For there’s nothing like you and me together
Nothing worthy as you and me together
We are but two whispers of breath
Quivering
Beyond evil and good
Nothing like you and me together
Colin Bridgerton’s life changes on an unassuming Saturday night and it starts with a hired carriage and Penelope Featherington climbing onto it completely alone.
Penelope had told him, in the past, that she was invisible. He never really understood what she meant until he found himself stalking her to the most dangerous part of London without a soul noticing.
It happened by accident, really. It was late evening and Colin was riding to Number 5 for a tranquil night cap with his siblings, when he had recognized the figure of his friend sneaking out the service back door of the Featherington house, red hair hidden by a dark hood, looking around herself with a careful brow. He had watched her run on quick feet to an unassuming black carriage, no maid in sight.
The impropriety and the exceptionality of the fact itself had propelled Colin to ask his coachman to follow her wherever she might go. Curiosity had been eating at him at first, but it hadn’t taken long for dread to surpass it and take residence in the pit of his stomach as he observed the two carriages turning to parts of town scarcely frequented by the Ton , and much less suitable to the likes of a gentle-bred young woman. Colin’s thoughts had started spiraling soon after, marred by an overwhelming sense of confusion and anger, when her hack had halted in front of a cake-shaped chapel in Fleet Street.
Was she eloping?, he had wondered. What if Penelope had taken a paramour, a rake no less, that had forced her to venture so far from her home and subjected her to such dangers? Was she to marry a mysterious lover tonight, in secret? Had she been ruined ? That train of thought had him gritting his teeth so hard it was a miracle they were still intact. Panic had started to build in his stomach.
But despite the urgency, despite the utter madness that had taken root in his heart, Colin had waited for her to enter the chapel, wanting to catch her in flagrante . And yet, when he finally did sneak into the church, he found that there was no soul in there beyond Penelope and himself. As he now stands with his back glued to the cold marble walls of the church, he thinks of the absurdity of the situation, wanting nothing but to shed a light on it and eager to confront her.
He watches her walk the center aisle, the tips of her fingers grazing rhythmically each pew, her lips mouthing numbers as if she were counting. Colin observes as she slides to the middle of her chosen pew and kneels, back bent enough to reach the stack of prayer books in front of her. Despite his position in the shadow, he manages to see Penelope’s nimble fingers slip an envelope from her bosom - her bosom - and hide it under the pile of hymn books.
His mind inevitably flies back to his previous suspicion.
Is that a letter for her lover , Colin wonders, feeling his stomach churn with a feeling he doesn’t recognize, bitter and acidic and incandescent like fury. It’s so dissimilar to anything he’s ever felt. He would recognize it as jealousy and betrayal, if he’d only had any reason to feel these types of emotions. Penelope is, after all, only his friend. His dearest friend, he might add, but just a friend nonetheless.
The illegitimacy of what he is feeling doesn't stop him from enjoying the cruel, petty satisfaction thrumming through his veins at seeing Penelope jumping to her feet in horror when he steps out from his hiding place, done with waiting.
“Colin!” she all but yelps, her eyes big as saucers, her pupils just a dot in the blue of her irises. “What are you doing here?”
“Penelope” he volleys back, getting closer until he’s standing in front of her. “I could ask you the same question.”
His voice is surprisingly loud in the empty church. Penelope seems petrified on the spot, her eyes glued to his with an expression he has never seen on her graceful face. Then again, in all fairness, Colin has never felt this angry in her presence either - or at all, ever , in all his years on this Earth.
“Uhm! I was - I was-”
“Practicing your hymns, I assume.” he says, venom icing his words, and Penelope, bless her heart, can’t help but take a surreptitious look at where she’s hidden the envelope just a few seconds ago. “The hymns, yes, exactly!” she flails, pitifully, clearly unconvincing to her own ears, “The ones they have here are quite riveting!”
On any other occasion, her lack of smoothness would have endeared him, made him smile softly even. On any other occasion, though, Colin wouldn’t be furious with Penelope for partaking in an illicit nightly trip to an empty church on the other side of London alone and unchaperoned. On any other occasion, this wouldn’t be a poor attempt to deflect the utter gravity of the situation. On this occasion, her comment falls so unbelievably, pathetically flat that - before Colin can even lift an eyebrow- Penelope feels the need to barrel on to change the topic. “I didn’t know you attended this church!”
Bless her heart.
“Oh, I don’t.” he says back, enjoying how she is squirming under his sarcastic glare, “This is an exceptional occasion.”
“Oh?”
“I’m feeling particularly inspired to pray.”
“To pray?” She babbles back, confusion etched on her face. “I didn’t peg you for a particularly religious person.” Colin finds he enjoys watching such a rollercoaster of emotions on her face. He enjoys even more disattending her expectations and leaving her flustered and gaping.
“I’m not” Colin hears himself say, “I intend to pray for you . Because” he continues, wanting to build the suspense for his strike, “by the time I’m done, prayer is the only thing that is going to save you! ”
And with that, he lunges at the pew she’s standing at to snatch the envelope from its hiding place, Penelope screeching helplessly a “ Colin, no! ” at his back.
His sudden movement has set Penelope in motion as well, but he’s got a few seconds of advantage that allow him to reach the forsaken piece of paper first. The hand holding the parcel shoots up as Penelope crashes ungracefully against his chest, his other arm the only thing that prevents them both to trip and fall on the floor.
The hymn books clatter to the ground. Her chest, despite the relatively strenuous action, is heaving, her bosom straining over her bodice and against his chest. Colin too feels out of breath, though he is not sure whether it’s the anger thrumming under his skin or the sudden closeness to Penelope’s warm body that affects him the most. He nods away his inappropriate thoughts to focus on different, more important pressing matters - namely the sort of ailment that must have befallen upon Penelope to persuade her to risk her safety and reputation by traveling alone to this part of the City and at this time of the evening. The rough texture of the envelope between his fingers has the opposite effect of sobering him up, and it all but ignites once again the emotions that having Penelope so inappropriately close had distracted him from. The thrumming fire is back, spreading like venom from his underbelly to his fingertips to his toes.
“So. Do you care to tell me what this is?” he says, voice low, calculated, “Or shall I take a look and discover for myself?” Eyes locked to Penelope’s, Colin lowers the paper he’s holding to wave it in front of her face, enjoying in a sick sort of way how her face shifts and changes with a mixture of badly contained anger and fear. Her lips tremble. One of her hands, the one that had clung to the sleeve of his coat not to fall, clenches a touch more tightly around the thick fabric.
“No.”
“No?”
“No, I don’t care to tell you what that is.” she reiterates, her voice surprisingly determined despite her clear internal turmoil. Colin would be almost proud of her resoluteness in standing up for herself, if it wasn’t directed at him at this very moment. “I understand you may be surprised–”
“Surprised doesn’t cover it” he grumbles under his breath.
“–but I need you to trust me and give it to me. Please.”
“I fear I cannot trust your judgment at this very moment in time, Pen.” The nickname slips out without his control, “Not when it makes you so very reckless.”
“Colin.” She pleads, wetting nervously her lips, “Please.”
The sight of Penelope’s pink tongue ignites a new fire within him, perfectly matched to the burning fury thrumming just below his skin. He swallows and lets go of her, taking a sobering step back from her warm body.
“Why?” he starts, voice surprisingly low, “Why would I give it back, when I could easily tear it open and read it?” It’s a provocation, but Penelope doesn’t take the bait. She straightens her back, takes a step forward, unaware of the power of her closeness.
“Because it would be wrong. Because you’re better than that. Because you would never betray my trust and invade my privacy.”
Penelope doesn’t waver on a single syllable in describing his character. Colin would love to be as certain as Penelope on the matters of his integrity, but the truth is that he is not feeling much like himself at this moment. His world has been turning upside down since the moment Penelope mounted on that forsaken carriage an hour ago and he has yet to find his footing again. In all honesty, the more he stands in this church the more he feels his sanity slipping away, his thoughts a spiraling bungled mess of disbelief, anger, jealousy and worry. Colin chokes out a laugh, feeling just a tad delirious.
“You are mad if you truly believe I’d value your privacy over your safety.”
“My privacy ensures my safety.”
Stubborn woman , he thinks with annoyance.
“It ensures your reputation stays intact, perhaps, but what about all the risks you’ve taken? Traveling by night, unchaperoned! To Fleet Street! Even I don’t come here on my own if I can help it! Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for anyone, let alone a gently bred lady such as you, to walk these streets? Do you have any idea of what could have happened to you?”
