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Colin Bridgerton was the most pompous, conceited, smarmy man Penelope Featherington had ever made the acquaintance of. He had strode into the ball tonight handsome and charming as ever; the young misses swarming to him with their usual fervor. Penelope had expected to feel an ache in her heart when she saw him. Afterall, their last encounter had been at her mama’s ball.
Tonight though she was pleased to find out that the past few month’s tears had eroded her heartache into rage. She had watched him over the course of the night, joking with his friends and brothers, dancing with the women his mother introduced to him, and generally enjoying the privileges his charm and position afforded him. She found herself oddly tempted to stab him with a fork.
Cressida Cowper stoked her ire even further with a pointed remark about how some women wouldn’t be seen as desirable no matter the color or cut of their dresses. The girls around them had laughed and eyed Penelope. Shortly afterward she had snuck from the ballroom, intent on writing her column and heading home. Luckily wine had been flowing in earnest so she had more than enough content for tomorrow’s article.
But then, Colin simply had to follow her. He had found her outside to compliment her on this dress; the same one Cressida had mocked. He bestowed the remark as though it was an honor for him to take notice of her. The tilt of his lips was flirtatious and pompous and entitled. A fiery rage had enveloped her whole body as she watched him ply her with vapid flirtations. Penelope hated it. Hated him. Hated herself for the warmth that spread in her chest when he’d said he missed her. She hated all of it so much that she had thrown his words back at him.
You missed me but you would not court me, is that correct?
I overheard you at my mama’s ball last season telling everyone how you would never, ever court Penelope Featherington
Because I embarrass you
Of course you would never court me.
It never occurred to me that you, of all the people, could be so cruel
Penelope had walked away from him. She had not stopped until she found the hack waiting to take her to the printer while she hastily wrote Whistledown with supplies she brought with her. Her penmanship was awful because she was shaking with fury, but she finished it. She delivered the paper and took the same hack to Mayfair not an hour later.
When she arrived home she had practically torn her dress off. Releasing herself from the confines of the corset and chemise and shifting into the cool cotton of a nightgown. She found her mind too full of rage to sleep so she wrapped herself in a shawl and headed to the garden. She found a seat on a wooden bench directly beneath her own window and stared up at the night sky. There was no moon so she could clearly see the thousands of stars scattered across the inky black sky. She wondered what divine hand had spread the lights in their celestial pattern. Could that same deity wipe the smirk off of Colin’s face?
That was the worst of it, truly. Not the words that still echoed in her heart from last season, not the lack of dance partners or the utter failure to restyle herself. No, it was the look on his face when he had said he missed her. The way his eyes had twinkled, his lips turning up at the corner, and the barest hint of embarrassment in his tone.
He had expected her to fall at his feet when he said it; confident she would swoon the same way every other young lady did when he flashed that specific smile at them. She wouldn’t do it. She was done. Never again would she prostrate herself on the altar of Colin Bridgerton’s charming, flirtatious, maddening smirk. So she had shut him up with her cutting remarks and scathingly accurate observations. She was proud if herself for her honesty. Now he knew of her distaste for him and would leave her alone.
She had better things to do, like find a husband. Something she was currently failing miserably at. This had only been the first ball, she reminded herself. Many of the gentry were still arriving from their country homes and had not yet begun attending society events. She had time. Tomorrow she would promenade in Hyde Park with her mother and sisters, perhaps Prudence’s new suitor would introduce Penelope to his friends. She hadn’t spoken much to Mister Dankworth but he seemed amiable enough to make a few introductions.
Penelope sighed. There was too much to think about and no good would come of her musings tonight. She needed sleep. She gathered her shawl and stood to retire back to her room. Suddenly, she heard the sound of heavy footfalls on the gravel of the garden path. She froze. Who would possibly be out here besides herself. The staff was already in bed while her mother and sister had not yet returned from the ball. The footsteps were coming closer. Fear sluiced through her. She should run or hide. Before she could decide a tall form materialized out of the shadowed bushes.
