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The taller of the two bandits dropped to all fours before lifting his head to peer up at her. “Up you go, miss.”
Though she really ought to be frightened, Penelope could only stare agog at the man expecting her to use him as a human step stool to reach the saddle of his cohort’s horse and climb aboard. With her hands tied behind her back with satin ribbon, no less.
“You cannot be serious,” she replied in a surprisingly dry tone.
“Right, let’s give it a go,” the other bandit cheerfully ordered, taking her elbow and leading her to his friend on the ground. Sighing, figuring it did her no good to argue, Penelope put her slippered foot in the middle of the big brute’s back, relishing his grunt of pain, and put all her weight on it, teetering precariously a moment before an arm steadied her. Then, turning and raising to her tiptoes, she tried to sit atop the horse, but even with a step stool, she proved too short.
“Perhaps if you untie me,” she suggested.
“No, absolutely not!” the shorter one objected, raising his boot to the stirrup. “I’ll pull you up.”
To her dismay, once he was abreast the animal, he was able to lift her side-saddle and brace her against his chest. His comrade rose to his feet, dusting off his knees and grinning at her like they’d really pulled something off. Then, he bound her wrists to one of his friend’s meaty forearms with more pink satin ribbon, and winked.
Before he mounted his own horse, he set the two geldings that had drawn her carriage loose and bent low to look at the driver who was tied up and scowling, his mouth stuffed with a handkerchief.
“We’ll be in touch with ransom demands,” he assured the driver with a pat of his shoulder. “Pass word along.”
Then, they were off.
Penelope should have been paying attention, but once they were off the road and on the uneven ground and deep into the endless trees of the forest, she couldn’t be bothered to try. Instead, she ruminated on her imminent ruin.
Ladies who were accosted by highwaymen like these didn’t return to polite society if they survived their ordeals. They didn’t go to balls, dig up gossip, and publish it anonymously. They didn’t even live in Mayfair, really. They were usually shipped off to distant aunts in the country to save themselves from pitying looks.
Her virtue would forever be questioned, though Penelope doubted either of these buffoons meant to harm her. The moment they’d spotted her in the carriage, both their faces wide open with shock and delight, Penelope had known they weren’t the violent types.
For one, the one with the pistol kept dropping it. Three times he had to bend down to pat at the leaves and curse under his breath to retrieve his fumbled weapon. The other one, Penelope suspected, was as dumb as he was tall.
They’d been careful not to use each other’s names in front of her, but she knew they were from Bloomsbury by the name of the public house they talked about. It didn’t matter, though, because they were riding in the woods and avoiding the roads—they weren’t taking her to a townhouse in Bloomsbury.
After running her carriage off the road and subduing her driver, the men had spent a significant amount of time searching through the carriage for any valuables, even turning out the driver’s pockets and emptying Penelope’s reticule. By the time they had decided to take her with them, she half expected someone to stumble across them and put an end to the whole charade.
To her great disappointment, no one noticed that she hadn’t yet turned up at home, and no one came looking for her.
The sun had fully set by the time they arrived at their destination, the spots between the trees dark and full of animal sounds Penelope didn’t care for, feeling as if there were thousands of silent witnesses to her ruin.
The tall one slid off his horse first, tying it to a tree branch before rushing over to slide her from the saddle. As her feet hit the ground, she nearly fell over, her bum practically numb from the uncomfortable ride and swiftly dropping temperature. Penelope hummed softly, stretching tired, sore muscles and hoping she might find somewhere soft to lie down inside. Soon, both men were on either side of her, helping her over the brambles and stones to the front door of a rustic cabin.
The door creaked open and they bustled her inside, immediately lashing her to a wooden chair the tall one dragged to the middle of the room. Then, they set about lighting candles and a fire to warm the room.
“Bet you’ll fetch a pretty penny when word gets back to Mayfair, eh, miss?” The one with the pistol tucked in his breeches stretched his hands over the fireplace and smiled over his shoulder at her. “Give us your name so we can talk to your father about the price.”
“My father is dead and my family is quite destitute.” Penelope tried to move her hands, the ribbon digging into her wrists. Despite the ridiculousness of her binds, the knots were quality. “Which I would have gladly told you before the long ride through the woods had you asked.”
“Someone will be looking for you,” the tall one argued, joining his friend by the fireplace.
“Like who?” Penelope asked, frowning as she impatiently tried to move her arms next, finding them pinned to her sides by the rope they’d use to lash her to the chair. Defeated, she let her weight rest on her wrists still stretched behind her back. It was just as well; Penelope was swiftly approaching fatigue.
The men looked at each other, then at her. “Some fancy gentleman, perhaps?”
Penelope snorted, slouching lower into the chair. “None of those, I assure you.”
It smarted, admitting to perfect strangers that she had no man who would rescue her. Just the evening before, there had been an hour or so where she had felt invincible, adored—special.
For the first time, she had actually started to believe Colin Bridgerton saw her, that he recognized she wasn’t just Pen, wasn’t just some wallflower who sometimes let him see the witty girl hiding inside, but that she was born for him and simply waiting for him to accept that truth.
But then he’d burst their bubble quite spectacularly, declaring he’d never court her, laughing right alongside Fife and the others like it was something witty rather than simply cruel.
She’d never thought Colin capable of cruelty, had never seen him be mean or even surly before. She hated that she was the exception, ached with the reality of it.
He’d promised her he’d look out for her. But by now he’d be at the docks or already aboard a ship heading for the Continent.
No, no one was coming for her. Even if the Bow Street Runners tracked her down and returned her to her mother, Penelope would still be tainted. Alone with two bandits for several hours? Her third year on the marriage mart would be difficult enough without that sort of scandal hanging over them, and that was before one took into account Cousin Jack’s scheming and thieving.
Sighing, Penelope sunk further into the chair, as far as the binds on her arms would allow, and screwed her eyes shut. If she could just get to the money under her floorboards, she could spirit herself away somewhere. Maybe somewhere abroad where she could comfort herself with the thought she might someday run into Colin again on one of his adventures.
Penelope did mental math, guessing that it must be after eight in the evening to be so dark out. She had departed the stationary shop at Rotten Row just after noon, sending Rae in a separate carriage to deliver her purchases for her so she could take the long way home and lose herself to melancholy for a bit. The bandits had bickered and argued with one another at every turn, first leading the carriage off the road, then tying up the driver.
Then they’d moved further in the trees, stopping again to search through the belongings they found inside. After taking her cloak from her, they’d been almost giddy with the prospect of having a lady to bargain with.
Part of Penelope’s irritation was the simple fact it had taken almost three hours for them to make up their minds to kidnap her at all. By now, she’d probably been missing closer to eight hours. Long enough for word to have gotten back to Mayfair, for her mother to be sulking and waiting for ransom demands.
The short one stood up, flexing his hands carefully, then crossed the floor to where Penelope was slouched in her bindings, pouting.
“I’ll be taking your jewelry, miss. To prove it’s you, and to sell if it’s a nice enough price.”
Penelope turned her head, offering her earrings. “Take them. Fake, all of it. Costume gems and baubles. I told you, we are destitute.”
Though he hesitated, he did eventually take the earrings, the sparkling hairpins, and her necklace. Her hair a mess and her jewelry gone, Penelope felt every bit the damsel in distress without any fear for her actual life.
“What if there’s no offer for me? No ransom to be paid?”
“Then we’ll have to drop you off somewhere else. There are others who’d make an offer, I’m sure.” The smaller one shot her a smile that, for the first time, rankled her.
But the taller one immediately jabbed his elbow into his friend’s ribs, frowning pointedly. “Nuh-uh, Owen, you said if we ever got a proper lady we’d treat her real good. That means no dumping her off at the brothel!”
Immediately, Penelope began trying to solve their predicament. If they somehow knew they’d managed to capture Lady Whistledown, then that would fetch them a pretty penny indeed. They’d have competition, perhaps, between whoever may be most desperate to unmask her.
And she’d be just as ruined and just as irritated in the aftermath, except she might also find herself in the Queen’s dungeon, or ruined with the added fun of being a complete social pariah.
Penelope kept her secret identity to herself and continued to be as useless as possible.
“Your name, miss?”
Penelope blinked at him, her eyelids impossibly heavy, only remembering the question a moment later when she realized the two men were staring at her expectantly.
