Bridgerton Collection, Volume 2 - Julia Quinn Page 0,85

me married, I really can’t bring myself to spoil her fun.”

Penelope sighed. This had to be why she loved the man. Anyone who treated his mother so well would surely be an excellent husband.

“And how are your wedding preparations coming along?” Colin asked Penelope.

She hadn’t meant to pull a face, but she did, anyway. “I have never been so exhausted in all my life,” she admitted.

He reached over and grabbed a large crumb off of her plate. “We should elope.”

“Oh, could we really?” Penelope asked, the words flying from her lips in an unsummoned rush.

He blinked. “Actually, I was joking, mostly, although it does seem a prime idea.”

“I shall arrange for a ladder,” Eloise said, clapping her hands together, “so that you might climb to her room and steal her away.”

“There’s a tree,” Penelope said. “Colin will have no difficulty with it.”

“Good God,” he said, “you’re not serious, are you?”

“No,” she sighed. “But I could be. If you were.”

“I can’t be. Do you know what it would do to my mother?” He rolled his eyes. “Not to mention yours.”

Penelope groaned. “I know.”

“She’d hunt me down and kill me,” Colin said.

“Mine or yours?”

“Both. They’d join forces.” He craned his neck toward the door. “Where is the food?”

“You just got here, Colin,” Eloise said. “Give them time.”

“And here I thought Wickham a sorcerer,” he grumbled, “able to conjure food with the snap of his hand.”

“Here you are, sir!” came Wickham’s voice as he sailed into the room with a large tray.

“See?” Colin said, raising his brows first at Eloise and then at Penelope. “I told you so.”

“Why,” Penelope asked, “do I sense that I will be hearing those words from your lips far too many times in my future?”

“Most likely because you will,” Colin replied. “You’ll soon learn”—he shot her an extremely cheeky grin—“that I am almost always right.”

“Oh, please,” Eloise groaned.

“I may have to side with Eloise on this one,” Penelope said.

“Against your husband?” He placed a hand on his heart (while the other one reached for a sandwich). “I’m wounded.”

“You’re not my husband yet.”

Colin turned to Eloise. “The kitten has claws.”

Eloise raised her brows. “You didn’t realize that before you proposed?”

“Of course I did,” he said, taking a bite of his sandwich. “I just didn’t think she’d use them on me.”

And then he looked at her with such a hot, masterful expression that Penelope’s bones went straight to water.

“Well,” Eloise announced, rising quite suddenly to her feet, “I think I shall allow you two soon-to-be-newlyweds a moment or two of privacy.”

“How positively forward-thinking of you,” Colin murmured.

Eloise looked to him with a peevish twist to her mouth. “Anything for you, dear brother. Or rather,” she added, her expression growing arch, “anything for Penelope.”

Colin stood and turned to his betrothed, “I seem to be slipping down the pecking order.”

Penelope just smiled behind her teacup and said, “I am making it my policy never to get in the middle of a Bridgerton spat.”

“Oh ho!” Eloise chortled. “You’ll not be able to keep to that one, I’m afraid, Mrs. Soon-to-be-Bridgerton. Besides,” she added with a wicked grin, “if you think this is a spat, I can’t wait until you see us in full form.”

“You mean I haven’t?” Penelope asked.

Both Eloise and Colin shook their heads in a way that made her extremely fearful.

Oh, dear.

“Is there something I should know?” Penelope asked.

Colin grinned rather wolfishly. “It’s too late now.”

Penelope gave Eloise a helpless glance, but all she did was laugh as she left the room, closing the door firmly behind her.

“Now, that was nice of Eloise,” Colin murmured.

“What?” Penelope asked innocently.

His eyes gleamed. “The door.”

“The door? Oh!” she yelped. “The door.”

Colin smiled, moving over to the sofa beside her. There was something rather delightful about Penelope on a rainy afternoon. He’d hardly seen her since they’d become engaged—wedding plans had a way of doing that to a couple—and yet she’d not been out of his thoughts, even as he slept.

Funny how that happened. He’d spent years not really ever thinking about her unless she was standing in front of his face, and now she had permeated his every last thought.

His every last desire.

How had this happened?

When had it happened?

And did it really matter? Maybe the only important thing was that he wanted her and she was—or at least she would be—his. Once he put his ring on her finger, the hows, whys, and whens would become irrelevant, provided that this madness he felt never went away.

He touched his finger to her chin, tipping her