Penelope was here, which felt strange after seeing her absolutely everywhere, as if he'd called her to him. But she must be real. Why else would he be seeing her mother and Felicity behind her? He'd never seen them in the paintings... Actually, that wasn't true. He was sure he once saw a dragon with shrewd eyes that put him immediately in mind of Mrs. Featherington.

He saw those eyes now, looking him up and down. "Why, Mr. Bridgerton! We did not expect to find you here!" She actually sounded genuinely surprised, also far too happy about the prospect.

He glanced at Penelope, wondering if she'd told her mother that he'd proposed. He'd never thought she would, but why else would her mother be staring at him like a cat who'd got the cream? He smiled now, his eyes sliding to Pen. There was no way she'd have told her mother unless she meant to accept. He knew enough of the woman's penchant for marrying off her daughters to know...

"How fortuitous to know you appreciate art, as does my Felicity." Mrs. Featherington drew Felicity from behind her, practically shoving her at him.

"Ah, well..." So Penelope had not told her mother, not if she was pushing Felicity before him. It wasn't as if Mrs. Featherington hadn't tried it before. Though he quite liked Felicity, as much as anyone could like a disciple of Hyacinth and an actual child, he had no interest in courting her and he was quite sure she felt the same.

"My dear Felicity also has a great love of art," Portia Featherington cooed, "but I'm sure she doesn't know nearly as much as you on the subject."

Felicity scoffed at that from her place in front of her mother. Penelope seemed to be holding in a laugh.

Colin raised a brow at her before he turned to Felicity. "I assure you, that cannot be true." He gave Felicity an apologetic look. "I am certain you know vastly more than I, Miss Felicity."

"Oh, but you are being humble! Surely, we can use your knowledge to better appreciate these classics," Portia said, glancing around, not quite hiding her lack of appreciation in the twist of her mouth.

"You know, you must be confusing me with my brother... Benedict," Colin finished loudly, practically on a shout as he glanced about for rescue. "He is the artist in the family and knows much more than I could ever hope to learn."

Benedict was suddenly behind him. "Praise? From a member of my family?" He moved to Colin's side with a questioning glance.

Colin gave him a pleading glance in return and a very tiny nod to Penelope. "Benedict would be a much better guide. He's the one who dragged this art novice you see before you here. I barely know a Ruben from a... a Rembrandt."

Benedict laughed, squeezing him on the shoulder, as if to say he would suffer this for him. "My poor brother is right. Even in his travels, he's not managed to become the art scholar. And how lovely to see you, Mrs. Featherington, Miss Featherington, Miss Felicity," he said, nodding at each in turn.

"Yes, quite charmed," Portia Featherington said curtly, then turned to Colin. "But now that I think upon it, I've heard so little about your travels and—"

"Oh, but Mama!" Felicity clapped her hands. "Mr. Benedict Bridgerton is quite famous among artists and he should surely give us an expert tour!"

"You are too kind, Miss Felicity," Ben said, a hand to his chest as, Colin noted, he and Felicity shared a look and a slight nod. "I don't claim to be an expert, but let me see..." He glanced around, tapping his chin. "There are the works out here, but there are also Ruben's wooden panels in the back room. They are delicate and don't often travel, so this is a rare treat!"

Mrs. Featherington looked less than pleased. "But, surely—"

"Wood panels?" Felicity clapped her hands as if this was the most delightful thing she had ever heard. Funny, that. "Why, I had no idea this exhibit contained Rubens' panel work. I've heard of them, but never seen them." It was almost as if she, like Ben, knew he wanted Penelope alone. "Oh, Mr. Bridgerton," she said, turning to Benedict so there was no mistake. "Won't you please show us the panels first?"

"Gladly." Benedict took Felicity's arm, then Mrs. Featherington's with the other. "So the first thing you must know about painting on wood is that it is not as easily..."

Portia glanced back over her shoulder, opening her mouth several times, but no words seemed to come.

