Romancing Mister Bridgerton by Julia Quinn Page B

southwest coast of the island, where the sun is strong and the ocean salty and warm. Here, one can see the peak of Mount Olympus, still capped with snow so white one is temporarily blinded when the sun glints off of it.
    The climb to this altitude was treacherous, with danger lurking around more than one corner. The road is rudimentary, and along the way we met
    Penelope let out a soft grunt of protest when she realized that the page ended in the middle of a sentence. Who had he met? What had happened? What danger?
    She stared down at the journal, absolutely dying to flip the page and see what happened next. But when she’d started reading, she had managed to justify it by telling herself she wasn’t really invading Colin’s privacy; he’d left thebook open, after all. She was only looking at what he had left exposed.
    Turning the page, however, was something else altogether.
    She reached out, then yanked her hand back. This wasn’t right. She couldn’t read his journal. Well, not beyond what she’d already read.
    On the other hand, it was clear that these were words worth reading. It was a crime for Colin to keep them for himself. Words should be celebrated, shared. They should be—
    â€œOh, for God’s sake,” she muttered to herself. She reached for the edge of the page.
    â€œWhat are you doing?”
    Penelope whirled around. “Colin!”
    â€œIndeed,” he snapped.
    Penelope lurched back. She’d never heard him use such a tone. She hadn’t even thought him capable of it.
    He strode across the room, grabbed the journal, and snapped it shut. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.
    â€œWaiting for Eloise,” she managed to get out, her mouth suddenly quite dry.
    â€œIn the upstairs drawing room?”
    â€œWickham always takes me here. Your mother told him to treat me like family. I…uh…he…uh…” She realized that she was wringing her hands together and willed herself to stop. “It’s the same with my sister Felicity. Because she and Hyacinth are such good friends. I—I’m sorry. I thought you knew.”
    He threw the leather-bound book carelessly onto a nearby chair and crossed his arms. “And do you make a habit of reading the personal letters of others?”
    â€œNo, of course not. But it was open and—” She gulped, recognizing how awful the excuse sounded the second the words left her lips. “It’s a public room,” she mumbled, somehow feeling like she had to finish her defense. “Maybe you should have taken it with you.”
    â€œWhere I went,” he ground out, still visibly furious with her, “one doesn’t ordinarily take a book.”
    â€œIt’s not very big,” she said, wondering why why why she was still talking when she was so clearly in the wrong.
    â€œFor the love of God,” he exploded. “Do you want me to say the word chamberpot in your presence?”
    Penelope felt her cheeks blush deep red. “I’d better go,” she said. “Please tell Eloise—”
    â€œ I’ll go,” Colin practically snarled. “I’m moving out this afternoon, anyway. Might as well leave now, since you’ve so obviously taken over the house.”
    Penelope had never thought that words could cause physical pain, but right then she would have sworn that she’d taken a knife to the heart. She hadn’t realized until that very moment just how much it meant to her that Lady Bridgerton had opened her home to her.
    Or how much it would hurt to know that Colin resented her presence there.
    â€œWhy do you have to make it so difficult to apologize?” she burst out, dogging his heels as he crossed the room to gather the rest of his things.
    â€œAnd why, pray tell, should I make it easy?” he returned. He didn’t face her as he said it; he didn’t even break his stride.
    â€œBecause it would be the