of the hill.

Penelope gasped for breath as she pulled up beside him. Together they scanned the fields below them. A cloud of soft silver mist floated across the fields. Bluebells swayed in the morning breeze, almost creating their own light, so bright was their blue.

It would have been a beautiful sight if not for the four lone figures in the distance.

Gun metal flashed in the dawn light.

She didn’t stop to think. She didn’t have time.

Penelope urged her horse into a gallop, ignoring Geoffrey’s warning cries. She clung to the reins, leaning forward over her saddle. The wind rushed by, her mount’s thudding hooves churning up the grass. She could see Colin and Debling walking away from each other in steady long strides.

“Stop!” she cried out.

But they didn’t seem to hear her over the wind. She shouted out again, her voice tearing as she tried to be heard. She begged the mare to go faster. Colin’s back was still towards Debling’s, she could see him clearly now.

She was so close…

She called out again—she wasn’t going to reach him in time.

Mr Crabtree spotted her, his eyes wide, and he started to wave his hands maniacally. Colin didn’t notice him, his mouth in a grim line as he took another step. His gun glinted in his hand.

How many steps did they take? How many steps more?

She wasn’t going to get to him in time!

“Colin!” she shouted. “Stop!”

He saw her as he spun on his heel and his eyes widened as he stepped towards her.

Bang!

Her horse reared and she screamed. The sky rushed above her, her heart stopping. It took all her might to remain in her seat, her body lurching to the side, her hands desperately grasping for purchase. It was only Sir Crane rushing over to grab her horse by the reins that settled her. She gasped for air, trembling in her seat as she righted herself.

That was when Penelope saw Colin.

It was just as she’d imagined: he was on his back, staring up at the sky. She scrambled off her horse, bruising and scraping her legs on the leather and metal of her saddle as she did.

She flew over to Colin, throwing herself onto the frigid ground beside him. He groaned, scrunching his eyes shut for a moment. She called out his name but he didn’t seem to hear her. She was choking on the panicked burning lump in her throat, her heart hammering in her ears. She reached for his shoulders and he groaned. She pulled back as if burned; there was blood on her left hand.

“You’re shot!” she gasped.

He grimaced, his Adam’s Apple bobbing before he attempted to push himself to sitting.

“Careful!” she yelped, wrapping her arm around him to assist him. Hot blood wet her bare arm. Her lungs stuttered as she tried to breathe. She needed to breathe, she needed to help him.

He managed to sit and pulled away from her, inspecting his arm. “A flesh wound,” he muttered, pain clear in the strain on his voice.

Penelope trembled as she shoved his hand away. She sucked in a breath at the bloody wound, exposed by the torn fabric of his coat. She glanced around helplessly; Sir Crane and Debling were watching on, worry creasing their faces. Geoffrey was wrangling the horses.

Mr Crabtree squatted down beside Colin and, gently moving Penelope out of the way, he helped Colin out of his coat, pulling his injured arm out of his shirtsleeve before pouring whiskey on the wound. Colin hissed as the liquid hit him, and Crabtree grimaced before wrapping it in a bandage.

“The bullet merely grazed him, he is fortunate,” said Crabtree to Penelope, as he helped Colin put his arm back into his shirt.

She shook her head, her stomach roiling. Footsteps squelched through wet grass towards them.

Debling.

Penelope didn’t think, she just launched herself at him, battering her fists against his chest. “You shot my husband!” she shouted, red hot fury burning through her veins.

Debling grabbed her wrists, holding them above her. “It was not my intention!”

“Don’t touch her!” roared Colin, lurching to his feet as he did.

Penelope yanked herself free of Debling, stumbling back into Colin’s chest.

Debling glanced between them, his eyes wide. “I didn’t mean– We agreed to shoot wide, he moved!”

“What the hell are you doing here, Penelope!” demanded Colin, reaching for her elbow and spinning her to face him.

“What am I doing here?” she cried. “You’re the one who–”

She was cut off by his lips crashing into hers, his hands on her cheeks.

He pulled away gasping, their breaths steaming in the cool air. “You could have been shot,” he growled.

She shoved his chest and stepped back from him. “You were shot you– you utter fool!”