Colin had the same problem, staring at Penelope as they left. He wanted her alone, or as alone as they could be in a large, crowded gallery, yet he felt at a loss as to what to say now. He even felt strange looking at her now. Thus far, he'd been operating under the assumption that either Penelope had changed or he had in this past year, which explained these new feelings, but now... God, he'd been leering at her for years... at least in the guise of countless voluptuous painted ladies with red hair.

He tore his eyes away from her now, gesturing awkwardly around. "Should I give you the tour? It's not as good as Ben's but—"

"Please do." She held out her arm and he pulled it through his as she said softly, "I'd been hoping to speak with you tomorrow, but today will do."

"I was hoping for the same thing after this morning," he whispered as they stopped before the first painting. "The way I bombarded you was—"

"No, it was me that was rude and far too quick to anger," she protested. "I'm not usually so—"

"Why wouldn't you be angry? I was a beast," he said, turning to study her. "I thought, somehow, if I were forceful, you'd know that—"

"And I was no less beastly in return," she insisted, turning to glance at him, then away. "I felt awful when you left."

"You? I felt like the worst sort of boor when I left."

"Can we not leave it behind us and say neither of us were at our best?"

"I still say I was worse, but let's not argue anymore. It is best left in the past. I shall not repeat such behavior."

"I'm so glad we agree," she said as they moved on to the next painting. "We can now go on as friends, as if all this never happened."

He stilled. "What? I never agreed to that."

She turned back to him. "But you said—"

"I said I didn't want to argue, not that I'd changed my mind about marrying you." Did she truly think he would give up?

"Colin..."

"But yes," he said before she could muster up whatever argument she would use to talk circles around him again. "I would very much like an end to the fighting. It has occurred to me that forcefulness is not effective with the fairer sex," he repeated Benedict's words, not adding that he'd also said there were much better ways to entice a woman. Ben's advice was becoming more and more tempting, the more he stared at her decolletage. "I shall have to find other ways to... convince you," Colin said, carefully not using "entice," though it certainly was more apt to Benedict's advice.

I m talking about stoking her desire... I'd wager she's never had a dishonorable offer in her life... She needs to know that you want to marry her for more than protecting her honor... she needs to be in no doubt that you want her... Also, it wouldn't hurt if you manage to get your shirt off. Trust me...

Obviously, none of that helped here and now, at a crowded art exhibition, and he rather suspected there were no easy excuses to get his shirt off, wherever he might be. But expressing his want for her... Well, that was quite easy. No, not just easy. It was impossible not to do. And, though it had been some time since he'd flirted with a young lady of her pedigree, he was quite skilled in the art.

"I should rightly point out that your efforts to convince me, in light of my refusal, are what led to us fighting in the first place," Penelope said stiffly.

He was not discouraged. "Ah, but there I was trying to argue, not convince, and you are obviously my superior in that exercise. So I shall not attempt to continue it. I shall instead assure you of my admiration of you and my desire," here he paused, drawing in a breath, noting that she did as well, "that we shall come to an understanding before long."

Penelope shook her head, silent, obviously at a loss after what he'd said.

Good.

They moved on the the next work, Penelope staring ahead of her, still dumbfounded, Colin staring at her. He'd seen the paintings. He'd rather stare at the real article. "I do like that dress on you. Did I say so this morning?"

"No, I don't think you did, but there's no need to—"

"The blue of it brings out your eyes in a startling way. I'd meant to note that before. But that is not the only thing it brings out." Standing beside her now — with the advantage of his height — that dress was even more entrancing. Even now, he could see her breaths coming fast, stirring the flesh above her neckline in ways that made his hands itch.

"For you to say such a thing," she huffed, removing her arm from his, "in a public place—"

"I said nothing untoward," he chuckled.

She moved to the next work. "It's not what you said, it's what you implied."

He followed of course, standing behind her, but leaning in, grinning. "And what did I imply?"

"You know very well—"

"Yes, but I'd love to hear you say it."

"Then I shall not give you the satisfaction," she said, quite primly as she moved onto the next.

