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Chapter Text

"Colin, you are nearly three and twenty." 

Colin arched an eyebrow at him. "Your meaning?"

"Certainly," Anthony said, his tone exacting, "you ought to have lain with a woman by now."

Colin, who did not know how to respond, said nothing.

"Are you—" Anthony paused, as though he was not sure he ought to say what he was thinking. "Are you attracted to women?"

"Of course I am." 

At least, he supposed he was. In theory, he was attracted to women— when he lay in bed at night with his cock hard and aching, he thought of breasts and soft bellies and rounded hips— faceless, nameless women— as he sought his release. It was simply that he had never met a woman who made him wish to bring theory to life.

"We have discussed it," Anthony said, "and Benedict and I agree that we ought to take you to the abbeys this month, before you reach your next birthday."

Colin supposed that he ought to protest. There was no need for him to visit a brothel, for he was quite certain that there would be no lady there who would tempt him. Yet there was some little voice, deep inside, that pressed him— 'Why not? Why not try?'

***

Penelope had— somehow, mercifully— managed to convince her mother to delay her debut for nearly a year. 

She suspected that it was because her mother had expected her to lose some weight, a feat which she had not accomplished. She had, however, begun to take on additional responsibilities in the establishment. She helped the other ladies arrange their hair and paint their faces. She chatted with them as they waited for their callers, and talked with them after the gentlemen had left. 

All this meant, of course, that while she might not have gained any sexual experience, she was well-versed in appearing glamorous, and as knowledgeable about lovemaking as a young woman could be without having experienced the act herself. 

That knowledge suddenly appeared quite useful, for tonight was the night Penelope must apply it all. The ladies would convene in the drawing room, and Portia would sell off Penelope's virginity to the highest bidder. 

Penelope was fortunate, she supposed, that Portia did not allow men who were violent or unkind or cruel to patronize the establishment. 

Still, she did not relish the prospect of being taken by one of the men who had shown her interest over the past year, men who were sure to be present that evening when the bidding began. 

She set down her brush and took up her mirror. Her hair fell over her shoulders in gentle waves. Perhaps she ought to have put it up, but she had learned, over the past months, that her hair was her most striking feature; by wearing it down, shining against her silken robe, she was likely to increase her price substantially. 

At last, the knock came. When she wrenched open the door— harder than she had expected— Janie stood before her, her eyes wide, an awful understanding written on her face. 

"It is time, Miss Penelope. Your mother has called for you to come to the drawing room."

She followed gamely behind Janie, trying to keep her face schooled into an expression of extreme unconcern. She was not certain that she had achieved it, but at the very least, she was certain that her nerves would not show. 

***

There they were— Lord Berbrooke and Lord Fife— both of them leering at her, and both ready to bid a substantial amount for her virginity. Both, it seemed, had an affinity for redheads, for they had worked their way through her sisters and cousins and now, it seemed, they aimed to collect Penelope, as though tupping her would earn them some sort of a prize for completing the set. 

She did not like it, although she knew there was a fair chance it would be one of them. From what she had heard of them, she hoped that it would be Fife rather than Berbrooke. He, at least, seemed to have a care for a woman's pleasure.

"Lord Fife. Lord Berbrooke." 

The men returned the greeting, then fell, once more, to talking between themselves, leaving Penelope time to scan the room. 

Scattered throughout were gentlemen who, while occasional patrons of the establishment, were not part of their frequent clientele. They must have caught wind of the auction and decided to try their luck at the bidding. 

One little group drew her eye; it seemed that Lord Bridgerton and Mr. Benedict Bridgerton had finally brought their younger brother along with them. He was every bit as handsome as his brothers, and clearly many times more nervous. 

She might have examined him in greater detail, but her mother called for everyone's attention, and then Penelope was needed at the front of the room.

The bidding started low, at one shilling, and quickly climbed from there. By the fifth round, the bid was at ten pounds, Fife had bared his teeth at Berbrooke, and Penelope had grown quite desperate. She was so desperate, in fact, that she knew she must act, or all hope would be lost. 

Mr. Colin Bridgerton, she decided, offered her the best chance.

She crossed the room to him, careful to smile flirtatiously at all the gentlemen she passed, and plopped herself down in his lap.

***

Miss Penelope had, for reasons not entirely clear to Colin, just taken a seat in his lap. She had flopped, somewhat gracelessly, onto him, and he'd been forced to grab at her to keep her from sliding off of him— one arm had wrapped around her waist, and the other hand had brushed the side of her breast. He managed to keep himself from reaching up and squeezing, but it was a near miss, for he could not think of anything he would have liked better.

When she was settled more firmly on him, he let his hands fall to her hips; then, mindlessly, he pulled her a little closer to him, and her soft, round bottom dragged over him. She wiggled herself against him and— God help him— his member began to harden beneath her. 

"Bid on me," she whispered, her mouth blowing out little puffs of warm breath onto his earlobe.

He was powerless to say no— but he could not remember how high the bidding had gone already. He thought it might have reached one hundred pounds; just when he made ready to bid one hundred five, Miss Penelope ground down against him. 

"Six hundred pounds!" he cried, and hitched his hips up against hers, seeking out a bit of relief for his aching cock. 

The room fell silent, and Miss Penelope reached down to cover his hand with hers. He held himself still, and she spoke into his ear again. "Wait a few minutes, and then you may have me."

He could have had her right there, he thought, just pulling up her skirts and sinking into her, enveloping himself in her warmth. But she, too, was a virgin, and he ought to make it as pleasurable for her as he could, and taking her in a drawing room packed with people would certainly not allow for her pleasure. 

He continued his slow, steady grind against her, and she wiggled her bottom and pressed kisses to his jaw, and it was all so good that he very nearly did not notice when Anthony and Benedict and Portia Featherington came to stand before them. In fact, he did not notice until Miss Penelope giggled and whispered that they had an audience. 

Anthony glowered down at him. "Pull yourself together," he said in an undertone. "We are to step into Mrs. Featherington's study so that we can all discuss this."

Colin did not see what there was to discuss. He had had the highest bid, and Miss Penelope was, even now, riding his lap like a pony, and he certainly did not wish to waste time— time that could be spent suckling her breasts— in conversation with his brothers and her mother. 

Still, he forced his hips to cease moving, and he ran a hand down Miss Penelope's back; she climbed to her feet, her breasts passing just in front of his face, so close that he could almost have kissed them. 

She leaned down to whisper in his ear. "The sooner we speak with them, the sooner you may have me." 

He did not drag her behind him, but if he took her hand in his and hastened them along a bit, who could have blamed him? Already his lap felt empty without her, and if he was forced to wait much longer to take her, he did not know if he would survive it.

The moment they entered the study, Anthony pulled him away from Miss Penelope, over to the corner of the room. 

"What were you thinking?" Anthony's voice was a fierce whisper, and Colin might have been alarmed, had he been able to focus on anything but the promise of Miss Penelope taking him inside her. 

"I was thinking," Colin said firmly, "that Miss Penelope is just what I had hoped for in a partner."

He looked across the room. She was standing with her mother, her hair gleaming brightly in the candlelight, her robe gaping open just a little, so that he could see the swell of her breast. His member, which had softened only slightly since Miss Penelope had left his lap, twitched a little at the sight. 

Perhaps he ought to be embarrassed, standing here with his brothers with a cockstand, but they had brought him to the brothel in the first place; surely they must excuse his distraction, for how could he focus on them with Miss Penelope right across the room?

"Colin!" There was a look of irritation on Anthony's face, as though he had been calling Colin's name for some minutes. 

He forced himself to focus on his brother's face, on his words. 

"You do not need a virgin," Anthony hissed. "Why in God's name did you bid on her? We brought you here so that you might be instructed by an experienced woman!"

"Why would I want any of them," Colin said— modulating his voice so that his annoyance did not show— "when I might have Miss Penelope?"

Anthony ran a hand through his hair, frustration apparent in the gesture.

"Miss Penelope," he said in a measured tone, "is a lovely young woman, but you have laid out six hundred pounds to fumble around with another virgin."

Colin might have answered him, but Mrs. Featherington had stepped away from Miss Penelope, whose robe had slipped open a bit wider. 

She gazed across the room at him, her full lip caught between her teeth. When she was certain his eyes were fixed on her, she reached up and drew the robe down, so that her nipple was exposed. Then, quick as could be, she pulled it back up, but the damage was done. Colin could not possibly engage in a conversation with Anthony and Mrs. Featherington, not when Penelope's breast was so large and round and perfect, not when she was teasing him so. 

He was at her side in a minute, dragging her down onto the little settee by the fire. She straddled him this time, rather than sitting sideways across his lap, and she immediately set about grinding herself against him. Her breasts were pressed rather enjoyably against his chest, and he had his hands on her bottom, and at last he was able to kiss her mouth, as he had longed to do since the moment he saw her. 

