Chapter Text
It was hard to leave Penelope in London and travel to Aubrey Hall with his family, but Colin could not come up with a plausible reason to remain behind. Frannie’s engagement ball would be the highlight of the season for the Bridgertons, taking place in lieu of his mother's annual Hearts and Flowers Ball. Even Daphne could not refuse the summons, and would be making the trek from Clyvedon with Augie and Simon for the special occasion.
He thought, perhaps, he could enlist her help in convincing Penelope that Colin was the best candidate for the position of husband. Daphne would be insufferable over being right about his feelings for Penelope but it was well worth it if she proved helpful.
Penelope was thawing, of course. She allowed him to court her, and so he had called on her every day since their delicious interlude in Anthony's finest carriage—both a delight and a torment. To see her and be close to her but unable to kiss her or hold her or whisper his naughty fantasies into her ear was nigh unbearable. Her mother and sister watched him like he was some sort of unearthly specimen, sent to defile their drawing room sofa on a daily basis. Lady Featherington, in particular, regarded him with such suspicion he was starting to think she could read his filthy thoughts about her youngest daughter… that, or she simply disliked him.
Surely it could not be the latter, he thought. He was eligible, albeit a little less so than Marcus Anderson, but eligible nonetheless. Penelope's mother had accepted the invitation to Aubrey Hall with a slightly pinched expression, one that she covered up with a rather forced smile—and then Colin had been allowed to sit with Penelope on the sofa for approximately half an hour before Lady Featherington announced they had plans for the day that they absolutely had to get on with.
Penelope had simply shrugged, and Colin was shown out, rather precipitously. He was still annoyed about that, as he was with several other things. Chief among them was the fact they would be apart for nearly a week. An entire week. He was in a dour mood about it, to be sure, and had not been very good about hiding that fact. Benedict was having a grand time teasing him, which was putting him out even further.
Nevertheless, he was a man with a mission. One given to him by Penelope herself, in fact. He had her letter in his pocket, waiting to be delivered into the hands of his irritatingly stubborn younger sister.
She has returned every letter I sent her. I do not hold much hope, but perhaps…
Eloise had woken at the crack of dawn and escaped somewhere onto the vast grounds, probably sneaking a cigarette in the woods and avoiding the hectic ball planning that was already taking place. They had only arrived the previous day, but Eloise's books and belongings were already strewn all over the room, as though she had never left for the season.
Colin left the letter from Penelope on Eloise's dresser, the only empty surface available, and left the room in search of his eldest brother.
He knocked on the door of the Viscount's study. Footsteps sounded, and the door opened. Anthony took one look at Colin's face, and sighed. "Not now, Colin.”
"I wish to speak to you."
"I am currently occupied," said Anthony, scowling. He gave Colin a meaningful, no-nonsense look. "Come back later."
Colin said rapidly, before the door could close in his face, "I am here to inform you that I plan to propose to Penelope."
Anthony, in the middle of closing his door, pulled it open again.
"Alright. You may enter."
He stepped aside, allowing Colin to enter the room. No sooner had he crossed over the threshold did he find himself staring into the slack-jawed face of Violet Bridgerton.
"Colin," said his mother, who had been standing inside the room unbeknownst to him. Her eyes were wide and bright with shock. "Colin, did I mishear you?"
He shot Anthony a look of recrimination, to which Anthony responded, "I told you it was not a good time."
"Anthony, did I mishear him?"
"No, mother. Colin says he will propose to Penelope."
"Colin!"
He braced himself for another uncomfortable conversation about not rushing into marriage willy-nilly. He had planned on informing his mother of his decision after settling the details with Anthony, had been mentally drafting the romantic details of a secret, slowborne courtship to appease her but now it was all for naught. He would have to deal with her concerns on top of Ant's undoubtedly insufferable attitude.
He pasted a smile on his face. "Mother, I—"
She rushed to him, beaming. "Oh, I am thrilled! I am so utterly thrilled! You will propose to Penelope! When will you do so?"
He had not expected this response. He said, cautiously, "Erm. Hopefully soon. I just came to inform Anthony, and I was going to find you after I told him, Mother."
Violet gasped. "Do you need a ring? Anthony, we must fetch the family jewels at once, Colin will need the perfect ring if he is to propose—"
Colin shook his head, a little overwhelmed. "Oh, I have not… that is, I did not consider the ring part of it yet… you are right, I do need a ring—"
Both turned to Anthony. He looked back at them.
"Very well," he said, sounding resigned. "I was supposed to go riding with my wife this afternoon, but if you two will insist on looking at me like Newton looks at Kate when he wants a snack, who am I to deny your wishes?"
"Shush, Anthony," said his mother, her cheeks flushed with exhilaration. She was positively giddy. "Come along, Colin."
