3
" I don't understand," Olivia said. "How did Penny sewing and unsewing make for the Trojan War?"
"Penelope was Odysseus's wife," Philippa explained. "He left her, and she sat at her loom, sewing all day, and unraveling all her work at night. For years."
"Why on earth would someone do that?" Olivia wrinkled her nose, selecting a sweet from a nearby tray. "Years? Really?"
"She was waiting for him to come home," Penelope said, meeting Michael's gaze. There was something meaningful there, and he thought she might be speaking of more than the Greek myth. Did she wait for him at night? She'd told him not to touch her... she'd pushed him away... but tonight, if he went to her, would she accept him? Would she follow the path of her namesake?
"I hope you have more exciting things to do when you are waiting for Michael to come home, Penny," Olivia teased.
Penelope smiled, but there was something in her gaze that he did not like, something akin to sadness. He blamed himself for it. Before him, she was happier. Before him, she smiled and laughed and played games with her sisters without reminder of her unfortunate fate.
He stood to meet her as she approached the settee. "I would never leave my Penelope for years." He said, "I would be too afraid that someone would snatch her away." His mother-in-law sighed audibly from across the room as his new sisters laughed. He lifted one of Penelope's hands in his and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. "Penelope and Odysseus were never my favored mythic couple, anyway. I was always more partial to Persephone and Hades."
Penelope smiled at him, and the room was suddenly much much warmer. "You think they were a happier couple?" she asked, wry.
He met her little smile, enjoying himself as he lowered his voice. "I think six months of feast is better than twenty years of famine." She blushed, and he resisted the urge to kiss her there, in the drawing room, hang propriety and ladies' delicate sensibilities. "
― Sarah MacLean , A Rogue by Any Other Name (The Rules of Scoundrels, #1)
7
" She moved to push past him. When he did not move, she stopped, unwilling to touch him.
A pity. The memory of the warmth of her gloved hand on his cold cheek flashed. Apparently her behavior outside had been the product of surprise.
And pleasure.
He wondered what else he might do instinctively in response to pleasure. An image flashed- blond hair spread wide across dark, silken sheets, ice blue eyes alight with surprise as he gave prim, proper Penelope a glimpse of dark and heady pleasure.
He'd nearly kissed her in the darkness. It had started out as a way to intimidate her, to begin the systematic compromising of quiet, unassuming, Penelope Marbury. But he did not deny that as they stood in his barren kitchen, he wondered what she would taste like. How her breath would sound fluttering across his skin. How she would feel against him. Around him. "
― Sarah MacLean , A Rogue by Any Other Name (The Rules of Scoundrels, #1)
9
" It's just that when a woman is kidnapped and forced into agreeing to marriage, she hopes for a bit more... excitement. Than this."
He rolled slowly- maddeningly- to face her, the air between them thickened, and Penelope was instantly aware of their position, scant inches apart, on a warm pallet in a small room in an empty house, beneath the same blanket- which happened to be his greatcoat. And she realized that perhaps she should not have implied that the evening was unexciting.
Because she was not at all certain that she was prepared for it to become any more exciting. "I didn't mean-" She rushed to correct herself.
"Oh, I think you did an excellent job of meaning." The words were low and dark, and suddenly she was not so very sure that she wasn't afraid after all. "I am not stimulating enough for you?"
"Not you..." she was quick to reply. "The whole..." She waved one hand, lifting the greatcoat as she thought better of finishing. "Never mind."
His gaze was on her, intent and unmoving and, while he had not moved, it seemed as though he had grown larger, more looming. As though he had sucked a great deal of air from the room. "How can I make this night more satisfying for you, my lady?"
The soft question sent a thrum of feeling through her... the way the word- satisfying- rolled languid from his tongue set her heart racing and her stomach turning.
It seemed the night was becoming very exciting very quickly.
And everything was moving much too quickly for Penelope's tastes. "No need," she said, at an alarmingly high pitch. "It's fine."
"Fine?" The word rolled lazily from his tongue.
"Quite thrilling." She nodded, bringing one hand to her mouth to feign a yawn. "So thrilling, in fact, that I find myself unbearably exhausted." She made to turn her back to him. "I shall bid you good night."
"I don't think so," he said, the soft words as loud as a gunshot in the tiny space between them. "
― Sarah MacLean , A Rogue by Any Other Name (The Rules of Scoundrels, #1)
15
" He did not look like a pirate.
He looked... familiar.
There was something there, in the handsome angles and deep, wicked shadows, the hollows of his cheeks, the straight line of his lips, the sharp line of his jaw- in need of a shave.
Yes, there was something there- a whisper of recognition.
He wore a pin-striped cap dusted with snow, the brim of which cast his eyes into darkness. They were a missing piece.
She would never know from where the instinct came- perhaps from a desire to discover the identity of the man who would end her days- but she could not stop herself from reaching up and pushing the hat back from his face to see his eyes.
Only later it would occur to her that he did not try to stop her.
His eyes were hazel, a mosaic of browns and greens and greys, framed by long, dark lashes, spiked with snow. She would have known them anywhere, even if they were far more serious now than she'd ever seen them before.
Shock coursed through her, followed by a thick current of happiness.
He was not a pirate.
"Michael?" He stiffened at the sound of his name, but she did not take the time to wonder why.
She flattened her palm against his cold cheek- an action at which she would later marvel- and laughed, the sound muffled by the snow falling around them. "It is you, isn't it?"
He reached up, pulling her hand from his face. He wasn't wearing gloves, and still, he was so warm.
And not at all clammy. "
― Sarah MacLean , A Rogue by Any Other Name (The Rules of Scoundrels, #1)
16
" Where are you sleeping?"
A wicked black brow rose. "Why? Are you inviting me into your bed?"
The words stung with their rudeness. Penelope stiffened as though she had received a physical blow. She waited a beat, sure he would apologize.
Silence.
"You've changed."
"Perhaps you should remember that the next time you decide to go on a midnight adventure."
He was nothing like the Michael she had once known.
She spun on her heel, heading into the blackness, toward the place where Needham Manor stood. She'd gone only a few feet before she turned back to face him. He had not moved.
"I really was happy to see you." She turned and headed away, back to her home, the cold seeping deep into her bones before she turned back, unable to resist a final barb. Something to hurt him as he'd hurt her. "And Michael?"
She couldn't see his eyes, but she knew undeniably that he was watching her, listening.
"You're on my land. "
― Sarah MacLean , A Rogue by Any Other Name (The Rules of Scoundrels, #1)
18
" 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?"
"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. "
― Sarah MacLean , A Rogue by Any Other Name (The Rules of Scoundrels, #1)
20
" What password were you given?"
"Éloa."
He sucked in a breath. Chase had given her carte blanche at the club. Access to any room, any event, any adventure she wanted, without chaperone.
Without him.
"What does it mean?" she asked, registering his surprise.
"It means I'm going to have words with Chase."
"I mean, what does Éloa mean?"
He narrowed his gaze, answered her literally. "It's the name of an angel."
Penelope tilted her head, thinking. "I've never heard of him."
"You wouldn't have."
"Was he a fallen angel?"
"She was, yes." He hesitated, not wanting to tell her the story, but unable to stop himself. "Lucifer tricked her into falling from heaven."
"Tricked her how?"
He met her gaze. "She fell in love with him."
Penelope's eyes widened. "Did he love her?"
Like an addict loves his addiction. "The only way he knew how."
She shook her head. "How could he trick her?"
"He never told her his name. "
― Sarah MacLean , A Rogue by Any Other Name (The Rules of Scoundrels, #1)
