Archive of Our Own

For months, Colin and Penelope had traveled across Europe, through the glittering salons of Paris, the grandeur of Vienna, the ruins of Greece, and the quiet hills of Tuscany. As part of a diplomatic mission cloaked in secrecy and laced with peril, they had navigated not only the complexities of political alliances but also the fragile landscape of their own hearts. Their union had begun with both passion and uncertainty, but what followed was a partnership forged in fire, shaped by trials, betrayals, confessions, and trust rebuilt from ruin.

Their return to England had begun with emotional reunions. Tears had been shed at Aubrey Hall, where Violet enveloped them both with maternal warmth, and all of Colin's siblings welcomed her with tears and smiles. Even her mother and sisters greeted her with open arms. But it had been her reunion with Eloise that undid her completely. When the two friends saw each other again, neither spoke at first—only tears, the kind that came from years of distance, and aching love. Eloise had stared at her for a long moment before rushing into her arms, and Penelope had collapsed into her, overwhelmed by the relief of being forgiven, seen, and held. They had spent hours talking late into the night, curled on the floor of Penelope’s childhood bedroom like they used to, as if the years between them had folded into nothing. There had been unending banter, and everything was right once again. Finally, the weight of the journey began to settle into memory.

Now, a few weeks later, Colin and Penelope left for London before the sun had risen. The city greeted them with its familiar fog and the rhythmic clatter of carriage wheels, but neither Colin nor Penelope could fully relax. Ahead loomed their meeting with the Queen, a reckoning that promised no certainty. For now, they bypassed Bridgerton House and returned instead to Featherington House. With the rest of the family still at Aubrey Hall, the place was silent save for the soft shuffle of the skeleton staff.

They had chosen it for its quiet. They needed space to breathe. To think. And for Penelope, perhaps it was a chance to reclaim something. To walk those familiar halls not as the forgotten girl she once was, but as a woman changed by love, purpose, and the world. She returned not only as herself—but as his.

Dinner was modest but warm, served in the same dining room where Penelope had so often sat overlooked. But now, she sat beside her husband. Their fingers brushed on the table, the candlelight flickering over the matching gold bands on their hands.

Afterwards, they wandered the halls, their steps echoing softly across polished floors. The air held the scent of lemon oil and faint old roses. They paused at the foot of the grand staircase.

“You know,” Colin said, looking around the empty house before glancing at her, “we do have the whole house to ourselves.” He wore that particular smile, a knowing curve of his lips she recognised instantly. It was the one he always wore when he was plotting something utterly improper and entirely impertinent, and he was fully aware he’d get away with it.

Penelope tilted her head. “Whatever shall we do with all this space?”

He began to pace slowly, hands behind his back like a general surveying the field. His brow furrowed in exaggerated thought, then he spun on his heel, tapped his chin, and gave her a look so theatrically serious it made her giggle.

“Hide and seek, obviously...”

She laughed, eyes bright with mischief. “You're on.”

Before he could move, she darted up the stairs, her laughter trailing behind her like a ribbon caught on the wind.

"That's tag, not hide and seek!" Colin shouted after her. With a laugh of disbelief and delight, he launched after her, two steps at a time.

They tore through corridors, in and out of old rooms, brushing past the heavy drapes and polished banisters as if they were children again. Colin narrowly missed slipping on a rug as he skidded around a corner, laughing breathlessly, one hand catching the wall to steady himself. He glimpsed a flash of Penelope’s skirt as she disappeared into the east drawing room.

"Wife!" he called loudly. "You shall not escape me!"

"Now the game begins, try to find me!" came her gleeful voice from somewhere beyond.

For a moment, time dissolved around them. No titles, no expectations, no looming summons from monarchs. Just two souls playing in the quiet corners of a house that had once held her difficult past, now filled with joy and running footsteps.

Penelope, more familiar with the layout and at sneaking about, managed to lose him. She crept back down to the dining room, her heart pounding from the thrill. An idea struck her, wicked and exhilarating. She hoisted herself onto the dining table.

She heard his steps drawing closer.

And then he appeared.

His hair tousled, his waistcoat gone, his breathing ragged. He looked completely undone.

She leaned back on her hands, her bosom rising and falling rapidly, the pose both casual and calculated.

