All he needed to do now was make sure her Big Secret remained just that. A secret.
Because he didn’t think he could bear the pain he’d see in her eyes if she were cast out of society.
“Colin?” she whispered, her breath quivering across her lips, making him really want to kiss her.
He leaned in. “Hmmm?”
“You were so quiet.”
“Just thinking.”
“About what?”
He gave her an indulgent smile. “You really have been spending too much time with my sister.”
“What does that mean?” she asked, her lips twitching in such a way that he knew she’d never feel any compunction at poking fun at him. She would keep him on his toes, this woman.
“You seem,” he said, “to have developed a certain penchant for persistence.”
“Tenacity?”
“That, too.”
“But that’s a good thing.”
Their lips were still mere inches apart, but the urge to continue the teasing conversation was too strong. “When you’re persistently avowing your obedience for your husband,” he murmured, “that’s a good thing.”
“Oh, really?”
His chin dipped into the barest hint of a nod. “And when you’re tenaciously holding on to my shoulders when I’m kissing you, that’s a good thing as well.”
Her dark eyes widened so delightfully that he had to add, “Don’t you think?”
And then she surprised him.
“Like this?” she asked, placing her hands on his shoulders. Her tone was daring, her eyes pure flirtation.
Lord, he loved that she surprised him.
“That’s a start,” he said. “You might have to”—he moved one of his hands to cover hers, pressing her fingers into his skin—“hold me a little more tenaciously.”
“I see,” she murmured. “So what you’re saying is that I should never let go?”
He thought about that for a moment. “Yes,” he answered, realizing that there was a deeper meaning in her words, whether she’d intended it or not. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
And then words were simply not enough. He brought his lips to hers, remaining gentle for barely a second before his hunger overtook him. He kissed her with a passion he hadn’t even known he possessed. It wasn’t about desire—or at least it wasn’t just about desire.
It was about need.
It was about a strange sensation, hot and fierce inside of him, urging him to lay claim to her, to somehow brand her as his.
He wanted her desperately, and he had absolutely no idea how he could possibly make it through an entire month before the wedding.
“Colin?” Penelope gasped, just as he was easing her down onto her back on the sofa.
He was kissing her jaw, and then her neck, and his lips were far too busy for anything other than a low, “Mmm?”
“We’re—Oh!”
He smiled, even as he nipped her earlobe gently with his teeth. If she could finish a sentence, then he clearly wasn’t befuddling her as much as he ought.
“You were saying?” he murmured, then kissed her deeply on the mouth, just to torture her.
He lifted his lips off hers just long enough for her to say, “I just—” and then he kissed her again, reeling with pleasure when she groaned with desire.
“I’m sorry,” he said, scooting his hands under the hem of her dress and then using them to do all sorts of wicked things to her calves, “you were saying?”
“I was?” she asked, her eyes glazed.
He moved his hands higher, until they were tickling the back of her knee. “You were saying something,” he said, pressing his hips against her because he honestly thought he would burst into flame at that very moment if he did not. “I think,” he whispered, sliding his hand over the soft skin of her thigh, “that you were going to say that you wanted me to touch you here.”
She gasped, then groaned, then somehow managed to say, “I don’t think that was what I was going to say.”
He grinned against her neck. “Are you sure?”
She nodded.
“So then you want me to stop?”
She shook her head. Frantically.
He could take her now, he realized. He could make love to her right there on his mother’s sofa and not only would she let him, she would enjoy herself in every way a woman should.
It wouldn’t be a conquest, it wouldn’t even be seduction.
It would be more than that. Maybe even . . .
Love.
Colin froze.
“Colin?” she whispered, opening her eyes.
Love?
It wasn’t possible.
“Colin?”
Or maybe it was.
“Is something wrong?”
It wasn’t that he feared love, or didn’t believe in it. He just hadn’t . . . expected it.
He’d always thought love would hit a man like a thunderbolt, that one day you’d be loitering about at some party, bored to tears, and then you’d see a woman, and you’d know instantly that your life would be changed forever. That was what had happened to his brother Benedict, and heaven knew that he and his wife Sophie were blissfully happy rusticating away in the country.
But this thing with Penelope . . . it had crept up on him. The change had been slow, almost lethargic, and if it was love, well . . .
If it was love, wouldn’t he know?
He watched her closely, curiously, thinking that maybe he’d find his answer in her eyes, or the sweep of her hair, or the way the bodice of her gown hung slightly crookedly. Maybe if he watched her long enough, he’d know.