He didn’t want to raise his voice, but as Colin voices his fears he can’t help but get worked up. Images of Penelope accosted by violent men, robbed, violated, hurt , keep flashing behind his eyes. Colin feels his heart beating out of his chest with panic, his brow is damp with sweat despite the cold temperature in the church. Penelope hugs her upper arms, closing on herself, her expression hurt. “I am well aware of the risks I’ve taken, Colin. I’m no simpleton. I frankly wish you’d give my intelligence the littlest benefit of a doubt instead of insulting it.” Then, before Colin can point out that it’s not a matter of her intelligence, Penelope adds: “But I would like to point out that I’d be halfway home by now, far from any danger, if you hadn’t barged in.”
Colin is so incredulous that his next words come out in a surprised laugh. “Are you insinuating I’m at fault here?”
“I’m merely pointing out that your intrusion is what is keeping me exposed to danger.”
“What exposes you to danger is going out at night and taking a hired hack to a dangerous part of the city to send a bloody secret message!” Once again Colin realizes that he’s raising his voice at her, but he can’t help it when Penelope is purposefully dismissing his worry over her safety.
“Nobody ever sees me. None would have been the wiser. And besides, I’m fine! Nothing has happened! You’re getting worked up over nothing.” She says it candidly, matter-of-factly, and it’s not lost on Colin the implication that she has done it before, that it’s a common occurrence. The thought of Penelope alone and in danger with no one to protect her on a regular basis makes bile rise up in his throat.
“But I saw you, didn’t I?” He seethes, “I followed you without you noticing and I found you here! I could have been a malevolent person set out to hurt you, Penelope! Do you even realize-“ his voice trails off, stuck in his throat, fear choking him. He feels mad with emotion, with feelings, with thoughts. And yet Penelope holds her ground with an ease that just makes him want to tear his hair out. “I cannot believe you. You simply cannot do things like this!”
“I clearly can.”
“Well, you clearly shouldn’t !”
“Why, because I’m a woman?” she snaps back, her expression and her voice growing in volume and anger. Colin is taken by surprise by her expression. In this barely lit church - the only sources of light the flickering of the candles and the moonlight filtering through the glass windows - her eyes are an endless pool of fire and her incandescent curls burn golden like a halo. She’s stunningly beautiful, a Renaissance painting come to life. Colin wants to fall to his knees as much as he wants to throttle her for being this purposefully antagonizing and deflective.
“You know very well that you being a woman is not the point, Penelope!”
“Except that it is, is it not?” she spats back, “You men can go gallivanting on tours and risk your life in the most exotic places with absolutely no clue of what you’re doing, but God forbid if a woman does anything on her own!”
The very personal jab at his travels is not lost on him. He would be lying if he said that it didn’t hurt to hear Penelope, the very person he talked to the most about them, resent him for the only thing that makes his life worth living. But Penelope’s obstinacy is at the forefront of his mind.
“It doesn’t mean you need to put yourself in risky situations as well! And for what!” he yells back, slapping the envelope he’s holding with the back of his hand, “Something that endangers you! Something you’re so ashamed of you won’t tell me!”
“I’m not ashamed!”
“But you won’t tell me what this envelope contains!” Colin argues, “So it’s either inappropriate or damning!”
Something flashes in Penelope’s eyes that Colin doesn’t know how to name, but it’s a sign nonetheless: he’s struck a nerve. “So I ask you again: what is this?”
She huffs. “Again, something of much importance to me and of absolutely no relevance to you. I’m starting to feel like we’re speaking in circles.” She replies, curtly, her bottom lip jutting out a bit. An image Colin’s brain puts away in a little drawer of his mind, as his more rational part scrambles to focus on his own frustration at Penelope’s attitude. They’ve known each other for years and yet, this is the first time he’s seen her show such a temperament. The secret side of the shy wallflower, he thinks, emerging when Colin happens to be at the receiving end of it. It’s maddening and he feels brimming with exasperation.
“You are the most stubborn woman on Earth, do you know that?”
“Yes, why, thank you for noticing after knowing me for a literal lifetime! And you say I’m your closest friend!”
Annoyance surges like venom in his throat. “For God’s sake, Penelope, are you really trying to make me feel guilty in this situation to divert my attention to the point at hand?” He asks, incredulous.
“I was just holding a mirror to your face - what you feel is entirely on your conscience.”
Colin stares flabbergasted, too stunned to speak.
“Are you now going to ask me since when I possess the nerve to speak to you in such a way, Mr. Bridgerton?” She taunts, as if she’s reading his mind. And maybe Penelope is right to say he doesn’t know her, certainly not as well as she knows the depths of his mind. It’s a realization that overwhelms him with anger, that fuels once again the feeling of betrayal from before.
“I certainly feel this sharp tongue of yours is unwarranted at the current moment, since you’re at fault here!” he hisses, “You can’t really expect me to find myself in this position and to not demand an explanation! You owe it to me!”
It’s the wrong thing to say, because Penelope lights up with so much fury that Colin staggers back in awe.
“I owe you nothing , Colin Bridgerton!” She yells, “You’re not my father nor my husband, and even if you were you’d have no right! Who do you think you are, following me here, barging in and demanding I tell you my secrets as if they’re yours to know! With what arrogance you deem my actions reckless and foolish! With what arrogance you refuse to accept I have agency over my own actions!”
“I just want you to be safe!”
“No! If you wanted me to be safe we’d be on a carriage home, instead you’re still here, pestering me, fighting with me, because you can’t reconcile little old Penelope with something so out of your expectation of propriety! You speak of danger I could encounter but when I tell you, vehemently, that secrecy is all that protects me, you just can’t let it go!”
Every word Penelope says, all righteous fury spat like bullets, is a slap in the face that leaves him dumbfounded by a whirlwind of confusion, betrayal and something else altogether. Guilt, maybe; guilt in the knowledge that he is not as good as a friend for Penelope, lacking to the point she’s holding secrets so great she deems necessary to risk her life.
Feeling helpless, Colin brings his free hand between his hair, fingers catching in the curls, the sting of it anchoring him somewhat. There’s a nervous energy sizzling beneath his skin that he doesn’t know how to quiet.
“You are right!” he admits, exasperated, and Penelope gapes at him surprised by the sudden trembling edge of his voice, “You are right, I can’t let it go but can you blame me? Since I saw you sneak out of your house I feel like my world has been tilted upside down and I can’t make sense of it – of you! And yes, this” he waves at the church with flailing limbs, the envelope flapping, “is all beyond my comprehension and my expectation, and there’s an egotistical component to my anger but – but you must understand that most of it stems from the fact that I can’t possibly fathom what you could be hiding that you can’t tell me! A secret that is worth your welfare, Penelope? Worth your life?”
His confession leaves him suddenly tired and Penelope quiet, as if all the crackling energy that was emanating from the both of them has fizzled out.
For the first time since they’ve been fighting, she looks distraught. His heart breaks a little at the sight.
“ I can’t tell you. ”
“Is it because you have taken a lover?” The words leave Colin’s mouth before he realizes he’s saying them. His question takes by surprise Penelope as well, so much so that her mouth falls open from shock. Colin feels his cheeks heat, but instead of feeling embarrassed he straightens his back, steeling his gaze on Penelope. He licks his lips, swallows thickly, and then “Is this why you come here? To send letters to him?” He licks his lips again, “Are you afraid I would expose you to the Ton’s judgment?”
Penelope just stares at him, disbelief etched on her face. And then, “A lover? Me?”
“I did fear you were eloping at first.”
Penelope bursts in an incredulous dry snort before slapping both of her hands on her mouth, surprised and embarrassed at her own sound. Colin’s cheeks burn. “We are in a church, after all!” He tries to justify himself, her laugh self explanatory enough.
“I assure you” Penelope says, mirth in her voice, “my status as a spinster stays intact.”
“You are not a spinster!” Colin objects, but Penelope just rolls her eyes.
“I have no marital prospects in sight. And you did say I am unsuitable to the men of the Ton just a few months ago.”
“I was drunk and stupid and needlessly mean, but you must know it’s not true!”
“You didn’t say anything your peers didn’t already think.” She shrugs, “Thank you for the vote of confidence nevertheless - though it is sad that anyone would believe I’d risk everything for a man. In a rakish way as well. I may be an insipid wallflower, but even I believe myself to be more ambitious than that!”
