Bridgerton Collection, Volume 2 - Julia Quinn Page 0,93

night, either, although his soon-to-be wife might wake up the next day with a serious bruise on her arm.

“Colin,” she gasped, looking down at where he was gripping her.

But he couldn’t let go. He knew he was hurting her, he knew it wasn’t a terribly nice thing that he was hurting her, but he was so damned furious at that moment, and it was either squeeze her arm for all he was worth or lose his temper in front of five hundred of their nearest and dearest acquaintances.

All in all, he thought he was making the right choice.

He was going to kill her. As soon as he figured out some way to remove her from this godforsaken ballroom, he was absolutely going to kill her. They had agreed that Lady Whistledown was a thing of the past, that they were going to let matters lie. This was not supposed to happen. She was inviting disaster. Ruin.

“This is fabulous!” Eloise exclaimed, snatching a newssheet from the air. “Absolutely, positively smashing. I’ll bet she came out of retirement to celebrate your engagement.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice?” Colin drawled.

Penelope said nothing, but she looked very, very pale.

“Oh, my heavens!”

Colin turned to his sister, whose mouth was hanging open as she read the column.

“Grab one of those for me, Bridgerton!” Lady Danbury ordered, swatting him in the leg with her cane. “Can’t believe she’s publishing on a Saturday. Must be a good one.”

Colin leaned down and picked up two pieces of paper from the floor, handing one to Lady Danbury and looking down at the one in his hand, even though he was fairly certain he knew exactly what it would say.

He was right.

There is nothing I despise more than a gentleman who thinks it amusing to give a lady a condescending pat on the hand as he murmurs, “It is a woman’s prerogative to change her mind.” And indeed, because I feel one should always support one’s words with one’s actions, I endeavor to keep my opinions and decisions steadfast and true.

Which is why, Gentle Reader, when I wrote my column of 19 April, I truly intended it to be my last. However, events entirely beyond my control (or indeed my approval) force me to put my pen to paper one last time.

Ladies and Gentleman, This Author is NOT Lady Cressida Twombley. She is nothing more than a scheming imposter, and it would break my heart to see my years of hard work attributed to one such as her.

LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 24 APRIL 1824

“This is the best thing I have ever seen,” Eloise said in a gleeful whisper. “Maybe I am a bad person at heart, because I have never before felt such happiness at another person’s downfall.”

“Balderdash!” Lady Danbury said. “I know I am not a bad person, and I find this delightful.”

Colin said nothing. He didn’t trust his voice. He didn’t trust himself.

“Where is Cressida?” Eloise asked, craning her neck. “Does anyone see her? I’ll bet she’s already fled. She must be mortified. I would be mortified if I were her.”

“You would never be her,” Lady Danbury said. “You’re much too decent a person.”

Penelope said nothing.

“Still,” Eloise continued jovially, “one almost feels sorry for her.”

“But only almost,” Lady D said.

“Oh, for certain. Barely almost, truth be told.”

Colin just stood there, grinding his teeth into powder.

“And I get to keep my thousand pounds!” cackled Lady Danbury.

“Penelope!” Eloise exclaimed, jostling her with her elbow. “You haven’t said a word. Isn’t this marvelous?”

Penelope nodded and said, “I can’t believe it.”

Colin’s grip on her arm tightened.

“Your brother’s coming,” she whispered.

He looked to his right. Anthony was striding toward him, Violet and Kate hot on his heels.

“Well, this rather upstages us,” Anthony said as he drew up alongside Colin. He nodded at the ladies present. “Eloise, Penelope, Lady Danbury.”

“I don’t think anyone is going to listen to Anthony’s toast now,” Violet said, glancing about the room. The buzz of activity was relentless. Errant newssheets still floated in the air, and all about them, people were slipping on the ones that had already landed on the floor. The hum of the whispers was constant and almost grating, and Colin felt like the top of his skull was going to blow off.

He had to get away. Now. Or at least as soon as possible.

His head was screaming and he felt too hot in his own skin. It was almost like passion, except this wasn’t passion, it was fury, and it was outrage, and it was this awful, black