Quinn, Julia - Romancing Mister Bridgerton With 2nd Epilogue

He nodded.

“From Gloucestershire?”

“Wiltshire, actually. We retired to Benedict’s.”

“But—”

He smiled disarmingly. “I missed you.”

And Penelope was not so accustomed to his affection that she did not blush. “I missed you, too, but—”

“Come sit with me.”

Where? Penelope almost demanded. Because the only flat surface was his lap.

His smile, which had been charm personified, grew more heated. “I’m missing you right now,” he murmured.

Much to her extreme embarrassment, her gaze moved instantly to the front of his breeches. Colin let out a bark of laughter, and Penelope crossed her arms. “ Don’t , Colin,” she warned.

“Don’t what?” he asked, all innocence.

“Even if we weren’t in the sitting room, and even if the draperies weren’t open—”

“An easily remedied nuisance,” he commented with a glance to the windows.

“And even ,” she ground out, her voice growing in depth, if not quite in volume, “were we not expecting a maid to enter at any moment, the poor thing staggering under the weight of your tea tray, the fact of the matter is—”

Colin let out a sigh.

“—you have not answered my question !”

He blinked. “I’ve quite forgotten what it was.”

A full ten seconds elapsed before she spoke. And then: “I’m going to kill you.”

“Of that, I’m certain,” he said offhandedly. “Truly, the only question is when.”

“Colin!”

“Might be sooner rather than later,” he murmured. “But in truth, I thought I’d go in an apoplexy, brought on by bad behavior.”

She stared at him.

“ Your bad behavior,” he clarified.

“I didn’t have bad behavior before I met you,” she retorted.

“Oh, ho, ho,” he chortled. “Now that is rich.”

And Penelope was forced to shut her mouth. Because, blast it all, he was right. And that was what all of this was about, as it happened. Her husband, after entering the hall, shrugging off his coat, and kissing her rather soundly on the lips (in front of the butler!), had blithely informed her, “Oh, and by the by, I never did tell her you were Whistledown.”

And if there was anything that might count as bad behavior, it had to be ten years as the author of the now infamous Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers . Over the past decade, Penelope had, in her pseudonymous guise, managed to insult just about everyone in society, even herself. (Surely, the ton would have grown suspicious if she had never poked fun at herself, and besides, she really did look like an overripe citrus fruit in the dreadful yellows and oranges her mother had always forced her to wear.)

Penelope had “retired” just before her marriage, but a blackmail attempt had convinced Colin that the best course of action was to reveal her secret in a grand gesture, and so he had announced her identity at his sister Daphne’s ball. It had all been very romantic and very, well, grand , but by the end of the night it had become apparent that Eloise had disappeared.

Eloise had been Penelope’s closest friend for years, but even she had not known Penelope’s big secret. And now she still didn’t. She’d left the party before Colin had announced it, and he apparently had not seen fit to say anything once he’d found her.

“Frankly,” Colin said, his voice holding an uncharacteristic strain of irritability, “it’s less than she deserved, after what she put us through.”

“Well, yes,” Penelope murmured, feeling rather disloyal even as she said it. But the entire Bridgerton clan had been mad with worry. Eloise had left a note, it was true, but it had somehow got mixed into her mother’s correspondence, and an entire day had passed before the family was reassured that Eloise had not been abducted. And even then, no one’s mind was set at ease; Eloise may have left of her own accord, but it had taken another day of tearing her bedchamber to bits before they found a letter from Sir Phillip Crane that indicated where she might have run off to.

Considering all that, Colin did have something of a point.

“We have to go back in a few days for the wedding,” he said. “We’ll tell her then.”

“Oh, but we can’t!”

He paused. Then he smiled. “And why is that?” he asked, his eyes resting on her with great appreciation.

“It will be her wedding day,” Penelope explained, aware that he’d been hoping for a far more diabolical reason. “She must be the center of all attention. I cannot tell her something such as this .”

“A bit more altruistic than I’d like,” he mused, “but the end result is the same, so you have my approval—”

“I don’t need your approval,” Penelope cut in.

“But nonetheless, you have it,” he said smoothly. “We shall keep Eloise in the dark.” He tapped his fingertips together and sighed with audible pleasure. “It will be a most excellent wedding.”

The maid arrived just then, carrying a heavily laden tea tray. Penelope tried not to notice that she let out a little grunt when she was finally able to set it down.

“You may close the door behind you,” Colin said, once the maid had straightened.

Penelope’s eyes darted to the door, then to her husband, who had risen and was shutting the draperies.

“Colin!” she yelped, because his arms had stolen around her, and his lips were on her neck, and she could feel herself going quite liquid in his embrace. “I thought you wanted food,” she gasped.

“I do,” he murmured, tugging on the bodice of her dress. “But I want you more.”

And as Penelope sank to the cushions that had somehow found their way to the plush carpet below, she felt very loved indeed.

Several days later, Penelope was seated in a carriage, gazing out the window and scolding herself.

Colin was asleep.

She was a widgeon for feeling so nervous about seeing Eloise again. Eloise, for heaven’s sake. They had been as close as sisters for over a decade. Closer. Except, maybe . . . not quite as close as either had thought. They had kept secrets, both of them. Penelope wanted to wring Eloise’s neck for not telling her about her suitor, but really, she hadn’t a leg to stand on. When Eloise found out that Penelope was Lady Whistledown . . .

Penelope shuddered. Colin might be looking forward to the moment—he was positively devilish in his glee—but she felt rather ill, quite frankly. She hadn’t eaten all day, and she was not the sort to skip breakfast.

She wrung her hands, craned her neck to get a better view out the window—she thought they might have turned onto the drive for Romney Hall, but she wasn’t precisely certain—then looked back to Colin.

He was still asleep.

She kicked him. Gently, of course, because she did not think herself overly violent, but really, it wasn’t fair that he had slept like a baby from the moment the carriage had started rolling. He had settled into his seat, inquired after her comfort, and then, before she’d even managed the you in “Very well, thank you,” his eyes were closed.

Thirty seconds later he was snoring.

It really wasn’t fair. He always fell asleep before she did at night as well.

She kicked him again, harder this time.

He mumbled something in his sleep, shifted positions ever so slightly, and slumped into the corner.

Penelope scooted over. Closer, closer . . .

Then she organized her elbow in a sharp point and jabbed him in the ribs.

“Wha . . . ?” Colin shot straight awake, blinking and coughing. “What? What? What?”

“I think we’re here,” Penelope said.

He looked out the window, then back at her. “And you needed to inform of this by taking a weapon to my body?”