He scowled at her. “I wouldn’t have been shot if you hadn’t–”

“You wouldn’t have been shot if you hadn’t challenged a man to a duel!”

“You are my wife and he ruined you!”

“No!” she shouted. “You ruined me!”

Colin jerked back from her, his brows furrowed. “I–”

She stepped towards him, her fury vibrating through her. The truth finally pouring out of her. “You. Ruined. Me,” she said, each word punching from her lips. “You are the reason I could not marry Debling, you are the reason I couldn’t marry anyone. You!”

Colin glanced over her shoulder at Debling. “I don’t–”

Hot tears burned fiery trails down her cheeks. “The moment I met you I was ruined.”

Colin reached for her shoulders but she stepped away from him. She wanted to scream, to shout, to shake her stubborn, blind, foolish husband.

“Loving you is agony,” she breathed, every scar on her heart ripping open with her words.

“Penelope, I–”

“Your very existence is torture,” she cried. “I have loved you since my silly bonnet was caught by the wind, since you fell off your damned horse and you laughed. You laughed!”

Colin swallowed visibly, his eyes shining. “You love me?”

She glared at him, furious that that was what he was taking away from this. “I was supposed to marry him!” she shouted, pointing at Debling behind her. “Everything would have been–” her words caught on the knot in her throat. “When I heard you last year in my mother’s garden, I promised myself I was done. I promised myself I could– I could free myself of you. But then he proposed and I couldn’t, I just– I couldn’t.”

Her voice was shaking, her hands trembling. Colin stepped towards her but she barrelled on; she had to get this out, she had to let her heart free.

“I have tried, Colin. I have tried to escape you, to unshackle myself from you, but I threw away the key a long time ago and I’ve never been quite able to find it. I don’t think I ever truly wanted to find it.”

She swiped at her tears and glanced over her shoulder at Debling. His shoulders were slumped, his jaw twitching. “Forgive me,” she whispered.

He grimaced at her and nodded. “I’ll give you your privacy,” he said quietly before walking away.

Colin reached for her hand. “You love me.”

She stared down at their joined hands, his so big she could barely see her own. “I tried to stop,” she murmured, her voice thick with sorrow.

It was sorrow for the girl at sixteen who exchanged her heart for her bonnet. Sorrow for the girl at seventeen who experienced her first heartbreak as he proposed to another. Sorrow for the girl at eighteen who overheard him vow to never court her when she thought he was just on the cusp of returning her feelings. Sorrow for herself now, who despite everything, could not love another. Much as she had tried.

Because there was no one quite like Colin Bridgerton. No one who was as kind, as caring. No one who truly saw her as he did.

And now he saw all of her.

There was nothing left to hide.

“I can’t, I– I won’t stop loving you,” she said, feeling as though she were flayed before him. “Whether you want it or not, my heart belongs to you. It’s torture loving someone who cannot return your feelings. That is ruin.”

“I know much about that,” he whispered, placing his hand on her cheek, his fingers threading through her hair.

Her bruised and battered heart sunk. Marina.

She clenched her eyes shut against her burning tears. “I don’t expect you to– None of what I’ve said has to change anything. I can be your wife without you loving me in return. I’ve come to terms with that.”

“Pen–”

“But you must know that there is no one else. I met with Debling to apologise because I could not change my heart.”

“Penelope–”

“There was no need for a duel—he cannot compromise me because I’m not his to compromise. I know this comes as a shock but–”

“For god’s sake, Penelope, will you let me speak!”

She snapped her lips shut, her eyes wide with shock at his sudden outburst.

He cupped her cheeks in his hands. “I love you. I’m in love with you.”

She shook her head. “I know that there is an expectation that comes with a love declaration but I do not–”

He pressed his lips to hers, cutting her off. “Stop speaking,” he said, his words muffled against her lips. He pulled away, leaving her gasping. “I have a few things I would like to say now.”

She nodded, feeling a tad dazed, her lips tingling.

“I love you,” he said. “Despite the fact that you never want to hear it, and despite that rather insulting love confession.”

Penelope stared at him. “Insulting?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You tried to stop loving me.”

