"Who's there?" Colin called out, deepening his voice and hoping it sounded intimidating, spreading his coat over Penelope in case the cur on the other side opened the curtain. He would not have Penelope gawked at... by anyone but him, at least.

"Who do you think?" the other voice practically sneered.

"Ben," he growled, partially relieved, but also annoyed. "How long have you been out there?"

"Not long. I started out on the other side of the room, covering my ears and waiting as long as I could for you two to be done with it, but apparently that wasn't to happen unless I made myself known." Colin could hear the wince in his voice as he went on. "Please tell me you are not undressed."

"Of course not," Colin said, deciding it was half-true, as he frantically tried to put Penelope's breasts back into her bodice. It felt more difficult than the reverse, perhaps because he didn't truly want to hide them away again. "But don't come in here! Miss Featherington was feeling faint and I was... assisting her."

Penelope let out a slight giggle at that and batted his hands away, setting her dress to rights.

Colin sighed at the loss. Once they were married, he'd insist she spend most of the day and night with her chest completely uncovered, at least for the first week... or six. He would do the same, of course, if she liked. He briefly remembered Ben's advice about finding a way to get his shirt off. Shame that hadn't happened here. He'd love to know if she admired his chest even half as much as he admired hers.

"Yes. A likely tale," Ben scoffed. "Her mother is looking for her. You should both thank your lucky stars I found you first."

Penelope's smile dropped at that and she rushed past him to the curtain, yanking it open. "Is she upset? What did she say?"

"Don't worry too much." Benedict gave her a slight smile and bent to scoop up her discarded bonnet. "Apparently Rubens' work is far too scandalous for her eyes. She wishes to go to Gunter's where everyone has their clothes on."

"Gunter's actually sounds quite nice," Colin said. "It's very hot today. Nothing a lemon ice won't—"

"Absolutely not," Ben cut in. "I think you've had enough treats for today."

Colin tried to laugh, but it came out like a weak wheeze. "Listen, what you heard was—"

"Much more than I wished," Ben said peevishly. "I really hoped it wasn't," he gestured between them, "this." He turned to Penelope, brushing off her bonnet and handing it to her. "I'd like to apologize for my brother's boorish behavior."

Penelope flushed, taking with her bonnet. "Mr. Bridgerton was actually quite... gallant in his aid to me."

"Was he, now?" Benedict stared him down. "I apologize nonetheless. He knows much better than to abscond to empty rooms with unmarried ladies."

Colin glared at him. "You're the one that said to—"

"I gently advised you to make her feel desirable," Ben said, glaring right back at him, "not to maul her in public!"

"Advised?" Then Penelope was glaring at him, too, and not Ben who'd opened his gigantic mouth.

It didn't even matter that he'd opened his own first, not when she was this angry.

"What does he mean by advised?" Penelope demanded. "Why would your brother or anyone have any advice to give on this? Why would you ask?"

Colin stared at the floor. "I only asked for some guidance on how to contend with you — you and your stubbornness," he finished, lifting his chin.

Penelope gasped. "You are unbelievable!"

"Nice to hear you say it," Colin said, holding her stare. "Of course, I think I received that message more clearly a few moments ago."

"You know very well that I don't mean it as a compliment," she seethed, "and don't you dare try to be... seductive with me now."

"Yes, please don't," Benedict groaned.

"You've been running about telling people our private business," Penelope went on. "If word got out, we would be forced to marry! Is that what you want?"

"I think I've made it perfectly clear that is what I want... apart from the... forcing bits," Colin finished on a mumble. "And are you saying you didn't ask for any advice of your own? Because I noted that Felicity seemed very helpful about being sure we were left alone."

"I... I didn't ask Felicity for advice. I didn't even tell her," Penelope reddened — even further, "at least not on purpose."

"Aha!"

"She dragged it out of me through... through trickery," Penelope said haltingly. "And the only reason she suspected anything was because of your ostentatious bouquet and your note and—"

"And who is Felicity's favorite friend?" Colin tapped his chin. "Benedict? Care to guess—"

Benedict put up his hands. "I am not helping you anymore. In fact, why don't we—"

"One of the most notorious gossips and busybodies in all of London — Hyacinth!" Colin pointed at Penelope.

"That's a fine way to talk of your own sister," Penelope countered.

"He's not wrong, though," Benedict put in with a sigh.

"Anyhow, Felicity promised not to say a word," Penelope added.

"And you believe that?" Colin huffed. "Hyacinth will get it out of her. At least Anthony is discreet!"

Penelope paled then. "Anthony?"