***

"Is everything alright, my lord?"

Anthony pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, I—it is simply that we brought my brother here to gain experience, and he has chosen the one girl in the room who has none at all."

In the opposite corner, Colin's hand was fisted in Penelope's hair as she kissed and suckled at his neck. The other hand— dash it all— seemed to have disappeared beneath her robe. 

Colin, as a Bridgerton, ought to have exercised a bit more self-control; he would have, certainly, had he already the experience he should have had.

If they had simply dragged him along to the brothels when he was eight and ten, then he would not have bid such a large sum on a lady without the slightest experience.

Six hundred pounds. He certainly hoped that Colin got his money's worth, for he could not imagine what his brother had been thinking, bidding so high over the others. It was very likely, in fact, that Colin had not been thinking at all. 

The sly tone of Mrs. Featherington's voice drew him from his thoughts. 

"Can the Bridgerton coffers not spare six hundred pounds?"

"Of course we can pay," Anthony said, pulling his pocket book from his coat. "I am simply surprised that Colin would spend such an amount, when he has, heretofore, shown little interest in the opposite sex."

Benedict let out a snort and clapped him on the shoulder. "Think of it this way, brother. You have surely laid out that amount over the years. Colin has simply spent it all at once."

"That is all fine," Anthony grumbled, "but he is so desperate for her; is this amount to become commonplace?"

A broad smile crossed Mrs. Featherington's face. "Perhaps you might like to reserve her for your brother? For a month, perhaps?"

It was difficult to believe that she could be so gleeful at the prospect of selling her daughter, but Anthony supposed that he could not be surprised, not when they were in this sort of an establishment. 

He sighed. Perhaps she was correct. A month might allow Colin to get Penelope out of his system. He began the negotiations. 

***

Penelope could not say, on reflection, what had made her choose Colin Bridgerton. He was handsome, of course, and well-formed, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. His member, though she had not known it at the time, was large and hot and firm. Her decision must have been instinctual, some sort of response to the kindness in his eyes, the intensity of his stare.

"I need more," she whispered against his mouth. "I need you."

Taking hold of her hips, Mr. Bridgerton stood. "Where is your bedchamber?" 

She looked round. Her mother was still deep in conversation with the other Bridgertons, and they might slip from the room without being noticed. 

At her gesture, he put her down, and she led him from the room. She'd just pushed open the door to her bedchamber when she was swept from her feet. 

Mr. Bridgerton tucked her against him, one arm wrapped around her legs, the other supporting her back, and strode into the room. He deposited her on the bed and tugged her to him, pressing himself against her and drawing her into a searing kiss. 

He reached down between them, and for a moment, Penelope thought that he meant to touch her, the way he had before; instead he worked open the fastenings of his trousers. His member sprang out, large and red, standing up from his body, and he moved so that he was at her opening. 

"Wait!" she cried, and Mr. Bridgerton froze.

"Do you— do you not want to?" he asked, his voice uncertain. "I— I did not—"

She shook her head. "The door— it is wide open. And I— I would like for us to undress first!"

Mr. Bridgerton smiled, the corner of his mouth quirking up and his eyes crinkling. He crossed to the door and closed it, then returned to his place by the side of the bed. His eyes swept over Penelope's form, and he reached out and placed a hand on her hip.

"I would love to see all of you. When you showed me your breast— I was nearly driven to distraction."

"Then let me distract you again." 

She fumbled a little with the tie, under Mr. Bridgerton's watchful eye, but at last she had it undone, and the robe fluttered to the floor. 

Once it was there, she set about undressing Mr. Bridgerton. She ought to have removed all his clothes first, but she could not help trailing an occasional finger across his member, just to hear him gasp and moan.

When finally he was bare before her and she was able to look her fill at him, she saw that her imagination had not come even close to the beauty of his form. She reached for him, meaning to touch his chest, but before she could, he had climbed onto the bed and covered her body with his. 

His member pressed up against her, hotter and larger and more insistent than his fingers had been, and she hitched her hips up to take a little of him inside her. 

He was trembling above her with the effort of holding himself back, and she could not stand it another moment.

"Mr. Bridgerton— please, please— fuck me—" 

"Colin," he groaned against her neck as he pushed inside. "Call me Colin."

His hips snapped against hers and she kept up a steady cry of "Colin, Colin," as he fucked into her. She wanted more, though, and she thought to touch herself, but she recalled a distant hazy conversation with her mother— some men did not like it when a woman touched herself.

Still, she needed her release, and Mr. Bridgerton— Colin— seemed quite reasonable, and so she slipped her hand between them and began to stroke the little bud there, moaning at the sensation.

"Penelope, Pen," Colin moaned. "God, you look so beautiful— touching yourself that way— always want to see you like that."

After that, he could not say much, mostly groans and muttered words of admiration and praise— about her beauty, how good she made him feel, how tight and hot and wonderful she was. How he longed for her release.

Then he slipped his own hand between them, covering hers and letting both their fingers rub over her slick nub. 

"Colin, I— I am—" 

She could not get the words out, but he knew, for he kissed her soundly and let their fingers continue their dance. All at once, the pleasure washed over her, her pussy tightening around Colin as he held her close.

He drove into her once, twice more; then, with a groan that might have been her name, he pulled out and stroked himself until he spilled across her belly. 

Dimly, Penelope wished that he had not— that he had spent himself inside her, that he had allowed them that one extra moment tangled together— but then Colin flopped down next to her on the bed, a silly smile on his face. He leaned forward and kissed her once more. 

***

Colin could not have anticipated how much he would like to see his seed splattered over Penelope's belly. She had the perfect figure— lush and curvy and round— and it was highlighted, to great effect, by his spend. 

He knew he must get a cloth and clean her up, but he could not help admiring this mark— one that showed she was his, at least for the moment. Still, he forced himself to do it, for Penelope deserved to be treated with care and consideration.

He swiped the damp cloth lightly over her skin, making sure to clean her all over. 

"You were wonderful," he said.

She smiled up at him sleepily, and his cock stirred a little. Penelope gave his thigh a little pat, and he stiffened more; how could he help it, with a beautiful woman so near him?

"Come here."

Colin scooted a bit closer.

Penelope reached over and took him in her hand. Then, lowering her head, she dropped a kiss on his cock and gave a little lick to the head. 

He swelled in her hand; he had never seen any sight more beautiful than that of Penelope ministering to him. She had not taken him in her mouth, but her lips brushed over him, her breath tickled him deliciously, and the little licks she gave felt far better than he could have ever imagined. 

"Pen," he breathed, and she gave him a lick and a smile. 

"My god, Penelope, you will kill me."

"Would you like me again?" she said pertly.

Patting his thighs, he nodded. "Come here and let me kiss you."

She clambered up to sit on his lap, centering herself over his cock and sinking down slowly.

Colin sucked in a breath and tugged her down to him. Her breasts were pressed up against his chest, and her lips were soft against his, and he could not have imagined— just hours ago— that anything could feel as natural as being with Penelope did. 

"Tell me what you like," he begged, stroking her with his thumb.

"Oh!" she cried. "Oh— that. Just like that— Colin—"

She cried his name again and began to ride him harder. When her release overtook her, she let herself fall across his chest, and he fucked up into her, slow and steady, until he pulled out and spent himself on her thigh. She cleaned herself this time, then lay back against the covers until her breathing had calmed. 

"I— it is probably time for you to go," she said, and Colin thought he heard some reluctance in her voice. "My mother— the ladies are not— that is, gentlemen are not allowed to spend the night."

"I will come back," Colin said. "I— tomorrow evening?" 

When Penelope did not respond, Colin's stomach sank. Perhaps she had not enjoyed it; after all, she was meant to pretend that she enjoyed it, and it did not logically follow that she did. Perhaps he had importuned her, taken advantage of her. Perhaps he should apologize for his behavior, tell her that he ought to have behaved in a more gentleman-like fashion—

"But you spent so much money!" she cried. "I cannot— Surely I am not worth it."

"You were worth every penny," Colin told her, "and more. If you do not object, I will find a way."

"I have no objection whatever," she told him. "Shall we go down?"

They helped each other to dress, and Colin kissed her again before they left the room.

***

Penelope and Mr. Bridgerton entered the room hand in hand, and Portia's heart sank. 

She had allowed Penelope to delay her debut for several reasons, but foremost among them was the fact that Penelope was a romantic. She ought not be, for she had grown up in a brothel, but Penelope had a tender, sensitive heart, and her first experience with a man was unfolding just as Portia had feared.