Penelope says it offhandedly, maybe cajoled by the humorous banter they’re sharing, but it gives Colin pause. His eyes flick to the envelope in his hands and then up to her face, the cogs of his brain starting to turn.
Insipid wallflower, Penelope calls herself. He knows those words to be something taught, something she has heard being said about herself all her life. Colin knows there’s also some truth to it: though she is everything but insipid, Penelope is the sort of person that has always stuck to the sidelines to avoid the spotlight and the judgment that comes with it, oft to no avail. Colin has been a spectator of Cressida Cowper’s mean words, Portia’s dismissal, and enough “Oh, Miss Featherington, I didn’t see you there!” to know that the Ton has never been kind to her, whether the unkindness took the form of cruel comments or complete disregard of her person. Colin, too, has had a part in this, to his utter shame.
But if today has taught him anything, it is that Penelope Featherington is more than what meets the eye. He has known that, of course – Colin has always been one of the few lucky ones allowed to witness Penelope’s quick wit and unwavering loyalty. Character traits one must certainly have within oneself to have anything close to a friendship with his sister.
But today…something has happened. Despite the deception and the secrecy, Colin has never seen Penelope more clearly. There is a tiny part of him that wonders for a moment if she has changed in the timespan he was on his travels, yet he suspects it would be a disservice to Penelope to think so. It would be a disservice to think of her as anything less than the smart, witty, complicated, contradictory, stubborn woman that she is and has always been. The world is just too blind or too unworthy to see her for who she is.
But this begets a question: if Penelope has fooled them all and left them to think she’s this quiet, unassuming little thing, what else did she manage to hide? And taking into consideration the length she goes to to protect her secret, how big is it? What sort of secret is more dangerous than going alone and without chaperone in the most devious parts of town? What secret is worth protecting more than her own safety? It speaks of more than the simple fear of scandal.
Unless…
Colin feels his head spin for a moment. Flashes of memories come back to mind: Eloise’s refusal to partake in discussions on all things gossip, Hyacinth’s “to be this successful you’d need to be inconspicuous!”, Penelope's keen eye on ballroom dynamics.
Call it a sixth sense, call it an eureka… but Colin, like a lightening on a clear sky, suddenly knows.
He knows why they’re on the side of the city where workers - doctors, lawyers, printers - reside; he knows what the envelope is; he understands why privacy is essential to Penelope’s safety.
She is Lady Whistledown.
And the envelope he’s holding is not only ruinous, but it could be damning to the point of being a potential death sentence in the wrong hands. No wonder she rides at night on hired hacks – not that the legitimacy of it makes him less worried of the dangers she could encounter.
Recognition must have passed on his face, because Penelope asks, with a resigned sigh: “Did you guess?”
They both know this question is nearly rhetorical.
She plops down on the pew behind her, her expression one of careful expectancy.
“You’re Lady Whistledown.”
She doesn’t confirm nor deny it, not openly at least. Colin doesn’t need her to.
“Are you upset?” she asks, “Surprised? Shocked?”
Colin looks inside himself searching for an answer to her questions. How is he feeling?
“Surprised? Yes, but not shocked.” he licks his lips as he finds the words to answer her honestly. “I can actually see it. Picture it. It makes sense.”
“But?” she voices, sensing his careful phrasings.
“But it does make me think you do have a death wish!” he grumbles, as he starts to pace on the spot. “Do you even know how many people you’ve angered?”
“Is it a rhetorical question?” she snips, her delicate eyebrow raised in a manner that’s way too co*cky to his taste, considering her current position. He ignores her.
“Let’s forget for just a second the scarily high number of people of the Ton you’ve rightfully exposed that would just love to take revenge on you–” he lists, “You’ve got the bloody Queen on a manhunt!”
“I’m unfortunately aware.” She sighs, “I’ve lost Eloise’s friendship to it.”
“Eloise knows?”
“Why do you think we stopped talking?” With an eloquent look, Colin urges her to explain better. Penelope sighs again. “The Queen, simply put, was very clear on her stance regarding Lady Whistledown’s punishment once found. She was persecuting Eloise. I exposed her to prove she wasn’t me. And when Eloise realized it was me…well, she didn’t stick around to hear my explanation.” Penelope looks distraught.
“Why did you start in the first place?”
Penelope shrugs. “Why not? I was unseen and unheard, forced to enter the marriage mart and fed up with it before I even started. I wrote the first column as an outlet. My father’s solicitor found it and urged me to publish it. I did just to see what would be the reaction and then…well, let’s say I didn’t expect things to get so out of hand.”
“Why didn’t you stop?” Colin asks, animatedly. “Especially when the Queen got involved, why didn’t you stop?”
Penelope chuckles a bitter laugh. “You’ll think me vain, but a part of me did feel a rush of excitement. It is rather thrilling, having this much power.” Penelope munches on her lips, as she thinks what to say. “I know I hurt people and I know I have been cruel at times, even towards your family; my intention has always been having a laugh at society and not individuals, but well – sometimes it’s a blurred line. But on the other hand, being Lady Whistledown has allowed me to help people as well.”
“Daphne.” Colin realizes, thinking back and connecting the dots with newfound clarity. “Me, with Lady Crane.” She nods absentmindedly, her attention fixated on her hands, which are nervously playing with the fabric of her dress. Then, Penelope looks up to him, something different twinkling in her eyes. Something resolute and serious and honest. “But I don’t want to fool you or myself by saying that doing good is the reason why I can’t drop writing Lady Whistledown.” Colin watches her in awe as she stands up, as if too restless with energy to stay still. She paces left to right and right to left, her hands moving as if speaking their own language. She looks ignited with a fire from within – passion , he realizes, overflowing the metaphorical dam, taking hold of Penelope, transforming her as she speaks. “I could never give it up because being Lady Whistledown gave me purpose. It gives me purpose. I love writing and I know I’m bloody good at it! This is my legacy, this is what I’ll look back on and be proud of in my old age. It is everything to me.”
She stops. Silence falls on them like a linen blanket.
Colin’s world has once again been tilted. This time, though, he doesn’t feel off balance or disoriented. He feels settled. Rooted. As if, with one last earthquake, everything has fallen to its rightful place. As if his compass, that has been turning on itself relentlessly for ages now, restlessly, anxiously, has finally recalibrated. As if it has finally found its true north.
He looks at Penelope in awe, altogether feeling like he’s never properly seen her and knowing she’s never let anyone see her in all that she is.
But he sees her now. The full picture of Penelope Featherington’s soul. As if Lady Whistledown were the missing piece of an intricate, multifaceted puzzle. The ultimate brush stroke of a masterpiece.
Colin sees her now. Kindness, loyalty, wit - the character’s traits he already knew in her. Sharp intelligence. Selfishness. Wickedness. Resourcefulness. Ambition. Pride. Beauty. He sees her with the knowledge that there are sides of her yet uncovered by him – sides that he wants to discover, unravel, with the carefulness one would use to unroll a crocheted knitwear without ruining the thread.
She is absolute brilliance and Colin feels humbled by the mere luck of knowing her, blessed, and lit from within, as if every atom of him were reaching out to every atom of her.
Penelope looks up at him, waking from her thoughts, her expression turning one of confusion.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?” he croaks, caught off guard by her question. His heart, he notices, is beating out of his chest.
“I don’t know – I’ve never seen you look at anyone this way.”
Colin wonders how he must look. Shaken, possibly. Besotted. Awed.
No one has ever bewitched me the way you have, he wants to answer. No one else has ever made me feel this way.
And it’s true. Standing before her, Colin feels a changed man. He feels enlightened. Purposeful. And he wants her to know that the foolish man that took her for granted is now so very completely devoted to her. He only wishes that devotion to be appreciated.
He has an idea.
“Describe it.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You’re a keen writer. Describe what you see.”
He stands upright, offering himself to her gaze, zeroing his entire focus on Penelope’s face.
She looks bemused for a beat, but then something flickers in her eyes - curiosity, maybe.
She turns properly in his direction and studies him with intent.
“Okay, then.”
Colin smiles, a challenge in his smirk that Penelope welcomes with her own.
“You’re not angry.” she assesses.
“No”, he confirms, relaxed. “Not anymore.”
There is going to be a moment when they will need to have a serious, lengthy discussion on Penelope’s recklessness, but for now, Colin has buried his ax.