“Only because I–”

“It’s my turn to speak. I have had enough of you telling me how I feel, I’d like to tell you myself.”

She gaped at his stern words, her mind spinning.

“I’ll admit I may not have loved you for as long as you have loved me, although it’s certainly been longer than I think I even knew. I believe I might have ignored my feelings in the past, which perhaps is just as insulting as saying you tried to stop your feelings. But I did so unknowingly, which feels as though it’s an important distinction.”

“You love me?” she asked, blinking up at him.

“I love you deeply, my darling, with my entire heart,” he said, his lips quirking at the corners. “I love you as my friend, my lover, my wife. I love you as the future mother of my children, my travel companion, my writing partner. The more I know you, the more I love you, every detail of you engraves itself on my heart. I love that I am your husband, that you are mine alone and I yours.”

“You– I–”

He pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. “I cannot–” his voice caught and he cleared his throat. “I cannot imagine a life where you are not my wife, the thought of it alone makes me–” he let out a wet laugh and shook his head. “Well, I suppose it makes me want to shoot a man.”

Penelope swallowed. This couldn’t be. She had to be dreaming. Colin loved her?

Colin Bridgerton had fallen in love with Penelope Featherington – No, Penelope Bridgerton. His wife.

He loved her!

A joyous sob racked through her. It was beyond belief, and yet she knew in her heart it was true. Colin loved her.

He dragged her into a kiss, his tongue sweeping into her mouth. She let out a whimper, her blood heating. His arms wrapped around her waist and he pulled her bodily against him. She reached for his shoulder to steady herself and he gasped, ripping himself away.

“Sorry!” she squeaked as he grabbed his wound.

“Don’t be,” he replied, with a wide smile. He glanced over at their awkward audience. “The duel is done, gentlemen. You may take your leave.”

They apparently didn’t need to be asked twice as all four men, including Geoffrey, hastened to their waiting steeds.

Penelope let out a hiccup of a laugh. “I suppose we should return to–”

“No,” said Colin, wrapping his arms around her waist once more.

Her brows drew together. “No?”

He ducked and kissed her briefly. “We’re not going anywhere. Not yet.”

Thundering hooves raced away from them. “But your wound needs tending and–”

He kissed her again.

“Are you ever going to let me speak?” she exclaimed.

Colin grinned. “That depends on whether you can tell me you love me without it sounding like I’m your jailer.”

She giggled, biting her lip. “I lo–”

He cut her off with his lips once more, his fingers tugging at the ties on the back of her dress.

“Colin!” she cried, laughter carrying her voice.

“I grew impatient.”

“We are in a field! Anyone could see us!” Even so, she tugged his shirt out of his trousers, swooping her hands underneath, revelling in the warmth of his back.

He kissed his way down her neck, her now bare shoulder. His stubble grazed her as he did, gooseflesh prickling her skin. “I love you,” he whispered between each kiss, as if they were words of worship. Perhaps they were.

He pulled away a moment, picking up his long brown coat before spreading it on the grass. He guided her onto it, pushing her gently to her back. She breathed in the scent of grass and sweet bluebells, the rising sun painting the sky above them pink and gold. Colin moved on top of her, his body keeping her warm as he slowly removed her dress, kissing every inch of her skin as it was exposed to him.

Her blood hummed and glittered; his hands were rough and warm as he dragged them down her waist to her thighs. Pleasure pulsed through her and she threaded her fingers through his soft, thick hair. “I’m sorry,” she gasped, as he kissed her neck, his stubble shooting lightning across her skin.

He nuzzled her ear. “For what, my love?”

“I should never have met him.”

Colin pulled back from her, his eyes burning as he looked down at her, framed with thick black lashes. “No, you shouldn’t have,” he said. “But…”

She stroked her fingertip down his jaw to his lips, tracing the curve of them. “But?”

His eyes shone and he blinked at the raw emotion that seemed to have overcome him. “I imagine if I had been in his position…” he shook his head. “I can understand your wanting to comfort him.”

She smiled up at him. Of course he did. Colin was nothing if not thoughtful and deeply feeling, sometimes it was as though he shared her emotions. “I should have been honest with you.”