“Got you…” He growled, his voice thick and low.

She sighed dramatically. “Dear… I suppose you have.”

With a teasing smile, she began to lift her skirts—slowly. His eyes tracked her every movement like a predator. “I believe,” she whispered, “you’ll need to claim your prize.” She could feel his gaze tracing up the length of her soft thighs.

Colin chuckled darkly, stepping forward. “A second dinner?”

She nodded, breathless as she opened up for him. “As your wife, it’s my duty to provide for my very hungry husband.” She could already feel herself getting even wetter under his gaze.

“Oh, I’m absolutely starving,” he murmured, pulling out the chair before her and settling in. He leaned in, warm breath ghosting over her thighs. “I’m so very lucky… that my wife is a very... very good girl.”

His kisses began soft, featherlight kisses to her soft thighs, but quickly grew more deliberate, his lips worshipful against her skin until he finally reached her eager lips. He paused only to murmur, “Do apologise to Lady Featherington… for the mess I’m about to make of her dinner table.”

He took a very slow, deliberate lick, his tongue already curling inside of her, and she collapsed back on her hands with a cry. It was so familiar, yet entirely new. This act of worship in the very room where she had once stared longingly at him across the table. The irony made her laugh, breathless.

Colin stilled. “What’s so amusing?” His lips brushed against her as his voice rumbled through her.

Even in her daze, she managed to impishly shake her head with a smirk.

“Tell me…” he growled, his grip tightening bruisingly around her thighs, dragging her closer with a possessive, almost feral need.

Still flushed and breathless, she chuckled. “I just remembered… you used to sit right here. This very seat. And I’d look at you, wishing you'd notice me. And now… here we are.”

His gaze softened, the fire giving way to something gentler. "You’ve always been right in front of me," he said softly, "and I was too much a fool to see it... but I see you now. And I’m never looking away again."

He placed a gentle, lingering kiss to her mound before the heat in his eyes returned, dark and intent. "My younger self would be absolutely delighted to know I’d one day be offered such a delicious prize."

Without another word, he gripped her hips and lowered his mouth to her once more with just the kind of devotion that made her cry out and arch into him, lost in the pleasure only he could give.

She lifted her skirts higher, watching as he devoured her with an insatiable hunger that made her legs tremble. His eyes, now dark with desire, locked on hers as a low, satisfied groan rumbled from his throat. The sound sent a bolt of pleasure through her, her head falling back with a moan that echoed off the walls.

Her hand found his curls and tugged hard, needing him impossibly closer, deeper. The pressure only spurred him on, his mouth more ravenous, two fingers joining the rhythm of his tongue as he worked her into madness.

“Yes!” she gasped, hips rolling against his face, “My husband is… so good to me… so, so good…his beautiful mouth… and that perfect tongue inside me…”

He groaned in response, his mouth and fingers moving in perfect, punishing harmony. She met him with equal desperation, hips lifting to meet each movement, her cries building into a frenzy.

“Colin!” she screamed as she shattered around him. But he didn’t stop. Even as she fluttered on his tongue, his eyes stayed on hers, watching every moment as she came undone on his mouth.

Her arms gave out as she collapsed onto the table, the candelabras rattling from the force. Breathless and boneless, she stared up at the familiar ceiling, a place of humiliations and ridicule now baptised in bliss. The years of feeling invisible at this table had been replaced by something powerful. Something hers.

The scrape of the chair made her jump. Colin rose slowly, licking his lips, savouring her like a man fully fed.

He leaned over her, eyes gleaming, that dangerous smirk still curling at the corners of his mouth.

“Your turn, Pen…”

And without warning, he turned on his heel and fled from the room, his footsteps echoing through the empty house.

Penelope let out an astonished breath. He had left her completely undone atop the dining table, blissful and dishevelled.

And yet, somehow, his sudden disappearance sent a thrill down her spine. A slow smile curled on her lips.

I will find you, Colin Bridgerton.

She adjusted her skirt and eased herself off the table with graceless effort, her legs still trembling from his attentions. She drifted through the first floor, peeking into empty rooms. But even as she wandered, she already knew.

Of course. There was only one place he’d go.

She ascended the stairs, her steps quiet but swift, and made her way down the familiar corridor…

Until she reached her room.