"Oh, Penelope." Colin laughed darkly as he followed, "this conversation is giving me nothing close to satisfaction. Believe me," he said, and he meant it, letting his eyes run almost mournfully over her decolletage. Maybe teasing her was the wrong tack to take, as it was torturing him.

He supposed he might have survived this before, but after the carriage incident, when she'd been laid out before him like a delectable buffet, he'd seen too much to go back to pretending.

He'd been blind... until he'd seen.

Still, he had to give himself some credit. It wasn't as if he'd never noticed her breasts. He was a red-blooded man, after all. He was also quite a bit taller than her and, when they danced, he'd always had a spectacular view waiting for him if he just glanced down, which was why he tried not to do it, quite valiantly. Still, his eyes had dipped downward more than once... per dance, even as often as he told them not to. But he always quickly pulled them upward again out of respect.

He was surely mired in deep disrespect now. But he was finding it impossible to look away now that he knew what her nipples looked like. He'd yet to see her breasts fully bare, but he'd had them in his hands, and his mouth. How in hell was he to pretend her breasts were strangers to him now? How was he to pretend he had no urge to cup them, squeeze them, gladly put his head between them and let them smother him?

"Colin?"

"Hmm?"

"Could you please put your eyes somewhere else?" Penelope was twisting some papers in her hand, just below her bosom.

He was startled to find he was awfully close to her. "I was simply looking at your pamphlet." He took it from her hands. "I must have neglected to collect one. Yes, this painting from his... er... oils period." He leaned in, opening it up, leaning over her shoulder, pretending to read. "It's hard to look elsewhere, you know, with such a tempting display."

"Oh, piffle!" She pushed the pamphlet away, moving onto the next work. "I refuse to believe you suddenly find me so alluring after all these years—"

"Believe what you like. It doesn't negate my torture." Still, he really needed to stop thinking about her breasts as problems were arising, problems that had him following her closely to that next painting, thinking he might need to march her out of here, covering his front, yet he couldn't help telling her... "You know what I realized upon seeing these works? I'd seen them in Antwerp and was struck dumb at certain paintings. Those paintings all happened to have one thing in common."

"Oh? Well, I didn't expect an art lesson from you, but feel free—"

"They all had red hair and... generous figures. Till this day, I never realized why they entranced me so. Then I realized. They were all you."

"I know what you're about," Penelope was saying. Still, she blushed. He could see it, even as she dipped her head and moved onto the next work. "You now think to flatter me into marrying you, as if I am some naive girl who's head can be turned by—"

"I swear upon all I hold dear that I am in earnest. And I am under no delusion that you are naive, Lady Whistledown," he whispered the last into her ear, reminding himself that there were higher stakes than just his unsatisfied lust.

She stiffened before him. "Yes, now we come to it again. The true reason you think we must marry. You think I need your protection. If I am found out—"

"When," he corrected.

"Very well. Let's pretend it's as you say. When I am found out." Penelope moved onto the next work, calm as she pleased. "I would be a pariah, yes. Perhaps I would be ruined, rendered unmarriageable, a spinster, permanently on the shelf," she said, turning to face him, "but you are forgetting that all of that has already happened, only with time."

"What? That's not true."

"Isn't it? What prospects do I have that would be spoiled?"

She was doing it again. She was talking her little rings around him. Wasn't he supposed to be teasing her, tempting her? How had they got here again? He really should stop getting into arguments with her. It was a losing game.

Yet he couldn't help it...

"And what about when you are given the cut direct all over town," he tried. "What about when you are no longer invited to parties or—"

"With Whistledown at an end, those parties are much less tempting to me." Penelope shrugged. "I have no reason to hover about on the fringes now, listening for morsels of gossip from those who've been ignoring me all along, or perhaps waiting for a Bridgerton brother to be kind enough to ask me to dance or—"

"Damn it, Penelope," he hissed. "It's not out of—"

"I wish you would stop denying it." She turned away, moving to the next painting. "It's very kind of your mother, and of all of you. But there's no reason for me to be displayed on the dance floor anymore, parading about for suitors at my age, anyhow."