He kissed the tip of her finger. “Yes. But I too hid my heart from you. And I should never have left you at the Cranes.”

She slid her hands under his shirt and down his back, marvelling as his muscles moved beneath her touch. “We were both fools, then,” she said.

He ducked down and kissed the crook of her neck, his breath hot against her skin. “We promised to be honest with each other,” he breathed.

She gasped as his words danced across her skin. “I will never hide my heart from you again,” she whispered.

“Nor I you,” he breathed as his hand moved between her thighs, stroking her to aching. “I cannot hide what is yours.”

She arched towards him, moaning as a wave of sparkling pleasure undulated through her. A sparrow flitted overhead as she dragged her fingers down his chest. “I need you,” she gasped.

He tugged at his trousers and moments later she felt him hot and hard against her centre. “Tell me you love me,” he murmured.

She gazed up at him and moved her hand to rest over his heart. It thudded against her palm, and she curled her fingers, stroking his chest hair. “I love you,” she said.

He pushed inside her and she keened at the glorious stretch of him filling her.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” she chanted as he began to move within her.

He groaned, pulling her thighs around his waist as he made love to her. He pressed his lips to hers, sliding his tongue against her own, his kiss messy but desperate. She clutched him closer, feeling more deeply connected to him than ever before.

He ground against her pearl and she cried out.

“You are the only woman I have ever loved,” he whispered, as he thrust into her. “The only woman I will ever love. My wife, my lover, my Penelope.”

She felt his words in the very marrow of her, their souls dancing between them as they kissed. Her chest bloomed. She never wanted this moment to end. And yet, it was truly only the beginning. She had a lifetime of their love ahead of her. Her husband, her lover, her friend.

They reached their peaks together, crying out as one, their bodies arching. Her chest heaved as he lay by her side, wrapping his arms and legs around her so that they were completely entangled.

She nuzzled into his chest, breathing in his scent of salt and whiskey and grass. They lay there for a while, the sounds of birds singing and bluebells swaying accompanying their slowing heartbeats. Colin stroked her hair, every now and then pressing his lips to her forehead.

She closed her eyes, her limbs languid under the warmth of his body and the rising sun.

“Marry me,” he murmured.

She furrowed her brow a moment, thinking she’d misheard him. “Hm?”

He tugged her impossibly closer. “Marry me.”

She looked up at him. “We are married, my darling. Are you sure you’re al–”

He rolled on top of her, his arms on either side of her shoulders. She yelped at the sudden movement, giggling a moment before noting the solemn expression on his face.

“I’d like to make some additional promises to you,” he said softly. “We were given our vows before, now I’d like to be more… specific.”

She raised her eyebrows, her stomach fluttering. “Specific?”

He wet his lips and nodded. “It is important to me, you are important to me. Our vows should reflect the depth of our history, our love, our friendship.”

Her chest squeezed. She nodded, offering him a heartfelt if watery smile.

He swallowed, his jaw tensing a moment as he appeared to gather himself. “I vow to be honest with you, no matter how terrifying the prospect may be,” he said, his words low yet forthright.

Penelope’s eyes prickled and her throat thickened at his words.

“I vow to love you and worship you until the day I die, to be your friend, as you are my dearest friend, my love,” he whispered, his eyes shining as he stroked her hair. “I vow to show you adventure, to support you in your dreams, to protect you from sorrow. And where I cannot protect you, I promise to be by your side, to share the burden.”

He gave her a lingering kiss, his thumb swiping the hot tears on her cheek.

“It is my life’s greatest honour to be your husband,” he whispered. “And I promise you I shall never take that for granted.”

He reached for her left hand and twisted the wedding ring on her finger.

“I love you, my beautiful, wonderful, wicked wife.”

Penelope’s cheeks ached from the smile that stretched across them. He loved her. As much as she did him. They were partners, husband and wife, their lives and hearts forever intertwined. She shared his wish to acknowledge that, to make new promises to him. To finally express the depth of her feelings without fear or shame. She held his love in her hands now, and that was a great privilege.

She cleared her throat, attempting to gather herself. “That is a hard act to follow,” she whispered.

He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed her ring. “You do not need to say anything.”

