Part 4 (1/2)

Penelope found herself smiling as well. His good humor was infectious, even if the last thing she wanted to do was take part in a discussion of the G.o.ddess of love. ”Was it as sunny as everyone says?” she asked. ”No, forget I asked. I can see from your face that it was.”

”I did acquire a bit of a tan,” he said with a nod. ”My mother nearly fainted when she saw me.”

”From delight, I'm sure,” Penelope said emphatically. ”She misses you terribly when you're gone.”

He leaned in. ”Come, now, Penelope, surely you're not going to start in on me? Between my mother, Anthony, Eloise, and Daphne, I'm liable to perish of guilt.”

”Not Benedict?” she couldn't help quipping.

He shot her a slightly smirky look. ”He's out of town.”

”Ah, well, that explains his silence.”

His narrowed eyes matched his crossed arms to perfection. ”You've always been cheeky, did you know that?”

”I hide it well,” she said modestly.

”It's easy to see,” he said in a dry voice, ”why you are such good friends with my sister.”

”I'm a.s.suming you intended that as a compliment?”

”I'm fairly certain I'd be endangering my health if I'd intended it any other way.”

Penelope was standing there hoping she'd think of a witty rejoinder when she heard a strange, wet, splattish sound. She looked down to discover that a large yellowish blob of pastry cream had slid from her half-eaten eclair and landed on the pristine wooden floor. She looked back up to find Colin's oh-so-green eyes dancing with laughter, even as his mouth fought for a serious expression.

”Well, now, that's embarra.s.sing,” Penelope said, deciding that the only way to avoid dying of mortification was to state the painfully obvious.

”I suggest,” Colin said, raising one brow into a perfectly debonair arch, ”that we flee the scene.”

Penelope looked down at the empty carca.s.s still in her hand. Colin answered her with a nod toward a nearby potted plant.

”No!” she said, her eyes growing wide.

He leaned in closer. ”I dare you.”

Her eyes darted from me eclair to the plant and back to Colin's face. ”I couldn't,” she said.

”As far as naughty things go, this one is fairly mild,” he pointed out.

It was a dare, and Penelope was usually immune to such childish ploys, but Colin's half-smile was difficult to resist. ”Very well,” she said, squaring her shoulders and dropping the pastry onto the soil. She took a step back, examined her handiwork, looked around to see if anyone besides Colin was watching her, then leaned down and rotated the pot so that a leafy branch covered the evidence. ”I didn't think you'd do it,” Colin said. ”As you said, it's not terribly naughty.” ”No, but it is my mother's favorite potted palm.” ”Colin!” Penelope whirled around, fully intending to sink her hand right back into the plant to retrieve the Eclair. ”How could you let me-Wait a second.” She straightened, her eyes narrowed. ”This isn't a palm.” He was all innocence. ”It's not?”

”It's a miniature orange tree.”

He blinked. ”Is it, now?”

She scowled at him. Or at least she hoped it was a scowl. It was difficult to scowl at Colin Bridgerton. Even his mother had once remarked that it was nearly impossible to reprimand him.

He would just smile and look contrite and say something funny, and you just couldn't stay angry with him. You simply couldn't do it.

”You were trying to make me feel guilty,” Penelope said.

”Anyone could confuse a palm with an orange tree.”

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. ”Except for the oranges.”

He chewed on his lower lip, his eyes thoughtful. ”Yes, hmmm, one would think they'd be a bit of a giveaway.”

”You're a terrible liar, did you know that?”

He straightened, tugging slightly at his waistcoat as he lifted his chin. ”Actually, I'm an excellent liar. But what I'm really good at is appearing appropriately sheepish and adorable after I'm caught.”

What, Penelope wondered, was she meant to say to that? Because surely there was no one more adorably sheepish (sheepishly adorable?) than Colin Bridgerton with his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes flitting along the ceiling, and his lips puckered into an innocent whistle.

”When you were a child,” Penelope asked, abruptly changing the subject, ”were you ever punished?”

Colin immediately straightened to attention. ”I beg your pardon?”

”Were you ever punished as a child?” she repeated. ”Are you ever punished now?”

Colin just stared at her, wondering if she had any idea what she was asking. Probably not. ”Errr...” he said, mostly because he hadn't anything else to say.

She let out a vaguely patronizing sigh. ”I thought not.”

If he were a less indulgent man, and if this were anyone but Penelope Featherington, whom he knew did not possess a malicious bone in her body, he might take offense. But he was an uncommonly easygoing fellow, and this was Penelope Featherington, who had been a faithful friend to his sister for G.o.d knows how many years, so instead of adopting a hard, cynical stare (which, admittedly, was an expression at which he'd never excelled), he merely smiled and murmured, ”Your

point being?”

”Do not think I mean to criticize your parents,” she said with an expression that was innocent and sly at the same time.

”I would never dream of implying that you were spoiled in any way.”

He nodded graciously.

”It's just that”-she leaned in, as if imparting a grave secret-”I rather think you could get away with murder if you so chose.”