"Ah, yes. Your advanced age. Should you be fitted for a wheelchair or will a simple cane do?" Colin huffed. "And I'll have you know that, while my mother might have prodded me to dance in those early days, you were always one of several suggestions, but I always chose you as the least objectionable."

"The least objectionable?" She let out a laugh. "My, what honeyed words. You are certainly looking to turn my head today."

"You know very well I mean it in the nicest—"

"Oh, Colin, I'm certain you do," she sighed. "But I am a woman grown and have long since accepted my lot in life. I have no need to be flattered, nor protected. And, truly, there's no loss of reputation where there is none to lose. I am inconsequential by the standards of The Ton, and was long before this."

He stilled behind her now, fairly growling, "What about that very inconsequential matter of your honor?"

"I told you, my honor is perfectly intact," she hissed. "No one saw us. No one knows. And I am holding you to nothing!"

"And what of my—"

"Not so loud," she said, poking subtly at him behind her with an elbow.

"Blast!" He drew up beside her and took that elbow, hooking her arm through his. He'd spotted a door at the far side of the room. He knew not where it led, whether it be the gardens or a storage room, but it had to be a better venue than this.

"Where are you taking me?" she hissed, though he noted she didn't pull away.

"Somewhere we don't have to keep whispering," he said, smiling merrily, strolling along as if escorting her to the refreshment table or the retiring room... Once they'd approached the door, he belatedly wondered if it was the retiring room, but he'd already started opening it by then and, as there were no outraged shrieks, it seemed they were safe enough.

It seemed to be some sort of exhibition room, with some red-curtained alcove at the front and chairs all in a row and all, blessedly, empty. He pulled her in before pushing the door closed... with her against it. He had some notion he might be crowding her and should certainly step back, but then she glanced up at him and breathed his name...

"Colin!"

At that strange blend of shock and delight in her voice, he certainly didn't wish to move even an inch away. But he also didn't allow himself to be put off the subject, either. "What of my honor, Penelope?" he demanded. "I told you before that I would never behave as I did, with you, without offering marriage. And I am a man of my word."

"Then what of my behavior? Really, Colin!" She rolled her eyes, obviously quite finished with her initial shock... and delight, it seemed. "I was not some innocent lamb besmirched by the touch of your lips. And I was just as much to blame, possibly more so, considering I started this entire debacle with my request the day before, which—"

"Oh, so it's a debacle now?"

"It's certainly turning into one. And it needn't because simply kissing is not a valid reason for a couple to be forced into matrimony."

He kept his hands against the door on either side of her, though they were itching to take her by the shoulders and... he didn't know precisely what? Shake some sense into her?

Perhaps. It wouldn't be the first time he was tempted to do so in the last day or so. But he'd also been tempted to do quite a few other things and those were fast eclipsing the notion of shaking her, the more her cheeks reddened and her considerable bosom heaved.

"We did more than simply kiss, Pen," he said softly, with a significant glance at said bosom.

Her face reddened further. "I am well aware that...that other things might have happened." Her eyes were wide, her lips were parted and, he could swear, drawing nearer to his. "But those acts are still really just... just kissing in... in different places," she finished, her words no more than a whisper of breath against his lips.

"And touching," he added, his hands flexing slightly against the door. "We did a lot of that, too." He wouldn't mind doing more of it now. Maybe he was done arguing with her. She was far too good at it. It would be much more effective to use his own skills. He'd nearly forgot he had any, what with the way she'd turned his entire world upside down. But it was high time he dusted them off.

"Yes, I remember," she breathed, practically panted. "I liked it all much more than I thought possible."

"Of course you did, you shameless little vixen," he tutted. "You, of all people, should know that ladies have been ruined for far less," he said heatedly. "Nothing a wedding won't correct," he whispered, leaning in just a little, waiting for her to surrender, waiting for her to meet his lips.

She did not. In fact, suddenly, she was pushing against his chest, her eyes narrowed. "And is that what I am in your eyes? Ruined?"

