CHAPTER TWO

 

 

Colin sat on a stone bench in Avonleah's garden, his walking stick propped beside him. Elbows braced on his knees, he watched the open double doors of the ballroom for any sign of Penelope. He clenched his hands together to stop them from trembling and drew in a deep breath. In the years since he'd last encountered her, he'd imagined this moment in so many ways. While some of those fantasies bordered on absurd, he held out hope that she still felt something for him, even after what he'd done. He did not expect her to fall into his arms, but if she did not slap him on sight, it would give him something to build on.

She materialized at the doors, her steps purposeful as she drew near. The moonlight framed her, setting her gown and alabaster skin aglow, causing the red hues of her hair to gleam.

Seeing her this way reminded him of the night he'd come for her, waiting with a horse in carriage to secret her away from Gretna Green. A young scapegrace with a slew of shameful deeds behind him, Colin had taken one look at the young girl he loved, and realized he would never be good enough for her. The youth in that fresh face, the innocence in her gaze, the blind truth with which she allowed him to take her away, expecting to return a married woman—they all served to remind him that she was everything he was not. He'd been determined to prove to himself that he could deserve her, that her innocence, sweetness, and love for him could redeem him.

Yet, in the end, he'd ruined everything. His path toward redemption had taken him down a longer, harder road, but he wasn't finished yet. Seeing her again reminded him of how little he deserved her, yet this time he wouldn't run from that fact. He would face the truth, then fight to earn her.

Grasping his walking stick, he used it to hoist himself to his feet, ignoring the twinge of pain in his leg caused by long hours spent standing. Her scent reached him when she paused before him, sweet and floral.

"Penny," he murmured, allowing his gaze to trace the lines and planes of her face freely.

She tilted her chin and met his gaze with boldness. "Lady Penelope, if you please, or just Penelope, if you insist. I no longer answer to Penny."

He fought back a frown. Her tone had grown cold, her insistence on formality not like the woman he'd known.

What did you expect, you clodpole?

"Penelope," he amended. "You look … well."

She raised her eyebrows and gave a dry chuckle. "Surely, you did not send for me so we could discuss my health."

Taking a step toward her, he reached out to grasp her chin. She did not resist when he lifted it, his thumb tracing the line of her lower lip. Her gaze remained locked with his, challenging, defiant.

"I did not mean 'well' in that way. In fact, I should have chosen my words better. Though none of them would do you justice, but I'll try. Beautiful, Penelope. You look more beautiful than I remember."

Scoffing, she pulled away from his touch, brushing past him. "I see some things never change. You're still the silver-tongued flatterer you always were."

Turning to follow, he limped while leaning on his cane, struggling to keep up with her.

"Many things have changed about me. I'd like the chance to prove that to you."

Entering the hedgerow maze, she shook her head, throwing up her hands with a snort. "And now, you begin with the lies! I wondered how long it would take."

Gritting his teeth, he followed, grunting as his thigh began to throb. "I understand you might be angry—"

Pausing suddenly, she swiveled to face him, bringing him up short. "Angry? On the contrary, Colin. I feel nothing toward you. Anger, least of all."

The fists balled up at her sides told a different story, but he chose not to point that out.

"I just wanted a chance to clear the air between us," he said. "We never spoke again after that night at the inn."

She pursed her lips. "Yes, well, one can hardly engage in a conversation with someone as they go running back to their father with their tail tucked between their legs now, can they?"

"Point taken," he replied. "I know I have no right to ask this, but I just … please let me explain."

Clasping her hands in front of her, she cleared her throat. "Very well. I am listening, Colin."

Her coldness had begun to take its toll, causing a pit of despair to open in his gut. However, he wasn't ready to concede defeat just yet.

"When I asked you to marry me, the offer was sincere. My love for you was real."

Her expression remained neutral, as if his words had no impact. He cleared his throat and soldiered on.

"We might be wed now if I weren't such a coward. You see, that night after we … after we made love … I laid in that bed while you slept beside me, and felt terror. I'd never loved anyone before, Penelope. It was intense, and all-consuming, and it frightened me. Before you, I was concerned only with burying my cock in as many women as I could, thinking it would turn me into some sort of hero—a rake for all the other idiots to look up to and crown as their king. It was all about conquest and bragging rights, and I'd never felt anything real … until I met you. You breathed life into me, and you made me want to be a better person. For a time, it seemed to work. I felt as if I were ready to commit to being your husband, to being a good man. But, fear crept in and I allowed it to drive my actions. I didn't understand true love—not the way I should have to be a good husband to anyone. I was too young and inexperienced to understand it, so I ran. I regret what I did, and not a day passes me by when I do not think of it and feel shame."

When he fell silent, she took a deep, noisy breath, nostrils flaring as she exhaled. "How long did it take you to experience this shame, Colin? Was it after you'd gotten dressed and left the inn? Or perhaps during the long ride from Gretna Green back to London? Oh, I know … maybe it was as you stood before your father, telling him what you had done and begging him to clean up your mess. No, but it could not have been then, because you still accepted the commission he purchased for you and left. So, tell me, Colin. When did the guilt overwhelm you?"