The door opened with a soft creak. Candlelight bathed everything in a golden haze. The flame danced fresh in their sconces. Her breath caught.

There he was.

Stretched out on her bed. Shoes off, shirt undone, his sun-kissed chest exposed. One arm rested behind his head, the other holding a stack of papers. His eyes moved steadily over the words, his expression rapt.

She recognised the pages immediately.

Her old Whistledown drafts. The ones she had once hidden beneath the floorboards. Now read openly by the only person whose opinion she cared for the most, there in raw form.

She almost didn’t want to disturb him. But the moment his gaze lifted to meet hers, something passed between them.

The memory of his mouth on her quim still lingered.

She stepped into the room, slow and deliberate, her body already aching for what came next.

Colin’s voice broke the silence as he began to read aloud.

“‘Mr. Colin Bridgerton has returned from his latest travels abroad and, to the great delight of the Ton’s unmarried daughters, seems none the worse for wear. Still as charming as ever and reportedly even more handsome, Mr. Bridgerton has wasted no time in reclaiming his place as one of society’s most sought-after bachelors. One might hope, however, that his penchant for storytelling abroad might finally be rivalled by some substance at home.’”

He looked up from the page, arching a brow with dark amusement. “You really were ruthless.” He tossed the papers aside.

Penelope smiled, but there was an ache beneath it. A pang of guilt still echoed from the sharpness of her words. “I did what I had to do,” she said softly. “I couldn’t spare you, not if I wanted to keep my secret. If I’d written what I truly felt…” She met his gaze, her expression tender. “Everyone would have known...”

Colin held her stare. Whatever hurt had once existed had long since faded. What remained was understanding and something deeper.

He sank further into the pillows, a vision of sinful allure on her childhood bed. The chase and everything after had left him gloriously undone. Achingly handsome.

“I was furious at Lady Whistledown, especially when I learned about her identity,” he said, voice low, rough around the edges. “But even then, when the anger was brightest… she haunted my dreams…”

His tone dropped into a gravelled rasp, curling around her like smoke. “I dreamt I came to confront her. No warning. No explanation. I just walked into her room... this room.” His eyes roamed the corners of the candlelit space, as if it still held that phantom.

“She stood there, draped in her dark cape. I told her everything. Every betrayal, every wound she dealt me. And she just looked at me with an infuriating smirk...”

He let out a slow, controlled breath. “Then she pushed me onto this bed…”

Penelope’s breath caught.

“…and had her way with me.”

The hunger in his eyes was animalistic. Barely contained.

“When I woke... I’d be left aching. Desperate to feel her again.”

His own hand began at his own collarbone and traced it achingly slow down the exposed skin of his chest. Penelope followed the path with a gaze that turned molten.

“The same hand,” he whispered, “that penned words sharp enough to shake the Ton…”

He traced the dip of his sternum, slow and deliberate.

“To turn dukes and duchesses against one another, to cast shadows over reputations and send the proud into disgrace…”

His fingers skimmed down the ridges of his abdomen.

“…and stir madness in monarchs. Gods, I wanted those hands on me.”

Penelope stood frozen in front of the bed, her chest rising and falling as he slowly unbuckled his breeches, each movement languid and deliberate.

“And that mouth,” he murmured, his eyes fixed on her lips, “the one that could rattle empires… the one that made the powers of Europe take pause…”

Penelope’s mouth parted in a breathless gasp as his hand disappeared into his breeches and pulled out his thick length. His fingers curled around himself with slow, deliberate strokes. Her quim ached at the sight of him. 

“All over me... bringing me to my own madness,” he groaned, head falling back into the pillows, lips parted as his hips arched slightly into his own touch. Pre cum dripped from his tip and he watched her intently as he spread it down over his shaft. 

Penelope bit her lip, a moan ripped from her throat as she took a step forward, drawn like a tide to the sight of him slowly falling apart. The air between them burned.

“I would dream about it constantly,” he said, his voice unravelling. “But my own hand… it never came close to what I craved.” He still continued to pleasure himself, his eyes intently watching her as her body moved on instinct.

She climbed onto the bed, her eyes dark with need, her hands trailing up his thighs. “Then let Lady Whistledown put you out of your misery, my love…”

“Please…” he begged, desperate and wrecked.