Something eases in her posture, as if reassured. Part of Colin secretly delights at that, and watches with curiosity as she scans him with an unfamiliar gleam in her eyes. The corner of her lips curls in a tiny, sly smile.
Lady Whistledown is ready to play, Colin realizes. Excitement thrums under his skin.
“You’re looking…surprisingly self assured.” She starts saying. “Collected. Steadfast.”
“Why would that be surprising?”
“Because you’ve been…restless, since you’ve been home. Just yesterday afternoon at tea you looked ready to flee the country at any given moment.”
“And now I don’t?”
“You look purposeful, is all.”
Colin can’t help but look inside and find her words true. He does feel more centered, but this is not the time to dwell on it. He lifts a challenging eyebrow to bring her back to the game.
“Very well then. Proceed, Miss Featherington.”
Penelope huffs a laugh and rolls her eyes at the use of such a formal title, but it has the desired effect to set a lighter, playful mood.
“It’s Lady Whistledown to you, Mister Bridgerton” she says with a low, haughty tone and a wink. Colin is both endeared and flustered by her display of confidence.
Penelope starts circling him, eyeing him up and down as she taps her fingertips on her mouth with an inquisitive look. Colin follows her with his sight, seizing the moment to take her in as well, to appreciate her wholly.
He has been blind, he thinks; there was a time when he would have never wasted a thought on Penelope’s figure, completely blind to her beauty. Yet as she gazes at him playfully, he can’t help but be mesmerized by her. He’s enthralled by the patterns of light the candles burn on her hair, enchanted by the depth of her blue eyes, and hypnotized by the softness of her curves. He thinks back to all the paintings of Venus he was enticed by during his travels in Italy, and wonders if the striking similarity to Penelope was what unconsciously caught his eyes.
“There’s that look again.” She says, stopping in her tracks, her voice trembling.
“Describe it.” He urges her, much like at the start of this game. This time, though, there’s no deflection to concede. He wants to know what she sees in his eyes - and he wants her to understand its meaning.
The air suddenly feels electric with expectation.
Penelope’s eyes flicker all over his face, searching for the apt words to describe the emotions on his face. Colin eagerly awaits for her description, though he tries not to show it.
“Your gaze is…focused.” She says, before licking her lips nervously. “Intense.”
He takes a step towards her, waiting for her to continue.
“Your eyes have gone dark. I can barely see the blue in them.”
A slight blush appears on the apple of her cheeks. She is affected by his attention, he realizes – by his proximity.
He steps forward once more, bringing the distance between them to barely a foot. Colin notices goosebumps on her neck and wonders where they continue. The mere thought of her naked skin, of her body under the dark cloak, under the layers of clothing, makes him dizzy.
“How would you define it?” Colin asks, his throat dry. He barely recognises his own voice, it is so low.
Penelope’s eyes flicker from his eyes to his mouth and then back up again. Colin suddenly feels feverish with need.
“I dare not believe what I see.” She says, voice tiny and unsure. In front of the undeniable truth of his devotion, Penelope does not believe it.
“Say it.” he insists, because he wants her to see. To understand . Her lips disclose softly, quivering around words she doesn’t say. As the seconds go, Colin feels impatient, hanging on to her every word.
When she does speak, it simply sets in motion his downfall into madness.
“Hot.” She wets her lips, and then: “Hungry.”
Her voice is a whisper, but it falls on Colin with the power of a thousand suns. It certainly feels like a thousand suns have exploded in his body, hot, coiling tongues of fire setting his veins, his nerves, his skin alight.
“How does it make you feel?”
Penelope gasps softly, her eyes betraying how she is feeling taken aback by his enquiry. There is, Colin notices, also a gleam of excitement in there. From the flush of her cheeks to the rising of her bosom, it is undeniable she is as affected as him. It’s enough to give him the courage to urge her on.
He closes the short distance between them, crowding her, bending just enough that his breath can blow away a ringlet next to her ear. Her sweet perfume fills his nostrils, permeates his senses. The skin of her cheek is but a whisper away. Colin aches with the need to kiss it, to kiss a hot trail from there to her most hidden places. Aches like a dying man.
Colin fears his heart is not strong enough to survive this.
“Penelope, how does that make you feel?” He begs again, feeling desperate, as if her answer is the rope saving him from a precipice.
A beat. And then, “Breathless.” She pants, “Desperate.”
The sound that comes out of Colin’s mouth is one of a wounded animal.
He is going to die, Colin thinks. He is going to die unless Penelope kisses him and takes him out of this overwhelming, all encompassing misery.
“Do you know how to name this feeling?”
His lips brush against her ear by accident, a barely there touch, and Penelope whimpers, her hands shooting up to grab at his coat.
“Colin.”
The absolute uninhibited, unhinged need in Penelope’s voice breaks something in him. He doesn’t need her to acknowledge it anymore.
One second he’s Colin Bridgerton; one second later he’s an animal of primordial instincts. Gone, his mind supplies, is his reputation as a gentleman.
His mouth crashes against Penelope’s as if he were a starving man and her the first bite of meat after a famine. Her lips are soft and supple, the taste of her sweet and aphrodisiac. He feels ravenous, he wants to devour her, and it takes all of him to slow the kiss down for her sake. In the frenzy of the moment he has grabbed her by her sides and by her shoulder, lifting her up and towards him to have better access to her face; but as her body goes liquid in his arms, her mouth pliant under his onslaught, he eases the grip on her, letting the balls of her feet properly touch the ground again. With a gentle bite to her bottom lip, their lips part and Colin opens his eyes to look at her.
Penelope looks like a dream – there’s a delightful pink flush to her cheeks, her mouth is slack, her eyes dazed, a pool of heat and desire. Her lips are reddened and shining by the impetus of their kiss and Colin’s whole body clenches with need.
Reverently, he moves the one hand that was holding her shoulder to the base of her neck, palm against skin, fingers splayed. She’s burning hot underneath. He can feel her heartbeat quicken.
He can feel his sanity slip away.
“Oh, Penelope...” Colin sighs, and her name rolls off of his tongue like a prayer. She is so stunningly beautiful. A siren, a goddess. He wants nothing but to worship her.
With a reverent, careful touch, he draws a trail up the column of her throat to her soft cheek to the plumpness of her bottom lip. His thumb traces its contour, thinking of how thoroughly he wants to kiss it again and again and again.
Then, to his utter disbelief, Penelope bites onto it.
It’s insanity, the way that simple action makes him feel.
Her teeth barely graze his skin, really, but the sight of Penelope’s plump lips around his finger and her warm, wet breath on his skin is such a sinful experience that Colin feels shaken to the core.
“Jesus, Pen–” he manages to gasp before she’s grabbing his shoulders for leverage and rising on her tiptoes again. A breathy, needy sound leaves her mouth as she meets him halfway in a kiss that is nothing but hungry desperation and abandon.
It is, for the lack of a better description, a messy kiss. Messier than their first. Everything is hot, wet, and breathy – the kind of kiss that leaves no room for finesse or thought, such is the need to taste and devour. Penelope is still new to it all, but it’s beautifully clear that she wants to master the act. Her lips are eager and lovely and she learns quickly how to follow his lead and how to give back. And, most deviously, how to make him go absolutely mad with desire.
Her hands slip in his hair, holding him tightly to her, as she learns how to push and pull to lead him how she pleases. Her tongue is hot in his mouth, caressing his, just as hungry as he feels.
Having her taking charge ignites a new rush of adrenaline, of arousal, and it spurs him on to challenge her, once again, in this primal dance. He lowers his hand to her derriere, soft and round under the fabric of her clothes, making her emit a sound between a gasp and a sob. It’s so sweet and enticing that he simply needs her to do it again, to vocalize her desire for him.
Feeling delirious, he grabs at her backside again and pushes her against him, guiding her to grind against his painful erection. The sound that sneaks out of his mouth is a growl, guttural and desperate, and Penelope answers with a moan of her own against his panting mouth.
It’s such an overwhelming thing that they part and lock eyes in utter bewilderment. They look at each other for a long, pregnant moment, their chests heaving, their breaths labored. Above their head, through the clouds of desire and adrenaline, hovers the realization of where they are and what they have been doing.
The significance of it.
They should stop, Colin knows.
They are in a church. They are friends. They are unmarried.
They have gone well beyond any line of what is proper, beyond what is sacred. What is moral.
Penelope is Lady Whistledown.
Penelope is Colin’s one and only kindred spirit, and he craves for her, from the grittiest parts of her soul to the loveliest parts of her body.
