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Despite the heavy summer air, the water was cool on Penelope’s toes as she dipped one foot in and shivered. Perfect. Perfect for clearing the thick air that seemed to press against her suffocatingly. Perfect for washing away the day full of heavy dresses and stifling fabric and too many layers.

Perfect for combating the fever that seemed to be overtaking her with every passing minute.

If she were completely oblivious, she might think she was ill. She supposed she was in a way. How else could she explain what she was doing right now? she wondered as she glanced about once more.

There was no reason to think anyone would be here. There was no reason for anyone to be here. In fact, she was near certain she was the only one to know the pond existed at all, having stumbled upon it completely by accident before leaving some strategically placed sticks to find her way back. Still, it didn’t hurt to check.

The pool was reasonably large, completely clear, and filled with large lilypads and lilies– pink, white and yellow– that seemed to glow in the moonlight. The air hung heavy with their fragrance, sweet and delicate, like perfume made for sprites. The second she’d seen it she’d longed to slip off her stockings and dive in, but she knew she could not– not with the walking party still within earshot. She had covered for herself by saying she got lost and promised herself she would return that night. She had so little joy– joy that could not be taken away, anyway– she felt the pond’s water on her skin was her birthright. How else did she justify how completely the scales balanced against her, if she was not due these small moments, ripe for the taking.

It was past midnight, but still so warm she felt sweat travel down every curve of her body under her dress. She’d had the forethought to at least wear something more modest than a nightgown lest she was caught, God forbid. But it was as suffocating as it was during the day, and with a final glance to the trees on either side and satisfied with the sound of crickets, frogs and otherwise silence, she lifted her dress over her head.

She stood for a moment in her shift, uncertain.

This could be enough.

She could swim (or wade, because how did one swim at all? She was not a frog, and she had only been free for a matter of moments) in this comparatively light fabric, and feel the water just fine.

However…

She wanted to feel the water against her skin, everywhere. She wanted to be free from restriction and propriety and everything, just this once. Hadn’t it taken so much from her already? She deserved this, this one wild thing.

So with a deep, trembling breath she removed her shift as well, and stood in the moonlight, resisting the temptation to scurry into the water for protection.

No, this might be her only chance. This would be her only chance. The thought made her heart race and anger bubble in her chest. It wasn’t fair. She did not think she was born to be bound in garments so tightly from the moment she was born until she was laid in the dirt at the end of her life. That did not seem right.

So, instead she stood, naked and looked around, taking a deep breath. Above her, a million stars glittered, certain and enchanting. The moon was dazzling, almost too bright to look at directly, and so instead she looked down at herself, marvelling at how her skin looked in the silver light. Watching how her curves seemed to glow and flow, she wondered if it were possible this was how she was always supposed to be, naked in the moonlight. Beneath her feet, the clover felt like moss and she scrunched her toes into it, enjoying its cool softness. She could hear the life of the forest, so steady it was nearly loud, clicks and hums of little lungs and little legs. She saw glowworms switch on and off in the trees around her, and marvelled at their gold beacons in a sea of silver and dark blue.

In front of her, the pond was completely still, the odd ripples casting out when an insect of some kind touched the surface before going on its way, before they swayed into the incredibly pristine edges of each lily’s leaf. They crowded the edge of the water, like they were decorating the perfectly clear water in the pond’s centre. There was even a gap that Penelope could walk to on her way to deeper water in the middle, right in front of her, beckoning her, inviting her in. Was this the first time she’d felt quite so welcome somewhere? In the moonlight, their waxy leaf surfaces were pale blue, the lily blooms almost fluorescent. Every now and again, an occupant glowworm would switch on and the entire flower would light up like a lantern. The warm pink or yellow glow reminded her of the fairy houses she once believed in as a child.

It was marvelously bizarre, the way she could not quite make out where the lilies ended and the forest began around the edges, and how the water mirrored the plants and sky so perfectly, they may be mistaken for each other.

Every now and again she saw a flutter of movement and her eyes traced a frog making its way from one lilypad to another, their glittering eyes flashing momentarily in the low light. Even with these sporadic signs of life, it was tranquil here, completely peaceful. Every part existed because it did, and there was such simple poetry in that. Somehow, she had stepped from the cruel stiffness and sharp edges of her life into this brief reprieve where magic and softness and sweetness existed. She never wished to leave.

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, dazed and staring at the magic before her, a magic she so rarely got access to. Even the glimpses of magic she did see, she did not get to keep. It broke her heart that this enchantment existed in the same world as she, yet she was kept from it. As if it was heathen and unladylike to feel soil under her soles and night air on her skin. She couldn’t think of anything more sacred, to be quite honest.

Slowly she looked across the water, tentative as she studied. The water was so still it was like a mirror, but as she looked directly down, she could see. It was clear and sandy down there, no crocodiles as far as she could see. She shivered and pushed the thought from her head. A ludicrous thought, but one that still made her swallow a little too hard as she eyed the shadowy edge of the lilypads.

She dipped her toe in once more, the water cool but not cold. Still, she felt her nipples tighten and it was wildly exhilarating to feel water on her toes that was not prepared by a maid. She stepped into the water fully then, the floor soft but firm under her. Taking a deep breath she began to wade in, her mind trying to remind her this was incredibly reckless even as her body felt like it was coming home.

~

Colin did not think himself a rake. Lord knows he had tried. But no amount of whorehouses, carefully timed winks, or flirtatious conversations could make him understand why on earth his eldest brothers insisted their lifestyle- or at least their previous lifestyle- would be one that interested him.

That was until tonight.

He had not meant to snoop. He had been worried at first, watching her hurry down the hall in Aubrey Hall, so purposeful for the small hours of the morning. Fully dressed too. Colin had been heading to bed himself, slightly bottle-weary and entirely weary-weary after being harangued by his brothers about why he should stick around for the season and “enjoy his single days”. He had nodded along and poured them more brandy, letting them win at cards until he could head to bed. Normally he would care more about defending his card-honour, but tonight he was preoccupied. He always was, these days.

He had been back in England for weeks, and Penelope had said not a word to him the entire time. He did not think it possible, but he should know better than to underestimate his closest friend. She was always surprising him.

At first, he had simply been relieved to see she was okay, after so long without hearing from her.

But then she did not so much as glance at him at the first ball of the season. No matter, he had reassured himself. She could not ignore him forever. High society would never allow that, surely?

Not for the first time, or the last, he had been wrong.

She was slippery, and clever. No sooner would he fix his sights on her than she would be slipping away, letting herself be asked to dance, or dragged away by her mother. Her mother, he had thought bitterly. He must have done something truly abhorrent for her to prefer her mother’s company to his. And then when she danced with others…

It didn’t bear thinking about it. But it was all he could think about, of course.

Because in all the cat and mouse games, the cold shoulders, and the laying awake at night staring up at the ceiling, Colin had realised three things.

Firstly, Penelope seemed to have taken it upon herself to rescind her wallflower status for reasons quite beyond him, and was not only dressing in ways that he personally deemed indecent (yet there she was, allowed to exist in The Ton, looking like that), but was accepting dances with men, engaging them in conversation, making them laugh like she used to make him laugh. She was even accepting callers, for heaven’s sake. This was upsetting, because it made it that much harder to get her attention, but more pressingly because of the last of his wonderful epiphanies.

The second revelation he came across only from spending so much time glowering at her across ballrooms, and paying more attention to her than maybe any person had ever paid another. He was nearly entirely sure she was the Lady Whistledown. Because when she wasn’t fending off suitors, she was doing her best to appear invisible (an impossible endeavour, Colin had found). More than once he’d followed her out of a ball, certain he was about to get her alone finally, only to see her leaving in a hired hack. Not her family’s carriage. He’d reread only half an old edition before he knew it was her. He had shoved the issue away, disgusted at himself for not realising sooner, before picking it up again and greedily reading it in its entirety. Again, he was left cursing himself for attentions not paid in the past.