“Colin,” she gasped causing him to jump at the sound of his name.
“Pen!” he exclaimed, placing a hand on his chest. “You startled me.”
“I startled you?” she hissed, her panic quickly replaced with disbelieving fury. “You are the one slinking through my family’s garden in the middle of the night.”
“I am not slinking,” he said defensively, straightening his shoulders at her condescension. She pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow, pulling her shawl tighter around her as she did so. Colin seemed to notice her thin nightdress and lack of dressing gown because a blush colored his ears; visible even in the dim light. The old Penelope might have been ashamed of him seeing her this way but that girl was dead and gone. If he didn’t want to see her dressed improperly he should have called at a reasonable hour.
“Why are you here, Mister Bridgerton?” she asked coldly. A strange sort of furious calm had overtaken her; which, admittedly, felt better than the usual heartache.
“I needed to talk to you,” he said plainly.
“Did you?”
“Yes, Pen,” He assured her with a hint of exasperation, “I did.”
“What possible topic of discussion could be so important that you could not wait until a more reasonable time and location, Mister Bridgerton.” She ground out the last two words, hoping he would take the hint and refrain from using her christian name.
“Stop doing that,” he snapped angrily instead. In the two hours since leaving him Penelope’s ire had burned down to an ember but the tone of his voice at that moment stoked it back to a raging blaze. She felt the flames of frustration lick along her bones.
“Stop doing what?” she hissed, stepping closer to him in her haze of her emotions. “Using your title? Addressing you the way that is proper for a man and woman of our standing and situation?”
“Stop treating me as though I am nothing more than a casual acquaintance!” he said, mirroring her step forward.
“That is precisely what you are,” she replied brusquely. She took satisfaction in the look of disbelieving disappointment on his face.
“We are friends,” he insisted and she heard a note of fear on the edge of his voice. She ignored the hint of emotion.
“We are nothing of the sort,” she said scathingly. He jerked back as though she had slapped him. She felt slightly guilty for causing such a visceral response but the shame dissipated quickly enough. Earlier, at the ball, he had looked confused, a little ashamed, and perhaps embarrassed. Now his face was full of pain. She tried desperately not to care, not to allow his obvious hurt affect her. It didn’t work, an ache settled in her chest, displacing some, though not all, of her rage. “Go home, Colin,” she sighed suddenly exhausted. He opened his mouth to argue, a flash of hope in his eyes at the sound of his name. She only shook her head and held up a hand. She allowed her gaze to fall to the ground. “I know that you came here out of some misguided sense of guilt and shame. I appreciate it, I do. But I need neither your apologies nor your regret. You have made your feelings about me quite clear and I would prefer not to discuss it any further.”
“But Pen,” he said softly, “If we do not talk, how will we repair our friendship?” Penelope glanced at him. It was a mistake. His beautiful blue eyes threatened to swallow her whole. Her stomach dropped and she felt vaguely nauseated.
“We won’t,” she said quietly to the ground. She felt him stiffen beside her but she continued. “We cannot resume our previous friendship.”
“Why not?” he implored her. And perhaps it was the exhaustion of the night, or the whine in his voice or the feeling of hopelessness that threatened to overwhelm her but she snapped.
“Because it hurts too much,” she cried, and it did. Oh it did. Everything about him; about them, hurt.
“What?” he asked dumbfounded and Penelope wanted to hit him. She settled for crowding into his space; forcing him to step back.
“It. hurts. Colin.” She drew out each word with a poke to his sternum. He was warm beneath the silk of his vest and shirt. She could feel the heat of him lick up her finger and along her arm. She wondered how far that heat could go before she burned up completely.
“I don’t understand,” he told her, “What hurts?” She wanted to pull her hair and scream. Men really were idiots.