“Oh! Erm, Penelope. Featherington.”
“Featherington?” the tall one repeated, his cheerful demeanor finally slipping. “Wasn’t that fellow at the horse track named Featherington?”
“Archibald?” Penelope asked with a bright, sarcastic smile. “Probably owes you money. Sounds like Papa.”
After a pause, the tall one spoke again. “We’re not going to get any money for her, Owen.”
Removing the pistol from his waistband, Owen squinted his eyes and seemed to lose himself deep in thought. “There must be some way to make a profit off this. It’s not every day a lady like her ends up with the likes of us—there must be something.”
Penelope had ideas about how they could possibly make money off her, even without knowing she was Whistledown, but she didn’t voice them.
“No other family?” Owen interrogated.
“None in Mayfair, and none with any more money than we have.”
“No suitors?”
Penelope guffawed.
The tall one frowned. “What about your mother?”
“One less mouth to feed,” Penelope quipped. “If you sent me home this instant I promise you she’d be peeved with me for going missing and ruining the already slim chance I had at finding a husband next season.”
“Your sisters are married,” the tall one pointed out, sounding rather pleased with himself, like he’d caught her in a lie.
“Yes, and while my brothers-in-law are fine chaps, they are hardly wealthy.” Penelope sighed. “I’m sorry, but I think it’s just not meant to be.”
Miraculously, they seemed to agree with her.
“It might be for the best to see her home,” the tall one glumly murmured, cutting his eyes to his shorter companion. Owen, his eyes hard and mouth a thin, pressed line, grunted.
They decided to think on it. After daring to believe her release might be imminent, Penelope wilted with exhaustion. The men spoke sporadically, returning to their spot in front of the fireplace. Curious, Penelope began to inspect the interior of the cabin.
In addition to the fireplace, there was a small pot-bellied stove with two burners and a kettle that looked like it might have intelligent life growing inside. The windows were all shuttered from the outside, but it seemed like when it was all opened up it probably got lovely light.
It was clearly an old building, the floorboards warped with gaps that let in gusts of cold air. The walls groaned in the wind and the roof definitely leaked. Furniture was sparse, primarily consisting of a small table, two wooden chairs, a small, lumpy settee with one broken leg, and a bed with a sagging mattress and one blanket that looked moth-eaten and dingy.
Penelope thought of herself as easy-going and adaptable, but she’d rather chew glass than lie down in that bed.
An hour and a half later, she’d completely changed her mind about the bed, sitting up and pulling again at the bindings on her wrists. All she wanted was to lie down on that blessed thing and get the feeling back into her hands.
“Might I lie down a moment? My hands are getting sort of prickly.”
The tall one leapt up and came scurrying over to her, bending to release the rope keeping her attached to the chair. “Do you need anything else, miss? Water, a fan?”
“A fan?” his companion echoed incredulously.
“I have no clue what those bloody fans are for, but she don’t got one and I thought I’d offer!” he defended himself.
“And where would you get a fan?” Owen demanded, not letting the matter drop.
“I’d fashion one out of…of things I found in the cabin, or foraged from outside—“
“Oh come off it, Vic, you would fashion something?”
As Penelope finally eased onto the mattress, she giggled helplessly. The men looked over at her in tandem, faces full of righteous indignation and puffery.
Outside, their horses nickered suddenly, then snorted. The wind howled and the men quieted. Vic shuffled her back over to the wooden chair, hushing her whimpers of protest as he forced her back into it and tied the rope back around her, tighter this time.
If she thought it would help, Penelope would cry.
Time started to become meaningless. She half listened to the bandits weighing their remaining options, vaguely feeling like there was something thudding in the dirt outside, perhaps the horses stamping their feet and trying to keep warm. One of the two of them whinnied loudly, setting the other one off in the process, jolting Penelope from her light slumber.
The men stopped talking, hearing something heavy thump to the ground outside, followed by a steady, somehow murderous series of thudding drumbeats Penelope could have sworn sounded like footsteps.
After a very loaded pause, the men both holding their breath, the door to the cabin exploded inward like whoever had kicked it in expected it to be better barricaded. Owen and Vic, yelping in surprise, flung themselves between her and whatever had come bursting in (which somehow warmed Penelope’s heart, like they were being sweet and protecting her from harm even though she absolutely knew that wasn’t what was happening).
Then, defying all logic and expectation, Colin Bridgerton strode into the room with a long, black greatcoat, muddy riding boots, wild hair, and a face positively thundering with rage.
Penelope’s stomach swooped violently, so much so she let out a squeak of surprise and helpless yearning—he had come for her! He had actually come!
The sound drew Colin’s eye to hers, though his gaze immediately fell to the rope around her arms and the ribbon tied to her wrists. His chin jerked away from her, his face twisting in a surprising display of anger as he stomped right up to the pair of bumbling idiots who’d snatched her from her carriage and tied her up.
“What have you done?” he demanded, and Penelope could have fainted at the low, ominous threat in his voice. “Did you touch her?” He spun to glare at the other one. “Either of you?”
“No!” Owen cried, reaching out preemptively, as if to swat away Colin’s approaching fists, but Colin didn’t punch, he grabbed.
Collecting their collars in each of his hands, he drew them close and seemed to grow, his frame stretching impossibly tall like Penelope was watching him transform into some kind of giant right before her eyes.
She had never actually seen him angry before, she realized at this moment. Cross, irritated, even vexed. But angry? Colin seemed immune to it, following Benedict’s lead more than Anthony’s.
When people frustrated Colin, he managed to laugh and roll his eyes. She would have bet money on him being somehow incapable of actual rage.
Until tonight.
“What’s this?” Colin asked, a curious but challenging lilt to his voice now, and Penelope gawked as he drew the pistol out of Owen’s waistband, turning it around to point right at the fool’s chest.
She had just opened her mouth to object, to assure him they hadn’t touched her, hadn’t hurt her apart from her wrists being a bit stiff and sore, when the tall one made a break for the open door.
Colin cracked him over the top of the head with the butt of the gun, the sound of it making Penelope wince and shut her eyes. As the sounds of a scuffle began in earnest, Penelope slowly peeled one eye open to watch.
In truth, the idiots were only trying to escape, but Colin seemed intent on, well, punishing them. She flinched as he threw his shoulder into Vic’s chest, sending the bigger man careening into the wall, where he collided, shaking the whole structure with his weight, before losing his balance and tumbling to the floor. With a mighty bellow, Owen tried to avenge his friend only to have Colin catch him by the throat and shove him against the door frame, sweet freedom just a few feet away.
“Pen,” Colin panted, eyes trained on the squirming man locked in his grip, “did they hurt you?”
“No,” she chirped back, her voice high and tight. She swallowed, thinking of attempting again in a less girlish tone, but Colin seemed satisfied, loosening his grip before he took Owen’s collar and hauled him out of the cabin, tossing him like he was removing a drunk from a public house. Then, he stomped inside, seized Vic’s collar, and started dragging him, too.
Vic groaned, finding Penelope’s eye as he scraped past her towards the door. “You said you didn’t have anybody who’d look for you, miss!”
“I didn’t! Well—I didn’t think—“
Colin threw the tall one onto the dirt next to his friend. “Go on, before I drag you to the magistrate myself! Go!”
Her captors were on their horses and gone into the night within mere seconds. Penelope stared out the door at Colin’s heaving shoulders as she sat, tied to a chair with her mouth hanging open and her heart flinging itself every which way in her chest.
She could hardly believe this was happening. She hadn’t even dared to daydream it during the long ride to wherever she was, afraid picturing Colin arriving to save her would only reignite her romantic feelings. Feelings she had only last night vowed to destroy.
He turned to her, his breathing slowing as he did, and she saw that same look on his face he’d had the night before, when he’d mustered the courage to confront her cousin and somehow managed not to bungle it. Relief, delight, a visceral triumph that Penelope assumed must be masculine in nature because she didn’t rightfully understand it at all, but she knew Colin craved it.
He rushed into the cabin now, slamming the door shut behind him, dropping to his knees behind the chair to tug at the ribbon around her wrists, his motions jerky and frantic.
“Is this silk?” he asked, his voice strangely softer now, though Penelope noted it had the barest hint of a tremor in it. She twisted her neck to look at him, her adrenaline still high, her heart still searching for the nearest exit.