Which brought him to his last realisation, which came as less of an epiphany and more of an inevitability, especially as his blood pressure spiked with each second she spent with her attention on someone who wasn’t him.

He was bloody well in love with her, wasn’t he?

He’d been aware of this onslaught of world-shattering information for weeks now, unable to think, or dream about anything else. He had hoped, now they were out at Aubrey Hall, it might be easier to get her to speak to him. Or at least listen to him. But no such luck. The very same thing that afforded him seemingly endless time with her at one point, was the very thing being wielded as a weapon against him now, her ability to dodge and avoid attention as impressive as it was maddening. The irony was not lost on him.

So when he’d seen her hurrying down the halls late at night, he’d been concerned, then excited, because he might actually catch her this time. His heart thudded in anticipation as he followed her, trying to keep a distance so he didn’t spook her. God knows where she’d disappear to if she knew he was there.

He followed her outside, reminding himself to admonish her for being so reckless once more. It was item four on what was becoming an ever longer list.

He frowned when he saw her heading towards the woods.

“What on earth?” he muttered. He supposed he thought she was meeting a staff member or something, some kind of task required by Lady Whistledown. But the woods, at night? What on earth business would she have there?

Perhaps she has taken a lover, a voice in his head whispered, a quite cruel one, really. That truly would kill him, he was sure of it.

He shook his head, breaking his trance as she hurried into the treeline. He had to hasten so he didn’t lose her, even as the thought of what he might discover had him feeling more and more sick as time passed.

It was quite a nice night (nice for the world ending), if it weren't so dastardly hot. His nerves were not helping the sweat slicking his shirt to his chest, but at least he had left his jacket behind. There was barely a breeze, and the night sky was a deep and enchanting blue, stars and moon shining proudly. All of this he ignored, just shy of breaking into a jog as he crossed the lawns of the estate to where the path through the tree began.

Where did this path even lead to? He wracked his brains as he strode across the grass. Some neighbouring farms? More woodland? Nothing that warranted a nighttime visit, surely. Curiosity had given way quite completely to fear for her safety, and precarious jealousy, so much so he actually was running when he arrived at the beginning of the path. Nestled between two oak trees older than the hall itself, the path laid out straight ahead of him as he arrived there and stopped dead in his tracks.

She was gone.

He stood there, frozen, heart thudding so loudly he would not have been able to hear any clues if there were any.

Where on earth could she have gone? The path led directly through the trees, straight and true, and there was no way she could have reached the turn at the end of the path before he got there.

“What on earth…?” he muttered.

His fears transformed into the fantastic and absurd, visions of werewolves and witches making goosebumps rise on his arms, even at his advanced age. Don’t be silly, he told himself, starting down the path even though it was virtually impossible for her to be down there if he could not see her, clear and moonlit night that it was. Surely she hadn’t gone off the path? Hadn’t she read Little Red Riding Hood?

Heart in his throat, he broke into a jog once more, scanning the sides of the path for evidence of what he’d only recently realised was the love of his life. But unless she’d turned into a glowworm or a treestump, there was no sign of her.

He stopped after a while, breathing hard, and panicked for a few moments. Not only had he failed to realised he loved her, now he’d lost her? Genuinely, what was the point of him??

Wondering what he should do next, he noticed a stick sticking up straight out of the ground a few yards from the path to his left. He only noticed it because of a glowworm that was seemingly hovering off the ground, was actually suspended on a stick, snapped off and stuck in the soft earth. And he’d been cornered enough times by Lord Debling at balls to know that there were no fireflies in England.

But again, unless she was a glowworm, it was of little help to him. Unless she’d tripped and fallen on the stick? But no. There was another sticking out a little further into the woods, though. He frowned, peering into the gloom.

Was that a third stick?

This was insane. He wasn’t going to follow a trail of sticks into a forest. That was insane.

A few minutes later, Colin was following a trail of sticks into the forest. There was a fourth one, and a fifth. And even he had to admit that was strange. And the only thing he had to go on. If she was at the end of these sticks he was locking her in a room– his room, preferably– because he had enough problems without following her on a wild goosechase in the middle of the night.

A few more minutes and a few more sticks (and glowworms. If she was a glowworm, how would he even know which one…? No. He would know. None of these glowworms were Penelope, he could tell. Oh yes, and he had also gone even more insane), and Colin saw the trees lighten ahead.

As he approached, he saw a clearing through the trees, and the reflection of the moon hovering seemingly in the air. Water, he realised, instinctively slowing down as he reached a pond, the surface covered in leaves and lilies. In the centre of the pond, where no lilies lay, the water’s surface was so still it looked like a mirror except for a shape in the centre, ripples casting out around it. Around her, he realised with disbelief.

Even at a distance, and in moonlight, and wet– Colin would recognise that hair, that head, anywhere. Those shoulders (bare shoulders?), though, were brand new.

Penelope was here.

Penelope was here, swimming in a pond.

Penelope was here, swimming in a pond, naked,

Colin didn’t quite know what to do.

Should he leave? At least he knew for a fact that a) she wasn’t meeting another man, b) hadn’t disappeared and c) hadn’t turned into a glowworm. So that was a relief.

That didn’t change the fact that she was putting herself in danger being here alone (or maybe someone was coming to meet her later).

So leaving wasn’t an option.

He wanted to talk to her, and this was the best opportunity he’d had in ages, maybe ever. But now she was also in a state that meant he could barely think straight. Fate had a sense of humour, and a fairly mean one, it seemed.

He watched, hypnotised, thankful the water covered everything from her shoulders down, at least, as she stared up at the sky, face silver in the moonlight.

He should say something. Let her know he was there. She would be angry, most likely, but not more angry than she’d be if she found out she’d been watching her for an hour like some kind of deviant.

But he gave himself a moment, nonetheless, because he could not recall the last time he saw such beauty. The flowers crowding around her like a garland bestowed by Mother Nature herself, little lights swaying in cups of silver and gold, sometimes pink. The moon, splashed across the surface of the water like pearls, spilling around her like beauty drawn to more beauty. It reminded him of some art he’d seen in Paris, yet so real, so intensely beautiful it quenched something in him he never knew he thirsted for.

And her, rising out of the water like she belonged there.

Sighing, he at last cleared his throat, trying to alert her to his presence as gently as he could.

“Ahem.”

Even from here he could see the panic on her face before she promptly dropped below the surface.

Despite himself, he chuckled slightly. What was her plan, learn to breathe underwater until he left? He sighed and walked towards the edge of the water, leaning on a nearby tree trunk when she emerged a few seconds later, choking and spluttering.

She was blinking rapidly and coughing, wiping water from her eyes with one hand while the other wrapped across her chest under the water.

“Are you alright?” he asked, torn between concern, amusement and, unfortunately, arousal. He was a rake, maybe. Finally, and with incredibly poor timing.

“Colin?” Penelope finally managed to clear her throat enough to speak, one eye winking and the other squinting as water ran down her face. “What are you doing here?”

“I feel I could ask you the same thing?” he managed, her adorable indignation as bewitching as it was ridiculous. She glared at him, sinking further into the water so it was under her chin.

“You cannot see me like this!”

“It is a bit late for that, Penelope!” he countered, although she was right. Always pretty and always enchanting and always right. That was Penelope. She paused, frowning suspiciously.

“Well, why are you here? Did you follow me?”

