Romancing Mister Bridgerton (23 page)

“Were you?” Colin said softly, but Penelope detected a definite edge in his voice.

“Yes,” Eloise said. “I was telling Penelope that it is really too bad she's retired, since your engagement would have been quite the most newsworthy piece of gossip we've had all year.”

“Interesting how that works out,” Colin murmured.

“Mmmm,” Eloise agreed, “and she surely would have devoted an entire column just to your engagement ball tomorrow night.”

Penelope did not lower her teacup from her mouth.

“Do you want some more?” Eloise asked her.

Penelope nodded and handed her the cup, although she very much missed having it in front of her face as a shield. She knew that Eloise had blurted out Lady Whistledown's name because she did not want Colin to know that she had mixed feelings about his marriage, but still, Penelope fervently wished that Eloise had said anything else in reply to Colin's question.

“Why don't you ring for more food?” Eloise asked Colin.

“Already did so,” he answered. “Wickham intercepted me in the hall and asked if I was hungry.” He popped the last bite of Eloise's biscuit into his mouth. “Wise man, that Wickham.”

“Where did you go today, Colin?” Penelope asked, eager to get the topic firmly off of Lady Whistledown.

He gave his head a beleaguered shake. “Devil if I know. Mother dragged me from shop to shop.”

“Aren't you thirty-three years old?” Eloise inquired sweetly.

He answered her with a scowl.

“Just thought you'd be beyond the age of having Mother drag you about, that's all,” she murmured.

“Mother will be dragging all of us about when we're doddering old fools, and you know it,” he replied. “Besides, she's so delighted to see me married, I really can't bring myself to spoil her fun.”

Penelope sighed. This had to be why she loved the man. Anyone who treated his mother so well would surely be an excellent husband.

“And how are your wedding preparations coming along?” Colin asked Penelope.

She hadn't meant to pull a face, but she did, anyway. “I have never been so exhausted in all my life,” she admitted.

He reached over and grabbed a large crumb off of her plate. “We should elope.”

“Oh, could we
really?
” Penelope asked, the words flying from her lips in an unsummoned rush.

He blinked. “Actually, I was joking, mostly, although it does seem a prime idea.”

“I shall arrange for a ladder,” Eloise said, clapping her hands together, “so that you might climb to her room and steal her away.”

“There's a tree,” Penelope said. “Colin will have no difficulty with it.”

“Good God,” he said, “you're not serious, are you?”

“No,” she sighed. “But I could be. If you were.”

“I can't be. Do you know what it would do to my mother?” He rolled his eyes. “Not to mention yours.”

Penelope groaned. “I know.”

“She'd hunt me down and kill me,” Colin said.

“Mine or yours?”

“Both. They'd join forces.” He craned his neck toward the door. “
Where
is the food?”

“You just got here, Colin,” Eloise said. “Give them time.”

“And here I thought Wickham a sorcerer,” he grumbled, “able to conjure food with the snap of his hand.”

“Here you are, sir!” came Wickham's voice as he sailed into the room with a large tray.

“See?” Colin said, raising his brows first at Eloise and then at Penelope. “I told you so.”

“Why,” Penelope asked, “do I sense that I will be hearing those words from your lips far too many times in my future?”

“Most likely because you will,” Colin replied. “You'll soon learn”—he shot her an extremely cheeky grin—“that I am almost always right.”

“Oh,
please,
” Eloise groaned.

“I may have to side with Eloise on this one,” Penelope said.

“Against your husband?” He placed a hand on his heart (while the other one reached for a sandwich). “I'm wounded.”

“You're not my husband yet.”

Colin turned to Eloise. “The kitten has claws.”

Eloise raised her brows. “You didn't realize that before you proposed?”

“Of course I did,” he said, taking a bite of his sandwich. “I just didn't think she'd use them on me.”

And then he looked at her with such a hot, masterful expression that Penelope's bones went straight to water.