He seemed quite keyed up, which made sense, really, but Penelope felt the thread of something else pulling at him, like he was waiting for her to remark on the situation, to tell him something, to assess him.
For a moment, she thought of assuring him she was perfectly safe, that nothing untoward had happened, that the fools he’d just thrown out were not the sharpest tools in the shed and she had managed just fine until he’d showed up.
But she thought she recognized the look on his face, somehow. The anticipatory, hopeful glint as he struggled with the knots on her wrists. Then, it hit her.
He wanted his accolades.
Penelope felt absolutely no shame in giving the man what he wanted—she never had and likely never would deny him something she was allowed to give, something he wanted from her.
“Colin,” she breathed, craning her neck just a bit more so she met his eyes. “You saved me!”
His fingers fumbled with the ribbon and Penelope watched in total delight as he blinked once, then twice. He swallowed, working his jaw side to side. Finally, he looked up at her like he’d almost forgotten where he was. “Yes, I—well, I did what anyone—of course, Pen. Of course.”
Penelope watched as his cheeks tinged pink.
Colin Bridgerton was blushing. Oh, what a boon!
“My hero,” she cooed, almost gasping when Colin’s chin ducked, a bashful, pleased smile flitting across his lips before he forced it all into a frown, feigning concentration as he finally loosened the first knot. She wriggled her hands, the blood suddenly flowing much better to her fingers. She let out a sigh of relief and Colin tugged harder at the remaining knots.
“You’re certain you’re not hurt?” he asked, his voice low and rough.
“I’m unharmed, because of you,” she gushed, rather liking the way he went another shade pinker, his breath hitching as he loosened the last of the ribbon and raised his hands to the rope holding her to the chair. It may have been wishful thinking, but Penelope swore she saw his fingers trembling.
Poor, sweet boy. Always wanting someone to believe in him, to really appreciate him.
For a moment, she forgot he’d only recently broken her heart. It was hard to reconcile his words with his actions, but she had always tried to believe someone’s deeds before their bluster.
”I’m surprised to see you,” she admitted softly, twisting her wrists to keep the blood flowing and take advantage of her new mobility. “I thought you’d be on a boat to the Continent by now.”
“Word that you’d been taken by highwaymen reached me before I departed. I couldn’t leave knowing you were in peril, Pen.” His brows lowered as he continued tugging on the rope.
Penelope puzzled over him a moment, tired and sore, baffled by his presence and unable to look away from his face as he toiled with the rope. She had only just begun mourning him, and really she was mourning a future she’d planned without his input.
It wasn’t his fault she carried a torch for him, nor his responsibility. He thought they had a friendship, and thinking that he’d still abandoned his tour and come searching for her warmed her all over even while she reminded herself that it meant more to her than he would ever know.
Nevertheless, he’d showed up and actually saved her, like a hero right out of a book.
If this was how he treated his friends, then Penelope was poised to explode with jealousy when he fancied himself in love. He’d fallen for a trick before, but Penelope didn’t think his entanglement with Marina was any indicator of what he’d look like as a man falling headfirst into true love.
Penelope cleared her throat, forcing her thoughts to the present. “I feel quite safe now.”
The rope slackened, then fell to the floor around her. Penelope’s arms surged forward, her shoulders aching for the chance to have her arms in front of her again after so many hours tied behind her back, but as she rushed to gather them in her lap, Colin slid from behind the chair and caught her fingers in his own, closing his bare hands over the top of her dirty, ripped gloves.
His eyes bore into hers. “You are safe now.”
He had a funny look about him, flushed and sort of tetchy, and though he stared at her without wavering, she had an odd sense that he was putting in a great deal of effort to keep his eyes exactly where they were.
Penelope suspected a woman in her position would be forgiven for tossing propriety aside for a moment and rewarding her savior somehow. She had nothing to offer, of course, except what she knew, as a friend, Colin wanted most.
“Because you came for me.” She squeezed his fingers and let all her admiration show, watching carefully in case it overwhelmed him. She’d noticed before, with all his siblings crowded in the drawing room, how Colin puffed up and stretched himself taller until the weight of all the scrutiny and attention finally squashed him.
Colin’s mouth moved as he stared at her, but he didn’t speak. His cheeks were still pink, although his pleased smile had faded, and he seemed almost short of breath, like he was flustered or somehow unmoored. Plus, she noted with some dismay, he had an odd, haunted look in his eye. She ached to soothe him, to rid him of his discomfort.
Penelope renewed her efforts to sing his praises, guilt starting to grow in her belly. “How incredibly brave of you, Colin, really. You took that man’s pistol! He could have shot you!”
“Yes, well, I caught them by surprise so—“
But Penelope hadn’t yet seen him duck his chin, chuffed and trying not to beam too brightly, so she persisted.
“I hoped it would be you, I really did. You are magnificent—my knight in shining armor! I shall never be able to repay you for such a daring rescue.“
His head turned at that, and Penelope saw the way he reflexively wanted to dismiss the notion of her needing to repay him, but his eyes had also gone sort of dark and muddled, a small wrinkle forming in the middle of his forehead as his gaze dropped momentarily to her lips.
To her surprise, his cheeks darkened even more, the shade now nearing scarlet, mouth still pumping wordlessly.
“I should have known you’d be clever enough to find me and dispatch those fiends yourself.” She stretched her shoulders again, glad to have her arms on her lap and her wrists unbound, even if her hands were still firmly pinned by Colin’s. That particular part of the experience was no hardship.
His eyes darted between hers for a spell before he blinked and swallowed, stumbling to his feet and taking her with him. Once they were steady, he stepped immediately closer, lifting his fingers to the curls tumbling over her shoulder.
“What’s happened to your hair, Pen?”
Smiling weakly, she shrugged. “They took my hairpins on the chance they’d be worth some coin.” She thought of telling him how utterly inept her captors had been, but it seemed likely to ruin his triumphant moment. He didn’t need to know just yet, she decided.
His eyes began traversing her entire body, his eyebrows once more furrowing at the realization she wasn’t wearing any jewelry at all. He glared over at the door for a moment, the sight twisting Penelope’s lips into a smile.
Somehow, his growling and glaring made her want to pinch his cheeks.
“I should have tied them up and thrown them over the back of my horse so we could take them to the magistrate and have them locked up!” His chest heaved briefly after his outburst, but he quickly corralled himself, shutting his eyes and drawing in a steadying breath. “We have a long ride ahead of us. Are you ready?”
Penelope winced, but nodded. Another few hours on a horse, side-saddle or not, sounded like torture. Although at least this time she’d be able to keep her arms in front of her. And, of course, Colin would be there, pressed right up to her back the whole way.
“You can have my coat,” Colin offered, reaching to unfasten it, his jaw tightening as he looked urgently at the door again. Penelope took the coat from him before he rushed to the door and slipped through it, presumably to ready his steed.
The coat smelled of him—cedar and vetiver with notes of something distinctly Colin, something that lingered in the spaces he tended to frequent the most, something that faded when he was away and Penelope missed deep in her chest. Sighing, she pulled on the damp wool and hugged it over her chilled arms and torso.
She had hardly had a chance to tuck her nose inside the collar when he burst back inside with a slightly chagrined wince.
“Change of plans,” he announced tightly.
“Oh?” Penelope dared to ask, her heart sinking and thudding at the same time. She was so tired, so ready to be done with this whole wretched day.
“My horse is gone.” He raised a hand to the back of his neck and scrubbed at it. “I forgot to tie her up in my haste to get inside, and it appears she wandered off in search of something to eat.”
Penelope waited for him to offer more, but he simply stood there, hand on his neck, wincing in a way that said he expected her to retract all her previous compliments and start hurling expletives.
“Can we walk?”
“It’s dark,” he replied immediately. “No moon to guide us—I was barely able to get here on my horse. Plus, it is cold, and I think there will be rain. The sky is grumbling out there like it’s thinking about it.”
Penelope stared. “Then what are you suggesting?”
“It’s less of a suggestion and more of a fact—we must stay here until morning when it’s safe to walk.”
She frowned. “Were there any others in the search party?”
“Several of us,” Colin assured her. “But we spread out to search and it might be some time before they realize I haven’t simply returned home.”