Colin straightened, feeling defensive. He hadn’t meant to be a deviant, a fact he didn’t want overlooked. It had happened completely by accident.

“Yes, of course I did. You left your room, the house, alone, in the middle of the night,”

Penelope looked even more outraged.

“So?”

“It is not safe!”

“I can look after myself!”

Colin resisted the temptation to roll his eyes.

“Penelope, your solution to being caught just now was to drown. You are lucky it was me and not someone else.”

He half expected her to stamp her foot underwater, and maybe she did, he would never know.

“Yes, thank you so much for invading my privacy, you can leave now.”

Leave? No, no. That was not the plan. It was also quite likely impossible. He was so very tired of leaving places without Penelope.

“What? No, I’m not leaving, I wish to talk to you.”

What a stupid thing to say. It was true though, unfortunately.

“Now??”

“Yes, now. You’ve been avoiding me for weeks.”

Penelope’s demeanour shifted slightly from bad-tempered to incredulous.

“Colin, I am …naked,” she whispered loudly, as though it wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world and also the only thing he could think of right now and maybe ever again.

“I’m well aware of that, and if I had more luck speaking to you dressed, I would have tried that first,” he responded, frustration turning into embarrassing honesty.

Even in the dim light, Colin could see her glower. Lord, it was attractive. Away from society, all vestiges of good breeding discarded, she was free to show him the clear disdain she had for him, and it was so enchanting he was sure he’d fall at her feet if he’d see it across a ballroom. But now, with her hair wet and slicked back over bare shoulder? It would kill him. Dead. And Penelope would happily dispose of him in this very pond, he was sure of it.

They stared at each other for a while, Penelope weighing up her options, and Colin unable to do anything else.

After a moment, though, Colin sighed. He could not do this. He would let her win every time. He didn’t want to talk to her like this– cornered, vulnerable and without a choice.

“Fine, if you do not wish to speak with me then I will turn around, and you can dress. Then I’ll escort you back to the house in silence. Is that agreeable to you?”

“No.”

~

Colin bloody Bridgerton. She was so sick of him ruining everything, always.

Ruining her plans. Ruining her days. When he was kind, and they were friends, she was ruined for all other men. When he shattered that with his careless mouth and cruel comments, he ruined the idea she had of him– that even if she couldn't have him, perhaps there was one good man. But no, that had been proved wrong as well.

Even now, when she was determined to move on from him, he ruined her peace of mind and ability to relax, by heading straight for her at every event. Clearly he wished to soothe his own hurt pride. Christ, he even made it difficult to conduct her Lady Whistledown business; he followed her so closely. He’d nearly caught her more than once.

And now, in the middle of the night and the middle of nowhere, he was ruining her one small chance at freedom. Enjoyment. Something as close to pleasure as she would surely ever find.

Colin the Ruiner. That’s what they should call him.

It wasn’t lost on her that the fact he was finding her here, alone, let alone while she was naked, was also technically ruining her.

So it was frustration, and indignation, the tatters of her pride and pure stubbornness that made her snap her refusal at him.

“No?”

She enjoyed his surprise thoroughly. It made her feel like she had a shred of control, even as she lurked beneath the surface, more exposed than she’d ever been before. And he, of course, leaned against the tree next to him so casually, like it was a normal thing to find her there, looking beautiful and statuesque in the moonlight.

“No,” she repeated, despite not knowing what on earth the alternative was. He wouldn’t leave her like this, it wasn’t the gentlemanly thing to do.

Perhaps it was insanity that made her say what she said next.

“You come in.”

What.

“What.”

What, indeed?

“If you come in here as well, I’ll talk to you.” Oh, that made more sense. Except, it did not. Not at all.

“Penelope, if you do not wish to speak to me…” he began, but no, if he was going to be impossible, so was she.

“No, you have seen me nearly naked, it is only fair. Otherwise you may leave.”

She could see his mouth hanging open from here. There was no way he would agree, all she’d really done is further aggravate him, which was a win in her book. She waited, expecting him to turn around and simply wait. Perhaps she could sneak away without him realising. Doubtful, but worth a shot. Of course, there was a risk of her being lost in the woods forever, but even that prospect was more tempting than having to face him. This was humiliation at monstrous proportions at this point.

She was just mapping which of the openings in the trees looked the quietest, when Colin began unbuckling his belt

She whipped her head around.

“What are you doing?” she hissed..

“Well don’t look!” he hissed back, and she just stared at him, mouth open.

“You can't be serious.”

If she didn’t know him better, she would have sworn the look on his face was slightly murderous. He glared at her, hands still on his buckle (she would expire about that later).

“You told me to.”

“I didn't think you would actually do it!” Was he stupid? Was she?

“Well you leave me with no choice. Either you get out, or I'm coming in,” he replied grimly.

She stared at him, mouth agape, and realising with horror he was pulling his shirt out of his breeches, looking determined. Oh, hell. She quickly calculated, what was better or worse, weighing her options.

Truthfully, she couldn’t think of any options, because one giant fact sat in front of her so large she could not see any thought beyond it.

Colin Bridgerton would be unclothed in her presence.

Swallowing, and giving up– on thinking, her sense of propriety, everything, really– she slowly turned around, just as Colin began unbuttoning his shirt.

Lord help her.

She waited, the breeze soothing her electric skin, just a little. She could hear the rustle of clothes behind her, the sound of crickets, and then the soft splashing of him entering the water.

In her automatic and frankly embarrassing haste to achieve this moment, she had failed to consider what happened next. Months of work, shifting behind pillars and lurking in shadows, wasted because of her incorrigible heart– a far more lustful part of her than she had previously realised. He’d made her work at it too. All her life she was invisible to everyone but him, it seemed. Now she wanted to be seen by everyone but him. It was not fair. Why must he be so stubborn? When she’d decided to be through with her silly love for him once and for all, she had thought the hardest part would be accepting it. She did not expect him to chase her down. Even when she was not pining for him (or pretending not to), he was still ruining her life.

And now he was behind her, wading into water, the two of them naked, just so he could– what? Have a thoughtful discussion about the status of their friendship? How superb.

She glanced down at the water, relieved that the reflection of the moon seemed to prevent anything below the surface being seen, like a liquid silver barrier. She was also relieved it was deep enough to stand, yet not so deep she needed to swim. Still, she felt terribly exposed, and she was. It was shocking enough to be in a state of undress anywhere other than her private quarters, let alone outdoors. And now Colin was here? She may faint. Maybe then she might drown. So that was something to look forward to.

She watched a bug swim across the surface, its comically large back legs propelling itself and leaving a large V in its wake. Lucky bastard, she thought contemptuously.

Colin cleared his throat, and she was brought back to the ridiculous situation she’d found herself in.

“Um…you may turn around now…I think.” Colin sounded strangled, and she was not above feeling a petty kind of joy at his discomfort. He deserved it.

Taking a deep breath, she turned back around, immediately confronted with the man she loved washed in moonlight, his handsome face comically serious for the situation they were in. He was closer than she expected, assuming he’d be far too concerned with honour to come within a few feet of her. But there he was, almost at arm’s length, and she supposed they were looking at honour through the rear carriage window.

He looked at her seriously, clearly just as determined as he’d ever been despite the absurdity of the situation, and she wished she didn’t find that endearing. It was endearing and thrilling, being pursued like this, like a beautiful bubble floating from her bath, gorgeous and momentary.

So she stood in the water and waited for the pop.

As they stood for a moment, suspended in madness and uncertainty, she took the chance to look at him properly for the first time in months.