Mr. Colin Bridgerton must be something of a romantic himself— it was clear that Penelope greatly stirred his desires— but to see the two of them behaving as a courting couple, rather than a courtesan and her patron, left Portia reeling. 

"Mrs. Featherington," Mr. Bridgerton said, "I would like to engage Miss Penelope again this evening."

Penelope beamed up at him, and Portia thought that she saw her daughter squeeze his hand.

A sick feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. She should not have agreed to the Bridgertons' scheme— a scheme which would only leave Penelope in distress. Her daughter should learn, and soon, how fickle men could be. Instead, Portia had arranged a month with a handsome, wealthy Bridgerton, a young man for whom Penelope had clearly already allowed herself to develop a tendre. 

"Your brothers," she said haltingly, "have decided to gift you a month of nights with Penelope."

Mr. Bridgerton turned and swept Penelope into his arms, and Portia forced herself to stand sedately by— as Mr. Bridgerton embraced Penelope, as he whispered sweetly into her ear, as he assured her that he would arrive the next evening at the earliest opportunity. 

Penelope gazed at him adoringly, placing her hand on his arm and telling him that she looked forward to seeing him.

Then he dropped a kiss on the top of her head, bowed, and bade her a good evening.

When he had gone, Portia rang for tea and settled in beside Penelope.

"How are you feeling?"

"Oh!" Penelope cried. "It was wonderful; I did not expect there to be so much pleasure. Colin— that is, Mr. Bridgerton— was assiduous in ensuring that I enjoyed myself."

"He did not spill himself in you?" Portia was almost afraid to ask, for green young men, such as Mr. Bridgerton, sometimes forgot themselves in their eagerness. 

"He did not," Penelope said. "He spent himself once on my belly and once on my thighs."

Portia supposed she ought to be grateful for this small mercy, but she could not bring herself to feel such relief at present.

"I wonder what color Mr. Bridgerton likes best," Penelope mused. "I would like to select a gown that will please him, but I suppose I might ask him when I see him tomorrow evening." 

She scooped up her teacup and kissed Portia on the cheek. "Good night, Mama. I will see you in the morning."

In that moment, watching Penelope leave, Portia knew— Colin Bridgerton would break her daughter's heart. 

Chapter Text

Was it appropriate to bring flowers when visiting a lady in a brothel? Colin supposed that it was not strictly necessary, but he was quite certain that Miss Penelope would like to receive flowers; perhaps they might make her smile at him, something he was quite certain that he would like. 

It would be altogether humiliating to ask the florist what sort of flowers to buy for the courtesan he had recently begun visiting, and so he sat in the Bridgerton library, hunched over a tiny book about the language of flowers, trying to determine what would be most appropriate. He had had no idea that flowers carried such a depth of meaning, and most of them did not fit his burgeoning relationship with Penelope.

He had begun to despair of ever finding something appropriate when a page jumped out at him. 

As he read it, his smile grew wider. Desire and enthusiasm? He did not think he could possibly desire another woman as much as he did Penelope; meeting her and being with her had lit a fire in him, and he was not at all certain that it could be extinguished. 

Setting aside the book, he made himself ready to leave the house; he would drop in to the florist and make his selection, and then he would present himself, and the flowers, to Penelope.

***

He had only just stepped from the flower shop when a carriage pulled up, and Lord Fife alighted to the pavement. 

"Ah," he said, his voice too silky smooth for Colin's liking. He cast an appraising eye on the bouquet. "Headed to The Orangery, I see?"

When Colin gave no answer, he clapped him on the shoulder. "You really needn't bring flowers, old man. She's a sure thing, after all."

He turned and re-entered his carriage, leaving Colin to wonder, just for a moment, whether Fife had stopped specifically to bait him.

***

"Oh, Colin, they are lovely."

Penelope lifted the roses to her nose and inhaled their sweet scent. She had not imagined that Colin would bring her flowers, and she could not help but relish the moment.

"Orange roses," he said, with the slightest tremble in his voice, "signify passion and desire and enthusiasm— I could not think of a more perfect way to convey my thoughts of you."

They were, truly, perfect; had Penelope been any less eager to have Colin join her in bed, she might have spent more time admiring them. As it was, however, she was desperate to be under him again, to feel him moving inside her, to have his hands on her as they had been the previous day.

She ran a hand over his chest. "Would you like to tell me of your desires?" she said, her voice low and as seductive as she could make it.

"I believe that my desires are better demonstrated than described," he said, and grinned at her.

How could a smile be so alluring? She had not the time to contemplate it, for in a moment, Colin had led her over to the bed and laid her down on it. 

"I like you in this robe," he told her. "You are quite lovely."

"I am quite sure that you would like me better out of it."

"To be sure." He bent and kissed her neck, just where robe met bare skin. "But I will take a great deal of enjoyment in its removal."

Indeed, his pleasure was evident, for by the time Penelope lay, naked and aching, before him, he had kissed every bit of her, and his cock was hard and straining in his trousers. 

"You certainly are enjoying yourself," Penelope said, placing her hand on the bulge in Colin's trousers.

He bucked forward into her hand. "I am enjoying myself even more now." 

"I can think of something," she said archly, "that you would enjoy even more."

It seemed that Colin agreed with her, for he quickly doffed his shirt and pants, and in a moment, he was on her, pressing inside, giving her just a moment to adjust before he was fucking her with great passion. Eventually he guided her legs over his shoulders; this put him at such an angle that Penelope was quite sure her eyes rolled back in her head, and she could not stop moaning. 

The position must have felt just as good for Colin, for in no time at all, he trembled over her, groaned out her name, and spilled himself right at the apex of her legs. 

Some minutes later, he opened one eye, just a sliver, and said, "You did not have your release."

"No," Penelope said. "It was, er—" 

She did not know how to say it.

"It was over very quickly?" he asked, a look of chagrin on his face.

"Not very quickly," she said, for she did not wish to make Colin feel badly about his performance; many young men, in their inexperience, reached their release quite quickly.

"It was over entirely too quickly," Colin grumbled, "if you did not enjoy it." 

She hastened to reassure him that she had enjoyed it very much, but he could not be consoled. To that end, however, he kissed his way down her torso and settled himself between her legs.

Some of the other ladies in the establishment had alluded to such an act, but she had been given to understand that it was not something that most gentlemen did. Colin, however, took to the task with gusto. He lapped at her, his tongue moving over her folds as though she was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. 

Just when she thought that it could not be any better, he took her clit in his mouth and suckled it, creating such a sensation that Penelope could not help crying out her pleasure. If she had thought the feeling explosive when he brought her off with his fingers, this was so thrilling that she had not the words to describe it.

"Colin!" she cried, and relished the look he gave her from between her legs— a look of arousal and of pride at affecting her so.

She let her hand come to rest on the back of his head, her fingers tangled in his hair, though she did not allow herself to grind up against him, for all that she longed to do just that. It did not matter, however, for he buried himself between her thighs, pleasuring her with such fervor that she suspected he liked it every bit as much as she did. 

Her suspicion was confirmed when she looked down and saw that he was stroking himself. He began to moan against her, and the vibrations, combined with the attentions of his tongue, had her shaking and gasping with pleasure.

Then, all at once, her release was upon her, and she did grind herself against Colin's mouth, for she did not think she could stop herself, not when it felt so good, not when she wanted so much to be close to Colin.

Colin let out a little groan and spilled on her leg, calling her name all the while.

"Penelope," he murmured, between kisses and licks, "you taste wonderful."

She must kiss him. Tugging him up toward her, she helped him settle atop her, his strong body held between her legs; when she had him there, she captured his mouth in a kiss. He kissed her sweetly, slowly, taking the time to explore her mouth with his tongue, then pulling back to place soft, gentle kisses on her cheeks, her lips, her brow. 

They must have passed half an hour that way, kissing and touching one another, until Penelope felt Colin's member, once again firm against her belly.

She canted her hips up against him and he slid inside her. It was slow and tender this time, entirely different from the frantic fucking they had done before, and so wonderful that Penelope thought she might be dreaming. 

"Penelope," he groaned. "Oh, Penelope, oh, oh." Every word, every breath, was punctuated by a thrust of his hips, shallow at first and then deeper and deeper, until she could not tell where she ended and he began, only that he should never stop touching her, never stop loving her.

She begged him to take her harder, to touch her, to fuck her, and she kissed him over and over and then his hips stuttered and he cried out her name. 

He fucked into her, trembling, and buried his face in her neck as he took his pleasure. 

It was only when she had stopped clenching around him that she realized. 

"Colin," she cried. "Colin, you spilled in me!"

His sleepy, satisfied look turned to one of horror. "I did not— I did not mean—" And then he could say no more. 