And she wants him back.
This alone is all that matters. Against all logic, against propriety, against their better judgment. There is nothing more significant than that.
With trembling, reverent hands, Colin caresses away a fallen curl of hair from her temple. The air between them is sizzling and for a moment it feels like they’re forever stuck like this, unable to move closer and unable to part.
But then, with her eyes locked firmly in his and her hands tightening in his hair, Penelope rolls her hips against his. She does it slowly, intently, tearing twin desperate gasps from the both of them. And Colin can’t help but tighten the grip on her bottom with one hand and crash their mouths together with the other, kissing her with such ferocity and intensity that they both stumble backwards ungracefully, tripping all over themselves, until the back of Penelope’s knees hit one of the pews and their lips separate with a breathy pop.
This time, though, neither of them feels the need to stop.
Colin doesn’t hesitate when he pulls at the ties at Penelope’s neck, unknotting the bow that keeps her cloak closed. It falls open, slips and pools loosely on the bench behind Penelope, revealing one of the new light blue dresses she has taken to wear - the ones that hug her assets so very deliciously, and that enhance her lovely cleavage as well.
He allows himself a second to take her in.
It’s a sight that nearly undoes him.
Penelope looks completely debauched, with her lips swollen and shiny and her eyes pitch black. Her updo is completely disheveled, strands of fiery hair falling loosely to frame her face, making her look like pure sin.
Her bosom is heaving, finally uncovered, and Colin lets his eyes wander on the newly exposed skin. Where her complexion is usually milky pale, it is now reddened with exertion and Colin wants nothing but mark it with his teeth and tongue. He licks his lips in anticipation – a glance at Penelope’s face tells him that his wish is a welcome one.
So very slowly he bends to nip sweetly at her bottom lip before sliding his mouth lower, lower, mouthing at the plumpness of her cheek, behind her ear, along the column of her neck, tasting the addictive saltiness of her skin. With gentle hands on her hips he guides her to lie down on the bench behind her, so that he can proceed with his devout exploration of her body. His mouth joins her skin once more, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses where the tautness of her throat becomes the plump swell of her bosom, supple and tender and oh so very lovely. By the time he finally bites at it, his tongue going to sooth where his teeth have sunken in, Penelope is a panting, needy mess, her hands something insistent and bossy as she pushes his head against her.
The blatant desire she’s showing for him is intoxicating.
He is achingly hard in his breeches, nearly on the brink of release just by kissing her, yet all he wants to do is keep pleasuring her, tasting her, pushing her to want him more, more, more – he wants her to want him to the point of madness.
All of him.
As he wants all of her.
Allowing them a second to catch their breaths, Colin stretches from where he is half kneeling on the pew to give Penelope first a kiss on her damp forehead, and then one on her lips. The smile that blooms on her face makes his heart skip a few beats.
Colin feels a rush of affection for her so strong that it nearly chokes him. She is so beautiful. So utterly amazing. He cannot believe he was so blind to her, to her beauty, to his own feelings , for so long. And to think that he could have lost her, whether to his own stupidity or to her own recklessness… it’s unbearable to consider, to acknowledge. Colin steers away from this unwanted train of thoughts by kissing her again, letting the softness of her lips and the warmth of her tongue sweep away all his lingering fears. It starts as soft as a whisper, but it doesn’t take long for their hunger to ignite anew, stronger than before.
Suddenly having only two hands is not enough: he wants them all over her, in her hair, on her round breasts, on her soft hips, under her supple thighs. And his mouth is not enough: he wants it on her mouth, on her neck, on her lower belly, between her legs.
He wants her skin against his, he wants to drop to his knees on the ground and worship her.
He is so drunk with desire that he can’t seem to connect his head to his fingers, all of a sudden completely clumsy and unable to open her dress. Penelope’s hands – as nervous as his but a million times more deft - come to help him, first to shed his own coat, and then to undo the buttons of her dress, one after the other, until finally, finally, Colin can tug at it to reveal more of her skin.
He swallows around a bout of mouthwatering.
The contrast of the pink of her flushed bosom against the white of the chemise under her stay is delectable. The shape of her shoulders is so very harmonious and inviting. And he can see her little rose-colored, taut nipples peek through the fabric, above the stay.
He wants to see more. So he keeps tugging at the fabric of her dress, urging her to lift her hips to slide it down, down, until it falls off of her pale, soft legs. It drops on the ground with a gentle rustling sound that gives them pause. They look at each other for the briefest of moments before Colin’s eyes start a new journey. Slowly, so very slowly, Colin’s gaze moves up her body, taking her in. Her exposed calves, her shapely hips, her sweet looking belly, the lovely shape of her bosom. The gentle swell of her flushed collarbone. The fabric of her chemise is light, nearly translucent, and Colin feels mesmerized by the chiaroscuro intricacies the candlelight draws on it.
Their eyes lock again.
Colin slides up and on Penelope’s body, his nose dipping in her chemise, grazing the soft airy texture of it as he climbs upon her. When he finally meets the edge of her stay, he succumbs to his need and latches on her left nipple.
Penelope buckles underneath him, a choked “Colin!” flying out of her mouth, surprised and desperate. Colin can’t help but feel smug at her wide-eyed look. Staring at her from under his lashes, he flattens his tongue against the fabric of her undershirt, his saliva wetting it enough to make it completely see-through, and then he flicks it. Penelope’s mouth drops open around another shocked moan and right there and then Colin makes it his utmost goal to make her lose her head. As he devours her lovely bosoms, his hand sneaks up to quickly unlace her stay, his previous awkwardness gone from his limbs such is the eagerness to have full access to her breasts.
The sight that welcomes him when he pushes her chemise down her shoulders is what he thinks miracles look like to the believers. She is so beautiful that having her like this, deliciously half naked, in a place of worship seems only fitting.
“You are perfect.” he whispers, eyes drinking her in from above her. “So beautiful.”
“Colin–” Penelope squirms under his gaze, his own name sounding like a rebuttal. She is unaccustomed to being looked at in such an undressed state, he knows, but he suspects there’s a different edge to her discomfort – an edge that has little to do with being looked at like a man looks at the woman he desires, and more to do with how she perceives herself. His hands grip her thighs, palms splayed and fingers sinking in her soft flesh, and his eyes catch hers in a look that brooks no argument.
“You are.” He says, out of breath, an urgency in his tone that proves how he needs her to believe it. He reaches up to drop a heartfelt kiss to her gaping mouth, just to look at her again in the eyes a second later. “You are.” He repeats, insistent, as Penelope looks back at him like he’s a tad mad — and maybe he is mad, mad in every sense of the way because he cannot believe nobody sees her like he does. “You are the most beautiful woman on Earth and I don’t know how people don’t see it.”
Penelope blinks, flushes deep, and drags him down to kiss him deeply. She is intent and hungry and Colin groans into it, melts into it, as their tongues meet each other once again.
“God,” he pants, separating from her lips to mouth along the column of her neck, peppering kisses that make her pant as he goes lower, “You’re delectable. You smell incredible.” He reaches her bosom again and inhales deeply, before taking one of her nipples in his mouth again — this time, finally getting to feel the texture of her sweet taut nub with his tongue. His hands, too, resume their exploration, reaching low as they can to slip beneath Penelope’s chemise, the softness of her thighs luring him to touch them. He gets lost in the miracle that is her body — warm, soft, responsive — testing and tasting with lips and teeth and nails, snatching the most delicious sounds from her mouth until his fingertips graze at her innermost part, burning and drenched. A rush of arousal shots through him, sudden and dizzying, and he can’t help but let out a desperate groan at the proof of her excitement. He doesn’t have the time to bask in it — Penelope’s choked scream and a sudden tug at his hair move his head away from her breasts to meet her eyes.
Her expression is shocked and a little bit dazed, her mouth hanging open around the ghost of her cry, and Colin wants nothing but to kiss her again. And, even more, to touch her between her legs until she is thoroughly claimed.
“Do you want me to stop?” He asks in spite of his fantasy, because although he wants to keep touching her, he also needs her to enthusiastically want it as well. “Or do you want me to keep going?”
Penelope swallows, inhales deeply trying to calm her heaving breaths, and then she nods once. “Keep going.”