Colin felt his face drain of color as well. "I... I meant Benedict." He laughed slightly. "Damned Bridgertons. All look so much alike that even we sometimes get confused about—"

"Anthony knows, too?" Penelope threw up her hands, her bonnet flying wildly from the string and nearly hitting him in the chin. "How many people have you told?"

"Look, it's just like you with Felicity. They... they dragged it out of me! Didn't you, Ben?" He turned pleading eyes to his brother.

"The only thing I will say on the subject is that I shall not be telling anyone." Benedict turned to Penelope. "I swear it. But the pair of you caterwauling in here will likely alert half The Ton."

"I hadn't thought..." Penelope stared down at her hands — now wringing her bonnet strings. "I'm very sorry for my outbursts."

Colin sighed. "I'm glad to hear you—"

"I wasn't talking to you," she said, not even sparing Colin a glance as she marched to the door.

Benedict started after her, then turned back. "Colin?"

"I'd rather not," Colin grumbled. "I need to... stay a moment."

"Aye, I'd bet," Ben said with a roll of his eyes. "That's your own doing." Benedict joined her and held out his arm. "Miss Featherington, allow me to escort you to a retiring room where you can refresh yourself."

"Gladly," Penelope said, lifting her chin as she took his brothers arm. "I'd wish you 'good day,' Mr. Bridgerton, but I'd rather not be insincere."

"Well, I'd rather not be... be..." They left before he could even find a thing to finish that with. "...rather not be a henpecked husband before we even marry," he muttered to himself. "And we will marry."

He was even more certain of it now that he'd had a taste. God, he could smell her on his hand even now, sugar and musk, and he wanted more.

Well, obviously, he wanted more. He'd — and quite selflessly, to his mind — seen to her pleasure, but not to his own. He'd never left an encounter such as this so unsatisfied... and yet so sated by the way she responded to him, the way his blood heated to boiling from her adorably inexperienced caresses, the way there was no one else but the two of them for several blissful moments...

Hell, he couldn't get his damned cock to stand down, even after her little temper tantrum... or perhaps because of her little temper tantrum with her flashing eyes and her flushed cheeks and heaving... Had he just thought he'd been sated? No. He would never be sated with her. He'd never have enough. Since that carriage ride or, perhaps, ever since their very first kiss, everything she did made him want more.

And she wanted him, too, damn it! Yes, he might have taken things a bit further than he should have. And Benedict might even be right in his assessment that he'd "mauled her in public." But he couldn't regret it. Everything that happened behind that curtain was raw, ravenous... real!

Desire like this didn't come along every season — or even every century.

He'd never felt this way before, not even with the most skilled courtesans on the continent. He couldn't even picture their faces nor their bodies now. All he saw was her.

This wasn't just an ideal marriage. This was a desirable match — as in filled with desire. She just had to see it, too.

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

Penelope could barely look at Benedict Bridgerton when she came out of the retiring room. Her hair had been hopeless and she certainly lacked Jenny's skills to fix it. She was quite grateful for her bonnet as she could tuck away the worst of it. If her mother had anything to say, she could just blame the heat for her disarray. Perhaps she could blame it for her bright red cheeks as well. She'd splashed her face and neck with cool water, but she could still see the flush remaining, feel the heat lingering, and not the kind that had blazed through her body in those ill-advised moments with Colin, but a mortified flush that might take years to abate.

"You didn't need to wait for me," she murmured, though she took Mr. Bridgerton's arm, all the same.

"Of course I did," Benedict said easily, leading her back into the still-crowded main exhibition room. "Who knows what sort brigands are hanging about in art galleries waiting to accost lone women? I've recently found that I'm even related to one such scoundrel."

Penelope was tempted to laugh, but couldn't quite manage it over her embarrassment. "I can't imagine what you must think of me," she hissed.

"If you think I am judging you, I assure you, I am not. I know quite well what it's like when one's passions get the better of them," he said kindly. "My wife can attest to what a boor I was during our courtship, if it can even be called such a thing."

"You're a man. It's different for you," she scoffed.

"Well, it shouldn't be," he said firmly. "And I assure you that I will tell no one. I didn't see anything anyhow."

Still, Penelope couldn't help feel humiliated at what he must have heard. Her loud moans had surely echoed through the room. She was quite certain she even shouted at least once. It had been hard to help, with all she'd been feeling at the time. She'd felt something close to it in the carriage, and those delicious frissons during their kisses, but never imagined the explosions of pleasure that blazed through her body — nay, her entire being.