As they made their way to the family wing, specifically the Viscount's private suite where the family jewels were kept under lock and key in a treasure room, more Bridgertons seemed to appear out of thin air.
Benedict was the first, joining them with his sketchbook tucked under his arm. He seemed to know exactly what was happening without having to be told, and threw his free arm over Colin's shoulder, giving him a congratulatory hug.
"Well done, Colin." He grinned at Anthony. "I've won our bet, then."
Their mother was too excited to reprimand her two eldest sons for betting on the lifelong happiness of their younger brother. "You must tell me what sort of stone does Penelope prefer? Is she partial to rubies, or sapphires? Or perhaps she likes diamonds? I do think young ladies nowadays are fond of more vibrant stones when they are engaged–"
"I am sure we can find something to suit her," said Anthony. "But be quick about it, Colin."
"What's happening?" Gregory stuck his head over the bannister, hearing their collective footsteps. He seemed to have a knack for sensing ongoing events that might prove exciting.
"Colin will propose to Penelope," said Benedict. "We're off to select an engagement ring."
"Is she likely to accept?" Gregory asked, falling in with the group. "Doesn't she have a suitor already?"
"Yes, Simon's cousin! He's ever so tall and handsome," said Hyacinth, who recently had become very taken with the idea of tall and handsome suitors. She, too, appeared out of nowhere.
Colin turned his head around to give them both an annoyed look. "She's already turned him down."
She had not done so yet, but his siblings did not need to know the details. Suffice to say, Penelope would certainly be refusing Anderson's proposal, so it all amounted to the same thing.
Frannie stuck her head out of the library. "Who was turned down?"
"Mr. Anderson," said Hyacinth, seizing her by the arm and dragging her along. "Pity. Do you think he will wait to marry? Say, five or six years?"
Benedict laughed. "Perhaps."
"Can we focus, please." Anthony stopped in front of his quarters, looking rather put upon. "Must we all go?"
"I want to see them!" said Hyacinth. "I've never been allowed to!"
"Me too!" Gregory chimed in. "I want to help Colin pick!"
"I'd like to try on a tiara while we're at it. What about you, Frannie?"
"You may look, but only Colin is allowed to pick. That means no touching, Hy. Do not pout at me. You will break something, and then I will have to spend a fortune to get it repaired."
Antony let them all into his sitting room, which had been redecorated after his marriage to Kate. The formerly stodgy wallpaper had been redone in a new, handsome green pattern. His younger siblings watched as he went up to it, pressing his hands flat against the wall in a funny sort of fashion, feeling it for the edge of the jib-door that had been cleverly concealed.
After a moment, he found it, and pressed on the wall, activating the spring lock that released the catch. The door swung open to a chorus of ‘oohs’, and Anthony said wryly, "Kate hid it a bit too well."
They went through the narrow hallway behind the jib-door in single file, chattering loudly until emerging on the other side into a dark, musty-smelling joining room. Anthony fumbled for his keys and unlocked another door.
Colin had never been in the family vault, and was rather impressed. His mother showed him ring after ring, and answered the endless stream of questions thrown in her direction by her children, explaining that this necklace belonged to a certain Great-Aunt, and this tiara had been gifted by a King, and the earrings that Frannie was admiring had once belonged to their grandmother.
Two rings, in particular, caught Colin's eye.
The first looked to be quite antique, five rose-cut rubies set in a dainty yellow gold band. He thought Penelope would like the simplicity of it, and the lustre of the rubies reminded him of her hair.
The second ring had a large, handsome sapphire at its centre, with smaller diamonds set around it to mimic the shape of a heart. The luminous clarity of the stone reminded him of her eyes.
Anthony, standing near the entrance, felt a hand on his back and nearly cursed as he jumped a foot into the air. He spun around, saw who it was, and scowled. "Do not sneak up on me like that!"
Colin looked up.
It was Eloise. Standing at the door, watching the rest of the family with her patented sullen expression. Bridgertons will be Bridgertons, and even Eloise did not want to be left out, it seemed.
He understood at a glance that she had seen the letter on her dresser. A silent look exchanged between them—he and Eloise. He held the two rings, and waited for her to say something.
Tension hung in the air. Although they were the only two who really knew, everyone else was also on tenterhooks. Eloise's estrangement from her best friend was a sore point, and no one was sure how she would react to this news.
"Are you certain?" she asked.
Colin nodded.
"The sapphire," she said, after a moment. "Penelope loves blue."
The sapphire. Colin looked at it, and knew in his gut that she was right. Penelope would love this ring.
"This one, then," he said.
His mother laid her hand on his arm, beaming widely. "You've made a wonderful choice," she told him.
He thought so, too.