“Colin?” she whispered, starting to sound slightly anxious.
He kissed her again, this time with a fierce determination. If this was love, wouldn’t it become obvious when they kissed?
But if his mind and body were working separately, then the kiss was clearly in league with his body, because while his mind’s confusion remained just as blurry as ever, his body’s need was brought into sharper focus.
Hell, now he was in pain. And he really couldn’t do anything about it here in his mother’s drawing room, even if Penelope would have been a willing participant.
He pulled back, letting his hand slip down her leg toward the edge of her skirt. “We can’t do this here.”
“I know,” she said, sounding so sad that his hand stilled on her knee, and he almost lost his resolve to do the right thing and mind the dictates of propriety.
He thought hard and fast. It was possible that he could make love to her and no one would walk in on them. Heaven knew that in his current state, it would be an embarrassingly fast endeavor, anyway.
“When is the wedding?” he growled.
“A month.”
“What would it take to change that to a fortnight?”
She thought about that for a moment. “Bribery or blackmail. Maybe both. Our mothers will not be easily swayed.”
He groaned, letting his hips sink against hers for one delicious moment before heaving himself off. He couldn’t take her now. She was going to be his wife. There would be plenty of time for midday tumbles on illicit sofas, but he owed it to her to use a bed for the first time, at least.
“Colin?” she asked, straightening her dress and smoothing her hair, even though there was no way she was going to make the latter look anything even approaching presentable without a mirror, hairbrush, and maybe even a maid. “Is something wrong?”
“I want you,” he whispered.
She looked up at him, startled.
“I just wanted you to know that,” he said. “I didn’t want you to think I stopped because you didn’t please me.”
“Oh.” She looked as if she wanted to say something; she looked almost absurdly happy at his words. “Thank you for saying that.”
He took her hand and squeezed.
“Do I look a mess?” she asked.
He nodded. “But you’re my mess,” he whispered.
And he was very glad for that.
Chapter 16
As Colin liked to walk, and in fact frequently did so to clear his mind, it was no surprise that he spent much of the next day traversing Bloomsbury . . . and Fitzrovia . . . and Marylebone . . . and in fact several other London neighborhoods, until he looked up and realized that he was standing in the heart of Mayfair, in Grosvenor Square, to be precise, outside of Hastings House, town home of the Dukes of Hastings, the latest of whom happened to be married to his sister Daphne.
It had been a while since they’d had a conversation, anything above the usual family chitchat, that was. Of all his siblings, Daphne was the closest in age to him, and they’d always shared a rather special bond, even though they didn’t see each other as much as they used to, what with Colin’s frequent travels and Daphne’s busy family life.
Hastings House was one of those enormous mansions that one could find scattered throughout Mayfair and St. James’s. Large and square and constructed of elegant Portland stone, it was thoroughly imposing in its ducal splendor.
Which made it all the more amusing, Colin thought with a wry grin, that his sister was the current duchess. He couldn’t imagine anyone less haughty or imposing. In fact, Daphne had had difficulty finding a husband when she’d been out on the marriage mart, precisely because she was so friendly and easy to be with. Gentlemen had tended to think of her as their friend and not as a prospective bride.
But all that had changed when she’d met Simon Bassett, Duke of Hastings, and now she was a respectable society matron with four children, aged ten, nine, eight, and seven. It still sometimes seemed odd to Colin that his sister was a mother, of all things, while he still lived the free and unfettered life of a bachelor. With only one year between them, he and Daphne had always passed through the various stages of life together. Even when she’d married, things hadn’t seemed so very different; she and Simon attended the same parties he did and had many of the same interests and pursuits.
But then she’d started reproducing, and while Colin was always delighted to welcome a new niece or nephew into his life, each arrival had brought home the fact that Daphne had moved on in a way he had not.
But, he thought, smiling as Penelope’s face drifted through his mind, he supposed all that would soon change.
Children. It was a rather nice thought, actually.
He hadn’t consciously meant to visit Daphne, but now that he was here, he figured he might as well stop by and say hello, so he marched up the steps and gave the big brass knocker a sturdy clanking. Jeffries, the butler, opened the door almost immediately.
“Mr. Bridgerton,” he said. “Your sister was not expecting you.”
“No, I decided to surprise her. Is she at home?”
“I shall see,” the butler said with a nod, even though they both knew that Daphne would never refuse to see a member of her family.