“Well,” Eloise announced, rising quite suddenly to her feet, “I think I shall allow you two soon-to-be-newlyweds a moment or two of privacy.”

“How positively forward-thinking of you,” Colin murmured.

Eloise looked to him with a peevish twist to her mouth. “Anything for you, dear brother. Or rather,” she added, her expression growing arch, “anything for Penelope.”

Colin stood and turned to his betrothed, “I seem to be slipping down the pecking order.”

Penelope just smiled behind her teacup and said, “I am making it my policy never to get in the middle of a Bridgerton spat.”

“Oh ho!” Eloise chortled. “You'll not be able to keep to that one, I'm afraid, Mrs. Soon-to-be-Bridgerton. Besides,” she added with a wicked grin, “if you think this is a spat, I can't wait until you see us in full form.”

“You mean I haven't?” Penelope asked.

Both Eloise and Colin shook their heads in a way that made her extremely fearful.

Oh, dear.

“Is there something I should know?” Penelope asked.

Colin grinned rather wolfishly. “It's too late now.”

Penelope gave Eloise a helpless glance, but all she did was laugh as she left the room, closing the door firmly behind her.

“Now,
that
was nice of Eloise,” Colin murmured.

“What?” Penelope asked innocently.

His eyes gleamed. “The door.”

“The door? Oh!” she yelped. “The door.”

Colin smiled, moving over to the sofa beside her. There was something rather delightful about Penelope on a rainy afternoon. He'd hardly seen her since they'd become engaged—wedding plans had a way of doing that to a couple—and yet she'd not been out of his thoughts, even as he slept.

Funny how that happened. He'd spent years not really ever thinking about her unless she was standing in front of his face, and now she had permeated his every last thought.

His every last desire.

How had this happened?

When
had it happened?

And did it really matter? Maybe the only important thing was that he wanted her and she was—or at least she would be—his. Once he put his ring on her finger, the hows, whys, and whens would become irrelevant, provided that this madness he felt never went away.

He touched his finger to her chin, tipping her face up to the light. Her eyes shone with anticipation, and her lips—dear God, how was it possible that the men of London had never noticed how perfect they were?

He smiled. This was a permanent madness. And he couldn't have been more pleased.

Colin had never been opposed to marriage. He'd simply been opposed to a dull marriage. He wasn't picky; he just wanted passion and friendship and intellectual conversation and a good laugh every now and then. A wife from whom he wouldn't want to stray.

Amazingly, he seemed to have found that in Penelope.

All he needed to do now was make sure her Big Secret remained just that. A secret.

Because he didn't think he could bear the pain he'd see in her eyes if she were cast out of society.

“Colin?” she whispered, her breath quivering across her lips, making him
really
want to kiss her.

He leaned in. “Hmmm?”

“You were so quiet.”

“Just thinking.”

“About what?”

He gave her an indulgent smile. “You really have been spending too much time with my sister.”

“What does that mean?” she asked, her lips twitching in such a way that he knew she'd never feel any compunction at poking fun at him. She would keep him on his toes, this woman.

“You seem,” he said, “to have developed a certain penchant for persistence.”

“Tenacity?”

“That, too.”

“But that's a good thing.”

Their lips were still mere inches apart, but the urge to continue the teasing conversation was too strong. “When you're persistently avowing your obedience for your husband,” he murmured, “that's a good thing.”

“Oh, really?”

His chin dipped into the barest hint of a nod. “And when you're tenaciously holding on to my shoulders when I'm kissing you, that's a good thing as well.”

Her dark eyes widened so delightfully that he had to add, “Don't you think?”

And then she surprised him.

“Like this?” she asked, placing her hands on his shoulders. Her tone was daring, her eyes pure flirtation.

Lord, he loved that she surprised him.

“That's a start,” he said. “You might have to”—he moved one of his hands to cover hers, pressing her fingers into his skin—“hold me a little more tenaciously.”