It’s Colin’s turn to swallow hard. And then his fingers graze her folds again, first in curious exploration, enjoying the fruits of her arousal, and then with intent. Another groan slips out of his mouth at the wetness that surrounds his fingertips. Carefully paying attention to any little change on her face, he touches her little button with experimental strokes to figure out what her body responds to the best, and he feels immensely pleased when her expression turns from timid and cautiously expectant to stunned by pleasure.
The whirlwind of emotions on her face is as intoxicating as the earthy smell of her excitement and as enticing as her the warmth of her c*nt. The sounds that escape, unbidden, from her lips are addictive — they spur him on, encourage him to keep pleasuring her with unrestrained vigor. His free hand, the one that was nearly bruising her upper thigh, slips underneath her to grope her full buttocks, and as he does so he can’t help but notice that Penelope’s humor is dripping down — a notion that makes him choke on a gasp and moves him to spread his other hand over her whole hot c*nt, her little nub squeezed between middle and ring fingers, his palm pushing against her quivering opening. Penelope’s moan is loud and guttural, and her hips snap up, first in reaction to a new form of touch and then in search of friction.
“Jesus, Pen—” he murmurs but his voice goes completely unheard. Penelope trashes underneath him, her hips insistent against his palm, her nails digging in his scalp, all desperate cries and wantonness. She looks untethered and wild and Colin has never seen anyone, anything, look so utterly awe inspiring. He has also never felt so needed; Penelope calls his name, babbles a string of broken pleas, and Colin feels humbled by the capacity of her desire for him, and altogether brought to the point absolute folly.
“Colin, please.” She cries, her voice in desperate sobs, “I need! I need—”
“This?” He demands gently, grazing her opening with the tip of his index finger. Penelope sobs again, pushes her pelvis up, and Colin takes pity on her, finally, finally slipping his finger inside her. Penelope gasps softly and Colin has to refrain his eyes from rolling back in bliss as he sinks in her for the very first time.
Everything is hot and wet and tight. For a second he gets lost imagining how wondrous it would feel to have his co*ck surrounded by her. His dick twitches inside his breeches, painfully hard and unattended, and Colin breathes out to steel himself.
This is about her, he reminds himself. It’s about proving to her how marvelous she is. It’s about worshiping her.
Colin looks at her face, the picture of dazed bliss, and starts moving his finger in and out, once again careful to catch any sign of discomfort and every proof of pleasure. She seems to melt at his touch, lasciviously rolling her hips to meet stroke after stroke, head tilted back and mouth slack in perdition. Colin feels breathless, mesmerized at the sight: Penelope looks made for this, made to welcome him inside her. When he adds another finger soon after, twisting his wrist so that his thumb can put pressure on her bundle of nerves at the apex of her c*nt, there is no resistance — only another hungry moan from her.
There is no sight more sensual than this. More wonderful. More precious. And then there is the knowledge — forbidden in its possessiveness, in its depravity — that no other soul beside him and God above will ever be witness of her like this, will never reduce her like this — the most powerful incandescent incarnation of divine lust. Because even if he hadn’t already decided to make her his in all the ways that count, he would have made sure to ruin her, forever and in perpetuity, like she has ruined him: mind, body and soul; he would have ruined her by branding her in no visible way, armed only with his own devotion, so that no other touch, no other kiss, no other man would ever be able to make her feel an ounce of the pleasure, of the passion, of the reverence she has tattooed on him. It is only inevitable, for he knows, with scorching finality, that no other woman, not even a deity, could ever compare to Penelope — to what she makes him feel, to how important she is, has been and ever will be.
She has left an imprint of his heart. She is reshaping for him the meaning of yearning. Of desire. Of bliss.
Of love.
It dawns upon him as Penelope’s voice calls his name around a gasp.
He is in love with her, he realizes.
It doesn’t surprise him as much as he would have expected. What is surprising is that it doesn’t feel like a lightning bolt as the romance books usually portray, but rather like the first ray of sunshine after a thunderstorm – something ordinarily common yet inevitable. Meant to happen. Meant to be. The sun sets in the West and he loves Penelope Featherington. It is of a quiet yet powerful consequence. It starts in his chest and it runs through his whole body, filling him with unbridled awe and renewed urgency.
He bends down, kisses her bosom as if his life depended on it and when Penelope lifts her head to look at him, he captures her lips in a searing kiss.
“Do you trust me?” he asks her against her mouth, breaths mingling between gasps. Penelope nods vigorously, unable to speak a word, and at her consent Colin plants yet another kiss on her mouth before sliding down and falling on his knees in front of the pew. Careful not to hurt her he slips his fingers out of her, to which Penelope huffs a distraught cry, but before she can truly feel his loss Colin grabs her hips and drags her pelvis towards the edge of the seat.
“Colin!” she starts saying, “What are you–” but he doesn’t let her finish the sentence.
“Trust me.” he commands, and then he’s widening her thighs just a tad more, so that he can admire her center. Her instinct kicks in and she tries to reach out to cover herself, but he stops her hands with a gentle squeeze and stares right in her eyes. “Trust me.”
He guides her fingers back to his scalp, hoping to convey with his gaze that whatever happens, she is in control, and then his hands are back to her thighs and his eyes focus on what is in front of him.
Penelope’s c*nt is pretty and swollen and flushed with arousal, adorned by wispy red hair at her apex. Her cl*t is slightly engorged by his onslaught and her opening glistening and wet. It is the sweetest sight he’s ever seen and he wants to commit it to memory not just by sight but also with touch and taste. He steals a look at Penelope’s face, checking to make sure she’s okay with what is happening, and he finds her eyes completely blown out with shock and desire.
He licks his lips in anticipation – his stomach making a somersault when he sees Penelope’s tongue unconsciously mirroring his action – and then he brings his fingers to where she has been waiting wet and gaping for him. It doesn’t take long for Penelope to surrender to wantonness once he resumes his previous ministrations. Colin gets lost in watching her face and watching his own fingers work in and over her c*nt, until he can’t hold off any longer and, with a single satisfying bite to Penelope’s inner thigh, brings his mouth to her apex.
“Col– oh! ”
His own name turns into a moan, and Colin thinks it has never sounded sweeter. But nothing is sweeter than the feeling of Penelope’s c*nt, so hot and wet, against his tongue, his lips, his chin. He laps at it, licks between her folds, kisses her center, noses at her cl*t, enjoying – just for a little while – the pleasure of learning the shape and taste of her with his mouth. And then, once he has had his fill, he starts eating her out with more purpose, urged on by her cries and the trembling of her legs, that get more tense and strung the more he lavishes her. He gets lost in it all, feeling like he could do this forever, hungry and desperate to commit every single sigh and every single twitch to memory. Her sounds become more mewls than pants, her hands more insistent on his scalp, nails digging in to keep him close, to keep him there, until, all of a sudden her whole body tightens — and she comes on his face, with his thumb on her cl*t and his tongue deep inside her; she comes with his name on her lips and her hands pulling his hair, her pelvis thrusting so hard against him that half his face is wet from her release.
It is so hot that Colin nearly comes in his pants like a schoolboy.
Penelope flops ungracefully on the wooden bench of the pew, body spent and well-f*cked, and Colin gathers the strengths to use his cravat to wipe at his mouth and crawl up to her to make sure she is okay. He peppers tiny sweet kisses all over her.
“You were so good, darling.”
On her temple.
“Wonderful.”
Her nose.
“Beautiful.”
Her left cheek.
Penelope blinks her eyes open, pupils blown and a new pretty blush adorning the apples of her face.
“Are you okay?” He asks, hopeful and only slightly apprehensive.
“More than okay.” She whispers, a tiny smile blooming at the edges of her lips. Her gaze is full of wonder and affection and Colin — well, Colin wonders. Does she regard him in the same way he does her?
“How about you?” She asks, looking away with a sudden tinge of embarrassment in her voice. Colin frowns in confusion.
“What about me?”
“I—well,” she swallows, “I was wondering how—oh for God’s sake, what I mean to say is: what about your pleasure?”
Penelope’s cheeks get even pinker as she blurts out her question. Colin is once again both endeared and suddenly aware of his own neglected erection. Hearing her speaking so candidly of it has brought it to the forefront of his mind despite his valiant efforts.
Trying not to combust on the spot, Colin smirks somewhat weakly at her.
“My, my, Miss Featherington — are you propositioning me? What a rake!”
Penelope furrows her brows and shots a glare at him. It’s pretty weak.