°°°
Aubrey Hall was alive with music and joy.
Francesca was radiant on the eve of her engagement ball. The Earl of Kilmartin hovered by her side, and all their guests had to admit they made a very handsome couple. The Bridgertons were happy hosts, particularly the dowager Viscountess, who had spared no expense when it came to the floral arrangements and the exquisite spread. They made no secret of their wealth: two balls of this calibre, held in close succession, was no easy task.
Colin had been the very first to greet Penelope when her family arrived. She flushed prettily as he made a point of kissing her hand in front of everyone, including both their mothers, her sister, his eldest brother, and the footman.
His mother very helpfully insisted on showing Lady Featherington and Miss Featherington around the newly decorated drawing room; offhandedly instructing Colin to take Penelope to join Eloise and the other young ladies in the parlour.
Anthony gave him a Look, and personally ensured that he did deposit Penelope to the correct destination—as though he thought Colin would do something completely reckless like take Penelope back to his own bedchamber.
He did no such thing, and was a perfect gentleman. He sat across from her at supper, and afterwards, kept her company as they watched Frannie and her fiance perform a duet in the drawing room. Kilmartin was a nice fellow, and Colin liked him. The evening passed in pleasantness, tinged with the sweet joy of knowing that there would be many more like it ahead of them. When it was time to retire to bed, Colin escorted Penelope to the guest wing with the most proper of manners.
The engagement ball took place the following evening. Colin had secured the first dance with Pen the day before, and insisted on pencilling his name in for a second. He saw her mother glance sharply at them when he handed back the dance card. He smiled, as brightly and charmingly as he could, and Lady Featherington looked away after giving him a nod in response.
Everything was perfectly proper, up until he took her to the dance floor, and felt her soft hands in his own, her smile lighting up the room.
"Which room are you staying in?" he asked, when the dance brought them face to face for a brief moment.
Penelope's cheeks turned pink in the most fetching manner, giving her a look reminiscent of a naughty cherub. Her silky curls bounced as did other parts of her body—the quadrille was such a good dance for so many reasons, his favourite, really, and he especially loved it when he got to dance with Penelope.
Her eyes darted back and forth, as though she were trying to decide if anyone else had heard him—very unlikely, given the loudness of the music and the laughter of the guests—and he wondered if she would be too shy to tell him. She remained tightlipped for the remainder of the set and threw him rather intense looks that perhaps were meant to be admonishing but only served to make his loins ache.
Colin escorted Penelope off the dance floor when the song ended, admiring the flush that had spread across her chest and shoulders from the exertion of dancing. He bowed over her hand, winking, before sailing off to fetch her a lemonade.
When he returned, Pen took the glass from him and drank rather rapidly, avoiding his heated gaze.
She was adorable.
Someone called out his name, and he turned his head to look over his shoulder to see Anthony and Benedict beckoning him over with matching looks of urgency.
Oh god, he thought with disgust. Some horrendous thing must have happened, and he would have to leave Penelope's side for far longer than he wanted to. Hopefully no one had died. That would take hours to sort out.
"I will be right back," he said to her, apologetically.
She nodded, but as he turned to leave, he felt her fingers brush against his own, pressing something into his palm. He looked down as he crossed the room towards his brothers—Penelope had given him her dance card. Colin flipped it over, and his confusion melted away.
South guest wing. Fourth bedroom on the right.
Heat blossomed low in his belly, and he fought back the urge to spin on his heel and seize Penelope by the hand and do unspeakable acts to her right in front of the crowd.
Later, he promised himself.
Later came, and Colin found himself creeping down the hallway of the south wing, reserved for guests. He counted the doors as he tiptoed past: one, two, three, four.
The door creaked open as soon as he began to scratch gently upon it—clearly Penelope had been waiting on the other side, anticipating his arrival. A flicker of heat ignited in his belly, stoked further by the sight of her blue eyes peering up at him, reflecting the dim glow of the candles that were lit in the room.
"Colin," she whispered, his name sounding far better coming from her lips than anyone else's. He had never felt quite so aroused by simply hearing his name spoken in a hushed tone.
The depravity and ungentlemanly behaviour of what he was doing—sneaking into the bedchambers of a young lady, a guest of his family—had his heart beating fast.
Penelope looked particularly sweet and innocent, staring at him with her angelic eyes, so round and wide and pretty. She did not deserve to be debauched in this manner, but his heart and his cock did not listen to his mind. They simultaneously told it to shut up.
She stepped back and let him into the room, pushing the door shut behind him with a soft click. He had his arms around her in an instant, his mouth capturing hers so swiftly she barely had time to gasp his name again before he was kissing her the way he had been longing to for days now.
