polin bot

It was the sort of kiss that could easily have turned her knees to water and led her to swoon on the sofa and allow him to do anything to her, the more wicked the better, even though they were mere yards away from over five hundred members of the ton, except—

“I can race up to my room,” Penelope said. “No one will see me.” “I doubt that,” he said ominously, tucking in his shirt and smoothing his hair. “No, I assure you—” “And I assure you,” he said, leaping on top of her words. “You will be seen.”

Someday I will watch her. I will see her face when she reaches the height of pleasure.

“I demand an apology.” Penelope just nodded slowly and said, “That is your prerogative.” And then she said nothing more. Colin had to physically wipe the smile from his face.

His hand cupped her breast through her dress. “I’ll torment you until you tell me,” he threatened. Penelope’s answer was an arch of her back, settling her breast even more firmly in his grasp. She liked his torment.

Yes, he enjoyed writing. Funny how he’d never realized it before. “It’s good to have something in your life,” Penelope said quietly. “Something satisfying—that will fill the hours with a sense of purpose.”

“Colin, everyone is in the carriage. Are you not dressed?” “No. I wanted to tell you I should like to stay home tonight.” “Oh, you do not look well. Was it you I heard lumbering in the hallway late last night?” “I am… well.”

For someone who wrote so well in his journals, he wasn’t much of a correspondent, Penelope thought with a wry smile.

“It seems Colin is helping her look for a husband. We used to say we’d be spinsters together.” “That is rather scandalous of your brother. And even more so for Penelope.”

“I was always so jealous of Colin. Such beautiful eyes wasted on a man.” “I'm sure the young ladies who fancy themselves in love with him would disagree.”

Colin had been overly protective since the first moment she'd told him she was pregnant; now that she was only a month from her due date, he was insufferable.

“Touch me,” he said. “Where?” “Anywhere.”

Nothing could embarrass him. No one could humiliate him. Except, apparently, her.

“Pen. Were you reading that?” “No. I did not mean to.” “You did not mean to pick up my journal and read it?” “No. I did, but I should not have.”

“Pen, I, uh… I have not been able to sleep, not been able to… eat. I—I can—I can barely even speak these days. My entire thoughts consumed by—” “By what?” “By our kiss. By you.” “I… I feel the same. You occupy my every thought.”

Agatha had just turned nine, Thomas was seven, and Jane was six. Little Georgie would be three the following month.

Whatever Cressida had to say, it wasn’t going to help him solve his main problem: figuring out exactly how he was going to apologize to Penelope.

“Are you certain you want my help after what Lady Whistledown wrote?” “She has never been more wrong about anyone. Let us pay her no heed.” “Indeed. Sooner or later, she will be caught, and we shall dance on the day of her demise.”

She wasn’t sure what had made Colin change his mind, why he had been so angry one minute and then so loving and tender the next. She wasn’t sure, but the truth was—she didn’t care. One thing she knew—he wasn’t doing this, kissing her so sweetly, to punish her.

We know there is one young lady who most certainly wishes her plans had remained in the dark. Penelope Featherington, who was so certain that she would not find a husband on her own, that she had to enlist the help of Mr. Colin Bridgerton.