She wished she hadn’t missed him so. Wished it didn’t feel like taking a draught of water after months of sucking moisture from a damp cloth in the desert (which was what talking to another gentleman felt like). Wished she didn’t immediately notice the way his cheeks bore stubble, and his eyebrow crease was deeper than the last time she saw him face to face. How, even though he was deadly serious, his eyes were as warm as ever.

Was it mad that she felt so safe? That even though she was open and raw– feeling like she was in a dream where she’d attended a ball without a dress– the heart hammering in her chest was as much from the excitement of seeing him again as it was from the recklessness of it all.

The fact she could see everything from his nipple upwards certainly did not help.

She knew he had nipples. Or at least, she had assumed he did. Why wouldn't he? But she didn’t think she would ever see them. Why would she? Yet there they were. Colin Bridgerton’s nipples. Great heavens.

She felt hot between her legs, although to be honest she had felt that way ever since this idea had entered her head. Something delightfully freeing and thrilling about having this moment just for her. Something sensual about her moments with the water and the moonlight, the water lilies, something warm and slippery and needy that she couldn't quite explain.

And now Colin's nipples were also here.

He had a hairy chest, and his shoulders. Good God, had they always been like that? Had they gotten broader? And his arms. She squeezed her legs together, her surroundings making the feeling strange and indistinguishable from the warm water.

Colin seemed to be staring back at her just as intently, and she shivered under his gaze, wondering what he saw. Her hair, scraggly and wet from the pond, hanging in strings that dripped down her chest and back and into the water. Her own shoulders, round and pale, positively ivory in the moonlight, she was sure. Her nipples, safely under the water and behind her forearms, were hard and pebbled, obliviously excited at what was happening despite how awkward it was.

She waited, wondering if she should speak first. Surely not. What were the rules of etiquette for late night nude dips in a pond? Does the lady speak first, or the gentleman? She bit her lip to stop herself from bursting into anxious giggles as Colin cleared his throat again, blinking a few times as if to focus.

“Penelope,” he said, and it was funny, but it shouldn't be funny, but it was so funny, the way he said her name so solemnly.

“Colin,” she responded in kind, telling herself to focus.

Remember what he said about you.

Remember he’s a pig.

Remember that he’s mean, and selfish, and takes you for granted.

The voice in her head, once so convincing and heavy with conviction, sounded simply pathetic and whiney now. Almost inaudible over the sound of Colin’s voice. And frankly unbelievable, when she looked into the face of this man, her friend, who wanted so badly to speak with her he’d strip completely to do it.

No, she grasped at her pride– conviction, dignity, anything– but it slipped through her fingers, cackling as the knowledge she had run from all season caught her at last.

He wasn’t a bad man. He was a good man who did a bad thing. Who sometimes was less good than he maybe could be. Who wasn’t?

Why couldn’t he be a bad man? Things would be so much easier if he were.

“I wish to talk to you.”

She swallowed another laugh. She wondered if there was anything that could be said in this state that would not tempt her nervous laughter.

“Yes,” was all she said in return, not trusting herself with a more complicated sentence just yet.

Colin nodded, like he was agreeing, and it had never been this strange between them. She supposed the clothes had always helped in the past.

“I suppose…I suppose I do not know where to start," he said, almost apologetically, and Penelope gave that nervous laugh, the one she’d been swallowing.

“You have been chasing me out of every room all season, and you did not think of what you would say when you caught me?” she asked incredulously. This absurd man.

Colin winced.

“So, you were avoiding me, then,”

Penelope sighed.

“Yes, Colin, I believe we are past the point of pretending otherwise.” ‘

She was impressed with herself, her ability to form a cohesive, reasonable argument. Her ability to form words at all.

“Can I ask why?” he asked, honest to God beseechingly. This man. She wanted to strangle him. She pursed her lips, wishing she had some fabric to fiddle with. But no.

She sighed.

“I overheard you saying how unthinkable- no, sorry- undreamable, it was to court me. You must know how that has harmed my prospects.”

Colin’s eyes widened, mouth agape in horror, and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Spare her the theatrics. She’d come to terms with it, now she had to watch him do the same? He was the one who said it, for heaven’s sake.

“Penelope…” he began, and she couldn’t do this. Had been running from him for weeks to avoid this exact moment, and now she was trapped in it. Couldn’t even leave without him seeing her bare rump. This was the price she paid for wanting freedom. This kind of thing did not happen to normal ladies, she was certain.

“It is well, Colin. Please do not insult us both by pretending you did not mean it. But you can understand why I did not wish to further humiliate myself by entertaining your company after what you said so publicly.”

“But I didn’t mean it- I mean…prospects- what? Penelope,” he floundered, drowning even though his feet were firmly planted on the pond floor. Even as she tried to save him. Even though he was both the reason they became starved of oxygen, lifeless and washed up on the shore. Nothing left to save.

To her horror he took a step towards her, and she quickly slid backwards, away from him. He stopped, as though he hadn’t realised what he was doing, and ran a wet hand through his hair, face panicked, and took a step back again. He was further away now, and she shouldn’t feel a sense of loss at this, even if it felt safe. Safer, but with less air, like a barrel sealed shut with only her own exhale to inhale. She wouldn’t survive for long like this.

The pond had sloped down slightly where she moved and the water lapped higher around her throat. She knew she could stand, but it felt tenuous, like it held the upper hand in her safety. It could scoop her up, if it chose to.

“What is it?” she asked, not knowing what else to say. What is it that troubles you most? That I realised your true feelings for me, or that I refuse to try and alter them?

Colin frowned.

“I do not feel that way,” he said firmly and she sighed.

“Colin, it is alright…”

“No, Penelope, it is not alright, because it upset you, and also because it could not be further from the truth…”

She was so busy being angry at him cutting her off, that she nearly missed what he had said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I would court you, Pen, in my wildest fantasies. I do, in fact,” he said, looking extremely frazzled and earnest, and she narrowed her eyes. Was this a dream or a trick? The nudity indicated a dream, the needless cruelty of a trick could not be. Not from Colin.

She frowned.

“Can you please explain that to me?” she asked. Because what else should she say? Please explain the madness you just spouted, it makes less sense than you and I being naked in a pond together.

Colin swallowed audibly, before he knelt in the water, breath coming in shorter at the change in temperature. Now the water came up to his throat without him needing to come closer, and they were eye level.

“My wildest fantasies. Although, they are wild because the idea that you would entertain such a notion, not because I would not. They are wild because of how detailed and frequent they are. They’re wild because courting you is the mildest of what I wish to do with you…”

He cut himself off, eyes widening in synchronicity with hers.

Penelope’s heart was beating so hard, she was surprised it didn’t cause ripples in the water around her.

“What?”

“Apologies, that was quite improper…” he replied completely seriously, as though if she ducked her head and opened her eyes under water she wouldn’t be seeing his manhood. A fact that wasn’t helping her composure.

“No, I mean…” In for a Penelope, in for a pound, she supposed. “What else do you dream about?”

Colin’s eyes widened even more, a marvellous impression of the frogs she’d seen earlier.

“You…wish to know them?”

She nodded. She did. Yes. She honestly couldn’t give a damn about anything that wasn't the man in front of her. Was she disappointed that all it took for her to move on his hurtful actions was the mere idea of him thinking of her improperly? Perhaps, she would have to check later. Her mind was quite blank.

Colin licked his lips.

“Penelope…this is…”

“Not proper…yes…” she nodded, then laughed breathlessly. “But it is also not proper that we be alone at all, let alone in these circumstances. This entire night has been either the most wonderful bout of bravery I’ve ever experienced, or the more horrendous mistake. May as well do whichever it is properly.” The voice that left her was not recognisable, yet clear and steady, unlike the words written in shaky ink like so many of hers in the past. This was as thick and defiantly printed as Lady Whistledown herself.