He broke away to look at her, and felt his gut tighten. She was in her bedclothes. Her chemise was not sheer, in fact, but it was far lighter than any gown he had ever seen on her body. It hung loosely, the neckline low.
Colin traced a finger along the gathered, tiny sleeve, slowly tugging it down her shoulder. Penelope's eyes tracked the movement, her lips parting slightly. He did the same with the other sleeve, bending close to nuzzle her nose gently with his own.
When he kissed her briefly again, Pen chased after him, wanting more. He nipped her lower lip, making her gasp. While she was distracted by his teasing mouth, his hands slid into the drooping bodice of her chemise. She went rigid at the brush of his fingertips over her nipples, and Colin groaned, savouring the skin on skin contact. His fevered lust cheered in satisfaction. Pen's breasts!
They were just as beautiful as he remembered. Luscious, milky globes with sensitive nipples that hardened immediately beneath his fingertips. He could not resist a tiny pinch to the left one, which was slightly more sensitive than the other–earning him a delicious moan from his sweet, gorgeous Pen.
Her tongue sought out his, and he was happy to oblige, fingers pinching and rolling her nipples until they were red and taut. He broke away, then, shushing her little whine of loss with a hand over her mouth.
"You must be quiet," he reminded her, as she peered up at him with wide, lust-filled blue eyes. "I just want to taste them, my love."
She squealed wetly under his hand as he bent and took a swipe at one nipple with his tongue. He repeated it to the other to be fair. Then he sucked, alternating between them, rolling whichever was not in his mouth between his fingertips, driving more and more whines from her throat. She had clamped her own hands over his, pressing it to her mouth to keep the noises from escaping.
"You're so sweet," he whispered into the valley between her breasts. "I could taste you forever."
Speaking of which—ah, yes, he'd forgotten.
He meant to taste her. Not just off her delectable breasts, like last time—but directly from the source, as it were.
Colin kissed his way up her chest, to her collarbone, and then along her jaw. She was trembling, the sweet thing.
"Lean back against the wall, and hold your chemise up for me."
She did exactly as he bade her, head thrown back, skirt bunched in her sweaty palms and legs trembling as Colin undid the ties of her garters and slid them down to her ankle. She was still wearing stockings—had he arrived too soon, too eagerly? Or had she kept them on, somehow knowing he would enjoy them? He traced the hem of one stocking, sliding his finger under the tightly-clinging edge to study the imprint left behind on her thigh.
Then he was stroking her skin, up and up, until his fingers parted her wet curls so that his mouth could press hot kisses to her soaked core. She whimpered.
"Shhh," he said. "Remember?"
Obediently, Penelope closed her mouth.
Her folds were soft and pink and glistened in the candlelight. She tasted just as sweet here, with just enough tartness to make his mouth water.
He had never performed this act on a woman before—he was not nearly as experienced as others might believe, Penelope included. There had been opera singers and other willing evening companions during his travels, but he could count the number of encounters on one hand, and none of them had gone beyond kissing and fondling.
It had never really felt right. Without love.
Perhaps that made him strange, but he did not really care. He was tongue deep inside Penelope Featherington's warm, wet centre, and there was no other woman he would rather have this lovely, first time with.
And, he thought happily, selfishly, all of her firsts would be with him.
He feasted on her for as long as she could withstand it, her hips trembling, and when she began to make audible whimpers he told her to bite down on her gathered shift. Once she had done so, Colin slipped his finger inside her wet slit, feeling the incredibly tight muscles clamp around his slick digit. How would she feel, tight around his member instead? The thought was heady, enough to make him rock hard in his breeches.
He pulled away. Penelope stared down at him, wild eyed.
"Loveseat," he mumbled, kissing her thigh.
A moment later, she was draped over him, her legs on either side of his hips. Colin resolutely did not undo his breeches, even as he bunched Penelope's shift around her neck and shoulders, baring her glistening cunt and gorgeous breasts to his gaze.
He pressed down on her waist, and watched as her wetness soaked into the front of his breeches, darkening the fabric.
"Marry me," he said desperately. "So that it will be honourable-" The words were cut off by a groan as she hitched her hips against his, her hot core rubbing across his fully erect member. "Honourable… to have you."
He grasped her hips and guided her into a faster, more pleasurable rhythm. She was a fast learner, adopting his tempo and angling herself so that the bulge in his breeches slid against her little nub each time she swirled her hips over his lap.
The world seemed to fade as the pleasure built, all he knew was the feel of Penelope's body and the look on her face and the noises she made. He emptied himself into his pants, like an untried schoolboy, but he did not mind so much because Penelope reached her climax shortly after him with a strangled cry.
"You must marry me soon," he grumbled, pressing kisses to her soft curls. "I will expire of lust before we make it to the altar."
"Is it truly what you want?" Penelope whispered.