Slowly, Penelope turned and appraised that horrible, sagging bed in the corner. Then, she returned her eyes to Colin.
“You can of course take the bed, Pen. I’ll keep watch on the door—it doesn’t appear to have a lock so I’ll have to stay up anyway.” He smiled carefully. “It’ll be all right.”
Recognizing his face as one of false confidence and bravado, Penelope moved her hair behind her shoulder and squinted at him. “How long did it take you to find me? You must be tired. I’ve been tied to a saddle or a chair most of the day—let me watch the door.” At his scoff, she added, “I promise to wake you if the latch so much as wiggles.”
His smile warmed considerably, reaching his eyes at last. “I’m sure you would, but Pen, of course not. You take the bed. If I tire, I’ll simply stretch out on the floor. I’ve slept in worse places sailing across the Channel.”
For two seconds, she pretended to consider his proposition. Then, feeling stubborn, she replied, “Absolutely not.”
Exasperated, Colin turned to feed more wood into the fire. “My mother would box my ears if she found out I slept in a bed while you flitted around trying to stay warm all night, especially after what you’ve been through. Moreover, I don’t want to let you guard the door on my behalf.”
“Well, I want to ensure my dashing rescuer gets a few moments of rest!” Penelope froze, hearing the words that had come out of her and deciding just a half a second before Colin turned to face her again that she needed to commit. To stick her chin up and simply give him the kindness, to insist he take it because it was all she really had to offer.
He mimicked her earlier feigned consideration before flatly saying, “No.” He returned to poking at the fire.
“Then we share!” Penelope declared, folding her arms and immediately noticing heat rising on her cheeks. Pretending not to notice, she stuck her nose up just as Colin whipped around to gape at her.
“Penelope!” he chastised, rushing closer as if someone might overhear. “We should not—“
“And why not? Why should one of us shiver all night? Propriety?” She pulled his coat tighter around her and refolded her arms. “I’m ruined already, Colin. What does it matter?”
“You are not ruined.” Colin shook his head.
“But I am!”
“No, I got here before any harm came to you. All will be well, we just need to get you home.” Colin folded his arms, lifting an eyebrow at her.
“When is the last time a gentleman of the ton married a woman who survived a kidnapping?” Penelope asked, raising her eyebrow right back. “I was already well on my way to spinsterhood—this all but guarantees it. So, if you wish to protect my reputation, you may divest yourself of that particular burden.” She mimed tossing away some rubbish and dusting her hands of the crumbs.
She could tell by the tight press of his lips and the spot on his jaw that tensed and relaxed that he was irritated, perhaps even approaching vexed. He didn’t know how to argue with her on this point, but he wasn’t ready to give up the fight.
“I will only lie down if you lie down beside me,” she blurted, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise at her own ultimatum.
Colin swallowed, her eyes following the movement of it until he dropped his chin and swiped a hand over his mouth. Then, softly, he asked, “Is that truly what you want, Pen?”
Despite the small bolt of fear and trepidation that shot through her belly, she nodded, gathering her arms a little tighter around herself. “It is. I will sleep better having you nearby.”
Colin hesitated, then cleared his throat. “It is rather cold out.”
“This is the draftiest, dingiest cabin I have ever had the misfortune of being kidnapped to,” Penelope admitted, relishing Colin’s breathy, disbelieving laugh.
Finally, his shoulders dropped and he sighed. “Very well. I’ll get the fire stoked so it lasts all night and…join you. In a moment.”
Suddenly, that little bolt in her belly exploded into a fireworks display of sparks. She had demanded he share a bed with her, and now he was about to actually get into a bed with her.
Had she lost her mind? Penelope turned, pretending to be smugly satisfied with her victory, but immediately she began berating herself. She had no designs on sharing the bed beyond what she’d told him, but she wouldn’t not enjoy his proximity. Such an intimacy may never be available between them ever again, particularly given his total lack of romantic feelings for her. It also didn’t escape her that she was ruined and this may be the only time she laid beside a man at all.
She removed his coat and went to the foot of the bed, which looked narrower than she remembered—in fact, it seemed to shrink in front of her very eyes. How she thought she and Colin Bridgerton would share this cot was beyond her.
Inhaling sharply, she took off her mud-stained, damp slippers. Immediately, the chill from the floorboards began to lick at her heels, so she made quick work of gathering her skirts and climbing onto the lumpy, sagging, stinking mess that was the mattress.
Flopping to her back, she gathered herself up close to the wall, tugged the itchy, thin blanket over the top of herself, and tried to be as small as possible.
The mattress sagged beside her as Colin tentatively sat. His boots thunked onto the floor one at a time. Then, he turned, lifted his legs onto the bed, and laid, stiff and straight as a board beside her. If she breathed too deeply, her elbow would definitely brush against his and probably light her and the bed on fire.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Penelope concentrated on breathing just enough to stay alive.
***
Colin had just hugged Hyacinth goodbye for a third time when a servant at the back of the room let out a startled gasp and a small cry of dismay, rushing forward and away from the other two servants who stood wringing their hands and sniffling.
“Pardon me, my lady.” The servant bowed low in front of Violet, then stood and met the lady’s eye, her lips trembling. “There has been an…emergency—“
“My mistress was taken!” erupted another servant, this one dressed in the greens of the Featherington family and still lingering at the back of the entryway where they had gathered.
Colin’s heart began pounding at once, his mouth falling open in shock. He had expected some news from the Featherington household today—that Jack Featherington had begun returning the money he’d swindled and left town.
“Taken?” he echoed, feeling like his voice was thin and papery.
From there, Colin only remembered storming around his mother’s house, arguing with Anthony and demanding his brothers ready their horses to begin the search. It took an infuriating amount of time to actually depart, but once they did, faces grim and mouths tight, Colin finally began to breathe.
They had precious little to work with, unsure what kind of scene they were rushing toward, but Colin was frantic to be there, to see for himself. He couldn’t wrap his mind around it—taken? Penelope? Such a soft, sweet thing—unfailingly willing to see the best in him, even when he was a fool of the highest order. He had just seen to her abominable cousin, and now this?
Penelope didn’t deserve such hardships. And if she had been taken, as Rae swore she had been, then she was surely frightened, perhaps injured—
The types of men who would kidnap a gently bred lady were exactly the types who would use violence against them, touch them, tear at their clothes. He swayed on his horse, finding the air too thin.
When they found the carriage, Colin felt sick to his stomach.
The door had been left yawning open, Penelope’s cloak cut through the middle and discarded on the leaf-covered ground. Colin held his breath, his chest tightening in the silence, his brothers equally as still and silent behind him.
All at once, the three of them had slipped from their horses to the forest floor. They agreed to split up and reconvene at the road before dark.
Colin had selected what felt like to him the most direct path into the forest, the one least likely to intersect with any roads or rivers. When it got dusky, he gritted his teeth and pressed on, certain he was on the cusp of discovery.
He felt hopelessly on the edge of that discovery for hours. He imagined the moment he found her, the way she’d look up at him with her mouth slightly ajar, eyes impossibly large and ephemeral. Last night, God, last night she had called him astonishing.
The rush of warmth that had flooded into his lower belly at the declaration had buzzed when he took her hand to dance with her. He had worried the heat had spread to his cheeks, but luckily he had been able to redirect that distracting, vibrating sensation in his belly back at Penelope.
He had felt, briefly, happily nipping at his flask and basking in his success, like a hero. And he was leaving Penelope, who really did deserve the very best, with something like a perfect evening.
Well, perhaps it was more his perfect evening, but it very much benefited Penelope, too.
And then Fife had run his fat mouth and Colin had felt the floor drop out from under him. They had seen, had noticed how he’d doted on her.
Colin meant to depart for the Continent the next day—he had no designs on courting or marrying anyone, let alone his sister’s best friend. She was one of the only people who faithfully wrote to him when he was abroad, one of his oldest friends, one of the only people whose opinion mattered.
So he’d said the first thing he figured he was supposed to say. And they’d laughed, approving of his flippant dismissal, and he’d joined them, relieved to have passed the test and avoided further scrutiny.
After all, he lived to please.
When Colin had left the Butterfly Ball that night, he’d felt so supremely smug about how well he’d navigated the evening.