He stepped back quickly. "God, no! That's not what I—"

"I did not consider myself sullied by... by what we did. But if you now think of me as... as damaged goods—"

He put up his hands. Damn it. He'd put his foot in it again! "I don't. I swear. I don't." He backed away further.

She bore down on him. "Because I've lived in the world long enough to to have my own opinions against this notion of enforced female purity." She poked him in the chest now. "And I shall have you know that I enjoyed myself thoroughly and refuse to regret it, so you can put away your judgmental—"

"Good God, Penelope! I'm not judging you for enjoying our indiscretions. I'm glad — ecstatic, even! — that you did. It bodes well for our marriage if—"

"What marriage?" She moved around him now, pacing toward the front.

He turned to face her. "The one you keep rejecting," he said, sullen now.

"Because you keep persisting!" She whirled on him, arms flying about as she spoke... or, more rightly, shouted. "I've told you time and again that I have no demands that you right some wrong against me. Should I speak plainer or do you finally understand?"

Yes, he understood now. He understood that he'd completely lost control of this conversation and he needed to put it right again. And he knew how. One of the less infuriating things she'd said begged to be answered. "You actually didn't, you know."

"Didn't what?" she demanded, her eyes were blazing, her cheeks were red with anger and her bosom was heaving significantly harder with outrage. He'd need to be cautious with his approach.

"Enjoy yourself. Thoroughly," he added significantly, hoping she'd at least be more curious than outraged.

It seemed to work, as she tilted her head. "What does that mean?"

"It means that, if the carriage had not stopped," he said, moving toward her slowly, carefully, "you would have enjoyed yourself thoroughly, but alas..." He stilled before her, sighing.

She stiffened, clearing her throat. "Then... then we should grateful things ended where they did before—"

"Before you cried out in ecstasy?" He took another step toward her. "Oh, Penelope. If you knew how ecstasy truly felt, you would not say such things."

She was the one backing up now. "I certainly would," she said breathlessly. "I have seen many unhappy marriages borne from momentary indiscretions. And it is really awful for all involved. Perfectly nice young men have been forced to live the rest of their days with shrewish girls who just happened to get them alone or, worse, innocent young girls forced to marry beastly old lechers or drunks and we shall not—"

"But you're not a shrew." He kept moving toward her as she kept stepping back. She was nearly to that curtained alcove and, though he hadn't planned this, she was falling right into his trap. "And I'm not old or drunk." He looked her up and down. "Though I will say I have some lecherous tendencies when it comes to you."

She let out a nervous laugh, her face flushing — and not with anger, he'd wager. "I'm not talking about us, but about the principal of the thing, which is that... that..." She took another step...

As did he, noting with satisfaction that she was nearly out of steps. "Yes?" he prodded.

"What I mean is that... that no one saw us."

"Yes. You keep saying that. But I'm not sure how true that is as your butler—"

"Briarly is very discreet."

"Good thing for us, I suppose," he said with relish. "We certainly weren't."

"Yes, but none of the indiscretions we indulged in would result in a child." She drew up against the curtain now, and seemed to try to step back again, but came up against the step to the alcove as well. She was well and truly trapped, yet she kept arguing. "To two reasonable people, such indiscretions need not result in marriage."

"Of course not," he agreed, smiling as he stepped up to her.

Her eyes widened. "You agree?"

"Of course I do." He reached for the curtain now, sliding it aside. "If everything up to those child-bearing indiscretions is all well and good, then I suppose it doesn't matter if I do this." He untied her bonnet ribbons, then knocked it to the floor before he gripped her waist firmly, picking her up and placing her on the dais.

Her eyes widened as they met his, and straight on for a change. "You shouldn't be lifting me. I'm too heavy for—"

"And yet I just did," he murmured. "It makes it much easier to..." He didn't finish. He let his lips do that, fitting them to hers over and over, every angle, every measure of intensity explored. She softened against him, to his relief.

It looks like he had finally got to the part where he sweetened her up. And it was much better than arguing.