“I think I’ve kept my feelings to myself for far too long,” she said, shaking her head. He had been so open and honest just now, it was about time she did the same. And with that thought the words seemed to flow. “I know that I can be a private person. I do not find it so easy to be in the light, to show all of myself to others. But I promise I shall never hide from you. You will always know my heart.”

He smiled down at her, the edges of his hair glowing golden as the sun continued to rise.

“I vow to always be your friend, to support you in your endeavours, to push you to see just how wonderful you are, as a writer and as a man.”

He ducked his head, his cheeks flushing. She reached for his jaw, swiping her thumb across the rough shadow there.

“I promise that you will never question my love for you, that I will show you every day just how much I adore you. I promise to– to worship you.”

Colin raised his eyebrows and smirked at her.

She giggled, smacking his chest. “I promise to…” She flushed red, her shoulders lifting as she searched for the right words to express just how much he meant to her. “I love you,” she said. “It is a simple yet consuming truth. I love you. And I won’t stop.”

“You’ve ruined me,” he whispered, his throat bobbing.

She reached for the back of his neck and dragged him into a fierce kiss, showing him what words could not.

He was her ruin, and she was his.

Simple, consuming, glorious ruin.

Chapter 24: Epilogue

Chapter Text

One Year Later

His lips were hot on her skin, his tongue sliding down her neck, sending gooseflesh scattering. She gasped as he lifted her, her thighs wrapping around him as he pushed her against the shelf, books tumbled thunking to the floor. She threaded her fingers through his hair, tugging in a way she knew drove him wild. He ground against her and she moaned; he chuckled against her neck.

“We have to be quiet, darling.”

She nodded and turned to capture his lips in hers. It would be easier to stay quiet if their mouths were melded together. Strings soared in the distance as his hand travelled under her skirt and up her thigh, squeezing her, near bruising her.

Finally he reached the place she needed him and she whimpered, throwing her head back, wincing when she hit it

She was very quickly distracted when Colin slipped his fingers through her folds, his finger dipping into her pulsing quim. She was vaguely aware of footsteps.

Then suddenly a bright shard of light.

They both stilled, as they heard tsking, followed by laughter. Colin groaned before carefully settling her back to her feet and tugging her dress back into place, all the while shielding her from view with his larger, broader body.

“Can a man not have a moment alone with his wife?” he asked his brothers, turning towards them whilst still keeping Penelope behind him.

Benedict raised his eyebrows. “Mother and Eloise were looking for you, I’d say we’re the lesser of evils.”

Anthony laughed. “Brother, you have been back in Mayfair not a week. Would it be so difficult not to compromise your wife at a ball? People will talk, you know.”

Colin shot them a glare as he reached for Penelope’s hand, dragging her into the light with him. “Has it only been a week? I believe we’re about ready to commence our next tour of the Continent.”

“Mother will murder you,” said Anthony, before smiling at Penelope. “Penelope, I believe your mother was also searching for you.”

She let out a long sigh. Colin was right, it certainly did feel as though they’d been back in Mayfair for months. How had it only been mere days?

She loved seeing everyone, even her sisters and mother. But she did yearn for their time away in Greece. Especially when her mother commented on all the freckles she’d developed whilst on their jaunt in the sun.

Colin loved her freckles.

She found she quite liked them too, especially when he made it his mission to kiss each and every one. She bit her lip at the thought. Colin squeezed her hand and she wondered if perhaps her thoughts were clear on her face.

From the matching smirks on Anthony and Benedict’s expressions, perhaps they were. She ducked her head, her already heated cheeks flushing brighter.

“Shall we return to the ball?” she said.

Colin nodded. “Yes, I believe you owe me a dance, my love.”

Benedict rolled his eyes as Anthony grinned.

—

Penelope couldn’t drag the smile from her face if she tried. Her skin was damp and flushed from their dancing; Colin had claimed three dances from her already. It was scandalous, but she didn’t much care. She sipped on a glass of cool lemonade, relishing the sugary citrus on her tongue as she looked out at the ballroom. Couples were twirling across the dancefloor as strings led them in a thrilling reel. Eagle-eyed mamas observed them, whilst gentlemen drank champagne and attempted to avoid dancing.