Now, the dark encroaching more and more, he gritted his teeth and urged his horse on, determined to find her, to save her. He hated that Fife had gotten under his skin, had made him feel anything but gleeful about that buzzy thing in his belly that appeared when she complimented him.
Colin had always thrived under praise and positive attention. For whatever reason, Penelope’s praise hit him quite differently, but he didn’t question it too deeply. After all, Pen was Pen.
She was always different—not a sister, not a simpering debutante without a thought in her head. Uniquely her, always good for a laugh or a reel, almost always willing to share her biscuits or the latest bit of gossip she’d overheard.
Over time, Colin had convinced her to let him see the depth of her wit, the sharpness of her tongue. He knew she wasn’t easily impressed, that she saw and absorbed much more than anyone else seemed to suspect. So, when Penelope Featherington blinked up at him in guileless awe and called him astonishing? Well, he’d been floored, really.
He lost himself to another daydream where he rescued Penelope. In this one, she rushed up to him and touched his arm as if testing his muscles, sweetly telling him he was her savior, that he had done something extraordinary.
His horse found water and refused to be spurred on until it had a good long drink, grumbling at Colin’s every attempt to force them onward. After what felt like an eternity, they set off again.
All at once, the woods were too dark to see much in front of his face, so he huddled tight behind his steed’s neck, ducking out of the way of branches and worrying he’d gotten himself lost.
Then, he’d smelled smoke. He followed it, whispering sweet nothings to the mare he rode and promising apples and a good brushing when they returned home. He didn’t see the cabin until he was almost on top of it, his chest seizing when he saw two horses tied out front, smoke merrily puffing out of the chimney.
For a moment, he hesitated, the two tied horses nickering softly, then clomping their hooves.
The shutters on the cabin were closed. That, to him, was all the proof he needed. If someone was inside a shuttered cabin, they had something to hide.
Colin slipped from his horse, tightening his hands into fists. He hadn’t brought a weapon, but he did have a rather impressive punch, having grown up with two older brothers and four little sisters who knew how to pinch and slap with the best of them.
The horses whinnied, rearing back as he marched past, his breathing growing more erratic and jaw tightening as he rushed forward, imagining the worst and hoping he wasn’t too late.
He threw his shoulder against the door, eyes wild and teeth bared. The bandits who rushed toward him seemed more frightened of him than intimidating, but more important than that—Penelope was there.
She made a sound and he let himself look at her, unprepared for the way his chest collapsed at the sight of her slumped, pale and visibly exhausted, with her arms pulled straight behind her and tied. If she had a single bruise—
Colin raged. He barked, shoved, threw his fists. Then, dragging them both out by the collar, he demanded they flee before he gave in to the desire to beat them both bloody.
When their hoofbeats had faded away to nothing, he returned to the cabin and flung himself at Penelope, desperate to get her out of her bindings. To his immense irritation, her delicate wrists were purpled beneath the ridiculous pink ribbon used to restrain her. He regretted letting the bandits go without a more thorough punishment.
Working feverishly now at the tiny, stubborn knots, Colin risked a quick glance at her face, hoping he’d find her beaming at him—proof she was alive and well, not irrecoverably changed. Proof that he’d been a hero again, rescued a lady in need, defended one of his dearest friends.
As he often did, Colin immediately had the notion Penelope saw straight through him to the parts of himself he didn’t quite understand. She had never teased or recoiled from whatever she saw there, so Colin never minded when she looked.
He had just started to get the first knot to give way, his eyes still on hers, when she said it.
“Colin.” Her voice was breathy, sending a sudden tingle across the back of his neck and down his arms and spine. He fairly held his breath, his every thought suddenly narrowed on whatever was going to come out of her mouth next.
“You saved me!”
He really ought to have been embarrassed by the way her words shot straight through him, careening straight past his lower belly into his groin. After all, he was familiar enough with desire that he recognized it now, and recognized how wildly inappropriate it was to be experiencing it here and now, even if her arms were tied behind her back, essentially thrusting her ample bosom out so not even the most monkish of men would have been able to ignore it.
He stumbled and stuttered his response, which boiled down to nothing more than of course. He dared not say anything else, his hands already starting to show signs of the inappropriate places his mind wanted to wander, half-drunk already on the notion she thought he’d saved her.
His face felt hot, but he thought perhaps the fact he was bent over her bound wrists might be sparing his dignity. Sweet, innocent Penelope—he knew she only wanted to reward him for his good deed—lit him on fire with her next words.
“My hero.”
Oh God. Colin ducked his chin fast, desperate to hide how red he knew his face was getting, shuffling behind the chair so it was harder for her to keep looking at him, keep adoring him with those impossibly big eyes of hers, practically luminous in the firelight. That tingling in his belly had turned into a riotous buzzing. It was no longer possible to pretend he didn’t notice the way his cock responded to her honeyed words, so he forced his eyebrows down and gritted his teeth, determined to untie her wrists and put some distance between them.
When he had managed to remove the ribbon, Colin immediately moved to untie the rope, too, focusing on the intricacies of the knots and ignoring the way she stretched her hands, her insistence that he had been a brave hero indeed echoing in his head unrelentingly.
She didn’t mean to tempt him, to tease him—Colin knew that. It made his sudden, gnawing attraction all the more embarrassing. What sort of cad must he be, preening and trying not to lay his head in her lap and beg for more sweet words? And what kind of rake takes such pleasure in being told he was brave?
“I feel quite safe now,” she told him breathily, though with conviction enough Colin didn’t doubt her sincerity.
Whatever it was inside him that groaned and hungered for such adulations was mightily pleased by her declaration. Before he knew it, he had removed the rope and she pulled her arms from behind her back. For a breath, he thought maybe that would at least make the heaving of her bosoms less enticing, help him right his head and stop slavering over the prospect of sitting here, beside the fire, while she patted his damp hair and promised him he was the most dashing, daring rescuer she’d ever seen.
Oh, but that would be nice, wouldn’t it?
He managed, by forcing himself to look at the bruises on her wrists and the unruly mess her hair had become, to funnel his mounting arousal into anger. But of course, when he had composed himself enough to go out and find his horse so they could begin the long, cold ride back to Mayfair, his mare had abandoned him.
He should have brought something to eat, to keep her occupied while he was playing hero. Having no choice, Colin returned to her to confess his mistake and see about getting her comfortable despite the rustic lodgings.
In truth, Colin was bone tired himself, but the adrenaline of the confrontation with the scoundrels, plus Penelope’s maddeningly innocent stroking of his ego, kept him on a knife’s edge. He made the gentlemanly offer to allow her the bed, not expecting her to rebuke him, and certainly not expecting her to demand he share the bed with her.
For a few seconds, he planned to simply sit on the bed beside her while she slept, but then she’d said something so pure of heart and achingly beautiful Colin knew he was ruined the moment it left her lips.
“I will sleep better having you nearby.”
By the time he’d stoked the fire, taken off his boots, and laid on the bed beside her, Colin felt like he’d lost hold of the reins entirely, that Penelope was single-handedly masterminding this rescue that had swiftly turned into one of his more salacious daydreams.
The fire kept a nice soft light flickering in the room, his eyes obstinately fixed on the ceiling. She may have called him extraordinary, may have insisted he had been brave and daring, clever enough to find her, but she hadn’t made any indication she wanted…well, anything apart from having him near.
That, Colin figured, he could do. While he didn’t want to think of her reputation as ruined (it rather soured his heroic rescue if she were still ruined at the end of it), he had to admit that no matter how they spent the night together in this cabin, tongues would wag, scandals would erupt, and Penelope would bear the brunt of the shame.
It was no chore for him to be close to her—in fact, it rather soothed him to hear her breathing beside him, to know she would come to no further harm, that she was heartened by his nearness. The chore was untangling the knots in his lower belly, reminding himself he was still a gentleman. It was a proper tribulation not to turn and ask her to tell the whole story from top to bottom so he could hear the way she would tell it when she returned home, safe and sound.
In her telling, he’d sound like a proper hero, like Odysseus or Hercules. Someone with a grand purpose, integrity, bravery, strength of both muscle and character.
She’d tell it and make him sound astonishing.
Beside him, she turned carefully to her side, shimmying so her back was pressed up against the drafty wall of the cabin, then lifted the edge of the thin blanket covering her.