"Furthermore, I blame my brother. Little imp was always entirely too persuasive. I can't tell you how many tarts he stole from our cook when he was little only to swindle her out of even more when she took him to task."

Penelope couldn't help a slight smile at the thought. Had it been only a week ago that she'd playfully teased Colin that he'd be able to charm his way out of any punishment? Of course, that was before she'd seen his temper, his willfulness. She dropped her smile, thinking of how he applied that charm to her today. "Yes, he can be very... enticing when he wants to be. What kind of advice did you give your brother," she began, "if you don't mind me asking?"

"Nothing I thought would lead to this," Benedict said hastily, "I assure you."

"Of course not. I wasn't implying—"

"I meant no harm."

"No. I would never think you did, and no harm was done," Penelope said, squeezing his arm, "truly."

"I just thought, what with how obvious his preference for you has always been, he'd do better to show it than not."

"Preference? For me?" Penelope shook her head. "Surely you jest."

"Surely, I don't." Benedict stilled, turning to face her. "Have you ever witnessed Colin pay, to any other young lady, half the attention he does to you?"

"Only because he is so very determined now that he's set his mind on—"

"I'm not talking about now. I'm talking about... well, always."

Penelope shook her head. "I don't know what Colin has told you, but this notion of marriage is something he's only had in his head for days, certainly not always."

"But I'm not speaking of this notion of marriage. I am speaking of his preference for you." he leaned in. "It has been plain to see long before all this. We have all noted it and rather hoped-"

"I assure you, you mistake his intentions," Penelope croke in. "Colin has only been kind to me, as all of you Bridgertons are."

Benedict shook his head. "Can you honestly say that now? His kindness has certainly gone beyond-"

"'Tis no more than some fleeting fancy all tied up in his ridiculous sense of honor," Penelope said. "Everything he does now is in service of that. He's convinced himself that we must marry and, in telling you and — I'm certain now — Lord Bridgerton, he thinks to force my hand." It made her feel hemmed in and she didn't like it one bit.

"Look, I love my brother, but I also know him," Benedict sighed. "I assure you that, in asking our advice, Colin was not engaging in some clever, nefarious plan to compel you to the altar. He's not the type for such machinations, nor for planning at all." He laughed. "I doubt he thinks beyond the next meal, most days. And, in his defense, I did rather drag it out of him. As your sister did to you... or so you say."

"She did!" Penelope insisted, turning to him. "She kept digging at me until, before I knew what was what, I had told her everything!"

"I well believe it." He chuckled. "Any friend of Hy's... Ah, Miss Felicity! We were just talking about you," he said as her sister came into view.

"All good things, I imagine," Felicity said, rushing to them.

"Of course not," Benedict answered.

Felicity laughed. "How very reassuring. Thank you ever so much for the tour and have a lovely afternoon!" Penelope hardly had time to dip a curtsy in Benedict's direction before her sister pulled her away, asking quite slyly, "And where were you, all this time?"

"I was enjoying the exhibition." Really, Penelope had been making an exhibition of herself.

"Ha! A likely tale." She leaned in. "Did he renew his proposals?"

Penelope felt leery of telling Felicity anything further, considering the dressing down she'd given Colin over telling his brothers — though she did console herself that she only told one person to his two — it would make a hypocrite of her to share more.

Luckily, Felicity answered her own questions. "What am I saying? Of course he did. But what else did he do?"

"Nothing. We simply argued a bit and... and... in the end, I stood firm in my refusal," she said, skipping the bit where she'd melted into a puddle and probably couldn't stand if she'd tried.

"What nonsense. Did he drag you off and kiss you anywhere new?" she asked eagerly. "How does kissing in a gallery compare to a carriage or a drawing room?"

"Felicity, this is not something I am willing to discuss at the moment." She shouldn't like to tell her innocent little sister about any of the absolute debauchery of the last hour. "Let alone in the presence of Mama." As they moved outside, Penelope could see their mother at the bottom of the steps, tapping her foot as she awaited the carriage, dabbing at her forehead, and looking quite put out.

Felicity snorted as she opened her parasol. "If you ask me, she should know above anyone." She grasped Penelope's arm and pulled her closer. "If you can believe it, Mama has some ridiculous notion that I should want to marry Colin! Your Colin!"

"He's not my Colin," Penelope grumbled.

"If he isn't, then whose is he? Not mine, I assure you." Felicity shuddered delicately. "He's absolutely ancient!"

"He's not ancient," Penelope said, absurdly moved to defend him. "He is but three and thirty."