Colin was looking at her like she’d never seen him look at her before. Or if she had, it had never been like this. She had seen glimpses of it, especially recently, across ballrooms in the moments before she made her escape. Perhaps even earlier than that. But never like this, up close, in the moonlight. It made her insides melt. If she were wearing clothes she was not convinced they wouldn’t disappear under her concentration.

“Very well,” he murmured, and all uncertainty and hesitance seemed to leave his demeanour, replaced with something darker and more focused, and she shivered. She may have made a very, very bad mistake.

~

Colin had made a very, very bad mistake. Firstly, taking all his clothes off was insanity. Straight lunacy. But then again, he was just a man, and his own personal Venus had just invited him to swim with him. In what world didn’t he follow her like he was compelled?

But he had strongly overestimated his own ability to conduct a conversation when the naked form of the woman he loved swayed just a few feet from him. Thankfully, the reflection of the moonlight was enough to stop him seeing any lower than the water's surface, but even then, it had only taken mere moments for him to forget every gentlemanly thing he’d ever learnt.

But she’d asked, hadn't she? It wasn't just his fault.

Anyway, all of that was moot, because the things coming out of his mouth were going to be recorded and used as a cautionary tale of what happens when all the blood in a man’s body goes from his head to down there.

“I have dreamt of you,” he spluttered and she simply nodded, stunned and he wasn’t surprised. He was shocked at the things he was saying. The things he was going to say. Because it got so much worse.

Would that stop him though?

Of course not.

“You dream of me?” He knew her breathing picked up, because the ripples emanating from her shoulders had grown more frequent. What a thing to notice. What a thing to know.

He nodded, swallowed.

He had.

“Yes,” was all he said. This was going swimmingly (not the time).

“What kind of dreams…?”

“Dreams that we were…courting.”

Her mouth twisted.

“I supposed that would have been disconcerting for you.”

He shot her a look that he could only assume was withering. This was hard (oh God, stop it) enough with her perfect body just out of reach, and delectable lips shining from where she’d nervously licked them, let alone her razor sharp wit and that devious sparkle in her eyes. He loved and loathed how it intensified in response to his ire.

Bloody minx. How had he not known this side of her existed, and how would he survive it? He felt like a fly who had wandered into a web most happily. It was a friendly spider, he had thought. Was there such a thing, though?

“On the contrary, I sought them out,” he snapped, and her eyes widened, and he thought she blushed. Hard to tell in this light. He told himself to settle down. This was not how he imagined things at all. He thought he’d be clothed for starters. Had assumed she would be, just for the sake of his sanity. There were other reasons, probably, but he couldn't recall them right now. He’d also thought he’d be dry, in a house or ballroom, and that he wouldn't be so aroused he was losing his mind. A little aroused, of course, that was unavoidable. But this? It was disastrous.

Another shaky breath.

“That is…I did not mind them. I liked them…in fact.”

“You liked them…” Penelope had the most delightful mix of confusion and amusement on her face and he wanted to skip all this part and take her right here in front of the moon and a thousand frogs.

Concentrate. Remember all the times you imagined this? You may use any of that information to help now.

“I chose to do it, in fact. During the day…”

Splendidly. This was going splendidly, and maybe soon he would sink into the pond floor, never to be seen again.

“During the day, I found myself thinking of it often, and at night I hoped it would happen in my sleep…”

Penelope regarded him, face unreadable. She didn’t say anything.

“I think, I think I dreamt of it far longer than I wanted to admit, you see. It was only when I…didn’t hear from you that I considered why it bothered me so much to…not hear from you,” he finished awkwardly.

Penelope cocked her head shrewdly.

“So it was only when you were without my attention, that you saw me as worth pursuing?”

“What, no,” he spluttered, equally vexed at her commitment to misunderstanding him, and the way her hair had started to dry slightly, and was becoming even more beautiful as it shimmered in the low light. He took a deep breath before he spoke calmly, forcing himself not to growl in frustration.

“Penelope, perhaps you will allow me to finish what I am saying, before you judge me so harshly?”

It came out more curt than he intended, but he didn't miss the way she pressed her lips together, the barest hint of a smile threatening the corner of her mouth. He was so wretchedly in love with her. This was a nightmare.

After a beat, she nodded slightly, and he closed his eyes and attempted to gather his thoughts. He was surprised when he felt relief, her not being in his direct eyesight enabling his brain to begin working again.

He went over his talking points again.

He loved her.

That was it. He could communicate that in a way that was not deranged, and made her somehow think even less of him. He could even do it in a way that was romantic, if he really tried.

He opened his eyes, and somehow she had gotten even more beautiful in the last few moments and he forgot everything he knew, ever.

What had they been talking about?

He swallowed, well aware that he had essentially told her to be quiet, and then proceeded not to say anything himself, the silence made clearer by the quiet night air, frogs the only sound to be heard other than the water lapping gently around them.

Finally, he managed to grasp a single thread of what he had been speaking of prior.

“It’s true, I did not realise how much I valued our friendship, and you, until I missed it terribly. You, not your attention. You. Your words and your smiles and your laughs and your barbs and your blushes..”

He felt his toes scrunch into the sand beneath him, feeling more grounded at last. He could do this. He could tell her the reasons he loved her. He could convince her. It was the one thing he knew better than anything else. It had taken him a moment to realise, but at the same time, he had been learning it his whole life. He just didn’t know he had been.

“So, yes, I was an idiot. But only for not realising what you meant to me sooner.”

Penelope was frowning at him again. It was beautiful.

“May I speak now?” she asked sardonically, and he shouldn't be enamoured by it, but he was, he was.

He bit back a smile, despite the urgency of his message, the way he needed her to know it all. Despite it all, because even now, during this, during anything– her words, her faces, her little rebellions and sharp remarks were all he ever wanted– so let her spar with him them, let her challenge every claim he made until they were both old and grey and waterlogged, just never stop her from talking to him. He nodded eagerly.

“What are you talking about?”

~

She was trying to follow what he was saying, she really was. Even though she might be slightly enjoying punishing him simultaneously. But what had started as what she thought would be an interrogation had turned into something more flirtatious, and now was morphing into something else altogether. Because despite suggesting for a minute there that things might be more than friendly, now they’d taken another turn, and she was feeling very confused.

Colin ran his hand over his face again, and through his hair, to devilishly handsome affect and she really wished she could sit down. He sighed, staring into the water for a moment before looking up at her with a resigned and lopsided smile.

“I love you, Penelope,” he said simply.

“No, you don’t.”

It was not how she thought she would reply if she were ever in this situation, but really, when had she ever thought she would be in this situation??

Colin looked stunned. Understandable. But now they both were, and what hope did they have of making even a scrap of sense between them now?

“Yes…I do,” he repeated, eyebrows furrowed in consternation.

“No.”

It was convenient of her mouth to work without any input from her mind, but it also wasn’t doing a very good job right now.

“Penelope…” he attempted to reason.

“Colin,” she returned contrarily. Truly, if he did love her, would he continue after this conversation? It seemed unlikely.

This was also getting them nowhere. She tried different words.

“I thought you wanted to make things right between us, not…” she trailed off, not knowing how to finish the sentence.

“Love you?” Colin helpfully supplied.

“Yes!” she agreed, nodding firmly.

“Can’t a man do both?” His smile was visible now. Not a full smile, but there nonetheless, taunting her.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she argued, trying to buy herself some time. To do what? She would be the last to know.

“You’re the one arguing with me about my feelings,” he countered gently.

“Because they’re absurd!” she shot back.