"I— based on my cycle, I believe it is unlikely that there will be any lasting consequences from—" She did not even want to say it, for she could scarcely imagine the anger and disappointment her mother would feel were she to get with child on her second night with a caller. 

"You must know," he said, with some urgency in his voice, "you must know that if a child results from this, that I will take care of you both."

Penelope looked up at him. She did not know that, for she had known Colin but two days. Still, the sweet, tender look in his eyes and the gentle way he had made love to her gave her the faintest glimmer of hope that he might keep to his word. 

She forced her concerns from her mind; her courses were due soon, so perhaps there truly was nothing to worry about. 

She stood and cleaned herself, pulling on her robe and neatening her hair; beside her, Colin collected his discarded clothing from the floor.

"Penelope," he said, when he had finished dressing, "I understand if you wish to bring an end to our arrangement. If, however, you are still amenable to my visiting you, I can assure you that I will maintain complete control over myself."

She really ought to say no, for Colin was too young, too green, and Penelope herself was too inexperienced to have realized that he was on the verge of release; she ought to have known and pushed him away. Still, he watched her with a sweet, puppy-like expression and she found she could not say no to him. Moreover, she did not want to.

Standing on her tiptoes, she brushed a kiss across his lips. 

"I will see you tomorrow evening," she said.

***

He had spent himself in Penelope. 

She had trusted him, and he had spilled inside her, and now she might be with child. 

He was in agony the entire ride home and could not sit still. What would he tell Anthony? Should he tell Anthony?

His brother, surely, would not cut him off. This had never been the greatest of concerns, but now that he might need to support Penelope and a baby, financial solvency was at the forefront of his mind. 

He cast his mind around for an answer, a solution of any kind. Perhaps he need not say a word— but then, if he did not, Anthony might not believe that the child was his, when the time came that they knew for sure.

The carriage pulled up in front of Bridgerton House, and Colin was no closer to a decision than he had been. 

He had gotten home quite late, for every window in the family wing was dark, save one— Benedict's.

That was it. The solution to his problem, the answer to his prayers. Surely his elder brother— his far less severe elder brother— could advise him on how to navigate the situation in which he had found himself.

Humboldt had barely opened the door when Colin dashed past him, handing off his hat and gloves so abruptly that he knew he would need to apologize the next day. He took the stairs two at a time and shoved open the door to Benedict's bedchamber.

***

Colin burst into the room, breathing hard. 

"I must speak with you!" he cried.

"Knock next time, would you?" 

Benedict laid down his sketchpad and looked up at Colin. His brother looked a decided mess. His hair stuck up in all directions, his waistcoat was buttoned incorrectly, and Benedict was not certain that he had done his trousers up all the way.

"Penelope—" he said, and then bent over, trying to catch his breath.

Did they know a Penelope? Benedict could not think of one; certainly there were no Penelopes among the crop of debutantes his mother had shoved at him all season. Still, the name was familiar— and then it came to him.

"Is Penelope that squirrel you've taken up with?"

Only years of practice fencing and boxing with his brothers allowed Benedict to dodge the punch Colin aimed squarely at his nose.

"Don't call her that!"

Benedict shrugged. "She is, though, isn't she? I mean to say, you are paying her."

He said this carefully, for Colin was likely to try and strike him again. 

Instead of launching a second attack, however, Colin slumped into the seat across from Benedict.

"I need your help," he said.

Benedict raised a brow at him. 

"I— I lost my head tonight, and I spent myself inside Penelope."

He had not the slightest idea what to say, but it did not matter, for Colin continued without pause.

"She has assured me that it is not the time in her cycle during which she is likely to fall pregnant, and she still wishes to see me, but I must confess that am terrified at the potential consequences. How do you suppose Anthony will react?"

Benedict did not know quite what to say, for in all likelihood, Anthony would respond by erupting in rage. There was very little chance he would be sanguine about Colin's news, and even less chance that he would be pleased. In truth, it would be considerably safer for them all if Anthony never heard a word about the situation. 

He cleared his throat, looked at Colin, and said something he very much feared he would come to regret. 

"If nothing comes of it, Anthony need never know."

Colin brightened. "Thank you, Ben. I— that is good to hear." He bade Benedict a good night and made for the hall.

Once the door had closed behind him, Benedict slumped in his chair. He had thought it was high time that Colin, at nearly three and twenty, started thinking with his cock; now he thoroughly regretted his involvement in the whole miserable affair.

***

Colin could not anticipate how Penelope might react when he arrived in her bedchamber the next evening, but he had every expectation that she might be angry with him, after last night's error. He had, after all, put her at risk; he had not had her permission to spend himself within her, and he should not have done it. He must see his way to a better apology than the one he had given the previous evening, and he must make certain Penelope knew that she did not owe him anything at all.

He knocked on the door and Penelope's sweet voice called out, "Come in!"

"Oh!" she cried, her whole face aglow, "You have brought flowers again!"

"They are hyacinths," he told her, "to show you how sorry I am for last night."

"They are lovely, and you have nothing for which to be sorry," she said, her voice firm. 

"I did not use my head."

"You used one of them," she said, and clapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. "I am— Oh! I am sorry, I ought not have said that."

Colin could not hold back a snort, and before long, they both fell to laughing.

"Do you know that my sister's name is Hyacinth? I had to purposely put her out of my mind in order to buy the flowers."

"They truly are lovely," Penelope said with a sigh, "and you did not have to do it."

"I do not suppose I did, but I wanted you to know that I was sincere in my apology."

A smile came over her face, so quick and joyful that Colin's heart skipped a beat.

"Do you know something?" she said.

At his hum of inquiry, she continued. 

"The first night we were together, I wanted you to— er—" She broke off, but it was easy enough to discern her meaning. "I did not wish for us to part."

Colin's member twitched a bit at the thought that she had wanted it, too.

"Did you really?"

She nodded. "Of course, I know we cannot, and we must be quite careful from this point forward, but I wanted it desperately then."

"Perhaps," he said, sounding quite a bit more confident than he felt, "we could talk about it, as though— as though we are going to do it. It will not be the same, but it might bring some measure of satisfaction to us both."

Penelope raised an eyebrow at him. 

"For instance," he said, drawing her into his arms, "while I know that we must try to avoid conceiving a child, it does not follow that we cannot discuss it."

***

Penelope only just kept her mouth from dropping open. Colin Bridgerton wished to think of her— with child? His child?

He was watching her, a look of nervous anticipation on his face. 

"Alright," she said.

"Alright?"

She nodded, and Colin's face split with a grin. 

"Shall we start now?"

She could do nothing but tug him to her, pulling him down onto the mattress, settling him between her legs. 

There he kissed her and whispered to her— soft, passionate words about spilling in her, about seeing her round with his child— and she could almost fool herself into believing that he cared for her. 

That was a foolish idea, for they had known one another but three days. It was such a short time, yet Penelope felt instinctively that she could trust Colin, that she could tell him anything and he would not judge her. 

She told him so, feeling exceptionally silly— for all that she thought he would understand— and at once his face lit up in a brilliant smile, and he groaned and took her harder.

"Penelope— oh— oh, fuck, going to come. Will you let me— oh, Pen— let me come in your sweet little cunt?"

She nodded fiercely, and he fucked into her, and at last, just when she thought that he would not, he pulled out and spent himself on her pussy lips.

He collapsed to the bed beside her and wiped her off with a sheet. Then, with a great deal of enthusiasm— more than she might have anticipated, given what she had heard about men's behavior after their releases— he began to lick and suckle at her. 

His strong arms wrapped around her thighs, holding her in place so that she could not escape his tongue, so that she could do nothing but buck up against him, seeking all the pleasure he could give her. 

When at last she had fallen apart on his tongue, he curled up behind her, wrapping his body around hers and cupping her breast, possessively, in his hand. 

"Did you like it—?" he asked her, and his voice was so uncertain that her heart clenched.

She wriggled around so that they were facing one another. "Of course I did. You cannot doubt it for a moment."

Pulling her close, he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I know that gentlemen are not permitted to spend the night, but might we take a short nap together? I wish to know what it is like to wake up next to you."

She agreed with great haste and eagerness, for she could think of nothing she would like better— now that her baser urges had been satisfied— than to curl up with Colin and enjoy the feeling of his arms around her. 

***

It felt as though they had been asleep for no time at all when Penelope's maid knocked on the door to tell her that it was time for Mr. Bridgerton to go.

He would have liked one more chance to make love to Penelope, but it would have to wait until the next evening, for their time together, that day, was over. 

Instead he kissed her, with growing passion, until the maid returned to clear her throat and hasten them along.

The next person who would come to encourage him to leave was— he suspected— Penelope's mother, and so, with great reluctance, he kissed Penelope and quit the room. 