Colin was chatting to Benedict; every now and then she’d meet his gaze and share a secret smile with him. He’d wanted to stay with her but she’d sent him over. She loved watching him with his family, he seemed to bloom with joy around them. Though she knew sometimes he struggled with how he compared to how they saw him. Penelope liked to think that the two sides of Colin were largely matching up now.

“I’m surprised my brother allowed you to leave his side,” said Eloise, as she sidled up beside her.

Penelope lifted her shoulders and smiled at her friend. “We have had practically nothing but each other’s company for a year, I’m sure he loves a moment or two away.”

Eloise raised her eyebrows and Penelope pressed her lips together.

“I might have made certain, erm, promises to him if he made more effort this evening to speak with Benedict. He seems a little… out of sorts.”

Eloise hummed. “I suppose I don’t want to know what promises were made?”

Penelope bit her lip, her mind flashing with exactly what she’d be doing with Colin later this evening. “Better that you don’t.”

“I wonder if I’ll ever get used to you married to my brother.”

Penelope reached for her hand. “I should thank you. If it weren’t for you–” she swallowed as she thought back on that night Eloise appeared in her room demanding that she marry Colin. So that one day she might not hate her.

That day had not been a day at all. It had been a matter of many moments. Of letters travelling back and forth from Mayfair to Wiltshire to Greece. Of sincere apologies, and tentative jests. All the while she’d had Colin’s hand on her shoulder, his quiet support wrapped around her.

Things had been stilted at first when they returned to Mayfair from their travels. What had been so easy to say in writing was somewhat more difficult in person. Yet Penelope felt as though they were finally returning to the way things were.

Well, not quite what they were. But perhaps something better, something stronger, something honest. Eloise was her sister now, after all.

Eloise squeezed her hand in return. “I’m glad I spoke to you that evening. I never stopped loving you. Much as I was furious with you.”

Tears prickled at the back of Penelope’s eyes. “There is still much I regret.”

Eloise shook her head. “None of that, Colin will be in a rage if he sees I've made you cry. And I cannot stand his histrionics.”

Penelope let out a wet laugh. “He is rather protective.”

“I’d love to be a fly on the wall when he’s with your mother.”

Penelope groaned. “I’ve been trying my best to avoid that.”

A soft clearing throat drew both of their attentions. Penelope nearly choked on her lemonade. Standing before them, his suit and cravat perfectly in place, his blonde hair swept back and his beard neatly trimmed, was Lord Debling.

He bowed to them both and Penelope quickly introduced Eloise to him, whilst glancing over his shoulder to see if Colin had noticed their new companion. She locked eyes with him; he was already striding towards them.

“It is good to see you, Mrs Bridgerton,” said Debling, studying her expression.

Her cheeks heated; the last time she’d seen Debling was at dawn in a field when she’d announced to all present that she could never love him, after physically assaulting him for accidentally shooting her husband.

It couldn’t have been a fond memory for him.

“Are you well?” she asked.

Before he could answer, Colin’s hand was on her lower back and he was offering the other to Debling in greeting.

“Mr Bridgerton,” said Debling, with an affable smile that eased Penelope’s racing heart. “I hear you have both been travelling.”

Colin nodded with a wide grin, his hand moving to her waist as he expounded on their adventures through Greece. Penelope lost herself in Colin’s expressions as he described their tour—his eyes always sparkled when he spoke of it. He seemed to come truly alive. Debling for his part seemed interested and the tension in Penelope’s shoulders eased.

It had been a year. Time healed old wounds, and there was a reason Penelope had nearly married Debling: he was a nice man. Perhaps one day he might even be considered a friend to her and Colin.

“Mrs Bridgerton, might I have the next dance?”

Penelope startled at Debling’s question, Colin’s hand tensing on her waist. “Oh, I–”

“Go, darling,” said Colin to Penelope, before smiling at Debling. “My wife loves to dance, but I fear if I take her out onto the dancefloor once more we’ll be talked about until the next scandal.”