“Who are you to judge my feelings?? Just because you don’t feel the same….” he looked hurt now, and that was terrible, but what he was saying was even more stupid than before.

“Colin…that’s not true at all, I just find it very surprising that you feel this way all of a sudden…”

She tried to backtrack. She was the one who was unlovable, not him. He didn’t just get to change that without warning.

“Its not all of a sudden! I’m just a fool!” he shouted, raising his hands out of the water with exasperation and making water scatter around them.

Penelope laughed. She couldn't help it. God help her. Could it be true? She cast her mind back. What she knew of the world, of how people saw her, her luck in general. That part didn’t make sense. But then when she thought of Colin, the man he was, and how much she trusted him, generally. How he had always sought her out, listened to her, laughed with her. As a friend, she had thought. Was he simply confused? Then again, what else but love would make a man foolish enough to do what he was doing now, naked in a pond, arguing with her.

He was smiling, looking exhausted but soft, exasperated but deliciously fervent. She could see it, she realised, in his eyes. They were like they had always been, focused on her, warm, but now, more. More intense. Like he couldn't look away. The way she knew she looked at him.

Why didn't ponds have chairs?

“Oh.”

“You believe me?”

“I think so.”

He looked relieved, then scrunched his face.

“Wait. You said, that's not true at all?”

“Hm?” Penelope hummed, distracted by his handsome face and how apparently he loved her now, and how that wasn't at all world shattering information.

“You said that’s not true…Penelope…do you feel the same for me?”

She blinked at him. He truly was a fool.

“Obviously, Colin,”

“Obviously?” he spluttered, looking indignant. “Obviously? To whom??” he asked disbelievingly, hair sticking straight up and eyes like saucers.

No one could ever know how idiotic their love story was.

“To everyone?? Colin, look at you!” she spluttered, despite there being so, so much more to her obsession than that.

“Look at me? What does that mean?” Colin tilted his head, clearly not so confused he wasn’t able to be slightly cocky at her admission. Bastard. She scrambled to put together a sentence that might save her.

“Nothing. I mean. You’re really very kind…”

Colin smirked.

“Oh I see, I look kind, is that it?’

She would kill him.

“Colin…” she warned.

“Penelope,” he retorted.

Suddenly it was very clear to Penelope that the man she had loved for so long, so long it was absurd, loved her too, and was standing a few feet from her, somehow feeling maybe even a fraction of what she was, which was also absurd. She thought maybe he realised the same thing at the same moment because he was looking at her in awe, chest heaving. Her face was aching with the most ridiculous smile. Ridiculous, ridiculous, ridiculous.

“So…”

“We love each other?”

“It would seem so?”

The frogs seemed louder now, crowding the silence that stretched between them.

“Colin,” she said, couldn’t help it, couldn’t help herself, couldn't help anything that was happening tonight, it seemed. But he was…undressed, in front of her, and if he had had even one indecent thought about her, she wanted to hear it.

“Yes?”

“You said that you dreamed of doing other things to me?” She was blushing, but he couldn't see, so it didn't count.

He smiled, annoyingly pleased at her question.

“Did I?”

Damn him.

“You did.”

Forget it, she should just forget it.

“Oh, well, what about it?”

He asked. Well, since he had asked.

“I was just wondering what…things you dreamed about….beyond courting.”

She swallowed. But what was one more shameless moment in an evening of indecency? Colin’s face softened, and he looked thoughtful for a moment before speaking.

“Oh…well. Marrying you, for starters. Children, of course. Sharing our breakfast every day by the window where the sun comes in and– what?”

Penelope's jaw had dropped.

“You want to marry me?’

She couldn’t breathe. She supposed it was logical, but logic had never really made much sense to her.

“Yes… I love you? We've been over this…” Colin looked concerned.

“Oh,” was all she could say. She’d truly never considered that to be an option.

“Wait…what did you think I was talking about?” Colin asked, face curious.

She blushed secretly again. Well. She supposed she could say such things to her future husband…

“I thought you were talking about other things..” she raised her eyebrows knowingly. Colin’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“What do you know of other things?” he asked sternly, and she was maybe so flushed steam was probably coming from atop her head.

“It doesn't matter, does it?” she tried to back out. But Colin pinned her under his gaze, so intense she forgot how to speak, or think, or breathe.

“You wish to know what I dreamt of that wasn't as…gentlemanly?” he said quietly.

“No,” she lied. Colin smiled darkly.

“Are you sure? Because I would love to share them…” he teased and she shivered.

“It's fine…” but it wasn’t fine, because she really did want to know, but damn her stupid pride. Colin considered her for a moment, the two of them, a stalemate of idiocy. Finally, he murmured;

“Perhaps I shall tell you anyway…”

She swallowed, flustered, unsure what she had unleashed but positive she wanted it more than anything.

“Tell me what?” she said, struggling to keep the tremble from her voice. Colin smiled fully then.

“Sod it, I’ll just show you, it will be quicker,” and then he was standing and moving towards her through the water.

~

Colin was glad that for once, his stupidity seemed to afford him everything he could ever want in life, it was very convenient. And as he headed towards her, water parting in sloshes with the enthusiasm with which he moved, he was impressed when he remembered to stop a mere few inches from her, water swirling between them as he looked down at her (and no further, don’t look any further, Colin Bridgerton!).

She stared up at him, eyes wide, ghost of a smile on her face, that had now been replaced by shock, and he couldn't resist pushing one of her damp curls back behind her ears.

“Is..this…is this alright?” he asked, realising it would have been wiser to ask this when her perfect body wasn’t floating within arms length of him. If she said no they would need to wait for the pond to dry up completely to get him to leave it.

“Yes,” she breathed, and he smiled, thank God, before pausing again.

“Penelope, you do not know what I am even asking of you.”

She smiled up at him, a nymph in the moonlight, and shrugged, the water gliding silkily around her as she did.

“Doesn’t matter, Anything you want to do with me is alright. More than alright, really,” she said, and he nearly ate her right there, in one big mouthful. Then, because he was just a man, he did the only thing he was able to do, and finally, finally took her in his arms.

Was it entirely improper, and deranged, and unsurvivable, that their first kiss was naked? Yes. But was it also everything he could ever dream of? Naturally. If he had ever been this creative in his dreams.

He was careful, or trying to be careful, to ease them both into this, but it was rather impossible. As his fingers met her soft waist, she leaned closer, and then he felt her breasts against his chest. He pulled her closer still, because all that is good and holy it felt heavenly. It was so easy to bring her as close as he always wanted to in the water, wasn’t it? And then he kissed her.

Like breathing underwater, or rising above the treetops, or finding the edge of the earth, he could not believe this was happening in his waking life. Those dreams had been the bane of his existence and now here he was, living them.

Her lips, cool from the water, and soft as anything he’d ever felt, pressed against him gently at first, and he moaned, because it was heaven. Heaven. She tasted of heaven. Sweetness and warmth and pure moonlight. And then, because he was insane, and even insane people need stability, he scooped her up further. He crouched, gathering his hands under her thighs and lifting her into his arms. She squealed (a sound he enjoyed far too much), breaking their kiss (which he hated), and it took a moment, her legs kicking out as the ground disappeared from under her, but then she was hooking her legs around his waist, and she was wrapped around him.

Her eyes were wide as she looked down between them, her breasts now quivering above the water line, shimmering with rivulets and droplets, and his own chest heaved as his poor mind misfired trying to decide whether to stare at her perfect (they were glorious, they were everything he’d imagined for far longer than he’d care to admit) breasts, attempt to absorb the fact that his hands were now cradling her bare buttocks, soft and silky under his fingers while her centre was somewhere against his navel, or kiss her again.

