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Before he even opens his eyes, Colin can tell he has slept far later than he normally does. The room is still dark, he thinks, likely the staff have not pulled open the heavy curtains to allow the sun in as yet, but there is a feeling it is late, that the world is already up and moving whilst he stays cocooned in softness and warmth.
The staff have been in, though. The crackle of a small fire in the grate fills the otherwise silent room, and everything smells heavenly — muffins and fresh biscuits and an alluring floral scent he has only ever attributed to one person. Her warmth is there, beside him, pressing into him, and her fingers card through his hair, light and gentle, like he is made of spun glass, and breakable, like she is almost afraid she is not allowed to touch.
This is what makes him open his eyes, to meet her wide, crystal blue gaze in return, and Penelope pauses briefly in her ministrations, a fleeting look of surprise and retreat crossing her face as she pulls her hand back.
He chases it with his own, capturing hers and pulling it towards him, pressing a kiss right into the middle of her palm. "Good morning," he murmurs, not once taking his eyes off hers, and at last she exhales, and allows herself to smile.
"Good morning," she whispers back, and he kisses her palm again, before pulling her completely against him.
She completes the motion before him, kissing him directly on his lips, sighing delicately into his mouth. It is everything he has ever wanted, it is perfect. Their first morning waking side by side, and he knows he never wants to wake without her again.
It has been too many nights since he had had a comfortable sleep, and even more nights before since he had had a restful sleep, and having now had what he thinks may have been the deepest and most restorative sleep of his life, he feels energetic and rejuvenated, and overwhelmed with possibility.
After they had escaped her sisters ball, all their cares from the past weeks left behind, they had spent their night making love, and so it feels as second nature as it does fresh and new to roll them now, so Penelope is beneath him, soft, and panting and willing. "Colin," she gasps as he rolls his hips into her. "We should not… there is breakfast, do you not wish to eat?"
"Later," he mutters against her lips, before kissing her again. "It will keep, surely."
She murmurs something again about time, and food, and having to be at Bridgerton House, but her legs part to let him slip between them, and her hands tug at his nightshirt to pull it up his body. He pulls at her night rail as well, wondering why they bothered to dress before sleep, and it is graceless and awkward as they both eventually free themselves of offending garments, and discard them giggling.
After, Colin leans sitting against the headboard, sheets pooled over his lap, watching as Penelope wars with bashfulness as she slips from the bed, seemingly intent on retrieving her nightrail or robe. He says nothing, but she glances over her shoulder at him, and he thinks whatever she sees in his face is enough, because she blushes but abandons her attempts to redress and simply fetches the breakfast tray and brings it over to the bed to sit between them.
The muffins are still miraculously warm, and he feeds Penelope bites slathered in butter and jam, and nearly knocks the tray to the floor when she darts her tongue out to lick the remnants off his fingers before sucking them into her mouth, whatever shyness she had displayed earlier fully evaporated. "Pen," he moans and now it is her crawling over to climb into his lap, and lower herself down on him.
When they are both spent, she stays seated astride him, laid against his chest, and strokes her damp curls, and kisses her soundly after she catches her breath. "We will have to rise and wash and dress soon enough," she groans, laying her head against his chest as his arms go around her.
"I do not mind keeping you in my bed all day," Colin teases her, his fingers tangling in the ends of her curls.
He glances down and she's blushing, but smiling, and he cannot resist kissing her once more. "No, we must go to Bridgerton House and see you sisters off to Scotland," she says, sounding a little regretful. "And your mother has invited us to dine, and invited my mother to join the party as well." She sighs. "I finally have you all to myself, and yet it seems I must still share."
Colin preens at this, unable to recall another time when there was anyone who wanted him all to themselves. It is a feeling returned — he has had to share Penelope's attention with Eloise, and apparently Whistledown and the ton, for too long. "I would like to take you to Paris," he says now, because he had thought of it all through their engagement, unable to voice it when everything had been so unresolved. "We will be uninterrupted there surely, and… and I should like to show you the city."
When he looks back down at her, Penelope's eyes are shining with tears. "I always wanted to travel with you," she says, sounding a little disbelieving. "I wanted to be your wife, and travel with you, and… it was all I dreamed of."
And now he has tears. That she looked to him for so long for happiness, that he could now give it to her, he is moved almost beyond words. "I will spend my whole life making your dreams come true," he promises, one hand cupping her cheek to direct her mouth back to his.
"When can we leave?" she asks, before he can kiss her, and he laughs.
"Tomorrow." He had looked at options before the ball, when he thought there may be a chance they had to flee. "I will have the staff pack whilst we are out and-"
Penelope kisses him then, with the full force of her passion, and he lets her pull and push and direct him around until he is laying under her. The tea tray really does fall off the bed at this, dashed to the floor with a loud crash and clatter, and he briefly wonders if they should reassure the staff nothing is amiss, before all thought is knocked out of him by the direction Penelope lets her hands wander.
In the end, they are very, very late to Bridgerton House, but no one seems surprised.