"With every fibre of my being," he said intensely. “I want you, Pen.”
Penelope was quiet. Then, very softly, she whispered, "Alright, then, Colin. I will marry you. I will be your wife."
The feeling of joy he felt in that moment was incomparable—he lifted her hand to his lips, and kissed it, and then he kissed her.
"I love you," he confessed. He reached into his pocket, and withdrew the ring.
She watched, silently, reverently.
He slipped the ring onto her finger, and as he did so, he told her, "Eloise helped me choose it."
Penelope's tears were tears of joy, and Colin thought with a fierce tug on his heart that he would never let her experience any other kind ever again.
°°°
The hardest task of all came two weeks later, after Francesca Bridgerton's wedding and farewell.
Penelope had to face Mr. Marcus Anderson and tell him that she could not marry him.
He took it rather well, all things considered.
The silence that followed her slightly uneven speech was damning at first. She thought he must be terribly angry, or perhaps at least very annoyed. She had not expected heartbreak, but his genuine expression of disappointment made her feel that he had truly been serious in his considerations towards her.
"I wish you happiness, Miss Penelope. I hope he will treasure you."
"I wish the same for you."
He left, and that was that. Her emotions were not nearly as overwhelming as she had thought they would be after breaking things off with Mr. Anderson. He had not been devastated. Their paths would no longer cross, but she did not feel anything other than relief. Of all the partings she had experienced in her life, this one was the cleanest, least painful.
Her mother came into the sitting room, and Penelope braced herself for the confrontation that would follow. The look on Portia's face was complicated—a combination of frustration, anger, and resignation. Disappointment lurked at the edges of her mouth, and that hurt far more than her entire exchange with Mr. Anderson.
Her voice was curt. "You have sent him away."
"I have had another offer," said Penelope.
Portia did not seem surprised. All she said was, "Must it be that Bridgerton boy?"
It had always been the Bridgerton boy. It always would be.
"Why do you dislike him, Mama?" Penelope asked, curiously,
She expected her mother to dismiss the question, or ignore it outright. Instead, Portia's face was unusually serious–without the exasperation or impatience that typically graced it when she spoke to her youngest daughter.
"Because I remember, all too well, how that foolish child believed himself to be in love with Lady Crane after meeting her once or twice. I am not blind, Penelope. I have seen how you pine for that boy. You have always wanted him."
Of all the things she had expected her mother to say, it was not this. That Portia had noticed, and that she would hold a grudge against Colin for having broken Penelope's heart by choosing someone else over her. A little lump appeared in her throat. She had never believed that her Mama cared about her outside of obligation.
"It is in the past," she said, slowly.
"Perhaps he proclaims to love you now. And perhaps it is true. But it does not leave me assured of the future, to have a son-in-law who is so mercurial in nature."
Her mother's words struck a chord in the part of Penelope that would always be the girl who was insecure and frightened. There was always the possibility that Colin would change his mind, that his passions would fade. But she had decided not to listen to those doubting voices, and trust in her love for him.
"My sister married for love and I married your father. She laughed at me." Portia's voice was hard, and held a note of grief. "Her husband sent her to an early grave, childless, and here I am, twenty years later, with three full grown daughters, one of whom will bear the heir to a baronetcy."
Her mother had never mentioned her own family before. Until that very moment, Penelope had never even thought about her mother as a young woman–she had always just been Mama. To think of her having a life before all of them–all of this–was strange.
"Violet Bridgerton fills her daughters' minds with notions of love matches and fanciful dreams–you and I know the world does not work that way. Mr. Anderson promised to keep you well cared for and comfortable–you would be content as his wife. He will always be discreet and always uphold your reputation."
The reality of marriage amongst the peerage was thus. Men did not have to be faithful. Men could take mistresses, and their wives would turn a blind eye as long as they did not flaunt it. Penelope wondered, aching, if her father had been the same way. She understood her mother's point. She would not feel terrible pain if Marcus Anderson took a mistress. She would be devastated if Colin ever did.
Portia laid a hand on Penelope's. The gesture was nothing odd for a mother towards her daughter, but it was unfamiliar for them. "It is not too late to change your mind."
"I do not love him, Mama." She confessed it, like a small child confessing to a crime.
"Love does not last," said Portia, though she did not seem to be angry. Simply resigned. "Are you certain?"
It would be enough to have it for one day, Penelope thought silently. She nodded and hoped her mother understood. There was no one else in the world for her but Colin Bridgerton.
"You will accept his proposal, then?"
"Yes."
"Then I suppose I shall ready myself to become mother-in-law to a Bridgerton." She gave a wry, mirthless laugh. "I suppose it could be worse. When will he come to speak to me? I'll need to prepare a small feast for him."