"Well, that's far too old for me. I personally wouldn't look at a man over four and twenty, which is why my Geoffrey, at twenty-two, is perfection. If only Mama would stop her nonsense, she'd see so, too. Now as to you and Colin—"

"I told you. There is nothing to me and Colin. Nothing of consequence happened. We simply became lost in the paintings," Penelope lied primly, perhaps gilding the lily a bit with, "I got quite caught up in the colors and the use of light and the strokes... the brush strokes, I mean." More lies... or mostly lies. They had gazed at the paintings a bit, but it was Colin's strokes that had captivated her. Angry as she was, those feelings — those unimaginable sensations — still lingered. She wondered how she was even walking now, her body felt so languid.

"I'd be more likely to believe that if you weren't coloring up a bit, yourself." Felicity snorted. "Are you telling me you didn't allow him any liberties? Your bonnet looks a bit askew if you ask—"

"Mama!" Penelope called out, surreptitiously adjusting her bonnet.

"Penelope," her mother said, thin-lipped, lifting her chin. "A fine time you must have had, lolloping about while we—"

"Oh, Mama! I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting in all this heat." Penelope took Felicity's parasol and held it over her mother, tutting, "I did note that this gallery is especially closed in and it cannot be healthful for those of delicate constitutions. Are you unwell?"

Her mother's scowl lightened to a weak smile. There was nothing that mollified Portia Featherington quite like sympathy for her imagined ailments. "I confess, I feel quite overcome. Such a pounding in my head and I feel weak as babe. It certainly doesn't help that this place, at such prices, provides barely enough refreshments to satisfy..."

Penelope and nodded dutifully as her mother excoriated the gallery... rather than her absent daughter. It was a tactic Penelope perfected through the years. She'd much rather her mother rail against things she had no power to change, so she quite carefully directed her ire in that direction. Usually, she felt quite justified in doing so.

"...and I can't imagine where you'd got off to," she ranted on. "We searched for over five minutes and found no..."

"Ah, look! It's the carriage," Penelope broke in, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Over five minutes. What torture. "Poor Mama. Perhaps we should go straight home so you can rest," she said, bringing the conversation back to her mother's supposed condition. "Gunter's might be awfully crowded."

"No," her mother sighed, fashioning her scowl into a stalwart, long-suffering look. "I am certain that strawberry ice cream shall coat my very dry throat," she said, clearing it delicately. "In fact, I'm certain I shall require more than one to recover."

"Then you shall have it," Penelope said, urging her mother to get in first, certain that all would be forgotten after Gunter's. Her mother was easily distracted after a treat.

Felicity chuckled behind her. "You are very skilled with Mama," she whispered, taking her parasol as she passed, "but I shall not be put off so easily."

Penelope nearly considered insisting on walking, but that would only invite more questions. Perhaps, when they were home, she might suffer from a headache herself.

********

Colin could still feel the ache. He'd relieved himself in the men's retiring room, putting himself behind one of the curtained areas for a bit of privacy. He hadn't planned to, but there was a moment when he was about to wash his hands that he smelled her on his left. It made his arousal, which he'd gone to great pains to tamp down before, return with a vengeance.

It was rather embarrassing, resorting to such a thing in a public place, but he certainly wasn't going to go to his promised supper with his brother in a state of arousal.

Having taken care of that business, things had been fine, but then, in the middle of a very good bowl of minestra maritata, he'd brought his napkin to his mouth only to realize he could smell her on his cuff.

"You're doing it again," Benedict said, sat across from him at their cozy bistro table at The Piazza.

Colin put his hand and his napkin in his lap. "Doing what? I wasn't doing anything." Except using his napkin after every bite so he could sniff at her scent on him like a degenerate.

"Precisely. You've not talked for nearly half an hour."

Colin sat up straighter. "Very well. I shall make it up to you with a very amusing anecdote. You see, nearly twenty years ago, The Drury Lane Theatre was burning due to some fire left unattended and Richard Brinsley Sheridan, the owner and quite the playwright himself, sat in this very coffeehouse, perhaps at this very table for all we know, and drank. A Man may surely be allowed, he said, to take—"

"—to take a glass of wine by his own fireside," Benedict finished for him. "You told me that one when we sat down."

"Did I?" Colin laughed. "Must have forgot."

"You forgot to finish your soup, too. Usually, supper out with you means listening to your rhapsodic thoughts on every dish. But here you are, silent, having asked for only one basket of bread," Benedict scoffed. "I'm surprised you remembered to order our supper."

"Well, I did. And you'll find everything to your liking."

