Note: This starts directly after Chapter 13 of Romancing Mister Bridgerton. This story is Book Canon, but with a few Show Canon shout-outs. :)

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"For God's sake, Penelope," Colin said, grabbing her hand and yanking her down. "Are you going to marry me or not?"

Penelope nearly tumbled to the pavement at that, but she gripped the carriage door's frame to keep herself upright, also to hold onto some semblance of reality. Her mind must have been muddled from all that kissing. Because he couldn't have said what she'd just heard.

She felt a strange relief when Colin laughed, then felt quite peevish. Of course he wasn't in earnest.

"Are you going to stand there all day?" he asked, still holding her by the hand, and still laughing, the lout.

She gaped down at him, frozen with one foot in the carriage and the other out, more than peeved now. "I'll stand here day and night if that is what it takes for you to stop your nonsense. I don't find this amusing at all."

"You would if you could have seen your face." He laughed harder, tugging at her hand.

She didn't step down, rather tempted to dive back into that carriage and live out the rest of her days there. "This jest of yours is not funny in the least. I'd like to see your face if I held you to it."

Colin laughed. "Then hold me to it, by all means!" Penelope could only gape at him, at which Colin laughed harder. "Good Lord, one might think I'd offered to walk you to the guillotine instead of to the vicar!"

"Will you keep your voice down," she hissed, leaping from the carriage now, glancing up and down the street. There was a family walking on the other side, but they seemed occupied by their little sons fighting, thank goodness. "I'm sure this is all very amusing to you," she whispered. "Your ilk might have the luxury of... of groping ladies in a carriage every other morning, but for me..."

His laughter stopped abruptly. "What are you suggesting?" Now he looked peeved.

"I'm not accusing you personally," she said, stepping back. "I'm simply saying that your reputation won't suffer the way mine would." As it should, she supposed. Dear God! If anyone had played the wanton in that carriage, it was her. After all her years of enforced purity, she'd been insatiable. She blushed to think of the way she'd begged for his hands, his lips... She took another step away, tearing her eyes from his still-mussed cravat. "If people heard your little jest, they might think something happened."

"Something did happen," he said, quite loudly.

"Would you keep your voice down?"

"And what jest?" he asked, still with no regard to volume.

"The... marrying one," she hissed.

"That was no joke," he said, his brows drawn together. "We will marry as soon as possible."

She was beginning to think he might be serious. She shook her head, taking another step away from him until she felt her front steps behind her. "Colin, please stop."

He didn't stop. He took a step toward her. "I can assure you," he said, no laughter in his voice now, "that I do not behave as I did with a woman of your background without rendering a marriage proposal."

She backed up the first step, forcing a laugh. "How many marriages proposals have you—"

"Just the one," he said, glowering at her as he chased her up another step. "So it would be nice if you would stop acting as if I were in jest."

"But you must be."

"I am not."

Her eyes must be as wide as saucers now. "Then allow me to protect you from such a foolish-"

"I don't want your protection," he said firmly... or was it petulantly? "I want your acceptance."

She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the words out. "You don't want to marry me." She opened them to find him looking like he might argue, so she put a hand up, while groping behind her for the door handle. "And you don't need to marry me," she said resolutely. "Not for something like this. No one knows what happened in that carriage but us and I certainly won't tell a soul. You are safe on that."

"Damn it, Penelope," he said on a growl. "This is not an argument. This is what's happening. You just said Briarly would notice my carriage and—"

"Yes, I'm sure he has." She could actually feel the butler trying to pull the door open behind her even as she held it tight. "It doesn't mean he'll notice anything untoward. And, if he did, he wouldn't tell." Briarly had kept secrets for her before. He'd keep more, including this one, if she asked.

Colin leaned in then, a strange glint in his eye. "You think when he looks at the state of you, he won't—"

"Briarly will think nothing of my hair... slipping its pins."

"It's more than that. You look indecent," he moved closer still, "all flushed and breathless, like you've tumbled out of bed with a lover."

A mad giggle escaped her as her insides heated. "If Lady Whistledown herself saw me..."

"You say that as if you weren't her," he said lowly.

"...emerging from your carriage completely undressed..."