She leaned over him, her breath brushing over his collarbone, lips ghosting just above his skin. “Keep going…” she whispered, before tracing the same path his fingers had once travelled. Her mouth was slow, savouring the salt of his sweat, the heat of his skin. The noises that escaped his mouth sent arousal pulsing through her.

She had kissed him, explored him with her mouth more times than she could count, but here—on the very bed where she had once dreamed of him from afar—it was different. Charged. Sacred. And now he was the one trembling, begging, undone beneath her touch. It was more than she had ever dared to imagine.

Her hair fell in a curtain around them as she charted his body with lips and tongue, lingering over the ridges of his abdomen, the sharp breath he took when she kissed just below his ribs. She felt more than heard her name spill from his lips.

“Pen… please…” he moaned, his fingers twisting in her hair, anchoring himself to her.

Penelope pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her eyes full of wicked delight. “What is it, Mr. Bridgerton?” she purred. “What do you want?”

Moments ago, she had been the one trembling beneath his mouth. Now, the tables had turned. Now, he was hers.

His chest rose and fell in uneven waves. His eyes were wild with want as he grabbed her face, his thumb brushing along her bottom lip before slipping into her mouth. Her tongue swirled around it slowly, purposefully, a promise of what was to come.

“I need… that perfect mouth… to take my cock.”

Penelope let out a soft, needy moan against his fingers. She wasted no time obeying her husband’s wishes, her fingers. She brushed her unruly curls over her shoulder, her eyes never leaving his as she slowly reached for him.

Her hand wrapped around his thick length, savouring the heat and weight of him. She leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to the tip, her lips soft, teasing.

“This mouth may have power, as you say…” Her breath fanned over him, and he shivered, helpless beneath her. “But it was made to give you every happiness… and every pleasure.”

She dragged her tongue along the length of him, slow and luxurious, and he let out a low, guttural groan as his head dropped back onto the pillows. The sound reverberated through her, awakening something primal.

Her tongue swirled around his head before slowly pumping him in her mouth.

“Oh god! Fuck!” His cry rang through the room. “God, you feel perfect…”

He arched beneath her touch, every muscle drawn taut. And she felt it, an intoxicating sense of power and devotion. This was deeper than politics or prose, deeper than anything she’d written or read. This was her purpose, her world.

He smirked, breathless, still dazed from the high she had given him. “Who would’ve thought Lady Whistledown would be the one to ruin me? Not with her pen this time...but with her mouth.”

She moaned as she took him deeper into her mouth, hollowing her cheeks, moving with intention. His hand shot to her hair, fingers tangling tightly as he guided her. The pull was possessive, greedy, and she welcomed it. A bolt of pleasure tore through her as he brought her closer, deeper, until she was lost in the rhythm of his pleasure, of their desire, tightly wound and unravelling.

His hands tangled in her curls as he held her head both desperately and lovingly, thrusting into her mouth. Penelope moaned as he moved deeper, feeling the pleasure shoot down to her core. 

His own moan echoed from the walls of her bedroom, “Penelope… my love…"

His back arched, "My goddess…" 

"My wife!” He cried out. 

She felt him begin to tremble, the heat of his climax building as his voice cracked into a guttural groan. Her name fell from his lips again and again. When he came, it was with his hands fisted in her hair and his body arched off the bed, surrendering everything to her as she lovingly took it all.

Penelope pulled back slowly, her lips swollen, her cheeks flushed, and her heart pounding. She slowly licked her lips, savoring the taste of him. She sat back on her heels and simply watched him, chest heaving, brow damp, his body utterly unravelled. He looked beautifully ruined, the very picture of desire undone, his golden skin still flushed from pleasure, curls wild from her fingers.

She let the image of him burn into her memory. This man—hers.

And then, with a sudden brightness in her voice, she grinned.

“Your turn!”

She climbed off her bed and ran for the door, but not without looking back and seeing the absolute wreck she had left him. With a laugh, she threw open the door and ran for the drawing room.

With a breathy sigh, she traced the familiar bookshelves with her fingers before finding her favourite book, a well-worn romance, the very one she used to read while daydreaming by her favourite window. She settled herself on the seat by that window, her skirts pooled around her, and opened the novel. The spine, broken from years of revisiting the same passage, naturally fell open to the fictional couple’s first kiss. She now realised that it was so innocent, but was once scandalous to her younger self’s sensibilities.

