Chapter 3: Bridgerton Baptism
Colin didn’t lead her back toward the music. He led her deeper into the silence, where the manicured gravel gave way to wilder paths, the yew hedges thinning into ancient, overgrown boxwood. The air grew cooler, damper. The scent of roses faded, replaced by the mineral smell of water and the rich decay of wet earth.
Penelope’s heart was still a frantic bird against her ribs. Her skin felt twice its size, hyper-aware, every brush of her gown a memory of other hands. “Where are we going?” she managed, her voice raspy.
He glanced back, his eyes catching a sliver of moonlight. “Somewhere we won’t be found.”
They pushed through a final curtain of weeping willow branches, leaves brushing over them like cool fingers, and stepped into another world.
The roar hit her first. A low, thunderous rush that vibrated up through the soles of her slippers. Ahead, a curtain of water cascaded from a rocky outcrop into a black, placid pool. It wasn't a large waterfall, but it was powerful, mist hanging in the air like a permanent breath. Behind the falling water, a natural arch of stone formed a hidden grotto. Fireflies sparked in the damp gloom, their erratic golden lights mimicking the dizzy spin of her thoughts.
Daphne and Anthony were already there.
They had shed their jackets. Daphne was sitting on a flat, moss-covered stone, her bare feet skimming the surface of the pool. Anthony stood waist-deep in the dark water, head back, letting the spray slick his hair. The scene was shockingly pastoral, intimate in a way that felt ancient. It was as if she’d stumbled upon pagan deities at their bath.
“Took you long enough,” Anthony called, his voice cutting through the water’s rumble.
Colin released her hand. He didn’t look at Anthony or Daphne. His attention was fixed on Penelope. “You’re thinking too much,” he said, as if diagnosing an illness.
Before she could protest, his fingers went to the fastenings of her gown. They were deft, practiced. The back of the dress loosened. “Colin—”
“Shhh.” Daphne’s voice floated over from her stone. She was watching them, chin resting on her knees, a serene smile on her face. “Let him. It’s easier that way.”
The gown slipped from Penelope’s shoulders, pooling at her feet in a sigh of ruined silk. The night air was cold on her skin, raising goosebumps. She stood in her thin chemise and stays, feeling more exposed than she had even in the maze.
Anthony watched from the water, his gaze an almost physical weight. Colin’s hands went to the laces of her stays next. Each tug felt like a release of breath she’d been holding for years. The stiff corsetry joined the gown on the damp ground.
Colin stepped back, looking at her. Really looking. In the diffused light, with the water roaring beside them, there was no artifice left. She was just Penelope, pale and shivering in her final layer.
“Your turn,” Anthony said, his words directed at Colin. It wasn’t a suggestion.
Colin grinned, a quick flash of teeth, and began stripping off his own clothes with none of Penelope’s hesitation. His boots, his jacket, his waistcoat, his shirt. He stood before her, tousled and unashamed. Then he stepped out of his trousers.
Daphne rose from her stone. She walked to the water’s edge and waded in, her chemise turning translucent instantly, clinging to her curves. She swam a few strokes toward Anthony, who caught her effortlessly, pulling her to him. They weren’t kissing. They were just… connected. Foreheads touching, sharing the same breath in the mist.
Colin took Penelope’s hand again. “Come on.”
He led her into the pool. The water was shockingly cold, then shockingly warm as her body acclimated. It lapped at her thighs, her hips, her ribs as she waded deeper. The chemise floated around her, a ghostly shroud.
Colin guided her under the falling water itself. The force was breathtaking, a million tiny hammers on her scalp and shoulders, blinding and deafening. For a second, she was utterly alone in a world of pounding sensation. Then he pulled her through, into the space behind the waterfall.
The noise changed. It was a cocoon of sound now, a deafening roar that enclosed the grotto, making the air inside feel sacred, silent by comparison. The light was eerie, filtered through tons of churning water into a shimmering, greenish twilight. The rock walls were slick, studded with glowing patches of phosphorescent moss.
Anthony and Daphne were already there, pressed against the back wall. They were moving together again, slower now, hips grinding in the water with a lazy, aqueous grace.