******************

Penelope had always been certain that putting up with her family without having a tantrum all these years would give her, if not sainthood, at least a heavenly seat. But now she was truly being tested. This was Colin Bridgerton and, even as much as she told herself he no longer held attraction for her, the last days had erased all that.

Even in a public place, every whisper in her ear, every touch, even the most innocuous ones, set her aflame. Why wouldn't he stop? And why didn't she want him to? His hands gripping her hips, his lips so gently adhering to her own... Yes, that was why. It would be very nice if she could just enjoy his closeness, his gripping hands, his drugging kisses... but without this marriage nonsense.

She would not allow him to throw his life away like this, throw away his own chance at true love, because of some misguided notions about her virtue. He might claim he desired her, might even act as if he did, but it was the same as those dances. It was duty. It was pity. It was not grounds for marriage, not for her or for him. Yet he was still persisting...

She really should pull away.

In a few more moments.

It was just so lovely, the way he held her against him, especially when his arms tightened around her when she let out a moan. She couldn't help it, what with the way his tongue softly slid along the seam of her lips, begging entry.

She granted it, of course. She really shouldn't, but the way his tongue delved into her mouth, gently coaxing her own, was too much to be borne. She defied anyone to resist such a thing, the way his lips consumed her own for what was either a few seconds or a few minutes, possibly hours. She couldn't tell. Time was now meaningless.

That was bad enough without him sliding his lips along the side of her jaw to just under her ear, leaving a hot trail of kisses down to her neck, sucking gently at the place where her heartbeat thudded under her skin. She dearly wished he'd have mercy on her... that or never stop this assault on her senses.

She let out a whimper as his teeth grazed her skin, at which he let out a growl against her neck that shook her to her core before his lips left her, leaving her to moan in protest, but only for a moment, only until she felt his hands sliding into her bodice, warm and firm. When next she felt his lips, they were on her nipple.

"Colin!" she shouted, glancing around the empty room in mild panic, despite the delicious sensations coursing through her.

"Shhhh. Not so loud," he murmured as he pulled her tighter against him, continuing his ministrations. "Somebody might hear."

"Somebody might also very well see us!" she hissed.

He lifted his head, licking his swollen lips. "You're quite right. Anyone could walk in," he breathed, looking intrigued at the idea. Still, he stepped up onto the dais, nudging her backward.

"Yes," she said emphatically, but she didn't resist. In fact, she stepped deeper into the alcove. "What if... if the crowds come in to see the display and we are the display?"

"That won't happen, at least not today." Her eyes widened further as he gripped her again, walking them toward the wall, giving him a curious look. "There's nothing on the podium and nothing on the wall," he said teasingly, "at least not yet." He gently pushed her against the left wall before he turned and closed the curtains behind them. "There." He returned to press himself against her again. "We can enjoy ourselves — thoroughly now."

The delicious pressure of his body pressing into hers with the wall at her back was almost too much for her. She nearly forgot to ask... "But how would we enjoy ourselves without... well..." She gasped as his lips skimmed her bodice. "Surely we cannot commit the act here and now."

He breathed out a laugh against her skin. "Oh, Pen. You've got a lot to learn. Do you really think the only way to achieve enjoyment is the act itself?"

"Well, I..." She was panting now, as his lips skimmed just along the lace at her bodice, but didn't delve below. "I always assumed that the act being enjoyable — for men, that is and, I suppose, some women — was so people would want to create babies."

He lifted his head, sliding his hand down her side, then her hip. "Aye, that is the purpose, but we can find enjoyment without the act. And if a woman doesn't enjoy herself, that is entirely the man's fault," he said, now kneeling before her, his hand sliding from her ankle to her calf. "I would never let that happen."

"Surely, we shouldn't—" She cut herself off with a gasp as his hand moved past her knee, then her garter, sliding up the inside of her thigh. By the time his fingers reached her alarmingly wet center, she couldn't remember why she'd objected in the first place.

He straightened, looming over her now, her dress bunched up over his arm as his fingers did something that made her entire body jolt. "Yes," he breathed, capturing her lips again before whispering against them, "I want you to feel it."