She smiled to herself.

The door creaked open. Heavy footsteps. She didn’t turn.

She could feel his gaze on her. And for a long, delicious moment, she let him watch.

Because this was the room where she had once felt invisible. But not tonight. Not in his eyes. In Colin’s eyes, she shone bright. Wanted. Loved. It had taken her so long to believe it, but every day since he confessed his feelings, especially after he married her, he reminded her. Reminded her that she was everything.

Her fingers traced the familiar page as her thoughts drifted. Her life, she realised, had become something better than fiction. An adventure beyond anything those pages could contain.

“This was always my favourite window,” she said without turning around. “I used to look across at Bridgerton House from here. Sometimes I’d see you out there. Laughing with your brothers and sisters. Off on some ridiculous adventure. And I’d wonder… what it might be like, if you ever looked back.”

She closed the book, her eyes lifting to the darkened street outside. Bridgerton House still stood proud and clear, just as she remembered. A reminder of all the hours she had spent wishing.

When she finally turned, she found him dishevelled more so than even at the dining table. Shirt open, curls wild, skin flushed. His fingers idly trailed along the back of a chair. The same chair he had once sat in during visits meant for Marina. How far they had come…

And when he looked at her now, the heat in his gaze gave way to something else. Tenderness. The same quiet warmth that had always been so uniquely Colin.

He held out his hand, an invitation. And she took it, rising to meet him. He pulled her into his arms, and she melted there, smiling up at him as he brushed his fingers through her now-loose curls.

The look in his eyes was full of pure devotion.

He leaned in and kissed her slowly, unhurried, a languid caress that made her toes curl in her slippers. Then, with a playful spin, he twirled her around and drew her back against his chest, wrapping his arms around her. She sank into the warmth of him, her hands resting over his.

“I will admit… there are times I wish I could go back,” he murmured, lips brushing her ear. “So I could look up through that window… and smile at you.”

She stilled.

“When I thought I had lost you to another,” he continued, “I would look toward Featherington House. Wishing to see you. Through that window.” He pointed to the window directly across the street. “Wishing you’d step outside the door and look for me.”

Her breath caught. The thought that he, too, had searched. It may not have been at the same time, but the meaning still struck deep.

He kissed her temple. Her cheek. Her jawline. Each kiss slower, hungrier, until he reached her neck. Her breath turned shallow beneath the heat of his mouth.

His hands, once gentle, now gripped her tighter, roaming from her waist up until he cupped her breasts, pulling a sharp gasp from her lips. They were sore, unusually sensitive, but the feeling was still delicious.

She reached behind, gripping the back of his neck, needing him closer as his mouth devoured the delicate skin at the base of her throat.

“Colin…” she gasped.

But he stepped back. She whined at the loss…

Until he pushed her forward onto the window bench.

“Bend over,” he said, voice rough, commanding. It sent a jolt through her.

Without question, she obeyed. Knees on the cushion, hands bracing the backrest. She felt him behind her, hard, heavy, aching against her.

Her skirts were lifted, bunched at her waist, and the cool air kissed her slick skin. His fingers grazed her entrance, spreading her wetness with slow, maddening care.

The curtains were still wide open.

“C-Colin… the curtains…” she gasped just as he slid a finger inside.

“No,” he whispered in her ear. “If someone sees… let them.” He began pumping rhythmically.

She moaned, overwhelmed. This was madness. But it was him . She belonged to this beautiful madness.

And then, he paused. Replaced his fingers with the thick tip of his cock, nudging and swirling against her entrance. Teasing. Cruel.

“Please…” she begged.

Colin leaned over, biting her earlobe before murmuring, “What is it you need, Mrs. Bridgerton?”

“You! Inside me! Now!” she cried, wild with need.

He chuckled, dark and low. “But what if someone sees?” He pushed forward just a little. Not enough.

“I don’t give a damn!” She tried to grind back, desperate.

He gripped her hips to hold her still. “Language, Mrs. Bridgerton. Didn’t Lady Featherington teach you manners?”

“Fuck manners!” she screamed. “Fuck me now!”

