A Little More Convincing

Chapter Four: A Forceful Declaration

Colin had only meant to peek out the door, perhaps ask Briarly what was taking so long. He already suspected, upon being shown into the library, that the older man wasn't happy about his presence. Colin had begun to wonder just how much Briarly had seen yesterday. It had to be more than nothing, as Penelope had insisted. Otherwise, why had his narrowed eyes followed Colin into the library as if he'd some secret plan to steal the contents of the room?

Then again, if Penelope were the contents, then yes... he did have certain plans of stealing her, but only in the most respectable way.

He was offering marriage, after all. He'd wager if Briarly knew that Penelope was the problem, he'd see things differently.

After a full ten minutes waiting, Colin started to suspect Briarly was torturing him, perhaps punishing him for yesterday's indiscretions, and would very likely come back and claim Miss Featherington was not receiving callers after all.

He certainly hadn't expected, upon pulling the door open, for Penelope to fall directly through it and into his arms. But he couldn't help thinking it a fair omen for the day as he caught her, his arms wrapping around her waist quickly, turning with her fall, but keeping her from hitting the floor as she stared up at him with wide, astonished eyes.

He'd not expected to have her so close, so soon and — by the way her eyes drifted down to his lips — so willing.

Perhaps they could dispense with the talk. He'd rather not talk, anyhow. He'd sent roses to sweeten her up, just as a start, and there was a box of nonpareils on the table behind him he'd yet to offer her, but he'd bet a bit of kissing would sweeten her up even more.

He would certainly prefer that route. It would make this much easier as, despite Anthony's advice, he wasn't looking forward to the forceful bits of this ordeal. He had rehearsed it on the way from Bloomsbury and still didn't feel as if it sounded right, coming from him.

You must be firm and decisive. 'You are going to marry me,' would have been best, then she's thinking about marriage.

That's what Anthony had said and he'd tried to practice the words, on the carriage ride over, but they felt so strange upon his tongue. He'd never considered forcefulness a part of his nature. Perhaps it was something he had to learn, in order to be a proper husband.

"You are going to marry me," he'd said to the empty carriage bench facing him.

He didn't like it. It felt like an order. Even the imaginary Penelope in the seat across the way didn't seem impressed.

"We are to be married," he'd tried, firmly.

It felt a bit better. At least the both of them were being given the edict. And he was more than ready to comply. But was she? That imaginary Penelope still seemed reluctant.

"You will be my wife," he'd said, staring at the empty seat more firmly, a frisson of excitement moving through his entire body at the word. That did sound tempting, if a little possessive. He liked it, but would she?

"I will be your husband," he added. That also sounded rather thrilling. He tried to imagine her equally enthralled.

It was easy to imagine she would be, alone in his carriage, staring at the cushioned squabs where he'd laid her down yesterday, heard her moans, her sighs, her gasps of pleasure.

He couldn't stop reliving the events... but in better ways. It was likely a waste of time. Reliving imaginary yesterdays did nothing to help him with today, or so he told himself. Still, it was hard to help. He especially liked the ones where he'd told his coachman to keep moving along for another half-hour, perhaps a whole hour.