“Aren’t you cold?”
Colin was not, in fact, cold. He was burning up, sure if she did much more fussing over him he’d give in entirely.
Her palm suddenly fluttered over his forehead, first brushing his hair back, then settling to assess whether or not he had a chill. Colin laid there, letting her fret, swallowing and breathing like a completely normal person, or so he hoped.
“How far did you have to ride to find me?” she asked in the quiet, the only other sound was his hitching breaths and the fire crackling.
Colin turned his head to look at her. “I don’t know,” he admitted, immediately lost in her stare. “I kept going. I smelled smoke so I followed it until I found you.”
In response, Penelope smiled, but it was tinged with such sadness. Colin didn’t understand, wishing fervently he knew how to whisk away whatever was plaguing her. If he ever let himself sulk in front of her, she always seemed to know how to lift his spirits. He had seen her sullen a few times, but usually a quick joke or bright smile from him and she’d be back to bouncing around and giggling in no time.
She drew her hand back, tucking it beneath her cheek on the lump of the mattress she treated as a pillow. “I still cannot believe it. Perhaps I knocked my head and will wake to find you’re naught but a dream.”
Colin smiled, snorting a small laugh. “Then we are sharing this dream, Pen, because I am very much here. I can smell this musty mattress just as well as you can.”
A smile broke her face wide open for a moment before that horrible sadness crept back in.
“What is it?” he asked, reaching out slowly before retracting his hand, laying it atop his chest where she could take it if she wanted.
“Nothing,” she assured him immediately, her voice firm but still quiet. “I simply do not know what I’ve done to deserve your friendship. Your protection.” Colin swallowed, staring at her mouth once more, knowing where she was headed even though he hoped she’d have mercy on him as much as he wanted her to continue.
The smile she gave him now was so sweet, so bittersweet—Colin could have screamed he was so distressed and muddled, sure he was losing his mind entirely.
Then, barely loud enough to be heard at all, Penelope added, “Your bravery.”
Before he could stop himself, Colin rushed out, “Say that again.”
Penelope blinked at him, too startled to respond at first, then furrowed her brow in confusion. “Say what? That you were brave?”
His face was on fire, he’d been caught red-handed, but dear sweet God did it sound so unbearably good on her lips. He would rush into a hundred burning buildings for her to laud him as a hero, for her to call him brave, for her to blink up at him and say whatever nice things she wanted. He would lay like a happy dog on a hearth, panting and letting it rush through him like the sweetest wine.
Except, of course, it didn’t just mollify him, or make him feel good. It made him feel rather like a man, in a very particular way. No one had ever said something so perfectly innocent and still managed to stir his lower belly so much that he was beginning to worry she would notice he’d started to harden in his breeches.
What was happening to him? Colin swallowed thickly, his cheeks still florid with some mix of shame and arousal, but when he opened his eyes to apologize, Penelope had again reached out, and before he could stop her, she had put her hand on his cheek.
Colin was lost. Fully, completely, gone.
“You were very brave, Colin. Storming in here without a care for yourself, intent on saving me. You hardly batted an eye at that pistol, and you tossed those men out like yesterday’s rubbish.” Her lips twisted into the sweetest, most tender of smiles, no trace of sadness now. “I shall tell you until the end of your days, if you like.”
The noise that escaped him was supposed to be words. Colin didn’t know what words he’d intended on speaking, but he swore he intended to say something, not just moan a strange, reedy sound that had Penelope suddenly fretting, raising herself up to one elbow to get a better look at him while he squirmed and panted, twisting his hips away so she wouldn’t see the way his breeches had started to bulge.
“Penelope,” he finally forced out, swallowing again immediately after. Her hand on his cheek stiffened, her eyes widening ever so slightly as she examined him, the furrow returning to her brow like he was a particularly vexing puzzle.
Tentatively, she looked him over, probably noticing his blazing cheeks and shaking breaths, but instead of withdrawing or recoiling, she shifted infinitesimally closer. “Again?”
Colin nodded, turning onto his side and screwing his eyes shut, leaning forward until his forehead collided with hers. She gasped, a small oh! bursting from her, but then she had his hands in hers, her fingers squeezing his tightly. He had the notion if he didn’t open his eyes and see the two of them pressed so close together, he might be able to ignore it somehow.
“I knew you’d come for me, somehow I just knew you’d be my rescuer. No one else could do it, no one else would.”
Her breath washed over his face, her hands small and impossibly soft.
“I—“ He choked on whatever it was he was trying to say, his fingers tightening in hers until he was sure he must be hurting her.
“Tell me,” Penelope half-whispered.
I want you, Pen.
“I’m sorry,” he said aloud instead, meaning to pull back and turn onto his back, or maybe roll all the way over, turning his back to her and waiting until both his erection and his blush faded away.
“Whatever for?” Penelope asked, a slight edge in her voice.
Groaning, Colin forced his eyes open, immediately speechless again at the sight of Penelope huddled to his chest, the thin blanket stretched over the both of them, her hair catching the firelight in such a way it seemed almost alive.
Had she always been so beautiful? Colin thought she must have, but he’d never been so flustered by the knowledge before.
Then again, she’d never laid beside him, whispering what a brave, daring knight he’d been.
“Your eyes have gone as dark as an ink pot, Colin. Are you well?”
He could have laughed, but instead he nodded, pressing his lips tightly together. Then, figuring he had almost nothing left to lose, he looked down to her breasts and lingered as long as he liked, which turned out to be long enough for Penelope to finally piece together what was happening to him.
When he remembered himself and guiltily returned his gaze to her face, she had a hazy, disbelieving sway to her, as if a stiff breeze could knock her over even though she was lying abed already.
“Again,” he begged, lifting a hand to her hair, soft as silk, lightly scented with jasmine, utterly Penelope in every way.
With much too knowing of a smile, Penelope obeyed. “Colin, you are magnificent.”
“Christ, Pen,” he growled, already moving to capture her lips with his own, but she met him halfway, and his heart started hammering against his ribs, that swooping thing in his belly redirecting all blood directly to his cock.
Colin thought he was lost before, but the moment she kissed him—and she was kissing him back, ardently, frantically even—he lost all semblance of control. A groan came rolling out of him immediately, and his hands jumped into motion, reaching to cup her face and pet her hair, lavish her with gratitude of any kind.
The bed wasn’t large, and they were already pressed close, so within mere seconds, Penelope had slid close enough he could feel her belly, confined as it was by her stays, brush against his cock. His head fell back, Colin fighting for a deep enough breath to stop the world from spinning. She stared at him, her chest heaving and breath hitching, her eyes darting from his to his lips over and over again.
“My hero,” she murmured, as if testing a theory.
“Good God, Pen, you must stop if you—“
“But I don’t want to stop. I want to thank you.” She swallowed, pushing herself up onto her elbow once more. “I want to kiss you again.”
Colin really did like pleasing people.
He scrambled to all fours, took her shoulders, and pushed her down into the mattress so her hair fanned out in unruly waves, took a moment to soak in the vision she made, all breathy and full of want, then dropped his lips to hers again.
He would never taste something as sweet as this victory kiss, this kiss she’d begged him to give her. The feeling was heady, impossible to brush off, wild and snarling, full of wickedness Colin had never been so tempted to indulge in before.
And it was Penelope Featherington, of all people, who had pulled this from him. Only she seemed to know how to unravel him, how to unmake him entirely.
Colin drew back just enough to breathe, and immediately her fingers were in his hair and his hips were pressing against hers. His mouth dropped open, an apology ready to spring forth for his absolute lunacy—an hour ago or less she’d been tied to a chair expecting the worst, and now she was lying in a dirty bed in an even dirtier cabin with his cock grinding against her lower belly, his lips pasted to hers as if she were the source of the air he needed to live.
“Oh, Colin,” she sighed, closing her eyes and turning her head just enough to the side that he pounced on the opportunity to taste her neck, nibble just beneath her ear, scrape his chin down her collarbone. Her back arched and her arms leapt around his neck as he tossed the thin scrap of blanket away, a hiccup escaping her as she stared up at him.