"He's waiting downstairs," said Penelope.
A muscle ticked in her mother's jaw. "Is he?"
Penelope silently uncovered her book, and lifted her hand from between the pages to show her mother the ring.
"I see." Portia stood with an air of martyrdom. "Varley. See Mr. Bridgerton in. Bring some tea and all the biscuits you can find."
The breath she had been holding came out in a great big rush as Colin was let into the room, carrying a large bouquet of flowers. Two footmen followed behind him, arms full of heaping piles of engagement gifts.
By the time he left, Penelope was officially engaged to be married to Mr. Colin Bridgerton. They would be wed in London before the season would be over.
The news spread fast, assisted by the special mention in Lady Whistledown's paper. Congratulations poured in, and Penelope soon found herself in the middle of a whirlwind of wedding planning.
As preparations took place, Penelope began to feel overwhelmed—and guilty. Portia took to calling upon Violet Bridgerton everyday, demanding to be a part of the decision making. Violet, who had only ever had the sweet Lady Mary as an active in-law and no other competition to speak of, was nevertheless ready for battle. After her initial displeasure, Portia had come around on the idea of being related by marriage to the Bridgertons, and was very happily testing Violet's patience.
Eloise rolled her eyes and said, "Please, Penelope. Mama is beside herself with joy at getting to plan another engagement ball. She has been so utterly smug about it that Lady Danbury has refused to entertain her for the rest of the season. I suspect she even likes arguing with your Mama over table settings."
She reached over and squeezed Eloise's hand. "Thank you, El."
An embarrassed look crossed over her face, and she said gruffly, "No need to thank me. I am the beneficiary of this circumstance, as a matter of fact. Mama is so preoccupied with your upcoming nuptials she has completely forgotten about me. I think I shall get away with it until the end of the season. Perhaps, next year, you might contrive to be in the family way, and distract her further?"
Penelope blushed, and giggled when Eloise insisted it was a worthwhile plan to consider. A feeling of sweet gladness welled inside her heart as she listened to Eloise's tales of how utterly boring it had been all season to attend every ball and soiree without a single friend to share in the misery.
Their friendship had been mended for the most part. Eloise had forgiven her after reading the letter Colin had delivered and sought her out after their families had gathered for the announcement of their engagement. They had spent hours in Eloise's bedchamber, talking and crying and embracing one another. A great weight lifted off Penelope's shoulders—and, indeed, her heart. Eloise had even praised her for refusing to let Colin push her into ending Lady Whistledown.
"I expect he won't stop trying to stop you," Eloise said, darkly. "But you must not let him influence your thoughts on the matter. In your letter, you said writing was your purpose. I was stunned by that, you know. It changed how I viewed everything that happened—perhaps you were right. I was jealous. You had found something extraordinary to do with your life, and I hadn't. I am sorry for the hurtful things I said, Penelope."
It would not do to cry in the middle of the market, so Penelope held it in. Eloise's fingers tightened around her own, a little smile on her lips.
"Pen! Eloise!"
They turned at the sound of the names, and saw Colin hurrying towards them, grinning.
"Here he is," said Eloise, feigning annoyance. "Brother, must you impede on my every excursion with Penelope? You are marrying her, must you also monopolize what little free time she has left before she must serve her sentence as your wife?"
Colin ignored her, and reached for Penelope, smoothly lacing her arm around his. "Hullo, wife."
"Wife-to-be," she corrected, her cheeks rosy.
Colin's grin did not slip. "Twenty more days. An eternity."
The banns had to be read, and an engagement ball to be held. The latter would take place that very same day. It would be a grand affair—the entire Ton had been invited.
"I must head to the modiste," she told Colin. She was due for a final fitting of the gown she would wear tonight.
"You will look divine," he replied. "I cannot wait."
Eloise sighed, but there was no vitriol in it. She seemed content with the idea of Penelope marrying Colin. Perhaps even happy about it.
When Anthony raised a toast to the smiling couple many hours later, in a room full of beaming guests, Penelope was certain she saw Eloise lift her champagne flute with a sheen of tears in her eyes—but Eloise would never admit to having any sort of soft emotion regarding marriage, and would staunchly insist that dust had gotten into her eyes.
At long last, she was allowed to waltz. Colin, her betrothed, led her onto the floor, and held her closer than he ever had in public. Her heart soared in her chest, as smoothly as the turns that Colin guided her into, their pace and tempo perfectly matching one another.
He was such a lovely dancer, and so very handsome as he danced. She could not quite believe that she was going to be his wife. The notion that Penelope could be the recipient of such happiness was overwhelming. She could not quite dare to believe it all was real—not Colin, nor his family smiling at her, nor the admiring and envious glances of society watching on. All the dreams she had squashed deep down in her heart had come true, against all odds.