He found that, like the previous night, he could not sit still during the carriage ride home, so distracted was he by the idea of lying with Penelope, of feeling her tighten around him, of spilling within her.

When he arrived home, he still could not settle, and so he took out pen and ink and set to work writing to Penelope. There were any number of things that he wished to know about her— only they had been so distracted these last three days that he had not had the opportunity to ask her.

He could not say whether she wished to share with him the details of her life, the things she liked and the things she disliked, but he was so desperate to know that he put down all his questions for her.

His curiosity settled as well as possible for the moment, he sealed up the letter and readied himself for bed.

Chapter Text

Morning came quickly, and Colin forced himself to break his fast with his family, to go riding with his brothers, to engage in a round of fencing. He could not, after all, go to see Penelope so early in the day, for they would turn him away if he tried. 

So he must fill his day to the greatest extent possible, or else— he was quite certain— he would spend most of his time thinking of her and how much he longed to touch her and hold her. 

At long last, the hour came round, and his valet helped him into his clothes. Then, taking up the letter, he put it in his pocket and made for the carriage. A short stop later, he had a bouquet of pink camellias in hand and was on his way to see Penelope. 

She greeted him with a smile and exclaimed sweetly over the flowers, which she added to the table with the others.

Then, having led him to the bed, she reached up and pulled him into a searing kiss. "I have been thinking of you all day," she said.

"Oh? What sort of thoughts?"

"I want you to take me from behind."

Whatever she might have said, Colin had not been expecting that. 

"Gah gah gah," was all that he managed to say, and Penelope laughed brightly at him as she kissed him on the cheek. 

He had, he thought, regained some measure of composure; it was then that Penelope slipped her robe from her shoulders and climbed onto the bed, presenting herself to him. He could not get to her quickly enough, and he tore at the fall of his trousers with such force that a button— which had not been loose earlier that day— flew off and landed across the room. 

Colin meant— truly he did— to fully disrobe, but he found that he could not, so eager was he to sheath himself in Penelope. He had managed to lower his trousers and remove his coat, but as he reached for the hem of his shirt to pull it over his head, she had wiggled her bottom at him and he could take it no longer. 

He climbed on the bed and was on her in a moment, groaning her name as he slid inside. She let out a grasping cry of pleasure, and her hand went at once to the spot between her legs and she began to caress herself as she ground back against him. 

"Colin—" she cried. "Colin, I—" 

"Are you going to come?"

Penelope nodded frantically and he reached down to touch her breast, taking her nipple between his fingers and pinching it lightly. 

She let out a cry and tightened around him, her fingers still rubbing furiously over her clit. 

Colin longed to keep going, to keep fucking into her, but he had heard that some ladies were very sensitive once they had reached their release, and he did not want to compel her to do something she did not wish to do.

He need not have worried, however, for she turned to draw him into a kiss and whispered against his lips. "Please do not stop, please— Colin, Colin, come in me— I want you to come in me."

Surely it should not be so arousing to hear her beg, but the thought that she wanted him that way, wanted him to spill in her— even if he could not actually do it— filled him with a surge of heat, and he began to take her harder. 

"You want that?" he asked, and he very nearly did not recognize his voice for how low and dark it had gone. "You want me to spend myself in your cunt, get you with child?"

"Yes," she breathed. "Yes, yes, come in me."

"Think how you will look when you are pregnant," he said, his voice ghosting over Penelope's neck, the little puffs of air causing her to shiver. "Everyone will know that you are mine, that your pussy is mine."

She let out a high-pitched moan and tightened around him, and he could not hold back a moment longer. 

He pulled out and took himself in hand; only two strokes later, he was spilling himself on her sex.

***

Colin slumped against her— he had taken her from behind this time— and she helped them down to the bed, tucking herself up against him. His seed was drying between them, but Penelope could not bring herself to move, not when it would mean that she must separate from him.

"Did you manage to remove your boots beforehand?" she asked him, and he pressed a little kiss to her shoulder. 

"When I had the choice of removing my boots or seeing my way to being inside as quickly as I could, I chose you. If you wish me to remove all my clothing, you ought not be so tempting."

She wiggled her bottom against him, just to hear him groan; his arm tightened around her waist and she could feel his cock stirring against her.

All the girls at the establishment had told her, for years, how much men wanted it— how much they would want to sink into her pussy and fuck her, how much they would wish to suckle her breasts and see their seed spilled across her belly. 

What they had not conveyed, not nearly plainly enough, was how frantic she herself would be for it. She had, in truth, been waiting for it all day, and she thought that if Colin had not taken her so quickly, she might very well have pushed him to the bed, straddled him, and taken him inside her.

"Penelope?" he said, his voice soft.

"Hmm?"

"Why did you choose me, that night?"

He sounded so tentative, so hesitant, that she reached down and covered his hand with hers. "You are handsome," she said, "and you have kind eyes."

She was not sure what Colin had wanted to hear, but there was a smile in his voice when he told her that he was glad it had been her, that he would not have wanted anyone else.

Her stomach clenched a little on hearing it, for she would not have wanted anyone else, and the realization was not a pleasant one; in a little less than a month, her time with Colin would be finished, and she would thereafter entertain a great many gentlemen. Oh, she might see Colin— he might come to her once a month, or even once a week— but he would, eventually, marry and start a family. She could not imagine that he would break his wedding vows, and so their time together would be over, and Penelope would be left here, alone.

There was no need, however, to dwell on such a future, and so she rolled her hips against Colin until he was hard and thrusting against her gently. She tucked her leg up to her chest and he slid inside. 

"Oh, Penelope," he breathed against her neck. 

He moved slowly, his hips undulating against hers until she could not think, until she could do nothing but feel, but relish in the sensations Colin brought about in her. 

He spilled on her thigh this time, with a soft grunt, and then he turned her tenderly so that he could kiss her. He held her firm in his arms and kissed her as though he never wished to stop.

"You are so lovely," he said.

"Even covered in your seed?" she said teasingly, and she was surprised by the fierceness of his reaction, for his kisses turned quite frantic, and he tugged her even closer to him.

"Especially covered in my seed," he told her, and his voice brooked no argument.

They lay that way— but for a moment, when Colin left the bed for a cloth— until her maid came to say that he must go. 

When he was gone, and she had crossed to the little table to admire her flowers again, she saw that there was a letter beside them. Her name was written on the front in a surprisingly neat hand, and she carried it over to her settee and settled in to read it. 

Dear Penelope, it began—

As we have been otherwise occupied when we are together, I am writing this letter so that I might learn more about you, for I confess that I am eager to know you on an intellectual as well as a physical level. 

She could scare hold back her smile— Colin Bridgerton wished to know about her.

The letter continued; Colin asked about her interests, her likes and dislikes, her favorite books. There were several questions about the foods she liked best, and the ones she liked least.

When she had finished reading, she found that she could not stop herself from smiling, and she seated herself at her desk and set about answering his questions and asking him some of her own. 

With a sigh, she reminded herself that she must not feel badly that the paper Colin had used was finer than hers; of course he could afford better-quality supplies. She lamented a little that she would have to seal her letter with a flour and gum wafer, while Colin's had been sealed with wax, but it could not be helped. 

She had, fortunately, opened his letter very gingerly, so she would now be able to examine the seal at length. Perhaps she ought not be so desperate to learn all she could about Colin, but she must accept that she had developed something of a tendre for him; as long as she also accepted that their arrangement would— eventually— end, her affection for him would only make her more demonstrative during their time together, which would make him more satisfied as a patron of their establishment. She gave a firm nod. Their arrangement would end, but she would do all that she could to ensure that they both enjoyed it while it lasted.

***

The next evening, when Colin left Penelope's bedchamber, it was with a letter tucked in his pocket and a smile on his face. 

There had been something sweeter and more affectionate in the way Penelope had held him and made love to him that night; he did not like the thought that, in a little more than three weeks, their arrangement would be over. Of course, he and Penelope could never marry, for their stations in life were entirely different, and neither of their families would approve of such a union. Still, it did not feel as though they were so very different; indeed, he had never felt such an instantaneous connection with anyone, and he could not imagine such a connection in the future.

He could not sleep until he had read Penelope's note, and he was at once cheered by it, for she had not ignored a single question he had asked, and she had asked him questions of her own.

He would answer them tomorrow, and he would bring the letter to her with nigella flowers; the book of flower meanings had now found a spot on the table beside his bed, for he had found himself referencing it so often that it was more convenient to have it nearby.

***

When he arrived in her room the next day, he found Penelope quiet and withdrawn. He went to her at once and drew her into his arms, and she rested her head against his chest. 

"What is wrong, sweetheart?"

She let out a little sigh. "My courses have come."