“I see,” she murmured. “So what you're saying is that I should never let go?”

He thought about that for a moment. “Yes,” he answered, realizing that there was a deeper meaning in her words, whether she'd intended it or not. “That's exactly what I'm saying.”

And then words were simply not enough. He brought his lips to hers, remaining gentle for barely a second before his hunger overtook him. He kissed her with a passion he hadn't even known he possessed. It wasn't about desire—or at least it wasn't
just
about desire.

It was about need.

It was about a strange sensation, hot and fierce inside of him, urging him to lay claim to her, to somehow brand her as his.

He wanted her desperately, and he had absolutely no idea how he could possibly make it through an entire month before the wedding.

“Colin?” Penelope gasped, just as he was easing her down onto her back on the sofa.

He was kissing her jaw, and then her neck, and his lips were far too busy for anything other than a low, “Mmm?”

“We're—Oh!”

He smiled, even as he nipped her earlobe gently with his teeth. If she could finish a sentence, then he clearly wasn't befuddling her as much as he ought.

“You were saying?” he murmured, then kissed her deeply on the mouth, just to torture her.

He lifted his lips off hers just long enough for her to say, “I just—” and then he kissed her again, reeling with pleasure when she groaned with desire.

“I'm sorry,” he said, scooting his hands under the hem of her dress and then using them to do all sorts of wicked things to her calves, “you were saying?”

“I was?” she asked, her eyes glazed.

He moved his hands higher, until they were tickling the back of her knee. “You were saying
some
thing,” he said, pressing his hips against her because he honestly thought he would burst into flame at that very moment if he did not. “I think,” he whispered, sliding his hand over the soft skin of her thigh, “that you were going to say that you wanted me to touch you
here
.”

She gasped, then groaned, then somehow managed to say, “I don't think that was what I was going to say.”

He grinned against her neck. “Are you sure?”

She nodded.

“So then you want me to stop?”

She shook her head. Frantically.

He could take her now, he realized. He could make love to her right there on his mother's sofa and not only would she let him, she would enjoy herself in every way a woman should.

It wouldn't be a conquest, it wouldn't even be seduction.

It would be more than that. Maybe even…

Love.

Colin froze.

“Colin?” she whispered, opening her eyes.

Love?

It wasn't possible.

“Colin?”

Or maybe it was.

“Is something wrong?”

It wasn't that he feared love, or didn't believe in it. He just hadn't…expected it.

He'd always thought love would hit a man like a thunderbolt, that one day you'd be loitering about at some party, bored to tears, and then you'd see a woman, and you'd know instantly that your life would be changed forever. That was what had happened to his brother Benedict, and heaven knew that he and his wife Sophie were blissfully happy rusticating away in the country.

But this thing with Penelope…it had crept up on him. The change had been slow, almost lethargic, and if it was love, well…

If it was love, wouldn't he
know
?

He watched her closely, curiously, thinking that maybe he'd find his answer in her eyes, or the sweep of her hair, or the way the bodice of her gown hung slightly crookedly. Maybe if he watched her long enough, he'd know.

“Colin?” she whispered, starting to sound slightly anxious.

He kissed her again, this time with a fierce determination. If this was love, wouldn't it become obvious when they kissed?

But if his mind and body were working separately, then the kiss was clearly in league with his body, because while his mind's confusion remained just as blurry as ever, his body's need was brought into sharper focus.

Hell, now he was in pain. And he really couldn't do anything about it here in his mother's drawing room, even if Penelope would have been a willing participant.

He pulled back, letting his hand slip down her leg toward the edge of her skirt. “We can't do this here.”

“I know,” she said, sounding so sad that his hand stilled on her knee, and he almost lost his resolve to do the right thing and mind the dictates of propriety.

He thought hard and fast. It was possible that he could make love to her and no one would walk in on them. Heaven
knew that in his current state, it would be an embarrassingly fast endeavor, anyway.