"You are the expert," Benedict allowed. "Still, you are not yourself. It does help a little, knowing the reason for your odd behavior now, but it still remains that you are very poor company. Thank heavens the food is good." Benedict said, nodding his approval as their plates of tagliatelle carbonara were set down.

"This is all down to her," Colin hissed urgently, once the waiter had left. "I barely know myself anymore. This is what she's done to me!"

"I notice you aren't taking into account what you did to her."

"You said you didn't want to know about that," Colin pointed out.

"I still don't. Except to say that you took my very tame advice much too far."

"You did not specifically say I shouldn't—"

"I think I did. In fact, I corrected you when you mistakenly believed I had suggested seducing her."

"No. You said 'not all the way,' and I clearly didn't—"

"You got closer than you should have, from what I heard," Benedict hissed, leaning closer. "And forgive me if I didn't specify that you shouldn't be despoiling unmarried young ladies in public places. I thought that was implicit."

"Well, we were... hidden well enough," Colin mumbled.

"Barely," Benedict snorted.

"And she wouldn't be unmarried if I had my way. My intentions remain honorable."

"Yet your actions are-"

"And I've heard your exploits," Colin growled, "or at least enough to know that such public displays are not out of the realm of—"

"Those were dalliances with willing women of a certain sort long before I was a married man. It is not the same as what you've done. And before you defend your actions again, let us look at the result." Benedict sat back, pointing at him. "You are even farther from your goal. Penelope feels manipulated, and quite angry with you."

"Only because I told. Which she also did, so she hasn't a leg to stand on there," Colin had to point out. "She seemed quite pleased with the rest of it before you stumbled in."

"Don't remind me. I heard enough. But now I am to blame? Believe me, once the... glow wore off, she would have given you another refusal. She didn't seem thrilled at being maneuvered into marriage by your seduction."

"Half-seduction," Colin corrected.

Ben rolled his eyes. "Considering how little experience she's had, it's more than enough for her."

Colin felt himself drifting off. She'd actually had no experience at all. He'd been her first kiss, he reminded himself with more than a little satisfaction. He'd been the first to touch her breasts and parts lower. He'd be the first to kiss her all over. He'd be the first to slide into the wetness he'd felt and could still smell. The first and the last. He'd...

Benedict snapped his fingers in front of Colin's face. "No. No more staring off into nothing and licking your damned chops. You did wrong today and that's that. And here I told Penelope you weren't one for crafting nefarious plots."

"Well, it wasn't a plot. It was more of a hope. I thought, if she experienced a little... enjoyment, she might be more amenable to a marriage where I will give her such every night... and morning... some afternoons as well."

"Please! Let's not talk about your planned prurient exploits. You'll put me off the only proper meal I've had in a week." He took a bite and hummed happily. "Thank goodness nothing is pickled here."

"Funny you should say that. The Italians do actually have a nice dish of pickled peppers and it's much tastier than you'd imagine, going by—"

"Tell me about it later," Ben said around a mouthful. "I'm still recovering from Daphne's concoction of pickled herring and pineapple, which I foolishly tried in solidarity with Sophie."

Colin grimaced at the thought. It certainly helped with his arousal. Perhaps, the next time thoughts of Penelope set him off while in company, he'd think of that or the terrible congealed, over-salted stews or rancid porridges he'd be served on the ships when traveling. His meals abroad were usually delightful... on land, that is. Boats were always another story.

Yes, the next time he needed to control himself around Penelope, he would remember the meals in his last week on The Endeavor — a ship that, if it endeavored to do anything, was discomfit its passengers as much as possible.

By the time Ben dropped him home, with some thanks for supper, but even more chidings about his behavior with Penelope, Colin was beginning to resent it. Yes, he'd gone too far, but he couldn't seem to bring himself to regret it, not when this afternoon's delights had proved how decidedly compatible he and Penelope were.

Then again, he had to wonder if that was only because the euphoria had yet to wear off. And he did reflect that thinking of unappetizing meals, horrifying as they were, wasn't a catch-all solution to his lust for Penelope. But he was a grown man and could certainly control himself henceforth. Yet he wondered how well he'd do with that, considering that, more than once on the ride home, he'd manufactured a cough to bring his cuff to his nose to take in the fading, yet still tempting, scent of her.

"...and look, tell her you desire her all you want," Ben was saying, stopping Colin from exiting his carriage — and slowly, as if Colin was unable to absorb things if not spelled-out like he was a simpleton, "but do not show her in places such as—"

"Yes, yes. I know!"