He let out a breath, his eyes drifting downward. "You weren't far from it."

"... she'd not believe anything indecent could happen between you and I. And neither would anyone else." She shrugged and forced a laugh. "Honestly, Colin. I think we've had enough of this silliness. You don't want to marry me."

"Dash it all, Penelope, I've just said I—"

"Have you even considered that I don't want to marry you?"

He reared back, the look of shock on his face almost comical.

She finally released her hold on the doorknob, neatly stepping back just as Briarly succeeded in pulling it open.

"Oh, pardon me, Miss," her butler said, aghast. "It seems the door was stuck. I shall have one of the footmen see to—"

"No need," she cut in. "I'm sure it's just the damp." She dipped a curtsy to Colin. "Thanks ever so much, Mr. Bridgerton, for seeing me home."

Colin caught the door as she attempted to close it. "We are not finished—"

"Yes, it's quite a lively debate we were having, but we must continue another day."

"I must insist we continue it now," he said through his teeth, glancing at Briarly, then back at her. "Is your mother home? I'm certain she would take my part when I inform her—"

"Colin, please!" Good God, that was all she needed. Her mother in the middle of all this! "Today is not a good day because..." She glanced desperately at Briarly, hoping he might help her. He'd very often turned a blind eye to her mysterious outings and, though she'd sometimes sensed very mild disapproval or apprehension, he always aided her when it seemed her mother had too many questions.

"It is Tuesday and, as such, the Featherington family meeting," Briarly said, glancing from her to Colin, a bit more suspicion in his eyes than Penelope would have liked to see. "Your mother and sisters are in the drawing room, as well as their husbands and..."

"Oh, my! Are they gathered already? I am woefully late," she chided herself as if she knew it all along. Truth be told, she had completely forgotten her family was meeting today, or that it was truly Tuesday. She might have had some vague idea this morning, but after that carriage ride, after that kiss — those kisses really, as there were several — she barely knew what year it was. "I must beg your pardon, Mr. Bridgerton. My family awaits and—"

"Penelope," he said darkly, his hand still not releasing the door she was attempting to close. "We have more to discuss."

"I don't think we do," she said, lowering her voice as she leaned forward, "I've made my response perfectly clear."

"Are you honestly trying to tell me you don't want to ma—" He stopped himself, glancing behind her, where Briarly was surely hovering. "...want to make a different response?" he finished softly, but his eyes were hard as they met hers again, full of confusion and anger.

She almost understood his confusion. Though she hated to admit it, she hadn't kept her feelings for him hidden well at all. Her heart practically leapt into her eyes every time he looked her way. He was perfectly reasonable to expect her immediate and unequivocal acceptance. But she couldn't give it. She'd long since abandoned any thoughts of her and Colin and she wasn't about to entertain them again now just for a few kisses... and caresses... and breathless moments with his lips on not just her lips, but every secret part of.... No. It made no difference. This was an aberration. And she would not force one of her dearest friends into marriage because he felt obligated by such an obvious moment of madness. It would be unkind in the extreme.

Besides all that, she barely saw the Colin she knew in those eyes. She saw a very high-handed stranger that she'd only met today as he stormed into her church and stripped her secret away, as he scolded her for having a secret, as he kissed her insensible in a moving carriage. Obviously that last bit was much nicer than the others, but it was not enough for her to ignore the rest and marry a man she barely knew.

"My answer is no," she said firmly, placing a hand upon his chest and giving a gentle push.

He stumbled back just enough that his hand left the door.

"I ask that you respect it," she finished shakily as she closed the door, leaning against it, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to catch her breath.

"Miss Penelope... are you unwell?"

She opened her eyes to find Briarly peering at her closely, and a bit more knowingly than she might like.

"I am perfectly well. Just exhausted with debating these blasted Bridgertons." She forced a laugh. "Colin is very much like Eloise. They never admit when they are wrong. And since I am also never wrong, it seems we always meet at an impasse."

He smiled then. "I am quite sure, whatever the argument was, you had the right of it."

She was sure he was, bless him. "Thank you for that."

"Shall I inform your mother that you have returned?"

"If you could give me a minute first... perhaps several minutes to collect myself, I'd be much obliged."