He lowered his gaze, determined to weather this first encounter without losing faith. Now was her opportunity to say to him everything she'd never gotten to say.

"I do not expect you to believe me," he replied. "If war has taught me anything, it's that life has no guarantees. I faced death in Belgium, and realized I had so many regrets. You stood foremost in my mind. I was given a second chance at life, even though I did not deserve it. It opened my eyes to the other wrongs I needed to right in my life."

"So you thought to soothe your conscience, so that you might return to society and resume your life guilt-free?"

"No, it's not that, Penelope—"

"Allow me to spare you the trouble, Colin. Apology accepted. I forgive you. In fact, I forgave you years ago, so that I could move on with my life. Now, kindly go away and never attempt to speak to me again."

She moved to walk past him, but he was unwilling to let her get away. Grasping her arm, he halted her, pulling her against him.

"I faced many options after Waterloo, many of which involved avoiding London and you. I could have outrun it all if I'd wished. I chose to come back for one reason, and it has nothing to do with my conscience. It's you, Penny. I came for you. I love—"

"Don't!" she growled, dislodging her arm from his hold. "Don't you dare say those words to me. They mean nothing falling from your lips … not anymore."

He nodded. "You're right. I've given you no reason to trust me. That's why I want the chance to earn it, the right way this time."

Throwing all his pride aside, he fell to one knee before her, reaching for one of her hands.

"Please, Penny. I'll do anything. Give me a chance to show you my words are true."

Staring down at him, her gaze remained cool. "Penelope."

He nodded. "Right, sorry. Old habits and all that. Penelope, please."

For a moment, she simply gazed down at him in silence, her expression inscrutable. Colin held his breath, waiting for her to either tear his heart to shreds, or buoy it with her next words.

"The fact is," she said, reaching down to stroke his hair. "I never actually loved you, Colin. I realized after you left that I was only a young girl who allowed lust and infatuation to cloud her judgement. I wanted to fuck someone, and you wanted my virginity. We both got what we wanted."

He creased his brow, shaking his head. "I don't believe you. No one can fake emotion like that. I saw it in your eyes."

Curling her upper lip, she scoffed. "And now? What do you see, Colin?"

"A woman who is far stronger than I ever gave her credit for. One who will never allow anyone to come close to her again, and all because of what I did."

She rolled her eyes. "Not everything is about you. I am this way because I want to be. I'm unwed because I enjoy my independence, and I do not have time for the games and intrigue that accompany the courting ritual. This is who I am, and I like things this way. If I ever did love you, that feeling is gone."

Raising an eyebrow, he reached for one of her ankles, stroking up her stockinged calf. "And what of lust? That emotion is much harder to put aside, isn't it?"

Despite the fact that she shuddered, Penelope remained stoic. "Nonsense. I am perfectly capable of putting lust aside."

He felt his lips twisting into a smirk as he lifted her foot, resting it on his thigh. His leg screamed in protest against his position, but he ignored it, concentrating on the smooth silk stocking at his fingertips and the shapely leg it encased.

"Poppycock," he murmured. "I know you, Penelope. I can hear your breath growing uneven, and see the rise and fall of your breasts. You aren't as unaffected by me as you'd like to pretend."

She did not respond. Neither did she pull away as his hand skimmed higher, encountering the leg of her pantaloons. Edging his fingers beneath the fabric, he stroked bare skin.

Leaning forward, he rested his head against her middle, drawing slow circles on her inner thigh.

"Your skin is just like I remember. So soft. I wonder, would you still moan if I did this?"

She shuddered, muffling a moan when he found an especially sensitive spot near the crease where her thigh met her pelvis.

"There," he whispered, pressing a kiss against her belly through the fabric of her gown. "I remember. Do you? I would trace that spot with my tongue, then nibble on the inside of your thigh. God, I remember you tasting so good. I could feast on you for hours."

Penelope whimpered, teetering on one foot, then steadied herself by gripping his shoulder.

"I do remember your tongue being good for a bit more than lying."

He chuckled. "We were good together. Don't you remember? When we made love, it was unlike anything I've ever known. We could have that again."

Grasping his hair, she gave it a gentle but firm tug, tilting his head back to meet his gaze. Her lips curved into a coy smirk that sent blood rushing straight to his groin. His cock strained against the front of his breeches, begging for entrance to her body.

"You're right," she whispered. "We were good together. I do want that again. Here. Now."

A tremor rolled down his spine, his mouth watering at the prospect of being with her again. He stood, eagerness making his movements less than graceful as he reached for her.

Shaking her head, she pressed a hand to his chest, urging him back downward. Her eyes twinkled with mischief as she gave him a sensual smile.

"No, Colin. Back on your knees."

Her command caused his erection to grow even more painful. He reached down to apply pressure to the throbbing organ, hoping to ease the ache until he could bury himself in her.

As he obeyed the order, he found himself intrigued by the woman he thought he'd known. The sweet, shy girl she'd been before was nothing like the bold vixen who stood before him, commanding him to kneel.

He liked it.