He laughed, wicked and delighted. “Well, I clearly must obey my wife’s orders.”

Without warning, he thrust into her forcefully, and Penelope screamed. The sudden invasion rippled through every inch of her body. He gripped her tightly as he drove into her again and again.

He had never entered her this way before, but she found the sensation to be a revelation. Every nerve in her body was on fire. He felt impossibly deep inside her. Connecting with her in a completely new way she never could even imagine. Claiming her.

As he moved inside her, every thrust and gasp ricocheting between their bodies, her eyes drifted toward the glass. And for the briefest, most surreal moment, Penelope caught the reflection of herself in the windowpane. Her head tipped back, her mouth parted, eyes fluttering toward the window. The same window where she had once stared out, longing for the boy who now worshipped her body as if he’d never stop, her husband gripping her hips as he took her hard and deep.

A sharp, wondrous thought pierced through the haze of pleasure…

If someone had told the girl who once sat in this very spot, quietly reading and praying, he might glance her way… that one day he would be behind her like this. Inside her, loving her with such reckless devotion… she would have never believed it.

The contrast was so stark, so impossibly perfect, it made her breath catch, and she clenched around him with renewed force. She braced against the bench, her hips pushing back to meet every stroke.

“You love this, don’t you?” he growled. “You want to be fucked this hard?”

“Yes!”

“More?”

“Please!” she cried.

“Good girl.”

Colin pulled out slowly, enjoying feel and sight of the delicious drag out of her swollen quim. 

Without warning, he shoved her shoulders down, only to pull her hips back up.

“God, look at you… so beautiful. A goddess…” He cupped her bottom reverently, his voice rich with adoration.

“Soft, lush, perfect…” He nudged his tip against her again, teasingly up and down her seam. “Always so ready for me.”

They both gasped as he pushed back into her, slowly, inch by inch, and she groaned as she felt herself stretch to accommodate him, her body welcoming him with eager hunger.

He filled her to the brim, deeper than she thought possible, and her mouth fell open with a ragged moan.

“Oh… god… you’re so deep…” She groaned. 

His hands reached forward, finding her sensitive breasts, his touch possessive, worshipful, as he rocked into her with unrelenting purpose.

“My perfect little wife…” he rasped, gradually picking up his pace, every thrust making her arch higher.

Her cheek pressed into the cushion as her hips lifted instinctively, chasing more. The angle drove him deeper, and something about it lit a fire within him. His rhythm became savage.

“Fuck! I love you—I love you—I love you so fucking much!”

She tried to respond, but pleasure had consumed her. She clung to the bench, trembling as he reached around and found her pearl, his fingers circling with devastating accuracy. She found herself pushing back against each thrust, needing him to take her harder. The pounding sounded almost violent. The bench screeched under the force. She screamed loudly as she felt every fibre of her being catch fire from the power of him. 

It was possession. It was devotion. It was love.

She fell into bliss.

“I love you… my… beautiful husband…” she cried, as the orgasm crashed through her. Her walls pulsed tightly around him, coaxing him deeper.

Colin growled, losing all restraint. He pounded into her as her climax echoed through her, wave after wave. And then he shattered, spilling into her with a groan, his hips driving forward as if to give her everything he had.

They collapsed together, breathless.

He wrapped his arms around her, easing her down, shifting them until they were lying curled on the window bench. Her head naturally rested on his chest, where his heart still thundered.

They lay there in reverent silence, wrapped in the afterglow of something wild and sacred. A love born here, perhaps, but forged through miles of adventure and the trials only they could understand.

Penelope pressed a soft kiss to his chest, smiling. “If you had told the Penelope from years ago she’d be doing this on her favourite reading bench…” She laughed, spotting her book now abandoned across the room.

He chuckled, low and warm. “That is not advised. This isn’t for the well-bred maiden.”

“You’re right,” she said, eyes twinkling. “I would save her from all the salacious details... but I’d love to tell her that the man she dreamed of for hours at this very spot would someday make her the happiest woman on Earth.”

“And in return,” he said, brushing her hair back gently, “she’d make him the happiest man on Earth.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“She would’ve loved that.”

“To the present Penelope—Lady Whistledown, my goddess, my wife—I love you.”

“And my Colin—my rock, my heart, my world—I love you too.”