Bridgerton - Romancing Mr. Bridgerton Part 42

"I won't give it to you," Penelope whispered, more for her own benefit than Cressida's.

"You will," Cressida replied confidently. "If you don't, I'll ruin you."

"Mrs. Bridgerton?"

Penelope looked up to see Dunwoody standing in the doorway.

"There is an urgent matter which requires your attention," he said. "Immediately."

"Just as well," Cressida said, walking toward the door. "I'm done here." She walked through the doorway, then turned around once she reached the hall, so that Penelope was forced to look at her, perfectly framed in the portal. "I'll hear from you soon?" she inquired, her voice mild and innocent, as if she were talking about nothing more weighty than an invitation to a party, or perhaps the agenda for a charity meeting.

Penelope gave her a little nod, just to be rid of her.

But it didn't matter. The front door may have thunked shut, and Cressida might be gone, but Penelope's troubles weren't going anywhere.

CHAPTER 22.

Three hours later, Penelope was still in the drawing room, still sitting on the sofa, still staring into s.p.a.ce, still trying to figure out how she was going to solve her problems.

Correction: problem, singular.

She had only one problem, but for the size of it, she might as well have had a thousand.

She wasn't an aggressive person, and she couldn't remember the last time she had a violent thought, but at that moment, she could have gladly wrung Cressida Twombley's neck.

She watched the door with a morose sense of fatalism, waiting for her husband to come home, knowing that each ticking second brought her closer to her moment of truth, when she would have to confess everything to him.

He wouldn't say, I told you so. He would never say such a thing.

But he would be thinking it.

It never occurred to her, not even for a minute, that she might keep this from him. Cressida's threats weren't the sort of thing one hid from one's husband, and besides, she was going to need his help.

She wasn't certain what she needed to do, but whatever it was, she didn't know how to do it alone.

But there was one thing she knew for sure;-she didn't want to pay Cressida. There was no way Cressida would be satisfied with ten thousand pounds, not when she thought she could get more. If Penelope capitulated now, she'd be handing money over to Cressida for the rest of her life.

Which meant that in one week's time, Cressida Twombley would tell all the world that Penelope Featherington Bridgerton was the infamous Lady Whistledown.

Penelope reckoned she had two choices. She could lie, and call Cressida a fool, and hope that everyone believed her; or she could try to find some way to twist Cressida's revelation to her advantage.

But for the life of her, she didn't know how.

"Penelope?"

Colin's voice. She wanted to fling herself into his arms, and at the same time, she could barely bring herself to turn around.

"Penelope?" He sounded concerned now, his footsteps increasing in speed as he crossed the room. "Dunwoody said that Cressida was here."

He sat next to her and touched her cheek. She turned and saw his face, the corners of his eyes crinkled with worry, his lips, slightly parted as they murmured her name.

And that was when she finally allowed herself to cry.

Funny how she could hold herself together, keep it all inside until she saw him. But now that he was here, all she could do was bury her face in the warmth of his chest, snuggle closer as his arms wrapped around her.

As if somehow he could make all her problems go away by his presence alone.

"Penelope?" he asked, his voice soft and worried. "What happened? What's wrong?"

Penelope just shook her head, the motion having to suffice until she could think of the words, summon the courage, stop the tears.

"What did she do to you?"

"Oh, Colin," she said, somehow summoning the energy to pull herself far enough back so that she could see his face. "She knows."

His skin went white. "How?"

Penelope sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. "It's my fault," she whispered.

He handed her a handkerchief without ever taking his eyes off of her face. "It's not your fault," he said sharply.

Her lips slid into a sad smile. She knew that his harsh tone was meant for Cressida, but she deserved it as well. "No," she said, her voice laced with resignation, "it is. It happened exactly as you said it would. I wasn't paying attention to what I wrote. I slipped up."

"What did you do?" he asked.

She told him everything, starting with Cressida's entrance and ending with her demands for money. She confessed that her poor choice of words was going to be her ruin, but wasn't it ironic, because it really did feel like her heart was breaking.

But the whole time she spoke, she felt him slipping away. He was listening to her, but he wasn't there with her. His eyes took on a strange, faraway look, and yet they were narrowed, intense.

He was plotting something. She was sure of it.

It terrified her.

And thrilled her.

Whatever he was planning, whatever he was thinking, it was all for her. She hated that it had been her stupidity that had forced him into this dilemma, but she couldn't stem the tingle of excitement that swept across her skin as she watched him.