Colin was at once comforted, for he had, in the back of his mind, had the fear that he had gotten Penelope with child. They had been playacting, it was true, at trying to conceive a child, but they were not truly in a situation to do so, and so the arrival of her courses could only be propitious.

"Is this— I should think you would be pleased," he said, "after my— boob earlier this week."

"Oh!" she cried, brightening. "Yes— of course I am pleased about that. However, we will not be able to lie together tonight, and I do not wish for you to be displeased."

"I could never be displeased with you," he told her, and he found that he was perfectly serious. 

She smiled tremulously at him, and he leaned forward to kiss her.

"Would you like to play cards?" he asked, when they had sat back from one another. "On the other hand, since the day we met, I have wished to lavish your breasts with attention, and this would be quite the perfect opportunity."

"We might do both," Penelope said, "for our letters have made me long to know more about you, and we can talk as we play cards."

They rang for a maid who, after some time searching, returned with a set of cards. They set about making the deck into one that could be used for piquet, and started to play. Both of them attempted to cheat flagrantly, but as there was no gallery, no one could help them, and it was a useless endeavor.

Still, they had a fine time, sharing kisses between hands; at one point, Colin was so overcome that he laid her down on the bed, upsetting the cards and requiring them to reshuffle and deal again. Penelope did not seem to mind, for she flirted with him outrageously, and she kissed him just as fervently as he kissed her. 

He spent a fine few minutes kissing and licking at her nipples, which were every bit as lovely as he had imagined the day he met her.

"When your courses are over, do you know what I would like?"

She raised an eyebrow at him and gestured for him to continue. 

"Do you remember, on the evening we met, how you rode my lap? I have not been able to stop thinking of it, and— were you amenable— I would be eager to recreate the experience."

"With fewer clothes between us, I assume," she said, and Colin nodded gratefully. How wonderful it was that Penelope understood him so easily, without even the need for a discussion. 

He was hard and aching, and he longed to take himself in hand, since he and Penelope could not lie together. He could not ask her, however, for he did wish to spend time with her, and moreover, to do such a thing would certainly make her feel uncomfortable

He comforted himself by rubbing his cock through his trousers as he licked and suckled at Penelope's breasts. The feeling was not enough, not nearly, but he longed for a release, and if this was all he could have, whilst Penelope was indisposed, it would have to be enough. So he humped into his hand, and Penelope begged him to keep servicing her, and then she said something so unexpected that he, at first, did not know how to respond.

"Colin," she moaned, "touch yourself."

"I— what—?" he said weakly.

"I see you stroking yourself through your trousers. Take your member out and show me how you like to be touched and I will— I will endeavor to please you in the same manner."

Both of his hands went, right away, to the fall of his trousers, and he had them undone in no time at all. Wrapping his hand around himself, he began to stroke. Penelope cradled his head against her bosom. 

"Would you like to spend yourself on my breasts?" she asked. "Or, perhaps, in my mouth?"

He liked both of those ideas very well, but he was loathe to give up his position at her breast, and so he shook his head. "Both—" he grunted. "Later. For now, your thigh will be perfect."

Chapter Text

The week of her courses sped by, and before long, Penelope found herself astride Colin, his cock teasing her in the most delicious way. His hands flitted over her body, as though he did not know quite what to do with them, until at last she laughed and guided one hand to her breast and the other to her sex. 

That task accomplished, she set about riding him, rolling her hips and canting herself up and down on his cock, relishing the gasps and groans he made as he fucked up into her. 

When, at last, his release was upon him, it was another very near miss, for he was loathe to pull out and spend himself outside her, though they both agreed that he must. 

Then, leaning back against the headboard, he grinned lazily up at her. "I cannot think of a more beautiful sight than your breasts bouncing in my face as you ride me."

Penelope made to respond to him, but before she could, there was a knock at the door, and her maid was telling her that the hour had come for Mr. Bridgerton to leave. 

She pouted at him and, laughing, he kissed her mouth, then the tip of her nose and her cheeks, before pressing lingering kisses to both of her nipples, taking the right one into his mouth and suckling it before letting it go with another lingering kiss. 

"I don't suppose we have the time—" he said, gesturing at his member. "I could be ready very quickly, I assure you."

Now it was Penelope who laughed as she helped him back into his clothes. She lingered over his prick as she did up his trousers, and found it straining against the placket when she was through with him. 

"You are very cruel indeed," he said, his voice full of merriment. "I shall have to take care of myself the moment I arrive back home."

A bit of daring swept over her, and she tugged him down for a kiss with one hand, whilst caressing him with the other. "Will you think of me as you touch yourself?"

"You know that I will." 

With one last searing kiss and a glance over his shoulder— for they had not had the inclination to dress her— he was gone.

Penelope tugged on her robe and set about her nightly toilette, running the brush through her hair so that it would shine for Colin when next he came to see her.

She could not help herself; humming a waltz, she allowed the image of Colin to guide her about the room. He would hold her close— so close as to be scandalous— and then, when the dance was over, he would take her onto the balcony.

"Miss Featherington," the chimerical Colin intoned. "I am utterly captivated by you, and it is my fondest wish that—"

There was a bang and she looked up to find her sister framed in the doorway. 

"Are you dancing?"

Penelope could never understand how Prudence was able imbue a simple question with such disdain, but she had felt the weight of her sister's derision for many years, and thus answered her quite lightly.

"It is a very pleasant activity, is it not?"

Prudence did not answer, instead leaning against the doorframe and crossing her bony arms in front of her. 

"He will never marry you, you know."

For all that Penelope was very well aware of that fact, hearing it spoken aloud was like a hit to the stomach, though she would never allow Prudence to see how much she was affected by the statement. 

"What a silly idea!" she cried, although it did not feel silly at all. "Marry Mr. Bridgerton? Who has ever heard of such a thing?"

Prudence raised an eyebrow, but did not respond, and Penelope found that she could not stop herself from speaking.

"I like him very well, I admit, for he is a most zealous and a thoughtful lover, and I cannot imagine that any man would have such a care for my pleasure; but I never expected him to marry me."

Curse her tongue, for she still was not finished.

"I certainly will not gainsay any of his desires, for I am covetous of both his continued patronage and his continued attentions."

Prudence let out a huff but gave no further response, and when she closed the door behind her, Penelope could not hold back a sigh of relief. 

Her fantasy of dancing with Colin— of being led out to the balcony— had flitted away, but the memory of being held in his arms, of kissing him and touching him, remained. And even more, there was his letter, left in its usual spot on the table.  She took it up and carried it over to the bed, tucking herself under the covers and settling in to read. 

Dearest Penelope, it read. She laid it down beside her on the pillow and muffled a little scream. Then, when she had collected herself, she picked it up once more. 

I cannot bring myself to repine the end of your courses, for it has been agony this past week not to make love to you; I will miss, however, our little conversations in bed, playing cards and laughing with you, uncovering your favorite authors and poets and all those little bits of you that I am desperate to hear. Promise me that, even when we are able to be together, we will not simply indulge our desires for one another— for I do not like to think of not knowing you better.

The letter continued, a merry exploration of a poem Colin and Penelope had read together that week; there was no further hint of the desperation Colin had displayed at its opening, and Penelope was left to ponder their interactions that evening.

Colin had swept into the room and pulled her into his arms, kissing her soundly and drawing her over to the bed. Once there, however, he had not drawn up her skirts and taken her, as she had expected. Instead they lay entwined, for the better part of an hour, laughing and talking and kissing, until at last they could hold back no longer. It was then that Penelope had situated herself above him and indulged his desire to be ridden. 

The whole encounter— indeed, their entire relationship— was quite the antithesis of what she had been given to expect of her new role; she could not but credit it to Colin, for she was quite certain that no other gentleman would have treated her with such sweet tenderness, and she was loath to give it up.

Give it up she must, however, for her time with Colin was halfway through, and she had not the freedom to imagine anything different. In a fortnight, she would find herself down in the drawing room, primped and prepared for selection by someone who was not Colin, who would never be Colin.

No, it would not do. This was a path she could not travel; it was better to enjoy her time with Colin whilst she had it; any reflection could be left for the future.

***

"I should like to find a house," Colin said. "It ought to be somewhere a little way out of town, I think, and have enough rooms for a family."

His brothers goggled at him.

"A family?" Benedict spoke slowly, as though Colin were mentally deficient. "Are you not a bit young for that, brother?"

"Not at all. Was it not the two of you, in fact, who reminded me of my extreme advanced age?"

Surely it was not healthy for Anthony to grind his teeth in that manner, nor for his face to become so alarmingly red.

"Yes," his brother ground out. "You were too old not to have wet your wick, but to think of starting a family with the girl—"

"She will make a most excellent mother," Colin answered. "I cannot help but think of it."