"Of course, Miss." He bowed slightly and moved away.

She sagged against the door again, trying not to slink down to the floor, needing just a bit more time to acquaint herself with the undeniable reality that COLIN BRIDGERTON HAD PROPOSED TO HER AND SHE HAD REFUSED.

Was she mad? Hadn't this been the very thing she'd wanted since she knew what marriage was? Wasn't he the first boy she'd thought of as a man when she traded pinafores for corsets?

He'd been the only man she'd ever thought of in such a way because there was no one like him. No one as kind. No one as pleasing. No one as handsome. And that would have been enough to secure her fascination if it wasn't that he always, always made her feel special. Well... apart from the times he didn't. Still, he was the only person, excepting Eloise, that she'd felt comfortable enough with that she might even joke and, wonder of wonders, have him laugh at her efforts.

But was he laughing now? He knew her secret now. He knew what she'd spent her days and nights doing and he didn't find it amusing.

He'd been angry with her, offended... Just a few moments thinking further upon that should have him itching to yank that proposal from under her.

She'd been right to refuse him. She'd been right to say she didn't want him. It wasn't even a lie. Because she didn't want him. Not like this. Not because he felt forced into it by a moment — or quite a few moments — of indiscretion in a carriage.

This was the right decision. Nay, the only decision. And she was certain he had already disposed of the notion by now. She was relieved.

She told herself that as she finally steeled herself to enter the drawing room and greet her sisters and their husbands, laughing off several comments about the state of her hair even after her attempts to repair it, forcing smiles at all the inane chatter. Though she did laugh at Felicity's thoughts on the poetry she had received from Lord Jennings, divided into five bursting letters, two on her hair alone. If she hadn't retired, Lady Whistledown would be quite amused to get hold of such a grand body of work.

And she did smile quite genuinely when Phillipa announced she suspected she was in a family way again. She kept smiling as her mother waxed poetic on the future, on grandchildren, on how they would have to be kind enough to spend long visits with her and their "dear Aunt Penelope." She hadn't been called "dear" by her mother often, and she would have been flattered if she wasn't quite sure "dear" wasn't synonymous with "dutiful" or perhaps "unpaid servant."

She wondered if she could devise another "inheritance" so her mother might have a paid companion and Penelope could take herself to a cottage somewhere, perhaps on an island. Her mother did tend to get seasick, after all.

Sometimes she thought of telling her — telling all of them, but her mother specifically — that her mother's comfort, her ability to keep herself in style, in London, was all down to Penelope's own work and several machinations that turned her hard-earned money into sudden Featherington windfalls. But she wouldn't do it.

That would mean revealing Whistledown, as the secret would get out in no time with her mother as its keeper and, much as she hated to admit it, she could never carry off such a revelation like it was a silly lark. Colin was right about that.

She might flatter herself that she was clever, fooling The Ton all these years, but really she knew her secret had only been safe this long because no one would suspect her.

If she were found out, no one would be amused by it, no one would admire her for it. In fact, everyone would be insulted that a nobody like her dared to laugh at them. She didn't even want to reveal herself. She just didn't want Cressida Cowper - or Twombley now - to take what she could not, to claim her life's work as her own.

She refused to let that happen, just as she'd refused Colin's sudden duty-bound proposal.

Later that night, after supper, she'd dismissed Jenny, brushing her own hair as she imagined how foolish Colin probably felt now. He'd likely come to his senses by the time he got into his carriage.

She suspected things might be a bit stilted when they met again, but he'd probably be grateful to her for her restraint once he was thinking more clearly. She could have held him to his initial proposal, but she'd been strong and she'd refused...

"There's a delivery for you, Miss."

"At night?" She turned toward the door as her maid waltzed in, giggling a bit, carrying an obscenely large bouquet of roses. Red roses. Penelope shook her head. "There must be a mistake. I've never—"

Penelope broke off, annoyed. She'd wager it was from her publisher, trying to coax her out of retirement... again. He'd sent her caramels before. They hadn't worked, but she and Felicity had certainly enjoyed them very much.