Colin swallowed, fighting to form actual words. “Pen, I—“
“If you apologize to me, I will scream, Colin Bridgerton.” Penelope’s eyes were still hazy, but there was a firm undercurrent of resolute stubbornness beneath the haze. And what was that haze exactly? Colin thought perhaps it was fatigue, or the fact she had likely never heard of such activities before he’d so rudely foisted them upon her.
He tried again. “But—“
“Are you concerned you have ruined me? Because I assure you—“
He felt his chest deepen somehow, his abdomen a confusing riot of swooping, warmth, tingling, and tension that felt poised to snap any second, so his words came out low, almost threatening as he interrupted her, almost growling, “I have not ruined you…yet.”
“Then do it,” Penelope replied, almost daring him. “You wish to touch me, do you not?”
Colin gaped at her, openly disbelieving she would be so blunt, so wicked. He hardly thought she was capable of such things, his heart starting to bound with hope, with need.
“You are, without exception, the very best man I have ever known.” Her lips spoke with sweetness, but her eyes were still hooded, still hazy.
Groaning, Colin dropped a hand to her leg and squeezed before rucking up her skirt, glancing once at her face to ensure she had no regrets, but she had already shut her eyes in surrender.
Colin joined her, sliding his lips along her neck until he found a spot that had her gasping, then paused to lavish her with all the attention she could stand, humming delightedly against her skin as it warmed, pinking under his touch, flushing everywhere his lips and fingers traveled. When he reached the top of her stocking, they both groaned, Penelope breathlessly laughing as he bit at the tops of her breasts and grappled with the bodice of her dress.
“Take it off,” she instructed, sitting up to let him paw at her fastenings. Colin needed no further encouragement, and while he wasn’t the most adept at removing a lady’s clothes, he did have some experience with the various lacings and buttons. Having four sisters came with some perks.
When her dress was gone and her stays had loosened enough she had to hold them in place, she batted his hands away and began working the buttons on his waistcoat, then his shirt. They traded kisses as they went, their breathing in perfect concert, smiles bursting on their faces as they uncovered new corners of one another’s bodies until, at last, they were naked, huddled together on the bed while cold wind whipped outside and the fire continued to crackle.
Penelope stiffened in his arms when he leaned away to get a good look at her, but Colin took his time, smoothing his hands over her thighs and hips, across her waist and up to the sides of her breasts, sucking his lip between his teeth at the way her nipples pebbled in anticipation of his touch. When his thumb brushed over one, she let out a breathy moan made of sin, her mouth dropping open in what he hoped was surprised delight.
“You all right, Pen?” he asked, the words feeling heavy on his tongue, like he was deep in his cups.
“So good,” she promised. “You always make me feel good.”
Colin babbled as he lowered his lips to her breasts. “You make me feel invincible, Pen. Like I could take down Napoleon’s entire army by myself.”
A keening cry escaped her, her fingers leaping up into his hair once more. “So good,” she repeated, sifting gently through his hair and smoothing her opposite hand across his chest, biting onto her lip as she scratched through the hair scattered there.
His hands dropped to her thighs once more, this time slipping to where they were pressed together, nudging them apart until there was room enough for him to settle there, his mouth urgent on her neck and his fingertips curious. When he reached the space between her legs, he leaned away once more to search her face for any sign she wanted him to stop.
“You make me feel good,” she reiterated, her small hands still fluttering over his neck and his chest, her eyes dragging across his face and down his body until a shudder ran through him. “Everywhere you touch, everywhere…Colin, you—“
He ran his fingers suddenly across her folds, relishing the sound of her sucking in a sudden, shocked gasp, one of her hands leaping down to grasp his wrist as if to stop him. Before he could apologize or retreat, she released him, then reached past his arm and grabbed him around the cock, like she’d done so a hundred times before.
Colin had rid himself of his green boy status while abroad on his first tour, and he’d been touched before, but he’d never been touched by Penelope Featherington. She, it turned out, had much the same effect on him physically as she did verbally.
Her throat bobbed as his head dropped between his shoulder blades, her breasts maddeningly close, but Colin had to concentrate on her hand gripping him or else he’d start thrusting into her palm and make a complete ass of himself and a mess of her in record time.
He was still perfecting the art of helping a woman find her pleasure, but he knew it didn’t do her a lot of good panting over her like an animal while she stroked him. Guiding her hand away, Colin raced to cover her face with kisses, pausing to whisper in her ear that she was driving him mad and smirking at the way she bit her lip and preened for him.
Gathering her wrists in one hand, he stretched her arms above her head and pinned them against the mattress with one hand, then reached again for that enchanting spot between her legs, grinning in earnest when she started panting yes, yes, yes!
She didn’t make him guess, nodding her head or twisting her hips as he explored, breathlessly encouraging him when he hesitated or got caught up watching the pleasure drift across her face in its many forms. When he finally located the little nub just above her opening and circled his thumb around it, Penelope cried out and tore her wrists from his hand, flinging her arms around his shoulders and biting down on his neck hard enough he grunted in alarm.
She rolled her hips and Colin swore he saw stars, even though she wasn’t touching him and his cock felt hard enough to cut glass. Knowing she liked what he was doing, having the irrefutable proof of her desire laid out before him, he dared to press his fingers against her opening, moaning at the wetness he found.
His cock strained and twitched, aching to sink into her, to wrap itself entirely in her warmth, to sheath itself so deeply inside he would surely whimper with relief.
For now, he palmed one hand on her breasts and curled his fingers into her sweet, wet pussy, humming soft assurances to her that she was doing so well, hissing when she kissed and licked at his neck, whimpers and moans coming out of her almost nonstop.
“More, please, Colin—oh, but it’s so good,” she babbled, her hands grasping desperately at his shoulders and back, her hips lifting so his fingers curled inside her and he felt her walls clench down around him as he discovered a new corner to stroke and prod.
He sat back, intent on looking her over once more, startled at how soft and alluring she seemed even in these harrowing circumstances. Lowering his lips to her breasts, he fixed his eyes on her face and watched as she screwed her eyes shut and hummed behind closed lips, a wrinkle appearing on her forehead as her body began to tense.
“Oh, oh Colin, I don’t—“
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, not removing his lips from her breast as he continued, thumb circling and fingers curling all the while. She seemed panicked, briefly, her eyes opening and closing as she searched for some relief, some understanding she didn’t have yet, and then Colin saw her reach her peak at the same moment he felt it come crashing around his fingers.
Just as he victoriously slid his hand from between her legs, sure he had reduced her to a boneless heap, her eyes shot open and her hand returned to his cock, now a dribbling mess, so painfully hard he damn near emptied himself the moment she touched him.
“So brave,” she murmured, almost shy, her hand beginning to move along the length of him, her eyes dropping from his face to examine how his body responded to her ministrations with almost scientific curiosity. “It’s so…firm, but so soft, like velvet. Show me what to do.”
“You’re doing,” he paused to swallow down a groan, “fuck, you’re doing just fine on your own, Pen.”
She pouted at him then, and Colin knew he would never recover from this, never be able to look at her and not want to tear her clothes away and put his face between her breasts, bury himself in her silken folds and—
“More,” she whispered, her grip tightening on his cock and pulling a low, tortured groan from deep in his chest. “You are so good, I only want to make you feel good, too. May I? Will you show me?”
“It will hurt,” he blurted, reaching down once more to move her hand away, panting at the reprieve while desperately wanting nothing more than to give in to his pleasure.
She scoffed. “I think not—everything you do feels wonderful. If I thought I could manage it, I’d never leave this cabin again. I will never tire of you, of your bravery, Colin.”
His hips strained and his cock practically wept at the nearness of her warm, inviting pussy, her lips glistening with arousal and her earlier peak. As he grasped himself at the base and slid the tip along the slick painted over her inner thighs, Penelope leaned up and put her lips against his ear.
Colin tensed, his breathing erratic and heart now thrumming against his sternum.
“You will not hurt me. Big as you are, strong as you are, I know—“
He had hoped to be more, well, romantic during Penelope’s first experience with lovemaking, but he was hanging on by a thread as it was, and her lips were performing witchcraft against his ear. So instead of inching in slowly, talking her through it, pausing to check in with her, Colin simply sank into her, groaning and grasping her hips with both hands, until her legs leaped up and around his waist and she cried out.
