The Wit and Wisdom of Bridgerton

by Julia Quinn

Everything he thought he’d known about kissing was rubbish.

And so, on an otherwise unremarkable Friday afternoon, in the heart of Mayfair, in a quiet drawing room on Mount Street, Colin Bridgerton kissed Penelope Featherington. And it was glorious.

It better had been you pompous twit.

Colin leaned forward. “I really did not want to leave my wife.”

You’re young, wealthy, and you’re a man.” Penelope’s voice turned bitter, resentful. “You can do anything you want.”

Penelopy line not Elouise

She’d met Colin on a Monday. She’d kissed him on a Friday. Twelve years later. She sighed. It seemed fairly pathetic.

“Suppose I told everyone that I had seduced you.” Penelope grew very, very still. “You would be ruined forever,” Colin continued, crouching down near the edge of the sofa so that they were more on the same level. “It wouldn’t matter that we had never even kissed. That, my dear Penelope, is the power of the word.”

Simon smiled. “Ah, but I’m not dallying. I’m merely pretending to dally.”

“Didn’t anyone tell you not to laugh at a man when he’s trying to seduce you?”