"Really? Because it didn't seem like you knew before and—"

"Goodnight, Ben!" Colin slammed the door closed, then glanced on with some satisfaction as his brother's carriage moved swiftly down the road before he stared at his boots.

God, perhaps he had mucked things up horribly. Perhaps Pen would run away, virtue aflutter, at the sight of him now. From her point of view, he'd tried to berate her into marrying him and, when that didn't work, he tried to seduce her into it, which also didn't work.

He hadn't given up on marrying her. In fact, he was more determined than ever. But was that goal further away now, or closer than ever before?

He glanced up. It was still light out, but in Bloomsbury, after seven, the streets were empty. Those with families were dining with their kin and those without had gone off to the theatre or the odd salon to mix and mingle and drum up more business for their firm or their shoppe. It was a quiet place at night... which was why the carriage in front of his house gave him pause.

It wasn't just any carriage. It carried his family's crest — and not the stripped-down version he used for his own equipage, but the full Bridgerton Crest! There was only one possible explanation...

Dunwoody pulled open the door before her had even reached it, saying breathlessly, "The Viscount and Viscountess Bridgerton are awaiting you in your study, sir."

Colin only nodded and sighed as he handed over his coat.

Anthony had only visited Colin's new residence on his own a few times, when Colin was still kitting the place out, but Kate had not been there yet and his butler was obviously beside himself at having such an illustrious couple to entertain.

"Cook has gone home for the night," Dunwoody went on, "so I took the liberty of providing them a light repast as they insisted they preferred to await your return."

"Very good of you," Colin droned, knowing very well that light repast would likely contain half his larder, considering Dunwoody's history. He'd made the biggest fuss when Colin's mother had looked in on him a few weeks past, as if the Queen herself had deigned to visit. Mother had, of course, found him delightful and declared him "second only to my Wickham in his kind solicitude."

Daphne had yet to visit his townhouse, but God help him when she did. Dunwoody would likely empty the entire larder, then run off to market for more, with a bona fide Duchess in the house.

Colin was obviously not as pleased as Dunwoody. After an afternoon of Benedict — his supposedly even-tempered brother — berating him, he was even less eager to meet Anthony's scolding. Then again, Anthony had no way of knowing what Colin had got himself into today. And Colin had no intention of telling him.

The only other reason he could imagine for his brother, with his wife to boot, missing their own supper to wait on him still had to do with Penelope. It was obvious Anthony had told Kate.

Though Colin had thought this in the realm of possibility, he'd hoped not. Anthony had hinted at things a bit to Ben, he hadn't outright said it, so he thought that was reason to believe he'd be discreet with his wife as well.

So much for that.

When Colin greeted them, after the usual pleasantries were observed, he confirmed that the light repast Dunwoody had laid out could handily serve a party of eight, but he couldn't be too annoyed. Kate might be eating for two once again and Colin always enjoyed having someone about with a healthy and enthusiastic appetite so he didn't feel like the only glutton at family suppers.

As Kate complimented the wallpaper in the foyer — all Mother's doing — Colin filled a plate, his previous supper mostly forgotten. With his best roast beef on display, along with those raspberry jam biscuits Cook hoarded so he didn't eat them all at once, he'd best take advantage.

He let Kate pretend this was all a pleasant little pop-in while Anthony silently fidgeted with Colin's best brandy until Colin could take it no more, turning to his brother. "So I take it you told her?"

Anthony finally found his voice. "She dragged it out of me."

"I did not!" Kate protested. "I simply asked you about your day."

"And I said I didn't want to talk about it," Anthony countered, finishing his drink.

"And I only asked why not."

"But then I said I couldn't talk about it."

"No, you said you shouldn't talk about, but that you were bursting to tell me, and then you... Well, you burst!" Kate turned to Colin, "Really, I barely prodded him before he—"

"I well believe it," Colin sighed. Anthony tended to be the one the family at large tiptoed around. Colin should have known, the minute he had a bit of gossip, it would not be kept close for long. He had little experience at hiding things, particularly from his wife.

Anthony waved his now empty glass about. "Let's not go into the hows and whys of it all. Yes, Kate knows," he finished on a grumble.

"And I couldn't be more pleased," Kate said quickly, "provided you go about things correctly," she added with a glance at her husband.

Anthony rolled his eyes and, Colin noted, helped himself to more brandy. "Apparently, my advice was sorely lacking and Kate thinks she can do better."

"I know I can," Kate said, with an eye-roll of her own before addressing Colin. "You are not presently engaged to Penelope Featherington, are you?"

