Bridgerton Collection, Volume 2 - Julia Quinn Page 0,87

his mother’s sofa and not only would she let him, she would enjoy herself in every way a woman should.

It wouldn’t be a conquest, it wouldn’t even be seduction.

It would be more than that. Maybe even . . .

Love.

Colin froze.

“Colin?” she whispered, opening her eyes.

Love?

It wasn’t possible.

“Colin?”

Or maybe it was.

“Is something wrong?”

It wasn’t that he feared love, or didn’t believe in it. He just hadn’t . . . expected it.

He’d always thought love would hit a man like a thunderbolt, that one day you’d be loitering about at some party, bored to tears, and then you’d see a woman, and you’d know instantly that your life would be changed forever. That was what had happened to his brother Benedict, and heaven knew that he and his wife Sophie were blissfully happy rusticating away in the country.

But this thing with Penelope . . . it had crept up on him. The change had been slow, almost lethargic, and if it was love, well . . .

If it was love, wouldn’t he know?

He watched her closely, curiously, thinking that maybe he’d find his answer in her eyes, or the sweep of her hair, or the way the bodice of her gown hung slightly crookedly. Maybe if he watched her long enough, he’d know.

“Colin?” she whispered, starting to sound slightly anxious.

He kissed her again, this time with a fierce determination. If this was love, wouldn’t it become obvious when they kissed?

But if his mind and body were working separately, then the kiss was clearly in league with his body, because while his mind’s confusion remained just as blurry as ever, his body’s need was brought into sharper focus.

Hell, now he was in pain. And he really couldn’t do anything about it here in his mother’s drawing room, even if Penelope would have been a willing participant.

He pulled back, letting his hand slip down her leg toward the edge of her skirt. “We can’t do this here.”

“I know,” she said, sounding so sad that his hand stilled on her knee, and he almost lost his resolve to do the right thing and mind the dictates of propriety.

He thought hard and fast. It was possible that he could make love to her and no one would walk in on them. Heaven knew that in his current state, it would be an embarrassingly fast endeavor, anyway.

“When is the wedding?” he growled.

“A month.”

“What would it take to change that to a fortnight?”

She thought about that for a moment. “Bribery or blackmail. Maybe both. Our mothers will not be easily swayed.”

He groaned, letting his hips sink against hers for one delicious moment before heaving himself off. He couldn’t take her now. She was going to be his wife. There would be plenty of time for midday tumbles on illicit sofas, but he owed it to her to use a bed for the first time, at least.

“Colin?” she asked, straightening her dress and smoothing her hair, even though there was no way she was going to make the latter look anything even approaching presentable without a mirror, hairbrush, and maybe even a maid. “Is something wrong?”

“I want you,” he whispered.

She looked up at him, startled.

“I just wanted you to know that,” he said. “I didn’t want you to think I stopped because you didn’t please me.”

“Oh.” She looked as if she wanted to say something; she looked almost absurdly happy at his words. “Thank you for saying that.”

He took her hand and squeezed.

“Do I look a mess?” she asked.

He nodded. “But you’re my mess,” he whispered.

And he was very glad for that.

Chapter 16

As Colin liked to walk, and in fact frequently did so to clear his mind, it was no surprise that he spent much of the next day traversing Bloomsbury . . . and Fitzrovia . . . and Marylebone . . . and in fact several other London neighborhoods, until he looked up and realized that he was standing in the heart of Mayfair, in Grosvenor Square, to be precise, outside of Hastings House, town home of the Dukes of Hastings, the latest of whom happened to be married to his sister Daphne.

It had been a while since they’d had a conversation, anything above the usual family chitchat, that was. Of all his siblings, Daphne was the closest in age to him, and they’d always shared a rather special bond, even though they didn’t see each other as much as they used to, what with Colin’s frequent travels and Daphne’s busy family life.

Hastings House was one of