Bridgerton Collection, Volume 2 - Julia Quinn Page 0,52

her, and crossed his arms, his stance wide, his expression menacing.

“Colin?” she repeated, her voice dubious. “I know what you’ve been up to.”

“What I’ve been—”

And then, damn her, she started laughing.

“Eloise!” he boomed. “I’m talking to you!”

“Clearly,” she just barely managed to get out.

He held his ground, glaring at her.

She was looking away, nearly doubled over with laughter. Finally, she said, “What are you—”

But then she looked at him again and even though she’d tried to keep her mouth shut, she exploded again.

If she’d been drinking something, Colin thought without a trace of humor, it would have come out her nose. “What the hell is the matter with you?” he snapped.

That finally got her attention. He didn’t know whether it was his tone of voice or maybe his use of profanity, but she sobered in an instant.

“My word,” she said softly, “you’re serious.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

“No,” Eloise said. “Although you did at first. I’m sorry, Colin, but it’s just not like you to be glowering and yelling and all that. You looked rather like Anthony.”

“You—”

“Actually,” she said, giving him a look that was not nearly as wary as it should have been, “you looked more like yourself, trying to imitate Anthony.”

He was going to kill her. Right here in her room, in his mother’s house, he was going to commit sororicide.

“Colin?” she asked hesitantly, as if she’d just finally noticed that he had long since passed angry on his way to furious.

“Sit. Down.” He jerked his head toward a chair. “Now.”

“Are you all right?”

“SIT DOWN!” he roared.

And she did. With alacrity. “I can’t remember the last time you raised your voice,” she whispered.

“I can’t remember the last time I had cause to.”

“What’s wrong?”

He decided he might as well just come out and say it.

“Colin?”

“I know you’re Lady Whistledown.”

“Whaaaaat?”

“There’s no use denying it. I’ve seen—”

Eloise jumped to her feet. “Except that it’s not true!”

Suddenly he no longer felt quite so angry. Instead he felt tired, old. “Eloise, I’ve seen the proof.”

“What proof?” she asked, her voice rising with disbelief. “How can there be proof of something that isn’t true?”

He grabbed one of her hands. “Look at your fingers.”

She did so. “What about them?”

“Inkstains.”

Her mouth fell open. “From that you’ve deduced that I’m Lady Whistledown?”

“Why are they there, then?”

“You’ve never used a quill?”

“Eloise . . .” There was a great deal of warning in his voice.

“I don’t have to tell you why I have inkstains on my fingers.”

He said her name again.

“I don’t,” she protested. “I owe you no—oh, very well, fine.” She crossed her arms mutinously. “I write letters.”

He shot her an extremely disbelieving look.

“I do!” she protested. “Every day. Sometimes two in a day when Francesca is away. I’m quite a loyal correspondent. You should know. I’ve written enough letters with your name on the envelope, although I doubt half of them ever reached you.”

“Letters?” he asked, his voice full of doubt . . . and derision. “For God’s sake, Eloise, do you really think that will wash? Who the devil are you writing so many letters to?”

She blushed. Really, truly, deeply blushed. “It’s none of your business.”

He would have been intrigued by her reaction if he still weren’t so sure that she was lying about being Lady Whistledown. “For God’s sake, Eloise,” he bit off, “who is going to believe that you’re writing letters every day? I certainly don’t.”

She glared at him, her dark gray eyes flashing with fury. “I don’t care what you think,” she said in a very low voice. “No, that’s not true. I am furious that you don’t believe me.”

“You’re not giving me much to believe in,” he said wearily.

She stood, walked over to him, and poked him in the chest. Hard. “You are my brother,” she spat out. “You should believe me unquestioningly. Love me unconditionally. That’s what it means to be family.”

“Eloise,” he said, her name coming out really as nothing more than a sigh.

“Don’t try to make excuses now.”

“I wasn’t.”

“That’s even worse!” She stalked to the door. “You should be on your hands and knees, begging me for forgiveness.”

He hadn’t thought he had it in him to smile, but somehow that did it for him. “Now, that doesn’t really seem in keeping with my character, does it?”

She opened her mouth to say something, but the sound that came out was not precisely English. All she managed was something along the lines of, “Ooooooooh,” in an extremely irate voice, and then she stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

Colin slouched into