"Oh, no. They're for you." Jenny held out a note, folded and sealed with wax, tilting her head when Penelope refused to take it. "It's got your name on it and everythin'," she insisted.

Penelope recognized the handwriting on that note, even though all it said was "Pen." After this last week, she'd know those flicks anywhere. What was he thinking?

She snatched the note and the bouquet warily, holding both against her chest. "Did my mother see these?"

"No. She's gone to bed. Briarly said they were left on the top step. He thought you might like them now rather than later. What a mystery! Perhaps the note—"

"Oh, Goodness me! Why, these must be from Eloise," she lied. "I... I told her the hot house roses at Number 5 were so much more fragrant than ours and I might like to have them for my bath and she must have..." She pushed the roses into Jenny's arms and opened the note, holding it close to her face, resisting a full-body shiver upon reading it, humming to herself, "Mmm-hmm. Very thoughtful of her. Yes." She folded the bit of paper, holding it at her side. "What a dear she is."

"Oh... I'd hoped they might be from an admirer," Jenny said, cradling the roses.

Jenny looked a bit disappointed, the same as when Penelope told her the caramels were from a dear old friend of the family, which was nearly true. Her publisher had been a friend of her father's late solicitor. She'd consider him much more dear if he'd accept that she'd made up her mind and was determined to retire her poison pen.

"Dear Jenny." She chuckled. "Bless you for even thinking that."

Jenny, plucked from the pool of upstairs maids for her skills with hair, had only been a lady's maid for a few months. She was certain the first lesson had been to flatter her mistress. They'd always been flattering. Even when her mother dressed her in countless layers of orange and yellow, her lady's maids had always made the best of it... until they couldn't anymore.

Her previous maid had left her for a younger debutante, only in her second season, who looked likely to marry an Earl. She'd lost others before her. They all wanted to be maids with the confidence of a future lady of a grand house, even of the untitled mistress of a modest house. Much like the unattached men of the ton, no lady's maid wanted to attend upon a spinster with no prospects. How long before Jenny would hone her skills enough to leave?

"Why shouldn't you have admirers?" Jenny insisted. "You're quite pretty!"

Penelope had nothing to say to that except, "That's very kind of you." She didn't believe it, but it was nice to hear. It wasn't even the first time she'd heard it today.

You are beautiful. I don't know why nobody else sees it.

He'd only said it while in the midst of kissing her silly and, though she didn't have much experience to draw from, she imagined a man might say all kinds of nonsense at times like that. Kate told her and Eloise that Anthony had once shouted "Gadzooks!" in the throes of passion. She really shouldn't have. Eloise had used it mercilessly, exclaiming it for everything from a dropped glove to a good muffin whenever she was within earshot of her brother. Poor Lord Bridgerton.

"Well, they are very fragrant," the girl was saying. "Did you want them for your bath now? I can pluck them and have the footmen bring hot—"

"No!" She found herself snatching them back. "That can wait. I'd rather enjoy them a bit longer. Such... lovely blossoms."

"Yes, Miss. I'll fetch a vase." Jenny said before ducking out.

Penelope took a moment to bury her face in the blooms. They really were lovely and it was nice to imagine, just for a moment, they were from an admirer, that someone had such strong feelings for her that only red roses would do.

But Colin could hardly be called an admirer. He was more of a stubborn fool. She'd been so convinced he would abandon this ridiculous proposal, but here he was, digging in.

It wasn't even flattering. Much like every Bridgerton that had ever breathed, Colin detested having anyone disagree with him. But she must be strong, lest his misplaced sense of honor lead him to a life of regret.

Still, she couldn't help unfolding his note one more time before she moved to the fireplace and tossed it in. It wouldn't do for someone to find it. The words had been burned into her memory, anyhow.

So you need a little more convincing?

Then you shall have it.

— C

Penelope shivered. Why did that sound so ominous?

And just a little exciting?

TBC...

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Uh-oh. She's in for it now!

More to come soon, I hope. I have no planned update schedule as I'm trying to focus on my originals. And since I'm at a very complicated section in my WIP, I thought I'd take a break with something less tricky and more fun for me, see if it gets the muses working again. Anyway...

And feel free to talk to me on Twitter @AWheelerRomance