Bridgerton Collection, Volume 2 - Julia Quinn Page 0,65

mention of his suspicions at the breakfast table; truly, he saw no reason to upset his mother, who would surely be horrified at the thought. It was difficult to believe, however, that Eloise—whose love of discussing scandal was eclipsed only by her thrill at discovering it—would miss the opportunity to gossip about Cressida Twombley’s revelation of the night before.

Unless Eloise was Lady Whistledown, in which case she’d be up in her room, plotting her next step.

The pieces all fit. It would have been depressing if Colin hadn’t felt so oddly thrilled at having found her out.

After they rolled along for a few minutes, he poked his head outside to make sure his driver had not lost sight of Penelope’s carriage. There she was, right in front of him. Or at least he thought it was her. Most hired hacks looked the same, so he was going to have to trust and hope that he was following the right one. But as he looked out, he realized that they’d traveled much farther east than he would have anticipated. In fact, they were just now passing Soho Street, which meant they were nearly to Tottenham Court Road, which meant—

Dear God, was Penelope taking the carriage to his house? Bedford Square was practically right around the corner.

A delicious thrill shot up his spine, because he couldn’t imagine what she was doing in this part of town if not to see him; who else would a woman like Penelope know in Bloomsbury? He couldn’t imagine that her mother allowed her to associate with people who actually worked for a living, and Colin’s neighbors, though certainly well enough born, were not of the aristocracy and rarely even of the gentry. And they all plodded off to work each day, doctoring and lawyering, or—

Colin frowned. Hard. They’d just rolled past Tottenham Court Road. What the devil was she doing this far east? He supposed her driver might not know his way around town very well and thought to take Bloomsbury Street up to Bedford Square, even though it was a bit out of the way, but—

He heard something very strange and realized it was the sound of his teeth grinding together. They’d just passed Bloomsbury Street and were presently veering right onto High Holborn.

Devil take it, they were nearly in the City. What in God’s name was Penelope planning to do in the City? It was no place for a woman. Hell, he hardly ever went there himself. The world of the ton was farther west, in the hallowed buildings of St. James’s and Mayfair. Not here in the City, with its narrow, twisting, medieval roads and rather dangerous proximity to the tenements of the East End.

Colin’s jaw dropped progressively lower as they rolled on . . . and on . . . and on . . . until he realized they were turning down Shoe Lane. He craned his head out the window. He’d only been here once before, at the age of nine when his tutor had dragged him and Benedict off to show them where the Great Fire of London had started in 1666. Colin remembered feeling vaguely disappointed when he’d learned that the culprit was a mere baker who’d not dampened the ashes in his oven properly. A fire like that should have had arson or intrigue in its origin.

A fire like that was nothing compared to the feelings coming to a boil in his chest. Penelope had better have a damned good reason for coming out here by herself. She shouldn’t be going anywhere unaccompanied, much less the City.

Then, just when Colin was convinced that Penelope was going to travel all the way to the Dover coast, the carriages crossed Fleet Street and ground to a halt. Colin held still, waiting to see what Penelope was up to even though every fiber of his being was screaming to leap out of the carriage and tackle her right there on the pavement.

Call it intuition, call it madness, but somehow he knew that if he accosted Penelope right away, he would never learn of her true purpose here near Fleet Street.

Once she was far enough away so that he could alight unnoticed, he jumped down from the carriage and followed her south toward some church that looked decidedly like a wedding cake.

“For God’s sake,” Colin muttered, completely unaware of blasphemy or puns, “now is not the time to find religion, Penelope.”

She disappeared into the church, and his legs ate up the pavement after