“Do not mock me. I know so very little about these affairs, none of which happened tonight. I was told that men usually seek their pleasure in the women’s bodies and you did not and I fear—“
“What do you fear?” He urges on, dread coiling in his stomach. He feels mortified.
“That I’m not desirable enough to do so.” She looks away.
“Penelope” he calls, using his cleaner hand to guide her chin towards him so that she can meet – albeit reluctantly – his eyes, “I assure you it couldn’t be further from the truth.” He awkwardly scrambles to right his back, one of his knees left pinned to the bench in support. He looks at her in earnest, hoping to convey his honesty. “You are right, men usually want to get their pleasure, but these sort of relations should be about sharing, Pen, not just taking it. For both women and men. All we did tonight was about making you feel good because I wanted it this way.” Penelope stares at him somewhat placated, but still unsure. “And I promise you, to give is just as pleasurable as receiving, especially when you do it with someone as wonderfully responsive and sensual as you.”
Her breath trembles. “Do you think so?”
Colin realizes that his praise, although it was meant to reassure her, has also had quite the effect on her. It thrills him down to his toes and when he speaks again, his mind set, his voice has dropped by an octave.
“I can prove it to you.” He offers, “Give me your hand.”
Penelope rights herself a little bit on the bench to get closer to him. He takes the hand she offers, gently but firmly guiding it down his own body, until it rests on his breeches where his co*ck is still standing to attention. He waits for her to close the last millimeters that separate her fingertips from his bulge, and when she does the gasp that slips unbidden from her mouth is as curious as his own groan is desperate. He doesn’t need to look at her to know that her eyes are blown wide and her mouth slightly open in lust and wonder.
“Do you see?” He rasps, as he guides her to palm his co*ck through the fabric of his pants, giving her the time to learn his shape and his weight, and to realize her effect on him. “See how hard I am? This is what pleasuring you has done to me.” He explains, voice rough. “This happens when a man feels lust for you.”
Her breath is hitches.
“Does it hurt?”
He chuckles around another groan when Penelope curls her small hand around him fully. God, how he loves her bravery and curiosity.
“In the most delicious sort of way.” Penelope nods thoughtfully, considering and seemingly recognizing that feeling as something familiar in her experience. “Your hand helps relieve the pain.”
He gasps, then, when she strokes him with purpose, his eyes fluttering closed despite wanting to keep looking.
“Could—“ she gulps, “Could I see you?”
His dick twitches.
“Are you sure?”
“You’ve seen me.”
He can’t argue with her there. He rights himself in a sitting position on the bench so that both of them are comfortable.
“Open my breeches, then.”
Penelope works his buttons open slowly, with caution, her hands shaking a little. Her expression is focused, though, and surprisingly determined. Colin wants to kiss her senseless, but he knows they’d get sidetracked from his goal. He wants her to discover and understand the innate pleasure of giving, after all.
A handful of seconds later his pants are open, but Penelope hesitates, stalling above the last button. They are both panting with anticipation; a quick glance at Penelope’s expression suggests a quiet eagerness that she doesn’t know how to set in motion.
“Here.” He murmurs, surprisingly nervous, as he intertwines his own fingers with hers and guides her hand inside his breeches. “You can touch me.”
Together they wrap their palms around his co*ck, her eyes boring into his, and at her touch they both choke out a gasp. Colin breathes out through his nose, trying to keep his cool, and guides their grip so that his dick slips out from his pants, hard and pink and already leaking. Penelope’s eyes snap downward, his own following her line of sight, to where their joined hands envelope him. He lets her learn, allowing himself the time to appreciate the picture they make: it is heady to see her small hand under his, around his co*ck. He feels dizzy watching her watch him — watch them, together like this — with such heated disposition. She looks like a dream, with her hair wild, cascading on her shoulders in a disheveled mess, her chemise dropping low on her naked chest, her gaze dark and hungry. The soft candlelight of the church makes her look something divine. She’s Lilith incarnate, he thinks, sin and salvation in one, and he can’t believe this is happening.
“You can take your time to explore, if you want.” he says in a hoarse whisper, dropping the hand that was covering Penelope’s to the bench under him. She blinks up at him for an instant, as if to find reassurance in his eyes in addition to his words, and then, hand light as a feather, she starts caressing him with slow, tentative movements. She takes her time palming his shaft, from the base to the tip, her other hand placed on his lower belly, fingernails scratching the bristly dark hairs at the navel. And then lower again, index finger along the vein of his co*ck, and lower still, down to the sensitive skin of his scrotum, gaze so focused and mesmerized Colin feels like an object of worship. It’s also an unique type of torture, for he is so turned on that it takes all of his strength not to buck against her hand and start rutting like an animal.
“Wasn’t I truthful?” he rasps, “Isn’t touching another as enticing as being touched?”
Penelope gives a curt breathless nod, licking her lips. The most forbidden image flashes in his mind and he has to dig his own fingernails in the palm of his hand to keep his head. Despite his valiant effort, though, he cannot hold the whine that bubbles up deep in his throat at the thought of Penelope’s lips closing around his co*ck.
She stops moving abruptly.
“Are you alright?”
He squints his eyes open to check on her and nods his head in assent. It takes him a moment to find his voice.
“Perfectly lovely.”
Her brows pinch in concentration or perplexity, he doesn’t know.
“I don’t want to make you feel perfectly lovely.” She says, a hard edge in her voice. “It didn’t feel just perfectly lovely to me.”
He squints his eyes open to look at her in a reassuring way, but she interrupts with a surprising hard pump to his co*ck. Colin chokes on his own tongue.
“Teach me how to do this well.”
“Pen–” he babbles, not really knowing what to say. She is doing perfectly well on her own, if the scrambled state of his brain is any indication.
“Teach me how you would do it. Please.” She pleads, bringing her lips against his neck in an open-mouthed kiss that sends a rush of adrenaline down his body. “I want to make you feel ecstatic.”
God, it’s going to be a pitifully quick endeavor. He’s never been more turned on in his life, and she has no idea, she cannot even comprehend it. He nods weakly nonetheless, reaching down to intertwine their fingers once again. He urges her delicately and Penelope starts stroking his co*ck again, at first hesitant, careful to wait for his guidance, and then finding a slow, steady rhythm that makes his eyes roll back.
Her breath hitches against the skin of his neck. Colin blinks his eyes open to see her watching down again, her mouth slightly agape, breath labored.
“God—you can do this to make it easier” he rasps, guiding her thumb to gather the pre-come leaking from his tip to spread it through his shaft.
Penelope follows his suit, twists her wrist just so, and Colin groans, his head falling forward against her temple. His hand lies now lax at her wrist, as he lets her take complete control.
“Just like that. So good. You’re doing amazing, Pen—”
She sighs acutely, mouth panting against his skin, so very receptive to his praise.
Despite trying to keep still, the more Penelope jerks him off the more he feels his control slip from him. His hips buckle, meet her hand stroke by stroke, and Penelope — bright, smart, quick study that she is — moves her hand faster, squeezes a little bit harder. As heat coils in his navel, broken of words of praise, of encouragement, fall from his mouth unbidden between groans and sighs and gasps. She is so beautiful and so good, her touch divine in its novelty, and he loves her, he loves her —
“You’re astonishing , Colin—”
Pleasure shots through him, overwhelming as he comes, his eyes rolling back once again. It takes everything out of him and he blacks out for a few hot seconds, the only thing he’s aware of being Penelope’s lips against his forehead and her palm still moving, slowly, over his oversensitive co*ck.
When he blinks his eyes open, Colin sees her as she swipes her hand on her chest and brings her come covered fingertips to her mouth to taste him. He’s pretty sure his soul is about to leave his body when his spent co*ck twitches painfully at the sight. He tugs it back inside his breeches, as if to hide Penelope’s temptation from it.
“God, Pen, do you want to kill me?” He whines petulantly as he scrambles to erase her confused expression with a needy kiss. She kisses him back happily, uncaring of the taste on his lips, the tug of a smile making it difficult to deepen it as he would like to. “You absolute minx.” A kiss, “You wonderful creature.” Another kiss. “Made to render me a fool.”
Penelope giggles with such childish, contagious joy that Colin can’t help but move away just to appreciate it. He too can’t help but grin. Despite having witnessed her in the most heavenly way, her unbridled smile is what will be forever seared onto his heart.
They look at each other in silence for what seems an eternity, both of them content, seemingly happy to bask in the quiet sacrality of the church.
Something settles in him.
“Would you marry me?”