"If you keep looking at me like that," he murmured, close enough to her ear to make her shiver, "I shall be forced to take liberties."
She kept her gaze firmly pinned to his face. "Such as?"
Colin's response—a rough laugh—seemed to travel straight down her spine, landing warm and heavy in that tingly spot between her legs.
"Such a shame that our houses face one another on the same street," he said. "One does enjoy a good carriage ride after a rousing evening of dancing."
Heat passed over her, and she felt herself growing wet as his words conjured up memories of the night he had taken her home from the opera house. He seemed to know what effect he had on her, and endeavoured to make her legs turn into jelly as the night wore on. Lingering touches on the small of her back and surreptitious fingers brushing against her wrist all contributed to the growing ache beneath her skirts.
Afterwards, in the quiet of her bedchamber, Penelope lay in bed with her hand tangled in her chemise. She was shameless, picturing Colin in her room once again, barefoot and undressed like he had been the night she had followed Eloise into the family wing.
His letter lay on her pillow next to her head. She had memorised the words and could recite them from memory, but seeing his handwriting made it better.
Do you touch yourself, Pen? Do you imagine my voice as you read, whispering these words, urging you to move your little fingers faster, and deeper?
She worked her fingers faster and faster, the same way she did each evening after locking her bedchamber door and settling into bed with Colin’s letter for company. Tonight the urgency she felt was heightened to a degree that had her gasping his name within minutes of reaching under her skirt—
A tapping sound on her window made her heart leap in her chest.
Her eyes opened slowly, and she saw him, unfocused, through the glass of her window; a single pinch to her nipple and one last flick of her thumb over her nub had her writhing in pleasure. Penelope arched on the bed, her climax overtaking her suddenly. She whimpered as she came, eyes shut and body shuddering, Colin’s name on her lips.
A few moments passed as she recovered, and then she opened her eyes again. Her stomach was a mass of butterflies as she sat up, and scooted to the edge of the bed. On unsteady legs, Penelope stood, and went to the widow to release the catch.
Colin swung his legs over the ledge. He was staring at her, wordless, and the sight of him made the pulse between her legs grow worse. The pleasure she’d just given herself was suddenly not enough—and her body made it known that it wanted more, specifically from him.
He reached for her hand—the one that was slick with her own juices—and popped her fingers into his mouth.
Penelope whimpered as his other arm went around her waist, locking her to him as he licked her hand clean.
“You will be the death of me,” he whispered. “Is that my letter? Were you reading it, sweetheart? Again?”
“Every night,” she whispered back.
Colin groaned. He tugged at her chemise, frantically trying to discard it from her body. Penelope assisted him, stepping out of it before allowing herself to be pushed back onto her bed, hitting the mattress with a bounce and a loud creak.
She watched as she shed his waistcoat and shirt. He pounced upon her with a kiss, and then laid his hands on her thighs, pushing them apart. A heavy blush spread across her body as he spread her legs, opening her wet cunt to his gaze.
"I did not know," he whispered against her thigh, the barest hint of stubble grazing her soft skin. "I am so very sorry, my darling, that I did not realise sooner, and made you wait for so long."
He licked deep into her slit, savouring the ambrosia that welled there. Penelope bit down on her finger, resisting the urge to moan loudly. His wicked tongue—to think that her friend Colin, the boy she had known all her life, could possess a tongue that could do things like this—flicked over her swollen nub, teasing it until she bucked her hips.
She climaxed again, more intensely this time. Colin took great pains to kiss and lick her thoroughly, his soft mouth and tongue accompanying her as she came down from the exquisite sensations. Penelope was breathless and trembling, and she continued to shiver from the pleasure as Colin laid a final kiss to her mound. He found his way to her mouth and captured it, giving her a taste of her own essence. He pressed her to the bed, his large body caging hers. It felt delicious to be under him in this way, chest to chest, mouth to mouth. Colin kissed her like his life depended on it, with urgent, undisguised desire.
"Colin," she whispered, as he nipped at a sensitive spot on her neck.
His mouth was too busy roaming across her collarbone, and then lower, until it hovered over her bare nipple. He sucked on it, momentarily distracting her. A little gasp escaped from her throat.
He lowered his voice. "How does that feel?"
Did he truly expect a response? Penelope was unable to think of anything to say.
"Tell me, Pen."
"They ache," she said, breathing in sharply as he rolled the nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
His eyes lifted to meet hers for just a second. A hundred emotions flickered through them, and he smiled, the curve of his lips oddly gentle. It took a little getting used to: this new chronicle in their story—the version in which Colin Bridgerton wanted her back.
"Would you like to be marked here?" he asked, sending a jolt of heat straight between her legs. The undisguised look of desire he gave her was intoxicating.