"She is a doxy!" Anthony cried. "Her own mother auctioned off her virginity— surely you cannot think— think of your own daughters— think of your future wife!"

"I am," Colin said. "I think it best to provide Penelope an established home, for I have every intention of continuing our relationship; I have no intention of sharing her, either."

His brother fixed him with an imperious look. "Your allowance will bear the cost, of course; but think of what such a thing will do to Mother, I implore you."

"Mother will be happy that I am happy," Colin said, though he sounded much more certain than he felt. 

Besides, even if none of his family ever approved, it would be enough to have the chance to cradle Penelope in his arms every day, to know that he would sleep at her side every night, that he would fill her up with his babies—

"No!" Benedict cried. "No, I will not be a party to your fantasies. Go to your room at once; you may come back when you have control over yourself."

Colin, of course, had the greatest control over himself; indeed, his self-control was impeccable. Still, perhaps it was best that he go to his room, for he had not yet written his daily letter to Penelope, and he had a great many things to tell her; beyond that, he must determine what she wanted in a house. It was decided, and he made his way upstairs with alacrity.

 ***

His heart, when he went to her that night, was light, and when he saw her, he put down the flowers he had brought and swept her into a waltz position.

"Colin!" she cried. "I am not dressed!"

"All the better," he told her. "You look exquisite— the vision of the perfect dance partner. I can find no fault in you at all."

A blush rose on her cheeks, but she did not seek to cover herself, and so Colin led her about the room, whispering to her as they danced. 

When the dance had finished she led him over to the bed and, smiling up at him, said, "You seem exceedingly cheerful this evening."

"I am to spend time with the wittiest, most beautiful woman of my acquaintance; who, in my position, would not feel the same?"

Then there was no conversation at all, for she found herself quite desperate for him. She tugged him to the bed and set about undressing him at once; she found the letter he had written her in his breast pocket and set it aside before continuing to disrobe him. When at last he was unclothed before her, she bent to press a kiss to the head of his cock, which was already hard and leaking before her. 

"Oh— oh, Penelope," he breathed. "Your mouth—" 

He could not continue, however, for she had swallowed him down; he simply tangled his hands in her hair and petted at her as she sucked him. 

Soon he shouted his pleasure, then curled up beside her on the bed, hissing as his sensitive member brushed against her hip. 

She smiled at him, and his heart skipped a beat.

"I read your letter," she said, "and I see no reason at all that we should not be able to continue our conversations, for we cannot spend the entire time that you are here engaged in— er— baser pursuits."

His own smile threatened to split his face in two. "Indeed we cannot; besides, I cannot deny that I have been eager to continue the conversation we began last night, before we were distracted. Tell me, have you read much Wordsworth?"

***

The next morning dawned in a haze of happiness. When Colin had recovered himself after his release, he had taken her slowly and sweetly, so much so that she was almost able imagine he had tender feelings for her. Almost. She was not such a fool that she actually believed it, but it was lovely to pretend.

She came down to breakfast humming, and spent the meal in great good cheer; even Prudence's taunts could not diminish her high spirits. 

"Penelope," her mother said at the close of the meal. "I would speak to you in my study, please."

She followed her out, down the hall to the cozy room where she had first kissed Colin. 

"You have done well, Penelope," her mother said, when the door had closed.

Penelope's mouth fell open a little. 

"You have kept Mr. Bridgerton interested; he has not missed a night's visit since he met you."

She did not know quite what to say. She wished she could tell her mother how much she enjoyed spending time with Colin, how they wrote to one another, about their long conversations tucked away in Penelope's bed. 

Her mother would not wish to hear any of it; her only concern would be that Penelope retain Colin's patronage for as long as she could, and better yet, that she entice him to bring his friends to visit Featherington House. 

She was proven correct in the very next moment, for her mother gave her an assessing look and said, "Indeed, you have come to an excellent point. Mr. Bridgerton is ripe for the picking, and you need only encourage him a little to bring him to the point."

"I do not understand your meaning, Mama."

Mama let out a heavy sigh. "With a little coaxing, the man will fall over himself to take you as his mistress. You saw how he leapt at the chance to have you to himself for a month; he will not like the idea of your being with other men."

Penelope herself did not like the idea of being with other men. The very idea of someone other than Colin touching and holding and tupping her left her full of revulsion; she was not sure that she could do it.

"Mr. Bridgerton is only a third son, it is true, but the Bridgertons are a wealthy family, and if Mr. Bridgerton wants you badly enough, his brother will provide you an establishment of your own."

There was nothing to do but agree with her mother, for she would not be gainsaid.

Her acquiescence thus assured, Penelope was dismissed and returned to her bedchamber.

Could she do it to Colin? She must admit, there was something in her that overflowed with joy at the prospect of having Colin wholly to herself. Of course, that was not entirely the case, for Colin would be required to spend time with his family, and at some point, he would marry, and his wife and children would draw his attention. 

Still, she could not let this opportunity pass her by. If she could have Colin, she would have him, and if the circumstances were not what she might have conceived in her girlish fantasies, he would still be enough for her.

***

Her efforts began that evening. 

She settled herself in on the bed, propped up on her pillows, her hand between her legs. This was no hardship, for the thought of Colin always had her longing for a release, and it was no time at all before she found herself at the precipice of climax. 

Her eyes were shut and Colin's name was on her lips when the door flew open, and there he was. 

"Pen!" he cried. 

He crossed the floor in three strides, stripping off his shirt as he went.

"My god, you are lovely." He leaned down and took her nipple between his lips, suckling at it with fervor. 

When her hand went still between her legs— for how could she focus on touching herself when Colin was so intent on her breast?— he released her nipple and reached down to guide her hand. 

She brought her fingers back to the little nub, and Colin's fingers sank into her, and together they brought her to her release.

"Darling," he said, his voice pleading. "Sweetheart, please—"

"Do you need me?" she asked, laying her hand on his shoulder.

"I always need you; Pen, I—"

Letting her legs fall open, she bared herself to him, and he shucked off his trousers and situated himself above her.

***

The day's ride had been long, and Colin was bone-weary, but he could not miss his time with Penelope. Their month together was drawing to a close, and if she would not have him, there would be only a few more nights together; he could not, therefore, give in to the temptation to sleep.

He hurriedly bathed— for he could not go to her smelling of horse— and set out for Featherington House.

She took him in her arms when he arrived, nestling her head against his chest.

"Your hair is windblown."

"Yes," he said, drawing her closer. "I had a matter of business that took me out of town, and I was in such a hurry to get back and see you that I did not have time to see to my hair. I did, however, wash off the scent of a day in the saddle."

"Thank you. You did not have to hasten to see me, but I admit that I am glad you did, for I would have sorely missed you otherwise."

"I could not abide a moment of your suffering, and I would not have missed seeing you for the world."

Penelope sank into his arms a little more, and Colin could have sworn that he felt her smile against his chest. 

He could not hold back a yawn.

"You are exhausted," she said. "Please come to bed; you must get some rest."

"I must make—" Another yawn interrupted him. "I cannot satisfy you if I am asleep."

Already, she had stripped off his coat and shirt. "I would be utterly remiss if I expected a release when you are so tired; besides, I am always pleased to nap with you, for you are a most comfortable companion."

It was thus decided, and they slipped under the covers. Colin thought, through the haze of sleep, that he heard Penelope whisper, "I love you," but he drifted off and could not be sure. 

Chapter Text

Colin awoke to find Penelope's room awash with sunlight. 

"Penelope?" he whispered.

She made no response, and so he nudged her a little; she let out a sleepy snuffle and cuddled closer to him, nuzzling her face against his chest and hitching her hip up against his.

His cock gave a little twitch of interest at her closeness, for his last release had been two nights prior, and surely no man could be so close to the woman he— he loved without such a response. 

The realization was so staggering that he had not the slightest idea how to proceed, for while he had known that he did not wish to be parted from Penelope, he had not anticipated— 

Such reflection ended most abruptly, for Penelope reached down between them and took his cock in her hand; she stroked him leisurely at first, and then more firmly when he whined at her. 

His mouth sought hers, and she kissed him back eagerly. At last, it was too much, and she aimed his prick at her sex so that he could spill there. He only just held himself back from slipping inside her, for the temptation to claim her, to spend himself within her, was nearly overpowering. 

He slumped back against the bed, and Penelope petted at his chest and his hair as his breath came back to him.

"It is morning," he said, when he had recovered.

"It is."

"I was under the impression that I was not allowed to spend the night."

Penelope looked stricken.

"Do not misunderstand me!" he cried. "I am delighted to have the extra time with you; I simply did not believe that it was permitted."