Debling chuckled and offered Penelope his arm. She hesitated a moment, glancing at Colin, but she did not see the possessiveness she expected in his expression. He seemed unconcerned and she felt a surprising swoop of relief at it. Her husband knew that he had nothing to worry himself with when it came to her and Debling, or any gentleman really.

Debling led her onto the dancefloor for a quadrille, and she allowed herself to be swept up in the vibrant music.

“Will you be in London for the entire Season, my lord?” she asked as she weaved through the other dancers with him.

He glanced over her shoulder a moment and she followed his gaze to a young woman smiling prettily behind a fan. “I hope to be, yes.”

“She is lovely,” said Penelope, raising her eyebrows at Debling.

His cheeks flushed and he ducked his head. “I intend to travel to the Antarctic next year, so I hope to have a wife who will be able to manage my households while I am away.”

Penelope skipped around another dancer, waiting to return to Debling before speaking again. “Perhaps your future wife might like to join you?”

Debling furrowed his brow, before turning her. “Would you have?”

She thought briefly of what life would be like surrounded by naught but ice, the raging seas, the strange men. “Perhaps not,” she said, shivering. “Although…”

“Although?”

She sighed. “I suppose there isn’t anywhere I wouldn’t go with– with Colin.”

Debling smiled sweetly. “I aspire to have a marriage as loving as yours one day, Mrs Bridgerton. I am glad for you.”

“You will, my lord, you are very much deserving of one.”

The music slowed and they came to a stop, she curtsied as he bowed. “I wish you all the best, Mrs Bridgerton,” said Debling as he led her off the dancefloor to her husband. He nodded to Colin, offering a parting, “Mr Bridgerton,” before leaving them. Penelope watched as he found the pretty girl with her fan at the side of the dance floor and asked for her next dance.

Penelope turned to her husband. “Well, that was–” she cut herself off at the burning look in his eyes.

“We’re leaving,” he said, offering her his arm.

Penelope co*cked her head to the side, her brow furrowing. Perhaps he wasn’t as unconcerned with her dance partner as she’d thought. “Colin, you cannot honestly believe that Lord Debling poses you any–”

“I am not threatened by him, Penelope,” he murmured, dropping his lips to her ear in a way that made her shiver.

“Good, because–”

“That was quite the vigorous dance, my love, and I had a marvellous view of you.”

“I don’t understand,” she whispered, although her racing heart and her heated blood was painting her quite the picture of where he was leading.

His hot tongue traced the curve of her ear and she whimpered. “I’ll be clearer then, I want to free your breasts of that tempting dress and watch them bounce as you ride my—.”

She slapped her hand over his lips, his laughter bursting between her fingers. “Anyone could hear you!” she hissed.

He tugged her flush against his side. “Do not pretend that does not make you ache, darling.”

Her cheeks heated as a familiar throb pulsed through her. She really was his fire to stoke. “We were supposed to be returning in hopes of ending our scandal.”

“Well then, we’d best leave now before we give them something to really talk about.”

She playfully glared up at him but she could not help but stand on her toes to whisper in his ear. “Call the carriage, I will make our excuses.”

Colin grinned like the devil at her. “I love you.”

Her stomach fluttered with blooming warmth, and she decided that if her husband wanted to tease her so, perhaps he was deserving of the same from her. “Do you?” she asked, biting her lip.

His eyes lingered on her lips, his voice dropping to a ragged rumble. “You doubt me?”

She tried to smother her giggle, lifting her shoulders. “Perhaps your wife needs a reminder.”

Colin ran his hand down her waist, dangerously close to her bottom. “Oh, I intend to remind you all evening, my little tease. I’ll take great pleasure in it.”

She decided to ignore any watching eyes and placed a hand on his jaw. “I am utterly, completely, and devotedly in love with you Colin Bridgerton.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Did you think I needed reminding? It’s my greatest source of pride.”

She pulled him down into a lingering kiss, vaguely aware of distant gasps. “I’ll remind you anyway—in fact, I’d also like to show you. The carriage, my love.”

His eyes were scorching on her. “Make haste in your farewells.”

She laughed as she watched him quickly weave his way through the crowds. She could feel the eyes of judging mamas on her, but she did not have a care for them. Colin Bridgerton had ruined her years ago, after all.

What was a little more scandal?