“Wanting you,” she said, abandoning subtlety entirely. “Desiring you when you will never return the feeling. Burning with a hunger I do not understand but know will never be sated. Watching you smirk at those simpering debutantes and imagining what those lips could do to me if only you saw me as something worth tasting; a woman worth wanting.”
She stopped short, her chest heaving; her mind reeling back from her own audacity. She was a gently bred lady. She wasn’t even supposed to know of these things. Only her years as Whistledown had taught her enough about pleasure to recognize how desperately she ached for him. What the slick between her legs was for and what the outline of a shape on Colin’s pants might be. What she said wasn’t a lie. She just had no ideaknow why she had spoken those thoughts aloud.
Colin, for his part, did not hesitate. He surged forward, grabbing her face and kissing her. Penelope gasped against his lips as his tongue traced the seam of her mouth. She opened immediately. He groaned as he tasted her. The feeling of his tongue was strange at first but it also ignited something in her belly. His hands roved down her shoulders to pull her against his chest. Her nipples hardened at the contact and she might have rubbed them against his waist coat seeking relief. She reached forward, gripping blindly at the nape of his neck. She explored him with her own tongue, desperate to taste him. There was whisky on his breath but he mostly tasted sweet and a little smokey.
“Fuck, Penelope,” he moaned as she nipped at his lip. She pulled away immediately.
“I’m sorry,” she began, the habits of a polite young lady taking over. She made to step back but his arms circled around her waist and held her firm. The pressure of his biceps was divine. She could smell his cologne now and it reminded her of spring and adventures.
“No,” he said roughly, kissing her again, hungrily, only stopping briefly so he could speak. “You said the source of your pain was being left unfulfilled, yes?” She nodded as he began to trace his lips down her neck. “Please, Penelope, allow me to relieve your ache.” He did not wait for her to reply as one of his hands left her back to squeeze her breast and she moaned at the contact. Her head fell back as he pinched her nipple through the thin fabric of her nightgown. The sensation was sinful and divine.
“I am still angry with you,” she managed to say before his tongue joined his fingers at the little peak.
“Of course you are,” he agreed, “I was an ass.” Then he took her breast into his mouth, sucking through the fabric, and creating an incandescent thrum between her thighs.
“I do not need your pity,” she gasped, hating how her hips bucked forward unbidden against his thighs.
“This is not pity,” he ground out against her flushed skin. A flash of rage burned along her spine at that. She pushed against his shoulders. He immediately released her and stepped away. They were both panting, staring at each other with a mix of lust and frustration.
“Do not lie,” she seethed. His eyes flashed. He stepped towards her aggressively. She stumbled back and he followed her. They continued this dance until she felt her back press against the cool stone of the wall. He traced his fingers slowly up her bare arms. Her shawl had fallen somewhere on the grass. The light contact sent a lick of desire along her entire body.
“I am not lying,” he assured her. She shivered at the certainty of his voice. “This is not pity.”
“If not pity,” she dared ask, “then what? What is this?” She gestured wildly between the two of them with her ungloved hands. Immediately, He grabbed her wrists with one hand and pulled them above her head. He pressed them firmly against the cool stone. It didn’t hurt. In fact the tension it created in her shoulders and across her chest was delicious. His other hand found the ties of her nightgown; his fingers winding through the silk ribbons leisurely.
“This is desire,” he said firmly. As he spoke he pressed her into the wall with his hips. She felt his thick, firm arousal against her stomach as he leaned forward. Clearly he was enjoying himself. His breathe danced across her air as he whispered. “And I promise you that the feeling is mutual. I too have contemplated what your mouth is capable of; how your warm wet center will feel around my cock, and every single way I can bring you to completion. This has nothing to do with guilt or shame, Penelope. It has everything to do with me wanting you, the way that a man wants a woman, in a way that goes well beyond friendship.”