Penelope gapes at him. She is naked in a church with him, still slightly red in the face, sweaty, disheveled, thoroughly f*cked, and she gapes at him, as if his proposal were more absurd than anything that has passed between them tonight.
“Would I what?”
“Marry me.”
She purses her trembling lips. “Why?”
Any other gentleman would feel offended in receiving such a response to a proposal. But he is not any other gentleman, and she is not any other gentlelady: he is Colin, and she is Penelope, and tonight, before a God he doesn’t believe in, he feels lucky. Hopeful, despite her misty eyes and the worried crease between her brows. Because she hasn’t said no.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
She squirms under his gaze and scrambles to cover herself up, repositioning her chemise properly and tying haphazardly her stay back in place.
“We both wanted this. I won’t tell anybody, I won’t expose us, you don’t need to offer for me.”
Her words leave a bitter taste in his mouth, for it’s clear that she is completely unaware of his feelings despite what has happened.
“You misunderstand me.”
Her eyes are hard, defensive. “How so?”
“I did not propose to rectify a wrong, Penelope. I proposed because there is no other woman I’d want for my wife.” He states matter of factly.
It’s clear she did not expect this answer.
“But I am Lady Whistledown.”
What a weak rebuttal. It’s not a no.
“So you are.”
Penelope levels him with a stare that’s half incredulous and half furious.
“You were beyond yourself with anger not two hours ago.”
“And I have since come around it!” He grins at her, a provocative edge to his tone. “Any other objection regarding why I shouldn’t want you as a wife?”
He wanted to keep this light, but it clearly has not the desired effect, because her face falls. He misses her body already, but the knowledge that she feels suddenly unsafe with him leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.
“This is no joking matter, Colin.” Her voice wobbles, her bottom lip trembles. He brings his hand to caress away a red strand of hair from her temple, feeling suddenly anxious. He schools his expression in something solemn.
“Pen. I have never been more serious in my life.” He wants to reassure her, but it comes out like a plea: a plea to believe him, to trust him. “I would love to marry you, even if you’re Lady Whistledown, and maybe even more so because you are her. You are witty and bright and beautiful, my body clearly calls for yours and yours for mine. You are my one and only kindred spirit on Earth. The question is if you’ll have me.”
A single tear falls from her eye.
“Colin, there is no question. I know I’d be the happiest bride, but it would cost you being the happiest husband.”
Helplessness builds alongside the little seed of hope.
“What do you mean?”
“You deserve to marry someone you love.”
His heart breaks a little. Doesn’t she get it?
“I know I do. This is me asking to marry for love.” He clears his throat, feeling choked up. “I am asking if it would be the same for you.”
He can perfectly see when the meaning of his words strike her, because every single one of her features open up to wonder. His own heart starts beating fast inside his chest.
“Colin.” She says, eyes wide and bright with tears, her voice a tremulous whisper, “You must know there is no soul in the ton who is not aware I’ve been in love with you since we were children.”
This time, it is his turn to gape at her helplessly, awe coloring his every thought. Something prickles at the corners of his eyes – tears, he realizes belatedly – when Penelope gives him a small, tender smile. “I thought you knew.”
He shakes his head no, a little bit breathless and stunned. He cannot stop looking at her. He cannot stop thinking about her words, perpetually repeating inside his mind. I’ve been in love with you since we were children I’ve been in love with you since we were children I’ve been in love with you since we were children. “I did not. I had no idea. I really am one clueless bastard.”
She shrugs, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Well, now you know all my secrets, Colin Bridgerton. This is all there is. Penelope Featherington unveiled.” She moves her hands in a tadaa fashion in front of her, which both endears him and reminds him of her state of undress. He makes a point to eye her up, making a show out of stalling at her bosom and then again on her lips. Penelope blushes so prettily, and he is too much of a man not to gloat a little inside. But then he sobers up his expression, his index finger going to lift her chin so that they can lock gaze.
“Yet I know you contain hidden multitudes. And I cannot wait to become a scholar of them.” A flash of infinite affection flashes in her eyes, manifesting more physically in a deeper flush on the apple of her cheeks. What was left of the anxious turmoil in his stomach settles, quieted by the nearly overwhelming certainty that she is now aware of his devotion, even if she may have difficulties in accepting it. But it is okay — he’ll have a lifetime to prove it to her.
The solemnity of the moment fizzles out when Penelope schools her expression in a mischievous one. There she is, his Lady Whistledown.
“Now, Mister Bridgerton, that is pure and shameless flattery.”
He grins. “One needs to use all the weapons in their possession to secure a yes to a proposal from the woman they love. A yes ” he reminds her, “that I have yet to hear uttered by your kissable lips.”
She blushes again. Colin is pretty sure it is becoming one of his favorite things in the whole world. He is never going to stop making her flustered, making her feel loved and cherished and worshiped. He’ll make this his life purpose, making sure that the smile she’s wearing on her lips never falters.
Pen bats her eyelashes, looking so coquettishly up at him that his throat gets dry. And then, moving forward so that her nose is brushing his own, she whispers: “Ask me again.”
He kisses her, because he cannot do otherwise when she delights him in such a way. It leaves her slightly dazed and speechless and a cheeky, most devious, part of him is happy to have left Lady Whistledown herself completely tongue-tied. Emboldened, he rights his clothes first and then urges her up.
“Time to make us presentable before men and God, my darling.”
“Alright, although I fear it’s entirely too late for God.” Colin is so taken aback by her cheeky joke that he snorts out a helpless laugh that brings tears to his eyes.
“Jesus, I love you.”
It slips out of his mouth unbidden, with such ease that it surprises him in its rightfulness. And albeit he wanted to say it properly in a more romantic manner, he can’t ever regret letting it out now, for Penelope’s expression at hearing it so clearly, so assuredly, has carved its own special spot in his heart.
“Pen.” He says, careful to capture her gaze as he kneels down with both legs, her left hand in his. “I’m not sure I’ll manage to profess this as eloquently as I wish, but if tonight has taught me anything, it is that improvising brings the most marvelous things to pass. Like discovering that your best friend is de facto the most renowned gossip author in England.” Penelope chuckles wetly, her eyes misty already. Once again Colin is struck by her beauty: basked in candlelight, with her red hair falling on her shoulders in wild curls, fiery against her ivory skin, she looks holy. And everything he wants to hold on to. He clears his throat. “In all honesty, this was a revelation in more ways than simply discovering your secret identity. It has made me see you with staggering clarity and made it impossible, for me, to ignore what I’ve been denying to myself.” He gives a comforting squeeze to her hand to ground himself. “That you are even more wonderful than I knew you to be. That you inspire me. That the companionship we share, though born out of friendship, ought to be recognized as what it is: something sacred and special and indissoluble. Something to be declared, like you said once, assuredly, fervently, loudly. Something to be consecrated and celebrated.” He stops to clear his throat. The more he speaks the more he’s feeling choked up, tears on the brink of falling. Every word that comes out of his mouth seems to be breaking him apart and putting him back together, such is the strength of their truth. But nothing is as glorious and miraculous as Penelope’s face: open and joyous and unmistakingly full of love, all bestowed upon his kneeling form. He brings her hand to his mouth to leave a reverent kiss there. “Pen. I know you’ve got quite the headstart on loving me, but trust me when I say my feelings have all the potential to level yours by intensity alone.” Penelope snorts mockingly a little between happy tears, so he corrects: “But even if that weren’t the case – there is nothing that would make me happier than spend my life discovering all the ways I’ll learn to fall in love with you over and over. So, Pen” he says, before taking a steadying breath. “I ask again: will you marry me?”
***
Sunday morning, after a whole day of silence that leaves the ton in an absolute tizzy, the latest Lady Whistledown’s column arrives recounting the wildest morsel of gossip: Mister Colin Bridgerton, most eligible third son of the late Viscount Bridgerton, is eligible no more! And what a declaration! After signing not one, not two, but three! dances on one Miss Penelope Featherington’s card – leaving all of London’s high society in a befuddled state – he told anyone who would listen that he had all the intentions to assuredly, fervently, loudly court her , for his heart belonged to her and her alone. What a delicious scandal! Yet one cannot avoid feeling particularly endeared by such an expression of tenderness, the column reads, for Mister Colin Bridgerton’s striking love declaration reminds this author of her dear Lord Whistledown. But don’t fret about this revelation, gentle reader! You’ll be hearing from him soon enough!
Yours truly,
Lady Whistledown
