Chapter 9: Shady Whistledown

77 2 0
                                    

Penelope's eyes scan the garden, her gaze darting from the shadowy alcoves beneath the trees to the moonlit pathways, her heart pounding in her chest. Then, she sees him—Colin. He stands beneath the arbor, the climbing roses framing him like a picture. Their eyes lock, and a smile tugs at the corners of her lips as she hurries toward him, her silk slippers making barely a sound on the cobblestones.

"Colin," she whispers, her voice breathless with excitement as she reaches his side, her fingers brushing against his.

"Penelope," he replies, brimming with affection. He reaches for her hand, pulls her towards him, and wraps his arms around her, pulling her flush against him, his lips finding hers in a tender and urgent kiss.

Penelope melts into him, her hands instinctively coming up to rest on his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. She notices that he's stripped off a few layers since the ball, leaving his upper body in just a shirt and vest. The simplicity of his attire makes the moment feel even more intimate.

They pause for a moment, Penelope's cheeks flushing with the thrill of sneaking out.

Walking deeper into the garden together, the gravel crunches softly beneath their feet as they wander down the moonlit path. The tall hedges and blooming flowers create a private little world just for them, a haven hidden away from the rest of the estate. The night is quiet, the only sounds being the rustling of the leaves in the gentle breeze and their softly whispered words, their voices barely audible over the pounding of their hearts.

Her shoulders are covered in a blanket, wrapped snugly around her like a shawl. Underneath it, a simple white nightdress contrasts with the blanket's rough wool. Colin's arms encircle Penelope, sliding under the blanket to wrap around her waist, pulling her back against his chest. The blanket drops to the ground, a soft rustle of fabric against the grass. His gaze follows it to the ground, his eyes lingering on the discarded blanket before returning to Penelope.

"Oh Pen, someday soon we won't have to sneak out," he says, laying the blanket down in the grass, then holding her hand and leading her down with him to the blanket. She sits in his lap, facing him, her body settling against him, his hands finding a natural resting place on her hips. She rocks slightly against him, adjusting until she's comfortable.

Colin inhales sharply at the sensation, his body tensing as he fights to control the rush of sensations flooding him. "Is that what you want to do right now?" he asks, his voice a low rumble.

Penelope looks up at him, her brows knitting together in confusion. "What?"

"What you just did," Colin clarifies, his voice low and rough with desire.

"This?" she asks, rocking her hips again, sending a wave of pleasure through him.

"Yes, that," Colin breathes out, barely holding himself together.

"What is it that I'm doing?" she asks, her voice teasing, a slight smirk on her lips.

"Everything," Colin replies, his eyes darkening as he watches her.

"Everything?" she repeats.

"Oh, I wish for everything," she confesses as her hand reaches up to unbutton the top two buttons of his shirt. She kisses where his neck meets his torso, her fingertips playing on his chest hair.

"Trouble," Colin murmurs, the word slipping out as he gazes at her, entranced by how she licks her bottom lip. The sight sends a fresh wave of longing through him.

Penelope's eyes sparkle with curiosity. "Tell me about Paris."

Colin smiles softly, a faraway look crossing his face as he remembers the city. His gaze then shifts back to her, warmth filling his eyes. "It reminds me of you," he says.

You'll also like

          

Penelope blinks, a flicker of surprise lighting up her features. "It does?" She tilts her head, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she searches his expression.

Colin nods, his smile growing as he continues, his voice gentle but infused with admiration. "London has its own charm, of course—the grandeur of the squares, the elegance of the parks—but there's something more... untamed about Paris. It's like a wild, beautiful thing that doesn't care much for rules or expectations. The streets twist and turn in unexpected ways, and you can stumble upon a hidden garden or a bustling market when you least expect it."

Penelope's eyes soften, entirely captivated by his words. "And the people? How do they compare to Londoners?"

Colin tiliting his head slightly. "Ah, the people. Londoners are, well, like the city—reserved, dignified, always mindful of propriety. There's a certain distance in our interactions, a politeness that sometimes feels like a barrier. But Parisians... they're so much more open and willing to engage. They speak with their hands as much as with their words, and they make you feel like you're the only person in the world when they talk to you."

Penelope's lips curve into a thoughtful smile as she imagines it. She lets out a soft sigh, her voice tinged with curiosity and something more tender. "That sounds rather lovely... and a bit overwhelming. Did it make you miss home?"

"Funny you should ask. The streets of Paris are alive with possibilities, filled with unexpected turns and delightful surprises—just like the conversations I have with you. Instead of feeling homesick, I find myself lovesick." His voice drops to a tender murmur, his hand brushing lightly against her legs as he speaks.

"Lovesick?"

Colin nods, leaning closer with playful sincerity. "You might be my London girl, Penelope, but your soul... your soul is pure Paris."

Penelope's smile widens, her heart swelling with affection as she looks into his eyes. "Is that so? And what exactly does that mean?"

Colin's gaze turns more intense, his voice low and filled with admiration. "It means that you're full of surprises, full of beauty, and completely irresistible. Paris might have its grand boulevards and sparkling lights, but the small, quiet moments truly take your breath away. Like how the light plays on the Seine at sunset... or how you smile when you think no one's watching."

Penelope's voice softens, her heart racing as she whispers, "You're certainly watching me now."

"I am," Colin says, leaning in just a little closer, his breath warm against her skin.

Colin's hands sliding under the hem of her nightdress, his fingers brushing against the bare skin of her calves. The contact sends a shiver through her, and he feels the tension in his body rise as he grabs the fabric, bunching the delicate material in his hands as he draws it up, inch by inch.

The propriety that has been drilled into him all his life wages a fierce battle with the desire burning through his veins, with the longing to let go, to give in, to take what she is offering. It's an internal struggle that plays out on his face, in the tension of his body.

"What's wrong?" Penelope asks, her hips rocking slightly against him, her voice laced with concern.

"You..." Colin starts, but he hesitates, the words tangling together in his mind.

"Me, what?"

"You're a Lady," Colin finally blurts out, his thoughts jumbling. "I wrote to Anthony; he hasn't replied yet. He must be returning home."

"You think there is a chance he wouldn't support the proposal?"

"No, we all love you," Colin replies quickly. "It's just that restraining myself is a form of torture. I still take it on... just to see you, to feel you," he admits.

Between Confusion and ClarityWhere stories live. Discover now