She was too overcome to say so but, whatever it was, she was certainly feeling it. His fingers, at first searching, were now circling some part of her that made her cry out, no longer capable of controlling herself.

He swallowed her cry with his lips, only drawing back to whisper, "Yes. That's it, Pen. Let it happen," before devouring her lips again, his other hand dipping into her bodice and pulling out her breast.

She still wasn't certain what it was, but something was definitely happening. Her hands were gripping his lapels so hard she feared she might rip them right off. She couldn't keep her hips still. Her heart seemed to be beating all over her body. She was unable to catch her breath. Her skin felt blazing hot just everywhere. If not for those sharp yet sweet tingles emanating from between her legs, she might think she needed to see a doctor.

She sucked in a breath, which came back as a low moan into his mouth, at which his fingers worked her faster and harder. It was a good thing his lips were still on hers as she shouted then, the sound muffled, yet still jarring. She could not help it. So intense was the pleasure. It burst inside her, then seemed to linger, radiating throughout her limbs until those very limbs failed her. Her arms fell limply from him as her legs ceased to hold her up.

Her lips slid from his and she herself started sliding down the wall.

"Whoa, there." Colin hastily removed his hand from under her dress and the other from her breast, gripping her waist and pulling her upright. "Can't have you slipping down there... not yet at least," he finished with a chuckle.

"I don't know what that means," she said hazily, leaning her head against his chest.

He chuckled again, then murmured against her hair. "You'll learn, I hope. Perhaps not today, though." He drew back and lifted her chin. "You've done quite enough for today, you naughty girl," he finished against her lips.

She let out a weak giggle, pulling back slightly. She quite agreed that enough had happened today. She felt wrung out and weak as a kitten, but as for the rest... "If anything, you're the naughtier one. I never thought such a thing was done or that such feelings were possible."

"Truly? You never heard any gossip about that?"

"Really, most of the gossip I hear about... er... marital relations has been less than favorable toward the act."

"Yes, well most men are fools."

"Are you attempting to exclude yourself from that accusation?"

"Never," he said, leaning down to kiss her jaw. "I'm definitely a fool for you."

She shivered as he reached her neck, not wanting to address what he'd just said. If she wasn't careful, she might begin to believe he truly wanted to marry her. "Then again," she said shakily, "so many women think those who enjoy it are harlots, so perhaps those women hold their tongues."

"Mmm... Please never hold your tongue with me." He nibbled at her earlobe. "And you've never touched yourself there?"

"Not outside of bathing."

He sighed against her neck. "I would dearly love," he kissed lower, "to aid you in the bath," then lower still, "any time you wish," he finished, his lips on her breast again.

She felt her knees weakening again. "I might enjoy that, too." She couldn't believe she was saying such a thing. "What have you done to me?" She felt herself sliding down again.

He caught her with one arm strongly hooked around her waist, nearly pulling her off her feet before his lips surrounded her nipple.

She whimpered, gripping his upper arms to steady herself, then squeezing, which sent a lazy sort of tingle through her. "How did you get so strong? You keep picking me up."

He laughed against her. "You weigh nothing to me. I could toss you over my shoulder right now and take you home."

"Oh, God! Please don't do that. I beg you."

Penelope and Colin both stiffened, as the voice was coming from outside the curtain.

*****************

Thank you all for your patience on this. All this time, I had been trying to work on my original romance while finishing a Yuletide exchange fic (You Must Remember This -- catch it if you like amnesia and awkward virgins) and I thought it would be much quicker. Now that I realize it will not, I am changing the update plan. 

YMRT still will be on the front burner, but the second burner will be shared between this and my more high-stakes original romance (it's here on Wattpad BTW, you can read it here: https://www.wattpad.com/story/212850290-the-lady-in-disguise), and the wait will be much shorter.

It will be YMRT, this fic, YMRT, The Lady in Disguise, YMRT, this fic... and so on until one of them is done!

So that's the plan. Hope to see you with me along the way!