“Are you all right?” he asked, knowing it was too little too late, but not wanting to make matters worse if he could help it. At the same time, every part of him was begging for him to start moving, to start snapping his hips and biting at her neck. It took an admirable amount of restraint just to pause, almost his entire weight resting on her plush body.
Penelope blinked up at him, mouth hanging open, then sighed, her walls relaxing briefly before she seemed to contract around him.
He thought he’d seen stars before, but for a brief moment now he really did see sparkles in the air, even with his eyes wide open.
“I don’t think I really believed it would fit,” she admitted softly, looking up at him as if he’d admonish her.
Colin laughed, astounded and enthralled. “You are incredible, Penelope.”
Smiling wide enough that her eyes narrowed to mere slits, Penelope teased, “And you are astonishing.”
Groaning yet again, Colin pulled his hips back, then sunk back down, dropping his lips to hers lest she sent him flying to his peak before he had a chance to pleasure her again.
Her hands tapped on his shoulders, smoothed along his back, then dropped to his arse, her grip surprisingly strong. As he moved, he felt her trying to match his tempo. A kiss on his neck. Fingers in his hair. Her legs around his waist, quaking as she tightened them once more.
“More,” she begged, and Colin frowned gently, unsure what she wanted from him for a moment before she tapped again, more urgently, on his back.
“Faster?” he asked, dumbfounded.
“Yes, yes faster,” she agreed, her eyes falling shut again.
Colin’s chest did that funny deepening thing again, his next words coming out in a low rumble. “Or harder?”
“Oh both, both!”
Colin unlinked her legs from around his waist and pushed her thighs apart, hitching each of her knees over his arms. With a cheeky grin, he gave the lady exactly what she asked for and began thrusting at a brutal pace, each stroke long and deep, her walls fluttering around him.
His name was ripped from her lips, her breaths shuddering so much she sounded on the verge of tears, but still Colin pounded into her, eyes locked on her face as she squirmed and moaned.
You aren’t ruined, Pen, he thought vacantly to himself as he tipped her hips and found a new angle that pulled growls and grunts from him with alarming efficiency. I’ll marry you, I’ll marry you tomorrow.
Her cries, which had started creeping up in pitch, reached a point where she had gotten sort of hoarse, her hair so wild they stood no chance of convincing anyone they hadn’t been doing exactly this. He couldn’t wait for the next time she was all dressed up, her hair pinned carefully and dress laced properly, just so he could rip it all away and toss her onto the nearest piece of furniture to have again, and again, and again.
“Ohh, oh God,” he choked out, feeling a familiar tingling, crawling sensation just beneath his tailbone.
“So good,” Penelope cooed, rocking her hips against his and cupping his face with both hands. “You are so good, Colin, so good to me, so good—“
Colin kissed her, licking into her mouth and groaning like a madman, his tempo falling apart just as Penelope hummed and clenched down around his cock in great, undulating waves.
He gave in, screwing his eyes shut as everything washed white and his breath left him. Like a tether snapping, he erupted, shoulders and back shuddering as he surged one last time and began spilling deep in her spasming pussy. Just as he was starting to come back to himself, her fingers sifted into the hair at the nape of his neck and he jerked his hips, yipping into her mouth as a second, smaller wave of pleasure overtook him and he spurted once more.
Penelope sank back, her lips parting from his with a soft, sweet pop. Colin blinked his eyes open and found her lying beneath him, chest heaving and lashes fluttering, a pleased little smirk already tugging at the corners of her mouth.
Guilt started to nibble at him. “Are you all right, Pen?”
She nodded, still smirking, eyes still fluttering. “I’m well, Colin. I promise.”
“I didn’t hurt you?”
“You could never hurt me,” she assured him.
He relaxed, then realized he was still very much inside her. “Oh, bollocks—we’re about to make a mess.”
“I like our messes.” Penelope breathed, smoothing her hands up his chest until she had his face between her palms again. “Can we…?”
He lifted himself enough that he finally slid free of her, breathing noisily at the sound of it and the sensation of their combined release trickling down to that horrible, stinking mattress where he’d just taken her virginity. The thin blanket they’d cast aside was not a viable option for cleaning up her thighs or the presumably tender area between her legs, so he bent and fished around for something else, finding one of her discarded gloves and figuring it was already stained beyond repair.
“Can we what?” he asked, remembering suddenly that she’d started to ask him a question.
“Can we do it again?” she asked, frowning immediately when he barked out a laugh.
Despite his laugh, Colin blushed, feeling quite proud of himself somehow. “Yes, yes of course we can. I need, well,” he cleared his throat as he began dabbing at her thighs with the glove, moving gently over to the glistening mess they’d made together still oozing from between her folds, “a bit of time first, but yes.”
Softly, she further questioned, “What of your tour? Will you be able to find passage on another ship?”
His heart stuttered at the question. It was so Penelope of her to worry about his travels, about his itch for adventure, about him.
“I don’t care about any of that.” He bent and picked up her other soiled glove and gently began to clean himself up. “We need to see you home, and I’ll have to talk to your mother. Anthony will probably do some bellowing, but he’ll come around I’m sure.”
Penelope stilled his hand. “Colin, what are you talking about? Your travels—“
“I can’t very well set sail for Italy now, can I, Pen? You and I, we—“ He stopped short, suddenly fearing he had once again gotten ahead of himself. “You think I would leave you now? After all that’s happened?”
Her cheeks, which had only just started to return to a normal color, began darkening again. “I don’t know what to think, truly. I only know that you—that I—that we, well, I don’t know what we. I didn’t know there was a we.”
Colin sighed, tossing her gloves to the floor with a wrinkle in his nose. “I’ve bungled this, as I often do with the important things. Penelope, would you marry me?”
She gaped at him, eyes frozen wide and naked body so still Colin feared she may have actually gone into shock.
“Only if you want to,” he added, feeling quite vulnerable.
A titter spilled out of her before she blurted, “All I have ever wanted is to marry you.”
The swooping, tingling thing stirred in his belly immediately.
Her finger jumped up, pointing at his face. “There it is again. Your eyes have gone black!”
“Because I want you,” he explained, enjoying how the low rumble of his voice made her eyes go even wider, her lips falling open into a pretty pink pout. “Because I love you. I think I have loved you a very long time, in fact.”
Her mouth worked, wordless at first, but then she jabbered, “But you have never noticed me before, not like this, and you certainly deserve better than a ruined Featherington, the plumpest and shyest—“
“You have always been my greatest champion,” he interrupted, annoyed she would try to besmirch herself to him. “Last night, at your mama’s ball, you looked at me like…like someone worth admiring. I noticed you then.”
And then I went and said something foolish to Fife about you, but I’ll soon be eating my words when we request a special license and I marry you.
“You aren’t serious,” she accused, a worried pinch appearing on her face.
That smarted. Colin reached for his breeches bunched at the foot of the bed. “I am, Pen. I’m serious.”
Her breathing slowly quickened until at least she erupted, clutching the thin blanket to her chest as she lurched to her knees, balancing delicately in the middle of the bed.
“You should know, I’m Lady Whistledown.”
For several long seconds, he stared at her, breeches half pulled on. Then, he pulled them up the rest of the way and sat on the bed beside her, his belt softly clinking.
“All right.”
Penelope gawked at him. “All right?”
His fatigue was starting to catch up to him again. “We can talk it over tomorrow, on our long walk back to Mayfair. But I assure you, you haven’t scared me off. Remember? I’m brave.” He shot her a cheeky smile.
Flinging the blanket aside, Penelope scuttled across the lumpy bed to him and began flitting her fingers over his chest once more. “So brave,” she mewled, leaning to kiss his neck. “My hero, my—“
“Marry me, Pen.” He twisted his neck away from her. “I’ll be your husband.”
“My hero, my husband,” she babbled, pulling him back into her arms. “Yes, yes, I’ll marry you. Colin, please—“ She bit off her words once more, stopping his hands as he tried to put his belt back together.
“Right,” his breath hitched as she unbuttoned his fastenings once more, “but then we really ought to sleep. It’s going to be an awful long walk tomorrow—“
“I promise,” she muttered, but Colin sensed a lie.
In the end, they slept very little that night.
And in the morning, when Anthony and Benedict happened upon the cabin and decided to take a look inside, just in case, Colin didn’t have to beg for the chance to marry her—Anthony demanded it.