She helped him– she always did– looping her arms around his neck and tentatively, like she was surprised she was doing it, brought her lips back to his, pausing a breath away for a moment, like she was preparing herself. Her eyes flickered to his lips, then up to his eyes, surely black in desire for her, before she slowly closed the gap and kissed him softly, sweetly, but perhaps a little unsure. He took her lead, softly meeting her lips, a ridiculous contrast to the fact he could feel her tight nipples against his chest, but beautiful and tender nonetheless.

He loved her, he loved her, and no one else in this world could make him feel so precious and hungry all at once. Gently they kissed, sighs and little noises making him harder still, his cock straining against the underside of his arm. He was glad he could have at least one way to make this less shocking for her, even if it were only a little.

They kissed slowly, learning each other, a rub of one lip against another here, a gentle lick into her mouth there. He found himself pulling her higher, allowing himself easier access, while she used the leverage to wrap her arms tighter around his neck still. She pressed herself against him as close as she could get. It was strange, because he had never felt her skin against him at all, and yet, it was so perfect, so grounding. They were warm water meeting warm air, indistinguishably and intimately intertwined.

Their kisses deepened, intensity building as hunger coaxed hunger and passion tempted passion. He wanted to eat her, to be truthful, her mouth warm and wet and perfect, so soft and delicious he couldn't help but wonder what her cunt tasted like too. He groaned mid kiss at the thought, and she responded with a moan of her own, a sound that carried across the water and made him feel dizzy.

Their kisses became messy, and she was rubbing herself against him, driving him insane as she asked for more with both her body, and the sounds coming from the back of her throat.

“Colin,” she whined.

“Pen,” he moaned back, nosing his way to her earlobe and biting down gently.

“I want you,” she said, voice sounding suspiciously close to begging, and it was killing him, which wasn't fair. He had just found the very thing that made his life worth living.

He kissed down her neck, and she dropped her head to one side, giving him access to the pale skin there, a silvery expanse interspersed with rivulets of copper hair that he wanted to taste every square inch of. That freckle was his, and so was that one, and that strand of hair, and the little groove of her collarbone definitely was.

“You have me,” he mumbled, and it was groundbreakingly true, and one day he would say it when looking into her perfect eyes, but not today, because he was discovering that when he sucked at her neck she gasped, and he loved that.

“More, I need more,” she was saying, and he whipped his head up, curls flopping in his face and he had not a spare hand to push them back. Or touch her. He really hadn't thought this through.

“More?” was all he could say, breathing heavily and head swimming at how beautiful she was like this, moonlight getting caught in her curls and plastered in an iridescent frame around her face. Her lips were swollen and pupils large, and he made her like that. He wanted to make her his in every way a person could. Images flashed through his mind of her spent on the bed, dripping with sweat and him and her and both of them, covered in bites and flush and sunlight streaming in from the window of the bedroom they shared.

She was nodding, so close he could feel her stuttered breath on his face.

“Everything,” she was saying, like a siren who had captured him, and was drowning him in the most delightful way. The single thread of sanity in his mind frayed but persevered valiantly, and he managed to protest for all of one moment.

“But-”

“I know, it will hurt. And it won’t be in a bed. And you are a gentleman. But I don't care about any of that, I just want you, now,” she said in a rush, like she only had a moment, and she was afraid he would disappear at any moment. He made a mental note to devote his life to fixing that before he fully absorbed what she said.

How wildly endearing that she should know him so well. How wildly arousing that she should want him almost as badly as he wanted her. How foolish of him to think he might be able to resist her, even for a moment.

And so the thread snapped, and he smiled at her triumphant grin, pulling her back to him and kissing her thoroughly, hands digging into her rump deliciously.

~

Penelope was not used to miracles, or good luck, or even all that much happiness. And even though she knew that she trusted Colin when he said he loved her, the part of her that feared that this might all be a dream to be snatched away from her, did not die easily. And besides, she did not want to wait another moment to be with him. She had waited her entire life already, hadn’t she?

So she decided to leave shame with the rest of her inhibitions, bundled in her dress on the shore, and clung to him the way she had always wanted to, needed to. Even though that meant her open centre was so close to his abdomen it burned, and her breasts were thoroughly exposed and rubbing against the hair of his chest, and she was making noises that she had never even considered making before.

He didn’t seem to mind at all.

He was clutching her to him like he never wanted to let go, and tasting her like she was his favourite treat, and groaning, grunting and panting like he was in pain. But he wasn't in pain, he was just as desperate as her.

Incredible.

And as much as she tried, climbing further up him and trying to burrow into his skin as the water made them slip and slide against each other, it wasn’t satisfying her hunger in the least. She needed more, and she needed him to give it to her, now.

God, she could just die for the way he looked at her when she asked him to. Plaster that face in her mind for centuries.

“Okay, I’m going to try,” he said, finally breaking off their last kiss and latest attempt to inhale one another. He breathed heavily.

“But I don’t know…I don’t know if we will be able to do it here, like this. I promise to try though. Do you promise to tell me if it hurts, if I need to stop?” his eyes flickered from one of her eyes to the other, trying to ascertain her understanding. She denied her own impulse to simply agree quickly, and instead brought a hand to his cheek.

“Yes, Colin. Yes, I promise.”

He sighed and rested his forehead against hers.

“Okay, good.” He paused for a moment. “Besides, if it doesn’t work, we can just do it on the shore instead,” he added, cheeky even at this moment, and it was absurd how much she loved him. She laughed, a laugh quickly muffled by his mouth again, and then she was being hoisted higher, supported more by only one of his arms now. It was disarming, and arousing, the way he moved her around like she weighed nothing. Then she felt fingertips at her opening and all her other thoughts dissolved into the water around them.

Her breath came out in a shudder, unable to even pretend to know how to kiss when she was feeling his fingers dip into her, making her even more warm and liquid.

What fresh heaven is this? She had time to wonder as he moved his hand away as quickly as he'd brought it there, and she wasn't even embarrassed by the way she pouted when he did it. He flashed her a smile, and then something else was there, and oh God, that felt even better.

A sharp moan escaped her as she realised it was his cock pressing there, and it felt hard and big. It had never occurred to her to have a preference for something so abstract and alien, but in this moment she was glad, because it felt like it would wreck her, and what else had she ever wanted than to find new ways for this man to do that?

Colin the Ruiner, indeed.

Insistent, it nudged against her, and she found her body knew what to do– which was convenient since she knew essentially nothing– and settled down lower, positioning herself so she was hovering above him. Then he was notched in her entrance, the pressure so exquisite already it was taking everything in her not to impale herself on it as fast as possible.

But no. She’d promised she would be careful or something stupid, so she took a breath and waited for Colin to guide her. And he did, moving his other hand to hold her again, and then gently lower her onto him slightly.

It throbbed, like a bruise, but the kind that wanted to be pressed, and she groaned.

“Are you okay?” Colin looked up from where he was watching her body, lip caught in his teeth.

She nodded quickly.

“More,” she gasped, and he groaned this time.

“You’re going to kill me,” he grumbled, as he shook his head and positioned his fingers wider over her skin, shifting like he was trying to find the best position. She watched him intently, thoroughly distracted by how handsome, how otherworldly, he was right now, concentrating yet wild, loving and determined all at once.

Then he lowered her a little more, and the bruise feeling deepened, and she inhaled, the intensity building until something broke and she fell, sliding down suddenly with a jolt. She cried out, sharp pain taking her by surprise, followed by the instant realisation that he was deep, deep inside her– hard, throbbing and so big she almost couldn’t breathe.

“Are you okay?” Colin was asking, looking somewhat in pain himself, and she was shaking, wondering the same thing.