She looked at him and felt him and knew that he spoke the truth. At least he believed it was the truth and that was enough for her. She leaned forward, sliding her hands underneath his coat to run her hands up his chest. She traced her nose along his neck until she reached her ear. She tugged the lobe of his ear for half a second with her teeth before releasing it to say,
“Take me.”
It was as though the tether Colin kept on his desires snapped. He released her hands, tore at the ribbons of her gown, and brought it down her body so fast she barely registered her own nakedness. He began to kiss her, moving from her lips to her neck to her shoulders in quick succession. She worked frantically at his cravat as he tore off his coat. He unbuttoned his vest and shirt without breaking their contact. She relished the feel of his coarse chest hair as she moved her hands down to release his belt. His pants fell to the ground and he kicked them off along his shoes and shirt. She gaped at him and he smirked at her open adoration of his body. Before she could snap at him for the look he crowded her against the wall again. One hand found her breast while the other gripped her hair, tipping her head up to grant him better access to her chest and shoulders.
“Fuck, you are beautiful,” he said against the column of her throat.
“You have to say that,” she answered blithely as he nipped at her ear. “You're about to take my virtue.” He pulled back to look her in the eye. His hands gripped her cheeks so she had to look at him, forcing her to see the honesty in his gaze.
“You are the single most attractive woman I have ever seen,” he assured her fervently, “When I saw that dress on you tonight I-” he stopped short. “Well, perhaps I will show you exactly what it made me want to do.” She bit her lip at that and his eyes darkened. “And,” he added even as his mouth moved across her flaming skin once more. “I am only taking your virtue because it is right for a husband to do so.”
“You’re not my husband,” Penelope gasped angrily, though not angrily enough to stop his descent as he kissed over her stomach, closer and closer to her core. His hands were on her thighs now and his thumbs swirled over the silky soft skin there. She desperately wanted him to continue but was equally anxious for his inevitable arrival. He knelt and pulled her apart, exposing her most intimate place to the cool night air.
“Not yet,” he replied. “But I will be.” Whatever she was going to say to that declaration was lost as his tongue licked up her center. It was warm and wet and her nerves were alight with it. She cried out and gripped his hair eliciting a sound from him not unlike her own.
“Colin,” she whined desperate for more friction and some sort of fullness. He seemed to understand her unspoken need because he slid a finger inside of her. The feeling was pure bliss, drawing sounds of pleasure from her lips. She gripped his hair to remain standing.
“Damn it Penelope,” he hissed as he easily added another finger. “You’re nearly there already.”
“There?” she asked, confused.
“Ready for me,” he explained as he scissored his fingers inside of her, filling her deliciously. A blush chased her smile. She felt her opening stretch as warm liquid, her own slick, coated his fingers. He pressed his thumb against the spot near her thatch of curls and she keened. Immediately his free hand reached up to muffle the sound. She closed her mouth over it and he slipped a finger in her mouth. She sucked on it instinctively which made him rut against her bare leg and mutter another curse. She couldn’t stand the teasing anymore, not as the pressure in her center coiled impossibly tighter at the feeling of his cock against her calf, his own arousal leaving a trail along her skin.
“Colin,” she whimpered and he pulled away. “I need more.” His eyes shone in the moonlight as he stood, wove their fingers together, and pulled her away from the wall.
“Come here,” he coaxed. Dropping kisses onto her hands as he led her to a patch of grass on the other side of several bushes. He had chosen the spot well. They would not be seen from the house or road. He lay her down reverently on the verdant carpet. Her back and thighs prickling slightly at the odd stimulation of so many blades of grass.“This might hurt,” he said gently, and she nodded.
She knew about this part. Genevieve had explained it all to her and for a brief moment Penelope wondered if she was doing the right thing. There would be no going back after this. It would be an absolute disaster to sort out in the morning. Maybe they should stop now; salvage what was left of their friendship.
Penelope knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Colin would cease the moment she asked him to. He might have been a pompous, smarmy ass tonight but at his core he was a good man who cared about her. The moment he saw her hesitate he would set aside his lust, help her dress and ensure she returned to her room safely. But, wasn’t that exactly the type of person she wanted to share this moment with?
