Bridgerton Collection, Volume 2 - Julia Quinn Page 0,120

here, all she could do was bury her face in the warmth of his chest, snuggle closer as his arms wrapped around her.

As if somehow he could make all her problems go away by his presence alone.

“Penelope?” he asked, his voice soft and worried. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

Penelope just shook her head, the motion having to suffice until she could think of the words, summon the courage, stop the tears.

“What did she do to you?”

“Oh, Colin,” she said, somehow summoning the energy to pull herself far enough back so that she could see his face. “She knows.”

His skin went white. “How?”

Penelope sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “It’s my fault,” she whispered.

He handed her a handkerchief without ever taking his eyes off of her face. “It’s not your fault,” he said sharply.

Her lips slid into a sad smile. She knew that his harsh tone was meant for Cressida, but she deserved it as well. “No,” she said, her voice laced with resignation, “it is. It happened exactly as you said it would. I wasn’t paying attention to what I wrote. I slipped up.”

“What did you do?” he asked.

She told him everything, starting with Cressida’s entrance and ending with her demands for money. She confessed that her poor choice of words was going to be her ruin, but wasn’t it ironic, because it really did feel like her heart was breaking.

But the whole time she spoke, she felt him slipping away. He was listening to her, but he wasn’t there with her. His eyes took on a strange, faraway look, and yet they were narrowed, intense.

He was plotting something. She was sure of it.

It terrified her.

And thrilled her.

Whatever he was planning, whatever he was thinking, it was all for her. She hated that it had been her stupidity that had forced him into this dilemma, but she couldn’t stem the tingle of excitement that swept across her skin as she watched him.

“Colin?” she asked hesitantly. She’d been done speaking for a full minute, and still he hadn’t said anything.

“I’ll take care of everything,” he said. “I don’t want you to worry about a thing.”

“I assure you that that is impossible,” she said with shaking voice.

“I take my wedding vows quite seriously,” he replied, his tone almost frighteningly even. “I believe I promised to honor and keep you.”

“Let me help you,” she said impulsively. “Together we can solve this.”

One corner of his mouth lifted into a hint of a smile. “Have you a solution?”

She shook her head. “No. I’ve been thinking all day, and I don’t know . . . although . . .”

“Although what?” he asked, his brows rising.

Her lips parted, then pursed, then parted again as she said, “What if I enlisted the aid of Lady Danbury?”

“You’re planning to ask her to pay off Cressida?”

“No,” she said, even though the tone of his voice told her that his had not been a serious question. “I’m going to ask her to be me.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Everyone thinks she’s Lady Whistledown, anyway,” Penelope explained. “At least, quite a lot of people do. If she were to make an announcement—”

“Cressida would refute it instantly,” Colin interrupted.

“Who would believe Cressida over Lady Danbury?” Penelope turned to him with wide, earnest eyes. “I wouldn’t dare cross Lady Danbury in any matter. If she were to say she was Lady Whistledown, I’d probably believe her myself.”

“What makes you think you can convince Lady Danbury to lie for you?”

“Well,” Penelope replied, chewing on her lower lip, “she likes me.”

“She likes you?” Colin echoed.

“She does, rather. I think she might like to help me, especially since she detests Cressida almost as much as I do.”

“You think her fondness for you will lead her to lie to the entire ton?” he asked doubtfully.

She sagged in her seat. “It’s worth asking.”

He stood, his movements abrupt, and walked to the window. “Promise me you won’t go to her.”

“But—”

“Promise me.”

“I promise,” she said, “but—”

“No buts,” he said. “If we need to, we’ll contact Lady Danbury, but not until I have a chance to think of something else.” He raked his hand through his hair. “There must be something else.”

“We have a week,” she said softly, but she didn’t find her words reassuring, and it was difficult to imagine that Colin did, either.

He turned around, his about-face so precise he might have been in the military. “I’ll be back,” he said, heading for the door.

“But where are you going?” Penelope cried out, jumping to her feet.

“I have to think,”