"Not for lack of trying," Colin grunted.

"I am not surprised, with the advice you were given," she said, spearing her husband with a glance. "I hate to say it, but Anthony presented his version of our courtship in a way that, while not wholly lacking in truth," she amended at his gasp, "was not wholly based in fact." Anthony gasped again, but she waved him off, turning fully to face Colin. "In case there is any confusion on the matter, I do not respond well to being told what to do. And neither would any reasonable woman. Forceful displays of masculinity do quite little for us, if you must know."

"Well, that's not true," Anthony scoffed. "Sometimes you respond quite enthusiastically to—"

"Yes, at the proper time and the proper place," Kate said through gritted teeth, "a place which one doesn't discuss in polite company."

"Colin doesn't count as polite company," Anthony said on a laugh.

"I'm right here, you know," Colin groaned, putting his eyes on his plate. "And I'd rather not know what the pair of you get up to out of polite company."

Kate laughed awkwardly. "That has naught to do with aught."

Anthony snorted, "What does that even mean?"

"If we are not to mince words, then I shall say it outright." Kate turned to Colin. "You have badly misjudged the situation, no thanks to my my husband."

Colin didn't like hearing that, though Anthony's ire was sort of satisfying.

"But it is not too late to set it right," Kate went on.

"How? How now?" he pleaded hopelessly. The way Benedict talked, he'd mucked things up so badly, Pen might avoid the sight of him in fear of her virtue. But neither of them knew that, he reminded himself. Still, Kate might have some insights into the female mind. Yes! He should have gone to a woman first. Yes, women! They were the only ones who could untangle this absolutely impossible knot he'd tied himself into.

Kate approached him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "First, you must imagine what it is like to be Penelope."

Colin shook his head. "You mean stubborn, unyielding, difficult?"

"Yes, you might see her that way now, but Colin... Was she always so?" Kate prodded.

"Well, no. Pen was always the best of all of 'em." Colin frowned, remembering her unguarded laughter, her ready smile whenever he first saw her upon coming home, her sweet little inquiries into silly things like the state of his sea legs and how they compared to ballroom legs... "I don't know why she's suddenly become so—"

"Up until this moment, Penelope had never received an offer of marriage," Kate said firmly. "To receive an offer like yours, after years without anything like it, must be jarring. And you might think her response is stubborn, unyielding, and difficult, but for Penelope... She is protecting herself."

"From me?" Colin scoffed loudly.

"Can you imagine how it feels to be Penelope?" Kate prodded. "To feel as if you are... romantically invisible to men? Because I can."

Anthony seemed to take exception to that. "Kate, I always saw—"

"The only attention I received, for so long, was from Edwina's besotted swains," Kate turned to Anthony, "and that included you, Darling."

"I was never besotted with your sister," Anthony grumbled.

Kate sighed. "Still, you can't deny that your courtship of Edwina was how it started between us."

"What does that signify?" Anthony contested hotly. "I was kissing you within an inch of your life before that first week was out!"

"Yes, but that has little to do with this! Will you stop interrupting?" Kate stood and pushed him toward the study's door. "You can go amuse yourself. Let me talk to your brother before you have him putting poor Penelope in a sack and dragging her to the altar!"

"What? I certainly never advised anything like—"

"There!" Kate closed the door on her husband before turning to Colin. "You've never courted anyone before, have you?"

Colin hedged, "I've flirted with many—"

"Flirting is not courting. You've never spent an evening attending upon a woman with the intention of winning her favor, never stood in line at her door with a bunch of other flower-laden men also bent upon said lady."

That was true. "Why would I do that? There's enough ladies crowding me at every ball without me seeking them out?"

"Yes, the young ladies of The Ton have quite spoiled you, which is why you have no idea what to do now." Kate shook her head. "Poor Colin. You've never had to struggle to get a young woman's attention. I see you at balls, standing there and letting them and their mamas flock to you, then deigning to give one, likely one your mother might have mentioned approval of, a dutiful dance so it seems you've tried, when you really haven't."

Colin wanted to to scoff, but damn it all, she was right.

"Even Penelope has always favored you with her attention without you having to make an effort," Kate added.

"I do so make an effort," he grumbled. "I'll have you know that Ben thinks I pay her marked attention. And I do. I always like talking to Pen."

"Which is why she deserves your efforts more than any other. You've never had to try to gain her favor. She has always bestowed it most graciously. She deserves to know, without room for doubt, that she is the one you favor."

Colin nearly stamped his foot. "But I've told her, for days now—"

"But have you shown her?"