Colin pressed Penelope against the cool rock, beside them but not touching. His body pinned hers, his mouth finding hers. This kiss was different from the others—it was hungry, but it was searching, too. A question. His hand slid between her legs, finding her through the soaked linen. She cried out, the sound swallowed by the waterfall’s thunder.
“See?” Daphne’s voice was a murmur against Anthony’s shoulder. “She’s not quiet after all.”
Anthony turned his head, his gaze locking with Colin’s over Penelope’s shoulder. Something passed between them, a current older and more potent than the one holding them all here. A silent conversation. Anthony nodded, once.
Colin’s grip on Penelope shifted, turning her gently, so her back was to his chest. He held her against him, his arms wrapped around her waist. Anthony moved then, disengaging from Daphne with a soft, wet sound. He closed the small distance between them.
His hands, large and sure, came up to frame Penelope’s face. He looked into her eyes, his own dark and unreadable in the dim light. There was no gentle question in his touch. It was a claim.
He kissed her.
It was nothing like Daphne’s soft exploration or Colin’s heated demand. It was dominance, pure and simple. It was tasting, possessing. Penelope surrendered to it, her mind going blank, filled only with the feel of his tongue, his teeth, the scratch of his stubble. Colin held her steady from behind, his own breath hot on her neck.
When Anthony finally broke the kiss, he didn’t go far. He pressed his forehead to hers, his breath coming hard. “You belong to this family tonight,” he said, the words raw against her lips. “You understand?”
She nodded, dazed.
Anthony glanced at Colin again, a silent signal. Then he turned back to Daphne, pulling her into his arms, his mouth descending to her throat.
Colin’s hands moved up Penelope’s body, over the wet chemise, to cup her breasts. His thumbs circled her nipples, wrenching a gasp from her. He began to move against her, the hard length of him pressing against the small of her back. But his attention was split. His eyes were on his brother.
Anthony had turned Daphne around, her hands braced on the mossy stone. He moved behind her, his hands on her hips, his head dropped forward in concentration.
Colin watched them, his own rhythm against Penelope becoming faster, more urgent. His breathing hitched. It was Anthony he was watching as he moved—the powerful flex of his brother’s back, the strain in his shoulders, the quiet, guttural sounds being torn from him.
Colin’s hands tightened on Penelope. “God, Anthony,” he muttered, the words thick, almost reverent.
Anthony heard him. He turned his head, his profile sharp in the green light. Their eyes met again, and this time the connection was electric, a live wire strung between them in the mist. A shared, secret fire.
Colin’s climax shook through him, a violent tremor that pressed Penelope hard into the rock. He buried a groan in her hair, his body shuddering against hers.
A moment later, Anthony followed with a harsh, bitten-off cry, his body curling over Daphne’s.
The grotto was filled with the sound of their breathing, ragged and spent, mingling with the endless roar of the water. Daphne turned, sliding her arms around Anthony’s neck, kissing him softly. Colin relaxed his grip on Penelope, turning her gently to face him. He kissed her forehead, a gesture that felt strangely tender after everything.
Anthony disentangled himself from Daphne. He waded over to them, moving through the water with a predator’s grace. He put a hand on Colin’s shoulder, squeezed. A simple gesture. But the look that passed between them was profound, full of a shared history and a private understanding that left no room for anyone else.
Then Anthony’s gaze shifted to Penelope. He cupped her cheek again, his thumb stroking her bottom lip. “You did well,” he said, the words final. A judgment.
He turned and walked back through the curtain of water, disappearing into the main pool.
Daphne floated on her back for a moment, a picture of serene satisfaction, before following him.
Penelope was left alone with Colin in the trembling green light. He studied her face, tracing the line of her jaw. “Alright?” he asked quietly.
She wasn’t sure. Her body felt like a map of a country she’d never visited. Her mind was still catching up. But one thing was clear, a truth as solid as the rock at her back. She had seen the core of them tonight—the unspoken bond between Anthony and Colin, the easy inclusion from Daphne. She was no longer an observer at the edges of their world.
She was inside the secret.
“I’m alright,” she said. And for the first time all evening, it wasn’t a lie.
Colin smiled, his real smile, and kissed her once, softly. “Good,” he murmured against her lips. “Because the night’s not over.”