A Rogue by Any Other Name
Page 68
She twisted her hands in his grasp, trying to free herself. He did not release her. “It was doing just that. No one noticed me.” He pushed her against the wall, farther into the darkness. “No one recognized me. Now, of course, they are all wondering who I am.”
“They likely know.” He gave a harsh laugh. “I recognized you the moment I saw you, you foolish woman.”
He had? She ignored the thrum of pleasure that shot through her and squared her shoulders, refusing to back down.
The roulette croupier appeared at the edge of the alcove. “Bourne.”
Michael shot a look over his shoulder that could have stopped an army. “Not now.”
“Well, considering I’m in full view of half of London, as you are so quick to point out, what’s the worst that could happen?” she asked.
“Let’s see,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “you could have been abducted, mistreated, revealed . . .
Penelope stiffened. “And how would that have been different than my treatment at your hands?” she whispered, keeping her voice low enough so that only he could hear her, knowing she was pushing his limits.
His eyes flashed. “It would be immensely different. And if you can’t see that—”
“Oh, please. Don’t pretend you care a bit about me, or my happiness. It would be the same cell, a different jailer.”
His teeth clenched. “Three minutes in private with that pig Densmore, and you would have seen that I’m a veritable saint compared to some scoundrels. I told you, you were not to come here. Not without me.”
“I find I no longer care for being told what I am not to do.” She took a deep breath, not knowing from where her courage had come, but hoping it would not fail her now, as he looked very, very angry.
And, she realized, very disheveled. His cravat was wrinkled beyond repair, his coat was not straight on his shoulders, and one of his cuffs had disappeared beneath its sleeve.
It wasn’t normal. Not for Michael.
“What happened to you?” she asked.
“Bourne.”
The third time the dealer said his name, Michael spun around. “Goddammit. What is it?”
“It’s the lady.”
“What about her?”
Penelope peeked around Michael, pulling her hood forward, making sure she could not be recognized. The dealer’s brows lifted as he offered them both a half smile. “She won.”
A beat, then Bourne said, “What did you say?”
“She won.” The dealer could not mask his surprise. “Number twenty-three. Straight up.”
Michael’s gaze slid to the table, then to the wheel. “She did?”
Penelope’s eyes went wide. “I did?”
The croupier gave her a silly smile. “You did.”
“Send her winnings up to the suite.” In a matter of seconds, Michael had pulled her through a well-guarded door nearby.
As they climbed a long, dark set of stairs, Penelope shored up her courage, prepared to face him. But first, she had to keep up with him. Her hand was tucked into his, and he showed no indication of releasing her as he pulled her down a long hallway and, ultimately, into a large room that would have been completely dark if not for the light from the main floor of the casino pouring through the stained-glass wall at one end of the room—casting the entire space into a mosaic of color.
“How gorgeous,” she whispered, not noticing that he’d let her go before locking the door behind them. “From below, there is no indication that there is anything behind the glass.”
“That’s the point.”
“It’s stunning.” She headed for the window, reaching one hand out to touch a golden panel that made up a lock of Lucifer’s hair.
“What are you doing here, Penelope?”
She snatched her hand back at the question, turning to him, barely able to make him out in the shadows. He seemed to have faded away into the darkness at the far end of the room. Her heart began to pound, and she remembered why she had set out for the club. “There is a conversation we must have.”
“It could not have waited for me to return to Hell House?”
“If I ever believed you would return to the house, my lord, I might have waited,” she said tartly. “As I am unsure of your plans in that regard, I felt it best for me to attend you.”
He crossed his arms across his wide chest, the fabric of his coat straining against his muscled arms. “I’m going to fire the coachman who brought you.”
“Impossible. I came in a hack.” She could not keep the triumph from her voice.
“If Tommy helped you in any way, I shall take great pleasure in destroying him.”
She lifted her chin. “And so we come to it.”
“You are not to see him again.”
She did not care that he towered over her in the darkness, clearly angry with her. For she was angry with him, as well. “I am not so certain that I will follow that order.”
“You will.” He crowded her against the door. “See him again, and I’ll destroy him. Let it be on your head.”
It was the opening for which she had been waiting. “I am told that you plan to destroy him anyway.” He did not deny it, and a sliver of disappointment shot through her. She shook her head. “It’s amazing, how I continue to believe better of you only to be proven wrong.” She spun away from him, heading for the window once more, staring out on the floor. “You’re heartless.”