"I sent her flowers. I bought her a very nice box of candies... which I took with me after our argument," he finished on a shameful mutter.

"And?" Kate prodded.

"And ate myself."

"Oh, dear." Kate laughed. "Colin, I think you'd best tell me how that argument turned out."

So he did. And even in his own telling, he somehow came off as in the wrong.

The same thing had somehow happened when he told Ben.

Was he not telling it right?

Kate even laughed several times at his recitations of Penelope's rejoinders, yet hardly smiled at the shots he'd got in. He didn't, however, tell her about the more scandalous events at the gallery as those moments should, by all rights, be something between himself and Penelope. Yes, Ben knew. But he couldn't help that. He could help how far such a thing would spread and, as he was sure Ben respected Penelope too much to tell anyone that, he would also be certain not to tell such tales. But he did tell Kate that he and Penelope a demonstrably... passionate regard for each other.

"Aye, and Anthony had a passionate regard for me," she said dismissively, "yet still insisted on courting my sister." The door behind her shook a bit and she kicked at it. "Are you still listening?"

"No," his brother's muffled lie came from behind her.

"Penelope deserves more than just words. She deserves deeds. Public ones. Don't just dance with her. Fetch her drinks, Tell her when she looks lovely, and in detail. Notice her hair, her dress. She deserves to be courted, to feel wanted. As much as I love my Anthony, I'd never been properly wooed and—"

"What?" Anthony, apparently unable to take any more, burst through the door behind her, catching her as she stumbled. "Are you hurt?"

"No." Kate pushed at him. "But no thanks to you, you brute!"

"Well, I certainly could not let such an accusation stand," Anthony said hotly. "I bring you tulips every week. And do you know how many of your private flute recitals I have attended? Because I do!"

"Aye, but all that was only after we were married. Before that, there was very little—"

"It still counts. And let's not forget that I compliment your dresses constantly. Not those lace caps you keep getting to match, but that's another headache—"

"You barely say a word about my dresses. You simply look me up and down and say some bit of nothing like 'Hmm, that looks rather nice' before attempting to remove it straight away, often even ripping—"

Anthony covered her mouth. "Perhaps we shouldn't argue here."

Kate drew away and cleared her throat, now looking him up and down. "Yes. We can continue this... discussion at home."

"Or in the carriage," Anthony put in.

"Yes, perhaps when I've... finished dispensing my advice to your brother," Kate said, as if suddenly remembering whose house they were in. "Why don't you meet me outside in ten minutes?"

"Five," Anthony corrected.

"Brilliant."

Anthony quit the room quickly, leaving Kate staring off and not dispensing much advice.

Colin only laughed and took a seat again. He had seen enough of the pair of them to know that neither would be much use once they'd set their minds on having each other. "You can go, Kate. I think I know what you mean by—"

"No. I did have more to say before my brutish husband interrupted us," she said with a fond sort of smile before she sobered. "Penelope has never been courted and she, above most ladies I've met, most deserves to have such attentions. She's worth it. Yet I suspect she doesn't believe she is."

"But she is! She's—"

"Then show her! She deserves to have a besotted swain at her door. So be that." Kate embraced him before pulling back, saying quite seriously, "Let her know that she is worth the effort you've shown for no other."

Colin truly couldn't argue with Kate on that. Penelope was worth that and more. How could he have neglected to show her for so long? The fact that she didn't have ten men calling at her door after every ball was a damned crime!

He glanced out the window, cringing a bit as his Anthony and Kate fell into each other before stumbling into the carriage.

Cringing and envious.

He wanted that. He wanted the sort of marriage where, even after years together, one lusted after their spouse as if the honeymoon had never ended. After this afternoon, he was sure he might have such a life with Penelope.

Bringing his cuff to his nose again, her fading scent still sent him reeling, wanting, hungering...

He wasn't sure how many times he might take himself in hand tonight before he could sleep, but such torture was sweet. It boded well.

Still, he'd have to put such lustful thoughts aside the next time he saw her. His future wife deserved wooing after all.

He fingered through the invitations on his tray and saw he'd had his regrets sent for the Duke and Duchess of Dartmore's ball tomorrow night. If there was anything worse than a Smythe-Smith with an instrument in their hand, it was listening to Duke and Duchess of Dartmore drone on about antiquities. Still, Penelope had often claimed it was edifying and quite fascinating stuff.

He was certain she'd be there and so would he. He'd show her then that he was in earnest. He'd be her swain, if that was what she needed.

He'd court her as she deserved. And she'd be his before the night was out.