"It is not permitted," she said, worry written across her brow. "I wonder that you have not been asked to leave yet. Mama is particularly strict about it."

He kissed her soundly then. "I cannot bemoan her inaction, for you are quite as beautiful in the morning as you are at any time, but there is something of a glow about you just now. Perhaps it is the light, but perhaps—" 

He shook his head then, but Penelope goaded him into speech, and he was forced to admit his hope that perhaps he had something to do with the beautiful flush to her skin and the soft smile on her face and the— 

The remainder of his speech went unfinished, for Penelope tugged him to her, wrapping her legs around him and urging him to take her. She clutched him to her, as though she could not fathom letting him go, and when his release was upon him, he could barely hold himself back from spilling in her. Indeed, he thought that he might have spilled a little in her before he managed to take himself out and paint the rest of his seed across her stomach.

"Penelope, I am—" 

"Do not apologize," she said fiercely. "I could not stand it if you— you must know that I always want you to— to—" 

She blushed then, and did not say any more, but Colin stroked his hand over her hair and murmured soft words to her, words of her beauty and wittiness, of her sweetness and of how much he loved to spend time with her, of how she would make the loveliest mother.

Before long, she had drifted off, and a little knock sounded at the door. He did not wish to wake her, so he scribbled down a note, a promise to see her that evening, dressed himself in yesterday's clothing, and made his way through the quiet, morning-still house.

***

Through the haze of sleep, Penelope just felt Colin brush a kiss over her forehead. She ought not sleep the day away, but her bed was so cozy and comfortable, and her lovemaking with Colin had left her splendidly languorous and satisfied; she had no wish to chase away such a pleasant state.

Her reverie was broken, however, by the entry of her mother into her domain.

"Get up!" she cried, throwing wide the curtains and fussing all about the room. "You cannot lie abed, for there is much to be done today."

Penelope gaped at her.

"I have ordered you a new gown, one that will surely entice Mr. Bridgerton to take you as his mistress. You have a fitting today, and—"

"Mama!" Penelope cried. "Mama, surely there was no need to order a new gown. Mr. Bridgerton—"

"Mr. Bridgerton," her mother said firmly, "is as all other men are; he is easily led about by his cock, and you must lead him whilst you still have a firm grip upon him. Having had the opportunity to take you in the morning, he will be eager to repeat the experience."

So that—  that was why Colin had been allowed to stay with her. She ought to have suspected that her mother had some sort of ulterior motive, for she never did anything unless she saw some way in which she would benefit. 

"You ought to allow him to spill in you tonight," her mother said. "Or you might at least tease him with the idea; a virile young man such as he will not reject such an opportunity, and will certainly seek it out again."

"Mama, I cannot possibly—"

"You can, Penelope," her mother said sharply. "You can and you will. I will not have this life for you, not if a man such as Mr. Bridgerton is willing to provide a better one for you. Only think, he might buy you a house; at the very least, he will rent one for you, and you will have fine gowns and some jewels, and perhaps a carriage at your disposal."

"Mama, I have no objections to having Col— Mr. Bridgerton— as my patron."

Her mother raised an eyebrow at her slip, but made no other comment; she waited for Penelope to continue. 

"I do not, however, wish to lure him in under false pretenses; he is too good and I—"

She did not continue, however, for a look of understanding— a look Penelope could not like— came over her mother's face.

"Penelope," she said, coming to stand beside her and raising a hand to brush over Penelope's face, "he will not—"

She paused, and Penelope could not bring herself to fill the silence. She dreaded what her mother had to say, but neither could she ignore it. She must force herself to listen. 

"He— one day, he will take a wife, but if you have made yourself—" Here, she swallowed. "If you have made yourself indispensable to him, he might keep you on, and perhaps he will postpone marriage for some years."

"Papa— Papa did not."

Her mother shook her head, the movement so minute that Penelope might not have noticed it, had she not been watching her so intently.

"Your father and I did not have that sort of— of relationship, but that does not mean I do not wish it for you girls."

"That is why you have encouraged Mr. Finch!" Penelope cried.

"He has not the funds that Mr. Bridgerton has, but he is a good man, and he and your sister care deeply for one another. He cannot afford to keep her in a separate establishment, but he buys out her time, and that is all I can expect at present. Perhaps  once he has inherited, things will be different."

Penelope nodded faintly. 

"But you— Mr. Bridgerton has the funds to support you, and a bit more fortitude than Mr. Finch as well. You will undoubtedly be set up in an establishment within a fortnight, if you but allow yourself to— help Mr. Bridgerton along."

"Alright," she said, her voice faint and foreign to her ears. "I will not deceive or manipulate him, but I will make every attempt to convince him of what we might have together, should he choose to set me up in my own establishment."

"Good girl," her mother said, patting her on the cheek. "Now ready yourself for the modiste. If we hasten, your new gown might be ready tomorrow."

***

Their little house would be ready soon, and he must go and see Penelope, but Colin had yet to convince Anthony of the efficacy of his scheme. 

His hair stood on its ends from running his hands through it, and he had been pacing for what seemed like hours, but his brother would not be moved. He had thought, for a while, that they were of an accord, but Anthony had become unexpectedly stubborn, and would cede little ground to Colin; his arrival to Featherington House was therefore greatly delayed.

All was not lost, however; his morning, after he had left Penelope, had been very productive. He had selected a number of furnishings for their home, and he had visited his mother to bring her his good tidings. She had been greatly surprised, but had rallied admirably, and she gave every appearance of readiness to welcome Penelope into their lives. 

All was in order, and he would proceed with or without Anthony's approval, though he could not deny that he wished very much for his brother's approbation. 

***

Colin was not coming. Several hours had passed since the time he usually arrived, and it was clear that Prudence had been correct all along. Now that their arrangement was drawing to a close, he had no more use for her, and he would leave her here for the next gentleman who came along, and Penelope would be alone. 

There would be no more gentle kisses, no more sweet little notes about his day, or his travels, or a book he had read that he thought Penelope would enjoy. There would be no more love-making. She supposed she ought not call it that, for it was apparent that any love between them was entirely on her part, and she had simply mistaken Colin's physical attraction to her for an emotional connection, and— 

The door to her bedchamber burst open.

"Colin!" she cried, for there he was, framed in the doorway, his hair askew and his cravat tied messily about his neck.

He strode across the room and in three steps, he had swept her up into his arms and had kissed her soundly.

"I am sorry that I am late," he said. "I had a great many errands to attend to today, and Anthony was being particularly irritating. I should have been here much sooner had he been less of an ass."

"I thought perhaps you were not coming," she admitted, her voice very small.

"No! No, nothing could have kept me away. Here, look— I have brought you something."

He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small, flat package, which he pressed into her hand.

With trembling hands, she opened it, and a large, ornate key fell into her lap.

"Colin?"

A bashful smile broke over his face. "I have found us a little house," he said. "It is not terribly far outside London— in fact, it is between here and my family seat at Aubrey Hall. I rode down to see it last week, and I think it will perfectly suit our needs."

She gaped at him. A house? She had hoped for it, but she could not say that she had truly believed that it would happen.

"Pen?" Colin said. His voice was uncertain, and Penelope could not abide another moment of his distress. 

She smiled at him and took his hand in hers. "Will you tell me about it?"

"Of course— our bedchamber is quite large; it is bright and airy and overlooks a lovely brook that runs by the house. There are several other bedchambers, and there is a fairly large nursery."

The mention of a nursery was unexpected; of course, many gentlemen had children with their mistresses, but she had never heard of those children being planned. She supposed she ought to discourage such a thing, but the idea of bearing Colin's children— of having little babies who were a perfect combination of the two of them— filled her with a sweet sort of longing.

She could not allow herself to become too caught up in the idea of the nursery, for Colin was still describing the house. They would share a study, it seemed, but there was a separate library, and he had already stocked it with a number of books, though he had left many shelves open so that they might both add to their collection. 

"Colin— oh! You are so thoughtful. I cannot wait to see it; it sounds lovely."

He aimed a crooked smile at her, and her stomach fluttered. Colin wished to share a home with her. He wished to share children and a life with her, and it was all more than she could have anticipated. 

She smiled back at him, and he slipped from the bed and went to his knees on the floor. He fumbled in his pocket— 

"Colin, what are you—"

"Penelope," he said, pulling out a little round box. He flicked it open; there, nestled on a velvet cushion, was a ring.

"Oh!" she cried, her hand flying to her mouth. "Oh— I had thought—"

"Yes?" His response was playful, teasing; he could not know what this was doing to her.

"I love the ring. It is only— I had thought that gentlemen more typically gave their mistresses necklaces or bracelets."

"Mistress?" he cried. "No! Penelope, I mean to marry you!"