Part 37 (1/2)

And then it came. A sound from her lips, sweeter than anything ever to touch his ears. She cried out his name as her entire body tensed in pleasure, and he thought-Someday I will watch her. I will see her face when she reaches the height of pleasure.

But not today. He was already coming, and his eyes were shut with the fierce ecstasy of it all. Her name was ripped from his lips as he thrust one last time, then slumped atop her, completely bereft of strength.

For a full minute there was silence, nothing but the rise and fall of their chests as they fought for breath, waited for the tremendous rush of their bodies to settle down into that tingly bliss one feels in the arms of one's beloved.

Or at least that was what Colin thought this must be. He had been with women before, but he had only just realized that he had never made love until he'd laid Penelope onto his bed and begun their intimate dance with a single kiss upon her lips.

This was like nothing he'd ever felt before.

This was love.

And he was going to hold on with both hands.

CHAPTER 19.

It was not very difficult to get the wedding date pushed forward.

It occurred to Colin as he was returning to his home in Bloomsbury (after sneaking an extremely disheveled Penelope into her own house in Mayfair), that there might be a very good reason why they should be married sooner rather than later.

Of course, it was quite unlikely that she would become pregnant after only one encounter. And, he had to admit, even if she did become pregnant, the child would be an eight-month baby, which wasn't too terribly suspect in a world full of children born a mere six months or so following a wedding. Not to mention that first babies were usually late (Colin was uncle to enough nieces and nephews to know this to be true), which would make the baby an eight-and-a-half-month baby, which wasn't unusual at all.

So really, there was no urgent need to move up the wedding.

Except that he wanted to.

So he had a little ”talk” with the mothers, in which he conveyed a great deal without actually saying anything explicit, and they hastily agreed to his plan to rush the wedding.

Especially since he might have possibly misled them to believe that his and Penelope's intimacies had occurred several weeks prior.

Ah, well, little white lies really weren't such a large transgression when they were told to serve the greater good.

And a hasty wedding, Colin reflected as he lay in bed each night, reliving his time with Penelope and fervently wis.h.i.+ng she were there beside him, definitely served the greater good.

The mothers, who had become inseparable in recent days as they planned the wedding, initially protested the change, worrying about unsavory gossip (which in this case would have been entirely true), but Lady Whistledown came, somewhat indirectly, to their rescue.

The gossip surrounding Lady Whistledown and Cressida Twombley and whether the two were actually the same person raged like nothing London had heretofore seen or heard. In fact, the talk was so ubiquitous, so utterly impossible to escape, that no one paused to consider the fact that the date of the Bridgerton-Featherington wedding had been altered.

Which suited the Bridgertons and the Featheringtons just fine.

Except, perhaps, for Colin and Penelope, neither of whom were especially comfortable when talk turned to Lady Whistledown. Penelope was used to it by now, of course; nary a month had gone by in the past ten years when someone had not made idle speculation in her presence about the ident.i.ty of Lady Whistledown. But Colin was still so upset and angry over her secret life that she'd grown uncomfortable herself. She'd tried to broach the subject with him a few times, but he'd become tight-lipped and told her (in a very un-Colin-like tone) that he didn't want to talk about it.

She could only deduce that he was ashamed of her. Or if not of her, precisely, then of her work as Lady Whistledown. Which was like a blow to her heart, because her writing was the one segment in her life that she could point to with a great sense of pride and accomplishment. She had done something. She had, even if she could not put her own name on her work, become a wild success. How many of her contemporaries, male or female, could claim the same?

She might be ready to leave Lady Whistledown behind and live her new life as Mrs. Colin Bridgerton, wife and mother, but that in no way meant that she was ashamed of what she had done.

If only Colin could take pride in her accomplishments as well.

Oh, she believed, with every fiber of her being, that he loved her. Colin would never he about such a thing. He had enough clever words and teasing smiles to make a woman feel happy and content without actually uttering words of love he did not feel. But perhaps it was possible-indeed, after regarding Colin's behavior, she was now sure it was possible-that someone could love another person and still feel shame and displeasure with that person.

Penelope just hadn't expected it to hurt quite so much.

They were strolling through Mayfair one afternoon, just days before the wedding, when she attempted to broach the subject once again. Why, she didn't know, since she couldn't imagine that his att.i.tude would have miraculously changed since the last time she'd mentioned it, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. Besides, she was hoping that their position out in public, where all the world could see them, would force Colin to keep a smile on his face and listen to what she had to say.

She gauged the distance to Number Five, where they were expected for tea. ”I think,” she said, estimating that she had five minutes of conversation before he could usher her inside and change the subject, ”that we have unfinished business that must be discussed.”

He raised a brow and looked at her with a curious but still very playful grin. She knew exactly what he was trying to do: use his charming and witty personality to steer the conversation where he wanted it. Any minute now, that grin would turn boyishly lopsided, and he would say something designed to change the topic without her realizing, something like- ”Rather serious for such a sunny day.”

She pursed her lips. It wasn't precisely what she'd expected, but it certainly echoed the sentiment.

”Colin,” she said, trying to remain patient, ”I wish you wouldn't try to change the subject every time I bring up Lady Whistledown.”

His voice grew even, controlled. ”I don't believe I heard you mention her name, or I suppose I should say your name. And besides, all I did was compliment the fine weather.”

Penelope wanted more than anything to plant her feet firmly on the pavement and yank him to a startling halt, but they were in public (her own fault, she supposed, for choosing such a place to initiate the conversation) and so she kept walking, her gait smooth and sedate, even as her fingers curled into tense little fists. ”The other night, when my last column was published-you were furious with me,” she continued.

He shrugged. ”I'm over it.”

”I don't think so.”

He turned to her with a rather condescending expression. ”And now you're telling me what I feel?”

Such a nasty shot could not go unreturned. ”Isn't that what a wife is supposed to do?”

”You're not my wife yet.”

Penelope counted to three-no, better make that ten-before replying. ”I am sorry if what I did upset you, but I had no other choice.”

”You had every choice in the world, but I am certainly not going to debate the issue right here on Bruton Street.”

And they were on Bruton Street. Oh, bother, Penelope had completely misjudged how quickly they were walking. She only had another minute or so at the most before they ascended the front steps to Number Five.

”I can a.s.sure you,” she said, ”that you-know-who will never again emerge from retirement.”

”I can hardly express my relief.”

”I wish you wouldn't be so sarcastic.”

He turned to face her with flas.h.i.+ng eyes. His expression was so different from the mask of bland boredom that had been there just moments earlier that Penelope nearly backed up a step. ”Be careful what you wish for, Penelope,” he said.

”The sarcasm is the only thing keeping my real feelings at bay, and believe me, you don't want those in full view.”

”I think I do,” she said, her voice quite small, because in truth she wasn't sure that she did.

”Not a day goes by when I'm not forced to stop and consider what on earth I am going to do to protect you should your secret get out. I love you, Penelope. G.o.d help me, but I do.”

Penelope could have done without the plea for G.o.d's help, but the declaration of love was quite nice.