Even if she did manage to marry this season it wouldn’t be a romantic match. The only man she would ever feel that way towards was currently nestled between her legs. This might be her only opportunity to experience pleasure with someone she loved; who cared for her too. Even if she was sure his feelings were nothing like her own, what they were sharing at this moment didn’t feel like pity, or anger or even lust. She didn’t know what this was but she knew it was right. So when Colin slotted himself at her entrance, looking at her once more to be sure, she nodded and smiled; Confident in her choice.
He pushed into her slowly and she felt herself stretch around him. She winced a little at the slight discomfort and he stopped immediately.
“I’m okay,” she assured him, running her hands soothingly up and down the arms he braced on either side of her face. “Keep going.”
“Are you certain?” he asked. She slid her hands up to cup his cheeks and pulled his face towards her.
“Yes,” she replied, kissing him firmly. He continued his slow descent into her tight warmth until he was fully seated in her. She felt full and complete. Her body responded to the intrusion with more liquid between her legs and a sense of pure satisfaction.
“Penelope,” he groaned, pressing his forehead against her own. She felt the dampness on his brow. “I lo-”
“Colin,” she gasped over whatever he was about to say, “move please.” He did so, slowly at first but then with more urgency. The tightness in her core had loosened slightly when they moved to the grass but now it was constricting again. Every thrust of his hips brought her closer to something, a precipice of pleasure. He moved his lips over her chest; drawing a nipple into his mouth and she arched into it. His hand found the nub of her womanhood and began to rub in circles. She gasped and bucked her hips up. He responded by plunging in even deeper into her warmth. Quite suddenly the tension inside of her snapped. Waves of pleasure radiated from her core out across her body. Colin whined as he felt her tighten around his length. He thrust into her abandon once, twice, three times before he was shouting her name. She knew he too had found release.
After a moment of stuttered gasping Colin pulled out of her and she felt something warm trickle between her legs. He dropped beside her and the absence of him above her made her shiver. Immediately, he shifted and wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling into her shoulder and planting soft kisses on her sweat damp skin.
“That was incredible,” Colin murmured in a sated voice.
“Indeed,” Penelope agreed, absentmindedly running one finger along the bicep wrapped around her waist. She glanced at the sky her. Were the stars in the same place they were an hour ago? Had the earth remained unchanged while her entire world was tilted on its axis? She glanced down at Colin. He looked up at her and smiled softly.
“I should go,” she said suddenly. She sat up, dislodging him, and looking around for her nightgown.
“Pen, wait,” he said as she stood and moved towards the bench where this had all started. He followed her, gathering his own discarded clothing as he went.
“It’s okay,” she assured him as they dressed, well aware of how close they were to the house and how loud they had been. She wrapped the shawl around her shoulders, hugging herself tightly. “I don’t expect anything from you.” His face fell. There was a rather pregnant pause as they both considered what they had done. Then he squared his shoulders and stepped towards her.
“Well that’s too bad,” he began, taking her hands and pressing his lips against them, “Because I have a number of expectations for myself.” She couldn’t help it. She blushed at the tone of his voice, confident and silky and utterly adoring.
“Like what?”
“Like making love to you in an actual bed,” he said. “Specifically, our bed, in our home, which I am going to buy for us.”
“Colin,” she started.
“We can talk more tomorrow,” he interrupted, pressing a kiss to her forehead to stall her objections. “Just know that I care for you; that what happened tonight is only the beginning.”
Penelope had no idea what to say to that. She was saved from having to answer when he pressed one last kiss to her lips. “I should go but I will call on you tomorrow.” She nodded dazedly. He released her hands and began to step away towards the garden. Just before he disappeared into the darkness he turned to look at her one last time. His eyes danced with joy as his lips lifted into a smirk. She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile that lifted her lips as well.