Heart at risk

18. say something.

'Stop the carriage! Stop right now!' Penelope's voice cracked with urgency, but the driver didn't respond immediately, his back stiff and shoulders rigid as he guided the horses forward.

She fumbled for her reticule, her hands trembling as she tugged it open and pulled out a handful of crisp banknotes. Leaning out further, she waved the money, her voice laced with desperation. 'Please, I'll pay you—whatever you want. Just stop the carriage and let me go!'

The driver finally slowed, casting a quick glance over his shoulder. His eyes flicked to the money in her hand, widening slightly. He hesitated, and Penelope saw the conflict playing out across his weathered face. The carriage rocked as it slowed to a crawl, but still, he did not stop.

'Please,' she pleaded, her voice softer now, coaxing. 'This is more than enough. I won't cause you any trouble. Just stop...'

The driver hesitated, his eyes flicking between the large sum of money in Penelope's hand and the road ahead. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, clearly tempted by the offer. Penelope's heart raced, desperate to change the course of her night and escape the inevitable. But the driver's brow furrowed as he finally shook his head.

'I cannot, miss,' he said, his voice apologetic but firm. 'I've got my orders. I'm taking you to the Featherington Estate, just as Mr. Bridgerton said.'

Penelope's chest tightened, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. She had been so close to steering the night in a different direction. She clutched the banknotes tighter, her mind racing for another solution, but the driver was resolute.

'My apologies' he added, his tone softer now. 'I do not wish to risk losing my position. Mr. Bridgerton gave clear instructions.'

Penelope slumped back into the carriage seat, her heart sinking. She had no choice now but to be taken home, the looming fear of Cressida's threat swirling in her mind like a storm. The carriage rattled forward, the chance of escape slipping further from her grasp with each passing mile.

-

Colin stood at the center of the room, glass in hand, poised to speak. Just as Colin began to open his mouth, a sharp, insistent voice cut through the murmurs of the crowd.

'Mr. Bridgerton, if I may,' Cressida Cowper called out, her tone deliberately poised, a sweet veneer masking the malice beneath. Heads turned toward her, intrigued by the interruption.

Colin's gaze sharpened as he met Cressida's eyes. She wore a smile—a smile that didn't reach her eyes. He knew that smile all too well. Colin remained silent, his expression carefully composed, but inside, he could feel the danger brewing. He'd seen Cressida play these games before. She thrived on scandal, lived for the chance to twist words and reputations to her advantage.

'May I have a moment of your time?' Cressida continued, taking a step closer to the center of the room. Her voice carried an air of authority, as though she was entitled to this stage.

He scanned the room, his eyes sweeping over the sea of curious faces. Penelope. Where was Penelope?

A wave of panic surged through him as he searched the crowd again, heart thudding louder in his chest. She was gone. She had been standing there moments ago, a nervous but resolute figure in the crowd, watching him, ready to support him. But now... she was nowhere to be seen.

His breath hitched, panic creeping up his spine. Why had she left? Before his mind could spiral any further, the answer struck him like a cold slap—Cressida. Had she said something—done something—to frighten her? Perhaps about Whistledown? Colin's jaw clenched. He turned his attention back to Cressida, who was standing a little too confidently now, that insidious smile still plastered on her face. She was about to say something devastating—something meant to tear down everything Colin cared about.