“It’s best you realize that now, before the days of our marriage grow any longer.”
“They likely know.” He gave a harsh laugh. “I recognized you the moment I saw you, you foolish woman.”
He had? She ignored the thrum of pleasure that shot through her and squared her shoulders, refusing to back down.
The roulette croupier appeared at the edge of the alcove. “Bourne.”
Michael shot a look over his shoulder that could have stopped an army. “Not now.”
“Well, considering I’m in full view of half of London, as you are so quick to point out, what’s the worst that could happen?” she asked.
“Let’s see,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “you could have been abducted, mistreated, revealed . . .
Penelope stiffened. “And how would that have been different than my treatment at your hands?” she whispered, keeping her voice low enough so that only he could hear her, knowing she was pushing his limits.
His eyes flashed. “It would be immensely different. And if you can’t see that—”
“Oh, please. Don’t pretend you care a bit about me, or my happiness. It would be the same cell, a different jailer.”
His teeth clenched. “Three minutes in private with that pig Densmore, and you would have seen that I’m a veritable saint compared to some scoundrels. I told you, you were not to come here. Not without me.”
“I find I no longer care for being told what I am not to do.” She took a deep breath, not knowing from where her courage had come, but hoping it would not fail her now, as he looked very, very angry.
And, she realized, very disheveled. His cravat was wrinkled beyond repair, his coat was not straight on his shoulders, and one of his cuffs had disappeared beneath its sleeve.
It wasn’t normal. Not for Michael.
“What happened to you?” she asked.
“Bourne.”
The third time the dealer said his name, Michael spun around. “Goddammit. What is it?”
“It’s the lady.”
“What about her?”
Penelope peeked around Michael, pulling her hood forward, making sure she could not be recognized. The dealer’s brows lifted as he offered them both a half smile. “She won.”
A beat, then Bourne said, “What did you say?”
“She won.” The dealer could not mask his surprise. “Number twenty-three. Straight up.”
Michael’s gaze slid to the table, then to the wheel. “She did?”
Penelope’s eyes went wide. “I did?”
The croupier gave her a silly smile. “You did.”
“Send her winnings up to the suite.” In a matter of seconds, Michael had pulled her through a well-guarded door nearby.
As they climbed a long, dark set of stairs, Penelope shored up her courage, prepared to face him. But first, she had to keep up with him. Her hand was tucked into his, and he showed no indication of releasing her as he pulled her down a long hallway and, ultimately, into a large room that would have been completely dark if not for the light from the main floor of the casino pouring through the stained-glass wall at one end of the room—casting the entire space into a mosaic of color.
“How gorgeous,” she whispered, not noticing that he’d let her go before locking the door behind them. “From below, there is no indication that there is anything behind the glass.”
“That’s the point.”
“It’s stunning.” She headed for the window, reaching one hand out to touch a golden panel that made up a lock of Lucifer’s hair.
“What are you doing here, Penelope?”
She snatched her hand back at the question, turning to him, barely able to make him out in the shadows. He seemed to have faded away into the darkness at the far end of the room. Her heart began to pound, and she remembered why she had set out for the club. “There is a conversation we must have.”
“It could not have waited for me to return to Hell House?”
“If I ever believed you would return to the house, my lord, I might have waited,” she said tartly. “As I am unsure of your plans in that regard, I felt it best for me to attend you.”
He crossed his arms across his wide chest, the fabric of his coat straining against his muscled arms. “I’m going to fire the coachman who brought you.”
“Impossible. I came in a hack.” She could not keep the triumph from her voice.
“If Tommy helped you in any way, I shall take great pleasure in destroying him.”
She lifted her chin. “And so we come to it.”
“You are not to see him again.”
She did not care that he towered over her in the darkness, clearly angry with her. For she was angry with him, as well. “I am not so certain that I will follow that order.”
“You will.” He crowded her against the door. “See him again, and I’ll destroy him. Let it be on your head.”
It was the opening for which she had been waiting. “I am told that you plan to destroy him anyway.” He did not deny it, and a sliver of disappointment shot through her. She shook her head. “It’s amazing, how I continue to believe better of you only to be proven wrong.” She spun away from him, heading for the window once more, staring out on the floor. “You’re heartless.”
“It’s best you realize that now, before the days of our marriage grow any longer.”