"You can mark me anywhere you wish. I will accept anything you give me."
She felt achy and pliant as he dropped kisses on the mound of her breasts, making his way to the sensitive nipples. He sucked on them in turn–but not for too long, just long enough to make them tender before lifting away–leaving them hard and wet and glistening with his saliva. When he scraped his teeth against the undersides of her breasts she felt hot and shivery, every prickle of sensation travelling directly to the slick spot between her legs where her arousal pooled.
"Just a little bit here," he murmured, hovering just above her nipple as he spoke–each syllable washing hot breath against her skin. He bit down gently, slowly, releasing the bite almost as soon as he made contact. Penelope gasped, and resisted the urge to yank on his hair. Her fingers had found their way into the messy quiff of brown hair, something she had always longed to do.
Colin continued to bite and lick, leaving little red marks across her breasts. It was maddening, watching him do as he pleased.
Mindlessly, overwhelmed by need, she begged, "Make love to me.”
"Pen," he groaned, his eyes widening. "We mustn't."
God, she ached for him. "But I cannot wait."
"No, Pen. We cannot."
"But why not? We will be married."
"Precisely. I control myself because you are my wife," he said. "I must not hurt you."
"I'm not hurt." Her voice was thick with spent tears, a little throaty and raspy. "Colin, please. I long for you."
She could feel his resolve weakening.
"You said you wouldn't make me wait any longer," she begged, so lost in her own desire for him she did not care that this behaviour was downright wicked. "It aches, Colin."
She reached in between their bodies and brazenly fumbled with the placket of his breeches. Colin sucked in a harsh breath, but did not stop her. By the time she had freed his hard member from its constraints, Colin's resistance was paper thin. His hand clasped over hers, forcing her fingers to wrap tightly around his length.
"It will hurt," he said.
"I don't mind," she answered.
She knew what would happen next. He had taught her in his letters. She wanted to feel it after reading about it hundreds of times. She wanted to be connected with him—to make love to him.
The tip of his cockhead pressed against her opening. His jaw was clenched as he looked down at it, eyes dark and brooding and full of want. He studied her weeping cunt and trembling thighs with such motionless intensity, and for so long, that she began to wonder if he would not do anything except look all night.
And then, slowly, he leaned forward, pulling her hand off his cock. She held her breath as he gripped himself, eyes flickering to her face, and pressed the tip inside.
The slow stretch of him made her ache in the sweetest way. It hurt, but not badly, and she loved knowing that they were joined as one, in the closest way two people could be. She felt as though she were made of kindling, and with one spark—one thrust, slow and gentle—she was lit into flames.
The thrusts grew deeper, and faster, each one driving a whimper from Penelope. She buried her face in Colin's shoulder to muffle the sounds, desperate to keep herself from waking her entire family to the knowledge of their illicit activities.
He reached down and touched her nub—she arched, gasping at the sudden contact—and then she was biting down on the skin of his bare shoulder, overwhelmed by being simultaneously filled by him as his fingers brought her to another peak.
She felt him pulse within her, and a moment later her insides seemed to be flooded with warmth. Colin gasped, clutching at her hips, and Penelope did her best to cradle him, her oversensitive cunt clenching around his member as he groaned curses and endearments into her tangled hair.
The sound of their breathing filled the room. Colin's weight kept her pressed to the bed, warm and heavy and comforting.
"I love you," he said, pressing his forehead to hers. "You told me once, that I should proclaim it, loudly and assuredly, if I should find myself in such a fortunate circumstance as to be in love. Penelope, I love you."
Penelope's heart squeezed. She ran her finger along the outline of his upper lip, and the words seemed to just burst forth. "I remember. How could I not? I had practiced all the words, you know. What I planned to say to you."
He looked at her, a little furrow forming between his brows.
"I was going to tell you that I loved you," she said. She felt his breath catch, and smiled a bit at her own foolishness. "How naive I was. You had just ended your engagement and were of no mind to hear your friend Penelope say words you did not wish to hear."
Colin looked pained, clearly recalling how he had cut her off during that conversation to tell her he was embarking on his tour. He opened his mouth to say something, but Penelope shook her head, signalling that she was not finished.
"I believe it is not too late to say them now," she said, pressing her hand to his chest. "May I tell you something, Colin?"
Colin went quiet, his eyes softly encouraging.
“I love you.”
She smiled, and her voice grew stronger.
"I have always loved you. I've loved you since the moment I laid eyes on you. I have loved you as much as I have ever loved anyone, or anything–everything I know about love has come from loving you. It has accompanied me throughout my life. It will always be by my side. I will love you until the day I die, Colin Bridgerton."
He kissed her, and whispered, "As shall I, my love."
THE END.