"Colin?" she asked hesitantly. She'd been done speaking for a full minute, and still he hadn't said anything.

"I'll take care of everything," he said. "I don't want you to worry about a thing."

"I a.s.sure you that that is impossible," she said with shaking voice.

"I take my wedding vows quite seriously," he replied, his tone almost frighteningly even. "I believe I promised to honor and keep you."

"Let me help you," she said impulsively. "Together we can solve this."

One corner of his mouth lifted into a hint of a smile. "Have you a solution?"

She shook her head. "No. I've been thinking all day, and I don't know ... although ..."

"Although what?" he asked, his brows rising.

Her lips parted, then pursed, then parted again as she said, "What if I enlisted the aid of Lady Danbury?"

"You're planning to ask her to pay off Cressida?"

"No," she said, even though the tone of his voice told her that his had not been a serious question. "I'm going to ask her to be me."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Everyone thinks she's Lady Whistledown, anyway," Penelope explained. "At least, quite a lot of people do. If she were to make an announcement-"

"Cressida would refute it instantly," Colin interrupted.

"Who would believe Cressida over Lady Danbury?" Penelope turned to him with wide, earnest eyes. "I wouldn't dare cross Lady Danbury in any matter. If she were to say she was Lady Whistledown, I'd probably believe her myself."

"What makes you think you can convince Lady Danbury to lie for you?"

"Well," Penelope replied, chewing on her lower lip, "she likes me."

"She likes you?" Colin echoed.

"She does, rather. I think she might like to help me, especially since she detests Cressida almost as much as I do."

"You think her fondness for you will lead her to lie to the entire ton?" he asked doubtfully.

She sagged in her seat. "It's worth asking."

He stood, his movements abrupt, and walked to the window. "Promise me you won't go to her."

"But-"

"Promise me."

"I promise," she said, "but-"

"No buts," he said. "If we need to, we'll contact Lady Danbury, but not until I have a chance to think of something else." He raked his hand through his hair. "There must be something else."

"We have a week," she said softly, but she didn't find her words rea.s.suring, and it was difficult to imagine that Colin did, either.

He turned around, his about-face so precise he might have been in the military. "I'll be back," he said, heading for the door.

"But where are you going?" Penelope cried out, jumping to her feet.

"I have to think," he said, pausing with his hand on the doork.n.o.b.

"You can't think here with me?" she whispered.

His face softened, and he crossed back to her side. He murmured her name, tenderly taking her face in his hands. "I love you," he said, his voice low and fervent. "I love you with everything I am, everything I've been, and everything I hope to be."

"Colin..."

"I love you with my past, and I love you for my future." He bent forward and kissed her, once, softly, on the lips. "I love you for the children we'll have and for the years we'll have together. I love you for every one of my smiles, and even more, for every one of your smiles."

Penelope sagged against the back of a nearby chair.

"I love you," he repeated. "You know that, don't you?"

She nodded, closing her eyes as her cheeks rubbed against his hands.

"I have things to do," he said, "and I won't be able to concentrate if I'm thinking about you, worrying if you're crying, wondering if you're hurt."

"I'm fine," she whispered. "I'm fine now that I've told you."

"I will make this right," he vowed. "I just need you to trust me."

She opened her eyes. "With my life."

He smiled, and suddenly she knew that his words were true. Everything would be all right. Maybe not today and maybe not tomorrow, but soon. Tragedy couldn't coexist in a world with one of Colin's smiles.

"I don't think it will come to that," he said fondly, giving her cheek one affectionate stroke before returning his arms to his sides. He walked back to the door, turning the moment his hand touched the k.n.o.b. "Don't forget about my sister's party tonight."

Penelope let out a short groan. "Do we have to? The last thing I want to do is go out in public."

"We have to," Colin said. "Daphne doesn't host b.a.l.l.s very often, and she'd be crushed if we did not attend."

"I know," Penelope said with a sigh. "I know. I knew it even as I complained. I'm sorry."

He smiled wryly. "It's all right. You're ent.i.tled to a bit of a bad mood today."

"Yes," she said, trying to return the smile. "I am, aren't I?"

"I'll be back later," he promised.

"Where are you-" she started to ask, then caught herself. He obviously didn't want questions just then, even from her.

But to her surprise, he answered, "To see my brother."

"Anthony?"

"Yes."