“Um…um…” She stuttered. “Fuck, yes, I think so,” she managed, Colin’s jaw dropping as she cursed. And it was the truth, because even though she wasn’t sure how he was fitting what felt like a nearby tree within her, and had split her open to do it, the burning was fast being replaced with searing pleasure as she clenched and softened in pulses to accommodate him. Her body was just as pathetically needy for him as she was, she was realising, which was wonderful.

They stayed there for a small while, breathing heavily and wrapped around each other, partially shocked that they were doing what they were doing, partly adjusting to that fact. She clung to him, trembling, as the pressure built, and she pondered what on earth happened next.

“What now?” she whispered, and he laughed shakily, adjusting his hands under her. Then he lifted her, her body sliding up his cock, and feeling flutteringly delicious while doing so. He looked at her, the love in his eyes unmistakable as he held her like that for a moment, before bringing her back down and burying himself fully inside her once more.

Penelope saw stars. And her eyes had closed, which was strange. She opened them quickly, blinking in confusion that anything could feel that good on earth.

“Oh my god,” she muttered, and he looked just as awestruck, which was odd, because hadn't he done this before?

“Yes,” he said breathlessly, brows knitted in apparent consternation as he immediately did the same manoeuvre again, making them moan in unison. Then again, and again. Again. Again.

What was this??

She didn’t know, so she found his mouth and melded herself to him further, kissing him furiously as he consumed her right back, pulling her down onto him faster and with more purpose, the water boiling and splashing around them as their movements became more frantic. Out of the corners of her eyes she saw the nearest lilies swaying in time to their coupling.

“Colin,” she said into his mouth as he moaned her name back, gasping and exchanging breath as they built to a steady rhythm that made her eyes roll back, her hands finding purchase on his shoulders, and in his hair as something built within her, his pelvis tapping her in a way that made sparks ignite every time. How was he doing this? Was this magic? Was he magic? She’d often thought he was magic.

Every touch built her higher, like she was chasing something, and she found a rhythm too, rising and falling on him in time as she slid and rubbed and took him in. It felt better and better, higher and higher, and she was moaning and gasping, crying out louder and louder, echoing off the trees as pleasure overtook her in waves so powerful she was shaking.

She clung to him as she peaked, shaking and moaning, and thankfully he was holding her so she didn't slip beneath the surface. Colin was panting, watching her like he was hypnotised, moaning with each shudder she gave, like he was feeling every piece of pleasure she was, moving with her as she fell, loose and limp on him now.

He didn't stop though, only slowing a little before lifting her up closer and driving into her harder and faster, making her squeal. The pleasure returned immediately, making her arch her back into him, breasts pressing hard as he brought her down onto him again and again. She loved it, loved the way he seemed without abandon, losing control because of her. She could feel his hips tilting up and up, and then he groaned, pulling her down hard and fully. She felt more warmth spreading deep within her, and it made her even hotter and wetter, even though she was in the water, so how was that possible? But it was, and Christ, she wanted to do this forever.

His thrusts subsided slowly, and he sighed heavily, pulling her into him before kissing her neck and face emphatically.

“Pen, Pen,” he kept saying, burying his face into her like he couldn't kiss her enough, and she giggled, exhausted and in partial shock at what had just transpired. They were in a pond, for goodness sake.

His arms were shaking, she realised, and she tentatively tried to unhook a leg from around his waist, only for him to grip her tighter.

“Where are you going?” he asked, looking offended, and she laughed tiredly.

“I can stand, Colin.”

“Just because you can doesn't mean you should,” he grumbled, holding her tighter than ever, and she giggled.

“Are we to stay among the lilies forever?” she teased, and he hummed contentedly.

“I’m tempted to, however…”

“However..?”

“There are things I wish to do with you that are perhaps better on land?”

“Oh?” she smirked, heart hammering delightedly at the idea he would want her again so soon. She did, of course, but that was different. She had always been insane.

“Well, for starters, I’ve not been nearly as acquainted as I would like with your breasts,” he mused, and she gaped at him.

“Colin,” she said, appalled, and he rolled his eyes dramatically.

“Penelope, I just made love to you in a pond, it’s a little late for being coy.”

She blushed, but he was right, for once. They stayed like that for a while before Penelope convinced him that he would need to put her down for them to leave the water, and he reluctantly agreed. They headed for the shore, gradually leaving their floral sanctuary, Penelope’s legs shaky and deliciously sore.

Penelope felt her trepidation grow with every step she took out of the water, her body becoming more and more exposed the nearer she came to the edge of the water. She had slowed significantly when Colin turned, and realised she was a few steps behind him now.

He considered her for a moment, regarding her intently as his gaze slid from one part of her to the next. Finally he met her eyes and held his hand out. She took it, swallowing, and he pulled her close to him.

“You’re beautiful, Penelope. You always were. I always knew you were.”

Penelope swallowed, and tried to allow it to sink in, bury itself in there and lodge itself in her chest. Whether she agreed or not, Colin’s belief seemed to be strong enough to completely override hers, and that was lovely. What else mattered?

She reached for him again, her heart as warm and wet and hopeless as the rest of her, kissing him and marvelling how it seemed that this was something she was allowed to do now. He hummed happily, before sliding a hand around her waist and walking with her out of the water completely.

“We are coming back to do this again,” he said confidently, his thumb caressing her hip softly, “as much as humanly possible, actually.”

She smiled, as obsessed and crazed as the man next to her. How lovely to not have to go mad alone, she thought.

“Really?” she grinned up at him, distracted at the water running down his chest level with her eyes.

“Yes,” he affirmed. “Our first decision as a couple, if you’re agreeable,” he murmured good-naturedly, her heart bursting some more. How was it even functioning at this point?

“I am.” She said, smiling like a fool. “Will there be more?” she asked as they finally stood on land together, and he turned to face her in the moonlight, brushing her now mostly dry hair out of her face tenderly.

“Most definitely,” he grinned. “I would love to name our first-born Lily, if it’s a girl,” he said, and she wanted to cry. How quickly this one refuge– one escape, one night of freedom– had spread to encapsulate her entire life like ivy. How absurd that she had run from it for so long. It didn’t bear thinking about, so she didn’t.

“I like that idea,” she said instead, reaching for him and kissing him, again, hard. He responded immediately, holding her tightly and kissing her thoroughly until they were both out of breath. When they broke apart this time, Colin took a step back and spotted her dress, reaching for it and instead of passing it to her, like she had expected, laid it out on the clover like a blanket. She watched puzzled, unable to resist asking.

“Anything else?”

Colin regarded the dress carefully, bending over to smooth out some scrunches before standing there like a god, naked and glorious.

“Hm, well, we’ll have to decide how we can have you do Whilstledown more safely,” he said casually, smoothing out another corner before looking at her finally. Penelope, in the meantime, had lost all blood to her face and body and soul, and was left speechless both at the fact he knew, and that he would say it in such an offhand manner. She stared at him, flabbergasted.

Colin finally seemed to realise her shock, and returned to her, dropping a sweet kiss on her nose.

“Sorry, I didn’t have a chance to tell you I knew before. Are you alright?”

Penelope stared at this man who had floored her for the fiftieth time that evening, the look on his face only containing care and love.

“You knew?” she stuttered finally, head swimming. “You knew, and you didn’t– you don’t mind?”

He looked thoughtful for a moment.

“Not really, is that alright?” he asked, and she laughed incredulously.

“Yes, yes it is.” And it was. She would need twenty years to wrap her head around it, but it was.

“Great,” he murmured, kissing her forehead this time, his hand cupping her cheek as he looked at her intently before speaking again.

“Lie down.”